#svuseason18

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter Nine • No Man’s Land

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Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary:

Content Warning: Usual SVU & Violent Crimes talk • young kid missing, mention of alcohol, mention of blood, mention of DNA, mention of violent gesture | Couple breaking up | Some SEAL talk • mention of the desert, mention of bruises and bandaids, mention of military vehicle.

A/N: BASED ON EP.8 – S18 of L&O SVU • Not them starting to flirt 👀 Be ready!

*

SATURDAY, JANUARY 14

Manhattan, SVU Bullpen

10:52 AM

—Because I thought you'd think that I was a bad mother and then when you did find Theo, you would take him away from me.

Nadine Lachere was half-leaning on the conference table, her eyes sharply accusatory. She'd welcomed guests to her home the night before, checked on her six-year-old son at around two o'clock, and gone to bed herself. But when little Theo's babysitter arrived in the early hours of the morning, his bed was empty. He and the carpet at the foot of the bed had disappeared, leaving behind only a thin trail of blood.

Her face was drawn, pale under the fluorescent lighting, and her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the table. Olivia watched from a distance, taking it in–the desperation in Nadine's posture, the defensive set of her jaw. Her statement didn't excuse the missing pieces, didn't make up for the alcohol, the dangerous objects in the apartment, or the man she failed to mention. But it gave the outline of a mother who was more broken than cruel.

The Special Victims Unit had been called in. Amanda and Carisi started by taking stock of the situation and gathering information from the mother and her friend. Such parties were a regular occurrence. There was leftover booze on the coffee table, but also a whole bunch of objects that only belonged miles away from a child. The mother was hungover, visibly disoriented and kept accusing her ex-partner.

It might have been a lead if Fin and Carisi hadn't found the DNA of a certain Gabriel Norton in the boy's bedroom. Lachere had said nothing about the man, the same one with whom she'd had a brief relationship that had ended after a violent gesture on his part. She had only wanted to protect her son, to protect their rights.

—Lower East Side. We're headed there now.

Olivia gave a short nod, letting two of her detectives on their way. She was already stepping forward, ready to further investigate with Rollins, when she spotted movement from the bullpen's entrance–him. Ed Tucker. Dressed in a dark grey overcoat, his usual shirt and tie, and that look on his face like he already knew he wasn't supposed to be there.

—Hey.

Just one word, but it landed heavy. The brunette didn't reply right away. Her body had tensed, every nerve on high alert, already pulled in too many directions. Her jaw flexed slightly as she glanced around—detectives moving, phones ringing, lives hanging in the balance.

She didn't have time for this–not now, not in the middle of a missing child case with more emotional weight than most. She had a boy to find. Parents to reassure. People to interview.

—Now's not a good time, Ed.

—I figured, he said gently. But you hung up on me last night, and then nothing. I didn't hear back. I just needed to know if Noah's okay.

That softened something in her. Not much, but just enough. She nodded once, curt but honest.

—He's fine. He just climbed up on the counter when I turned my back for two seconds. I panicked. I shouldn't have hung up, I just-

She stopped herself. There wasn't time to explain how she'd barely slept, how Theo Lachere's case had sunk its claws into her because something about it scratched too close to home. A missing boy. A trail of blood. A mother with excuses and an invisible history of pain.

Ed nodded, stepping a little closer, lowering his voice.

—I get it. I wasn't trying to interrupt anything. I just... needed to see you.

Olivia didn't answer right away. She glanced toward the back of the squad room–Rollins giving her space, but clearly watching. She gave her a small nod, silently telling her to keep things moving while she dealt with... whatever this was.

She motioned for Ed to follow her and led him into her office, the door clicking softly shut behind them. The space was cluttered with files, scribbled post-its, old takeout containers. The air felt tighter now, the buzz of the squad room muffled by the glass. Olivia crossed her arms and turned to him.

—You can't just show up here, she said, not angry, but tired. So, so tired. I've got a six-year-old boy missing and a mother who's giving us half-truths on a good day.

The IA Sergeant didn't answer right away. His gaze had already drifted to her desk, to the folder sitting just a little out of place from the others. The tab was still visible. GRAY, ALEXIS.

He blinked. Took a step toward it.

—You're still looking at that?

Olivia hadn't meant to leave it there, but it was the last thing she'd touched before the call came in. She had tried to put it out of her mind, to focus on the job, but Alexis's file had a gravity to it. There were too many things that didn't make sense–too many silences, omissions. The absence of a reason in that file, the sheer weight of redacted paragraphs and the unexplained decision to leave the SEALs, was like a splinter she couldn't stop picking at.

She didn't flinch. She picked up her notebook and thumbed through it, pretending to be focused on her notes. She didn't answer right away.

—It's related to current cases, she said eventually, her tone even. We've had two–no, three–recent cases involving vets. I wanted to understand the psychological backgrounds a little better.

Her boyfriend didn't move from his place beside the desk. His arms crossed, and his eyes flicked from her to the file again.

—You're not that curious about every file someone hands you, Liv. You've had that for months.

Olivia's fingers froze on the edge of the paper. She didn't look at him. Didn't want to.

—What are you looking for?

It hung in the air, heavier than it should have been.

She straightened and pushed the file away with the flat of her hand, the soft thunk louder than necessary.

—You wouldn't understand, she murmured. Not as a deflection. But because she didn't know how to explain it. Not yet.

Ed sighed and stepped closer, his voice gentler now. Less defensive.

—Try me.

She looked up at him then. The expression on his face was honest—open, even. And for a second, she wanted to take the out. To tell him it was nothing. To smile, maybe, and move on.

But she couldn't lie to him, not this time. She wouldn't.

—Something's not right in that file, she said finally, her voice quieter now. Alexis doesn't walk away without a reason. She's not the type. Her record is spotless. Commendations, leadership. And then one day, she just leaves.

She exhaled, slowly, pressing her thumb into the edge of the desk.

—She told me she left because it was time. But that's not what her eyes said.

—So this is about a hunch? he asked, measured. Or is it about her?

Olivia's jaw tightened. She hated that he asked. She hated that she didn't know the answer.

—You think there's something going on?

—I think you haven't been here with me for weeks. I think you've been somewhere else. And I think you're trying not to ask yourself why.

She wanted to deny it. To say that work had pulled her in, that Theo's case was taking up space in her mind, that the shooting last week still hadn't left her bones. But none of that would explain why Alexis Gray's name kept circling back in her thoughts, always louder than she wanted it to be.

She didn't know what it was. It wasn't about attraction, not exactly. It was deeper than that. Something she couldn't name, maybe didn't even want to. But it was there, and she was chasing it like a shadow that wouldn't sit still.

–There's nothing going on, she said, voice steady, even if she didn't fully believe it herself. She's gone. I haven't heard from her in months.

—But she's still here.

*

SUNDAY, JANUARY 15

Manhattan — Olivia's Apartment

08:16 PM

The soft hum of the dishwasher filled the background as the quiet of the evening settled around them. The apartment was dim, cozy in the way Olivia always made it at the end of the day–lights low, a candle burning in the kitchen, a blanket folded neatly over the couch. Outside, the wind howled faintly through the cracks around the windows. Winter in the city had dug in deep, bitter and sharp.

The sound of little feet against the floor made the lieutenant smile as she leaned against the corridor wall, arms loosely folded. Noah, ever the bundle of evening energy, barely turned around on hearing his mother's voice. He gave her a grin that was more tooth than obedience and disappeared around a corner. Seconds later, the faucet turned on and a small cup hit porcelain.

Behind her, Ed sat in silence on the couch. He'd taken off his coat, draped it neatly over the armrest, but hadn't settled into the room the way he used to. He looked uneasy, like a guest instead of someone who once made himself coffee in her kitchen without asking. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers laced loosely together, eyes on the hardwood floor as though trying to work up the courage to say what had been weighing on him.

Olivia hesitated as she took in the sight of him: the slope of his shoulders, the silver dusting his hair, the familiar outline of the man who had once made her feel like maybe there could be something after everything she'd endured. Then, with a breath, she stepped back into the room, into the heaviness she hadn't quite been ready to face.

The man looked up the moment she approached, his expression open, tired, and cautiously searching for hers.

—He's getting so big, he said, voice quiet but sincere, as if trying to start with something neutral, something safe.

She nodded, arms crossing lightly over her chest. She didn't sit beside him–she sat across from him instead, and even that space between them felt like an echo of something larger. A gap that had grown slowly, inch by inch, until it had become this quiet thing they both could feel but hadn't dared name.

—Yeah. Too fast some days.

They sat in silence for a few beats, the sound of the TV flickering in the background, some news anchor's voice muffled and irrelevant. The room, once filled with ease and banter, now felt like it held its breath, waiting for one of them to finally crack it open.

Ed leaned forward slightly, clearing his throat.

—Can I ask you something?

She met his eyes, already bracing.

—Is it just me, he said slowly. Or have things... not been great with us lately?

He didn't sound bitter. If anything, he sounded like a man already resigned to hearing something he wasn't ready for. Olivia dropped her gaze to her lap for a second, then looked up again. Her face was calm, composed, but behind that was the familiar restraint she carried like armor.

—I've tried, Ed. Really, I have.

Her words weren't sharp, weren't defensive–they just carried the fatigue of someone who had spent too long trying to hold a shape she wasn't sure fit anymore. She could see the way his expression faltered, the way his brow pinched and his jaw tensed like he was swallowing words he didn't want to say.

—I know. So have I. But I feel like we're not trying at the same time anymore.

Olivia didn't say anything right away. Her chin dipped into the barest nod, slow and heavy, as if the gesture itself weighed more than she could carry. Her throat felt tight, constricted with everything she wasn't saying aloud—because he wasn't wrong. Not about this. They were standing in the same room, breathing the same air, but it was as if they were each tuned to a different signal now, no longer hearing the same rhythm, no longer reaching for the same life.

Whatever had once tethered them together had frayed with time and silence, and maybe it had been unraveling longer than either of them had wanted to admit. Maybe they'd been holding on out of habit. Or hope. Or fear of what letting go might mean. But whatever they were clinging to–it no longer felt enough.

—Is it about me retiring?

The question came out with more weight than he probably intended, but he needed to know. Needed to understand why the woman in front of him had slowly begun to drift like a tide pulling out from shore.

She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples for a moment before letting her hand drop.

—No, she said. Then, after a beat. Yes. Maybe.

She glanced toward the hallway, where Noah had grown quiet again. The bathroom light still glowed under the door.

—When you said you were ready to put the shield down, it caught me off guard. Like you were already ten steps ahead, planning for a life that didn't involve any of this. The job. The late nights. The calls in the middle of dinner. And I just... I froze. Because I don't know what it means to live without all of that. I've been this job longer than I've been anything else. She looked at him then, more vulnerable than she intended. I got scared. Not because you were ready to move on... but because I wasn't.

Ed stood silently for a moment, eyes softening as he watched her. There was a time when he might've taken her hesitation as rejection, when he might've bristled and pushed back. But not now. Not tonight. Not after the years they both carried on their backs. He saw her clearly—not just the Lieutenant, not just the mother, not just the woman trying to hold it all together. He saw the fear behind her eyes, the way her shoulders dropped when she thought no one was looking.

He stepped a little closer, voice lower now, almost gentle.

—Liv... you don't have to explain. I get it.

—No, Ed, I do. You deserve more than half-truth or me shutting down every time things get too close. You've been patient. And kind. And steady. And I'm- She paused, forcing the words through the tightness in her throat. I'm sorry. I really am.

The sergeant exhaled through his nose, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He shook his head once, then reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in the way only someone who truly knew her would dare.

—You don't owe me anything, Liv. Not your guilt. Not an explanation. And definitely not some version of yourself you think I want. You're doing what you need to do–for your son, for your team, for yourself. That's not something to apologize for.

She blinked, holding his gaze. Her eyes were glossy now, but she wouldn't let the tears fall. Not here. Not yet.

—Still... it feels like I'm breaking something. Something that could've worked, maybe, if we'd both just-

—If we'd both just been someone else, Ed finished for her, a trace of a smile cutting through the sadness. Someone in a different time, different place. Yeah. I've thought that too.

She swallowed, nodded slowly. It was the most honest thing they'd said all night. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead–chaste, familiar, with the weight of all the moments they would never have. Then he stepped back and let his hand fall away.

He grabbed his coat off the chair and slid it over his shoulders in practiced silence. The room felt colder now, but not unfriendly. Just... quieter.

He made it almost to the door before turning around one last time. His voice was steady, but the softness in it nearly undid her.

—Take care of yourself, Olivia Benson.

*

SUNDAY, JANUARY 15

Manhattan — Olivia's Apartment

11:03 PM

The apartment was silent.

That thick kind of silence that only settles after an emotional day, when the city hum outside seems miles away and the walls themselves are holding their breath. It was getting late. Olivia sat on the couch, a blanket pulled around her shoulders, half-drunk tea cooling on the side table next to her. The TV was off. The lights were dim. The glow from the hallway, leading to Noah's room, was the only thing casting warmth across the apartment.

The little boy had gone to bed hours ago, just after Ed left. He was curled up under the covers, his favorite stuffed animal close to his chest, lost in dreams his mother wished she could join. But her thoughts were tangled, restless. She had stood by the door long after the man walked out, his last words lingering like perfume: "Take care of yourself.". She had whispered you too, but he hadn't heard it.

Now, she sat still, her phone in her hand again, turning it over slowly like she wasn't sure whether she wanted to reach out or hide from the world. Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating. She wasn't even sure what she wanted to say—only that she missed her. Missed talking to her. Missed knowing she was safe.

Finally, with a slow breath, she reached for it again. She opened her messages and stared at the last contact in the thread.

Alexis Gray.

She hadn't heard from her since the brief FaceTime call Miles had told her about a week ago. Alexis had left on deployment on November 1. Since then, just a few breadcrumbs. A call. A nod that she was okay. But no real contact. Not with her.

Her thumb hovered, hesitated, then typed.

Hey. Just checking in. Hope you're okay.

She read it three times before pressing send, then set the phone back down as though expecting silence. Olivia exhaled, rubbed her eyes, and tried to shake the feeling like she was pressing on a bruise she couldn't see.

The buzz of her phone startled her. FaceTime. Alexis.

Her heart jumped. She scrambled to answer it, stepping back into the soft glow of the living room lamp as the screen came to life.

—Well, well, Alexis drawled with a smirk the second the camera focused. I knew it–you really can't live without me, huh?

The lieutenant let out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. Relief coursed through her. She didn't even try to hide it.

—You look like hell, she said instead, but there was a smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

Gray raised a brow and angled the camera. She was wearing full fatigues, her name tag and unit patch visible beneath a few streaks of desert dust. Her face bore new bruises, a small butterfly bandage near her temple, and her hair was pulled back into a tight but slightly messy bun. She was squinting into harsh sunlight. Behind her, Olivia could just make out the edge of a tent, a beige military vehicle, and what looked like an endless stretch of hot, sun-scorched sand.

—Yeah, well, not everyone gets to live in luxury Manhattan apartments with throw pillows and central air.

—Where are you?

Alexis adjusted the phone slightly, panning slowly.

—Can't say. But I can show you a little.

Olivia watched the screen fill with the desert landscape–flat, arid, the kind of place that felt a thousand miles away from everything. Even the sky looked different–brighter, more unforgiving. Heat shimmered off the sand like a mirage.

—Jesus, Olivia muttered. It's so... empty.

—Yeah. But in a weird way, it's quiet. You don't realize how loud the world is until you're away from it.

They settled into a silence that didn't feel awkward. Olivia moved to the couch and sat down, holding the phone with both hands now, as if steadying a thread between them.

—You okay? Alexis asked eventually, her tone softer now. You look exhausted.

The oldest hesitated, her gaze flickering for a moment as if weighing the decision. After a beat, she nodded, but the gesture lacked conviction, her eyes betraying uncertainty she wasn't ready to voice.

—Yeah. I just... It's been a long week.

—That a lie or one of your "I'm-fine-but-not-really" things? You forget, I've seen you shut down before.

The brunette leaned back slightly, her gaze sharp as she watched Olivia, knowing her well enough to miss the signs of something being held back. It wasn't just tiredness in her eyes or the way she clenched her jaw when a certain topic came up–it was something deeper, something that spoke of the quiet struggles she never let anyone in on.

—I broke up with Ed.

Alexis blinked, just once. No big expression. But Olivia noticed the subtle shift—the tightening of her jaw, the softening in her eyes.

—Oh.

She didn't immediately say more, and Olivia appreciated that. No questions. No drama. Just presence.

—It wasn't... dramatic, Olivia continued, voice low. I think we both knew something wasn't right. We just didn't say it out loud for a while.

The commander leaned back, phone angled so that only her face remained on screen, with the faded blue sky stretching behind her.

—Do I need to find him and beat his ass?

Olivia let out a laugh, a quiet, breathy sound that caught even her off guard. It had slipped out before she could stop it—surprised.

—No. Lexi, come on.

—Just checking. I've got boots and a full tank of pettiness.

She laughed again, softer this time. And when it faded, her face relaxed into something more honest.

—I feel bad. Like I broke something that maybe could've worked. If I just tried harder. But... I don't know. It never felt... right-right. Just good on paper. Safe.

Alexis nodded slowly.

—Safe's not enough. Not for someone like you.

There was a stretch of quiet again. Olivia looked at her, really looked. At the sweat on her forehead, the smudge of dirt near her cheek, the quiet resilience in her expression. The way she always felt like the only person in the world who got it, without needing the words.

—You're more than just a colleague, you know, Olivia said finally, her voice hushed.

Green eyes didn't leave hers. Gray didn't smile or joke this time. She just nodded, once.

—Yeah. I know.

—Is this insane?

—If it is... we're in it together.

The wind picked up behind the SEAL, lifting grains of sand into the dry desert air. Her silhouette shifted slightly as she turned her head, instinctively responding to the sudden gust. For a moment, her features were framed against the open sky, bathed the strong embers of the still rising sun.

She looked past the screen, her gaze scanning the vast emptiness beyond the tent—alert, even here, even now. Then she turned back, her eyes settling on the camera again, steady and sharp, like she hadn't missed a beat.

—I've got to go. Another transport's coming in.

—Stay safe, Olivia said, a little too quickly.

Alexis gave her a small smile, softer now. More vulnerable.

—I always do better when I know you're watching.

*

TAGLIST: @nciscmjunkie @makkaroni221 @thefatobsession @ginasbaby @certainlychaotic @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr

[artdetective]

Olivia Benson → Law and Order: Special Victims Unit|Season 18|

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[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter 11 • Eye in the Sky

TAGLIST FORM

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary:

Content Warning: Usual SVU & Violent Crimes talk • crime scene, blood, getting shot, sniper, corpse, NYPD officers, witnesses, shooting in broad daylight, CSU, security consultant, SA, Abuse, threats, Mention of manipulation, fear, control, mention of obsessive boyfriend, mention of online harassment, being silenced, | Mention of being back at work too early | Mention of weapons such as a Glock and a rifle | Getting shot in the vest.

*

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 02

Midtown Manhattan — CRIME SCENE

03:48 PM

The sirens had long faded, leaving behind only the hum of police radios and the low murmur of uniformed officers pushing back the curious crowd. Bright yellow tape stretched across the sidewalk, fluttering in the breeze like a warning flag. It was still daylight, the winter sun casting long shadows through the city's narrow street. But there was nothing warm about the scene.

Alexis stepped out of the black Bureau SUV and adjusted the tactical vest across her chest, her breath visible in the crisp afternoon air. The familiar weight of her sidearm, the stiff collar of her neck warmer, the gravel under her boots–it all brought her right back to the tempo of stateside work.

She scanned the perimeter automatically, even as the wind tugged at the edges of her rainproof jacket. Her face still bore the marks of long months away–subtle sun-creased lines at the corners of her eyes, the faint shadow of a healing bruise under one cheekbone, and a gaze just a bit more hardened than before.

Her partner joined her a second later, slamming the passenger's door shut with one hand and adjusting his earpiece with the other. He glanced down the block at the swarm of patrol cars, then back at his friend, a grin already forming.

—Please, tell me you've unpacked more than just your toothbrush, he said, his voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. Because last time I set foot in your apartment, it looked more like a storage unit with delusions of being a home.

Alexis let out a huff, tugging on her gloves with brisk efficiency. The cold didn't bother her much, not after the months she'd spent overseas, but his commentary was another story. She didn't bother looking at him as she replied.

—It's not that bad.

—It's sterile, Miles shot back, following her as they stopped near the yellow tape. I've seen hotel lobbies with more soul.

Her apartment was quiet. Purposefully. The kind of place designed to take up as little emotional space as possible. Clean counters. Neutral walls. Furniture chosen for function, not comfort. It was the only place in her life she had full control over–why clutter it?

—I unpacked my shampoo. And my socks, she said flatly. That's practically nesting.

The man shook his head, giving a faint laugh as they took the time to take in the scene. Officers were moving with careful precision, already blocking off the street and logging evidence. The smell of city grit and something coppery lingered in the air.

—You live like you're one bug-out bag away from disappearing. Champ's corner has throw pillows, Lex. Your dog lives better than you.

—He has taste.

—And you've got the aesthetic of a monk, Miles added, catching the gloves she sent his way. I'm pretty sure your place echoes when you breathe.

Alexis tilted her head toward him, not bothering to hide the smirk tugging at her lips.

—I have a shelf.

Miles paused, then straightened, narrowing his eyes at her.

—A shelf. Right. Let me guess–still the same sad little baseball sitting on it?

She didn't deny it. Instead, she stood a little taller, chin up like she was daring him to question her taste in sentimental keepsakes.

—Nolan Ryan. Rookie year. Signed. It's a damn good baseball.

Miles barked out a laugh.

—You're the only person I know who could make a legendary fastball feel like home décor.

She didn't answer. Just smirked, then turned back to the crime scene–her boots crunching softly over the pavement as they finally made their way under the yellow tape. The banter faded as the weight of their surroundings returned.

The victim, a man in his mid-thirties, lay sprawled on the concrete, partially hidden by a delivery truck that had screeched to a halt mid-block. His dress shirt was stained deep red at the collar, blood pooled around his head, seeping into the cracks between the pavement. No obvious signs of a robbery—his watch, wallet, and phone still on him.

—Single shot to the neck, one of the patrol officers briefed, his voice clipped. No casing found. Witnesses heard the pop but didn't see a shooter. Sniper's all we can guess.

Miles crouched next to the body, eyes scanning the rooftops above them.

—That's a hell of a shot. From this angle? Clean, deliberate.

—Targeted, Alexis added, her jaw tightening. He never even knew it was coming.

The street around them was chaos disguised as calm. A bus stalled a few feet down the block, passengers still inside. Uniforms were canvassing, interviewing a few lingering witnesses. A woman stood near a flower shop's shattered front window, shivering under a blanket, mascara streaked down her cheeks.

The SEAL took a slow breath and looked over at the agent.

—He was walking out of that building, right?

—Yeah. Corporate offices–security firms, I think. SVU flagged him on a joint task force yesterday, something about suspected trafficking through company assets. Name's Leo Navarro.

That got her attention.

—Navarro?

Miles nodded grimly.

—He was supposed to sit down with SVU this afternoon. Olivia's team. Word was he was about to flip–start naming names.

—Someone didn't want him talking.

Alexis exhaled slowly, her gaze scanning the windows above them. Her hand settled naturally on the grip of her weapon, not drawing in–yet–but letting the weight ground her. The tension in the air wasn't just about the murder anymore. It was instinct, and something more—a gut-deep certainty that this was only the beginning.

The soft screech of tires pulled her focus. A black unmarked SUV rolled to a stop just beyond the cordon, and the doors opened in near-perfect sync. Amanda was the first out, eyes already narrowed, her badge swinging from her belt. Olivia stepped out next, calm but charged with purpose, her expression unreadable until her gaze caught Alexis's across the street.

For a second, the commander forgot about the body. About the blood. About the open street and the dozens of eyes watching. Olivia was in slacks and a dark wool coat, her badge clipped to her hip, and something about the way she moved–steady, deliberate–made the noise around Alexis dull into background hum.

She turned toward her, arms folding across her chest, her tone dry but unmistakably warm.

—You again? Alexis called out, arms folded, the corner of her mouth tugging upward in that familiar, impossible-to-read smirk. We've really got to stop meeting like this, Lieutenant.

Olivia slowed her pace as she approached, her mouth twitching before she allowed a smile to break through.

—Believe me, she said, stepping under the crime scene tape without breaking stride. I've been trying.

Their eyes held for a beat too long—too knowing, too familiar. Alexis wasn't in uniform, but there was still something unmistakably commanding about her. Tactical vest snug against her frame, dark neck warmer tucked beneath the collar, her skin still showing the faded ghosts of bruises earned thousands of miles away. She looked like she'd never left. And like she'd never fully returned, either.

Behind them, Amanda stopped just inside the perimeter, scanning the scene with her usual sharp eye, but her gaze eventually drifted back toward Olivia and Alexis. She watched the exchange with mild amusement, then turned her head slightly to catch Miles's eye.

He didn't say anything. Just gave her a look–half smirk, half exasperated sigh–the universal expression for yep, this again.

The blonde raised her eyebrows, clearly fighting back a grin.

—So, she murmured under her breath, sliding up beside him. When were you planning on telling us she was back.

Miles shrugged, but his smile gave him away.

—Thought it'd be more fun to let the drama speak for itself.

Amanda chuckled, and the two of them watched as Olivia stepped closer to Alexis, her tone casual but lined with something quieter. Concern, maybe. Curiosity. Something harder to name.

—You weren't scheduled back until next week.

Alexis didn't answer right away. Her eyes flicked down the street, toward the rooftops where a sniper might've been. The wind pushed past them, lifting the edge of her coat and tugging at a stray strand of hair that had slipped loose from her braid. She reached up absently, tucking it behind her ear as if buying time.

Finally, she exhaled through her nose and offered Olivia a crooked half-smile.

—Yeah, well... you know me. Sitting still isn't exactly my strong suit.

The lieutenant's brow knit, just slightly. She'd heard those words before–too many times from people who used work to outrun something else. And Alexis Gray had always been good at running. From war zones. From grief. From herself, maybe.

—You were supposed to take some time, Liv said softly. Let your body catch up to the rest of you.

—My body's fine, Alexis replied quickly. Too quickly.

Olivia gave her a look, the kind that cut through defense mechanisms like they were paper. Her voice dropped lower, meant only for the brunette to hear.

—And your head?

That was harder to dodge. Alexis's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She glanced past the detective for a beat–at Amanda talking to CSU, at Miles crouched again near the body, barking something about the trajectory and the wind. Then she looked back at her, steadying herself.

—I needed to move, she said finally. To do something. Sitting at home, pretending I'm not thinking about it all anyway? That's not rest. That's hell.

Olivia didn't argue. She knew what that felt like–lying in bed with silence pressing in like a second skin. And she knew better than most that healing wasn't linear, and it sure as hell wasn't neat.

—Just promise me you'll tell someone if it gets too heavy, she said after a long beat. Doesn't have to be me.

Gray looked at her for a second too long, something flickering across her expression–gratitude, maybe. Maybe something else.

—I'll think about it, she said, which for her was practically a full-throated yes.

Before Olivia could respond, Miles stood, brushing his palms together, and called out.

—We've got something weird with the angle. CSU says the shooter must've been up high–but not in any of the windows directly facing the street. It's like he had a clear line of sight without ever stepping into view.

Amanda frowned and joined him.

—So either someone knew exactly how to avoid every camera on this block...

—Or it wasn't their first time doing this, Olivia finished grimly.

Alexis was already scanning the rooftops, instinct clicking into place. Something about the setup didn't sit right. Too clean. Too fast. The kind of kill that suggested more than just a warning.

Then her voice cut through, low and certain.

—This wasn't just about silencing a witness.

Olivia turned to her, catching the edge in her tone.

—You think it was meant for more?

The brunette nodded slowly.

—They're sending a message. And if they're watching... it means we're already behind.

The weight of her words settled over them like the clouds creeping in above.

And somewhere, from a rooftop none of them could yet see–someone watched through a scope, still waiting.

*

Leo Navarro had once worn the uniform of a U.S. Army Ranger–disciplined, sharp, and driven by the need to serve. After his honorable discharge, he'd tried to live a quieter life. He moved to New York from Wisconsin, determined to be closer to his daughter and maintain the joint custody agreement. The city was chaotic, but it offered him stability, a new start.

He took a job as a private security consultant with the Badwin family's firm–a sleek, well-connected company that promised high-end protection services to New York's elite. On paper, it seemed like a good fit. Navarro had the experience, the training, and the instincts. But it didn't take long before things started to feel wrong.

Within two months, Leo had already begun to see beneath the polished surface. Mike Baldwin, the charismatic man at the helm, didn't seem interested in preventing harm–he orchestrated it. He built threats, not barriers. Clients believed they were hiring protection, but what they were really buying was manipulation. Fear was a commodity, and Baldwin used it to control, extort, and dismantle lives from the inside out.

One of the worst cases had stayed with Leo–haunted him, really. It was the kind of thing you couldn't unsee, couldn't push out of your conscience no matter how many times you told yourself to move on.

A wealthy Manhattan father had hired the firm to 'protect' his teenage daughter. On paper, it looked like a routine assignment: threats from an obsessive ex-boyfriend, increased online harassment, and the occasional paparazzi-type lurking around their Upper East Side home. Baldwin Security stepped in with discretion and promise. Leo was one of the first agents placed on the case.

But it didn't take long before the details stopped adding up.

Baldwin twisted the narrative from the start, quietly shifting Leo off the assignment and replacing him with one of his own hand picked men–the kind who followed orders without asking questions. The girl's father, wealthy and influential, seemed more concerned about optics than his daughter's well-being. And Mike Baldwin knew how to use that.

Instead of protecting the young girl, Baldwin used her. Manipulated her isolation. Isolated her further from her friends, her school, even her mother, who had been quietly pushed out of the picture in a bitter divorce. She was vulnerable, barely sixteen, and completely dependent on the men who were supposed to keep her safe.

Leo had found out too late. He'd tried to intervene once, to bring it up discreetly inside the company, and was warned off. Threatened. Moved to another post. But the damage had already been done. He started keeping his own records after that. Dates, names, assignments. He knew there were more victims–different girls, different families, the same patterns.

And this case? This girl? She was the reason SVU had come sniffing around in the first place.

*

The information was still fresh–not yet in official reports, but whispered between agents and detectives. Olivia had pulled the file herself that morning, the case circling her desk like smoke that wouldn't clear. Leo Navarro hadn't just been a body on the street. He'd been trying to do the right thing. And someone had made damn sure he didn't.

Now, the four of them stood in the middle of Lexington Avenue, sunlight catching on the slick pavement where cleanup crews hadn't finished washing the blood away. Leo's body had already been taken, but the weight of what he left behind hung heavy. A folder of emails. Two phone calls made to Olivia's office. A third, unanswered call from the night before. They'd been this close to hearing everything.

Alexis stood near the marked circle where Leo's body had fallen, one boot just outside the yellow chalk. Her eyes were distant, mouth drawn tight behind her neck gaiter. She hadn't said much since Miles briefed them all again, but the tension in her posture spoke louder than anything else.

The blonde detective had her hands jammed into her coat pockets, rocking slightly on her heels.

—He knew too much. Knew enough to scare Baldwin into pulling the trigger.

—Or calling someone who would, her boss added grimly, her eyes on the rooftops. This wasn't just clean-up. This was a message.

—He was supposed to talk to SVU today. That's not a coincidence.

Alexis tilted her head slightly, her eyes scanning the buildings again.

—Someone didn't want him flipping, she murmured.

Then she stilled.

At first, no one noticed. She was always scanning, always a step ahead. But this time, she didn't move. Her whole body had gone sharp with focus, eyes fixed upward at a corner of one of the buildings across the street.

—Lex? Her partner asked, casually, like he didn't want to startle her.

She didn't answer.

Instead, her voice dropped low. Controlled. Urgent.

—Reflection. Third floor, left window. Everyone–get down!

She moved like lightning, shoving Olivia hard toward the sidewalk just as the crack of a rifle echoed down the narrow corridor of city buildings. The sound was sharp, violent, and sudden.

Alexis landed on top of Olivia with a heavy thud, her arms shielding the older woman's head as more officers scrambled into cover. The world turned into chaos around them–shouts, screams, the frantic burst of radios sparking to life.

A punch of pain shot through Alexis's back as her body jerked forward. The round had hit her square in the vest, driving the breath from her lungs, but it didn't go through.

—Are you hit? Olivia's voice was urgent beneath her, hands pressing at Alexis' sides, eyes wild.

—I'm fine. Vest took it.

—But you-

–Stay down, Alexis ordered, voice low but sharp. Don't move until I say.

Her hand shot up to press the comms mic clipped to her shoulder, but not before her other arm steadied Olivia, guiding her gently into a sitting position behind the cruiser they were using for cover. The chaos of the street blurred at the edges of Alexis's focus, but not Olivia—not her. She crouched close, one gloved hand briefly brushing Olivia's jaw, checking for blood, for any sign she'd been hit, even as her own back throbbed from the impact of the bullet caught in her vest. Her voice was low, urgent, but steady, her eyes scanning Olivia's face.

—You're good? she asked, her tumb momentarily resting just beneath the lieutenant's chin, tipping her face toward the light.

Only when Olivia gave a shaky nod did Alexis lean back slightly, exhale the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and press the mic on her shoulder. The steel returned to her spine as she straightened up, body shifting instinctively back into combat posture. The protector. The soldier. But even as she prepared to move, her hand lingered a second longer on Olivia's shoulder, grounding them both.

—Miles–sniper, third floor, left window. Across the street. Cover me. I'm going for the gear.

—Got you.

The agent was already moving. He dropped into a low crouch behind a patrol cruiser, drawing his weapon and zeroing in on the upper windows across the street.

—Rollins, with me. Watch the left flank.

—I'm on it, Amanda replied, sliding smoothly into place beside him. She drew her Glock and angled her body against the open door of a black-and-white. Go, Lex!

Alexis didn't need to be told twice.

She bolted from Olivia's side, boots pounding the pavement as another shot cracked through the air and splintered the windshield of a nearby parked car. Shards of glass exploded outward, but she didn't flinch, just kept running–low, fast, deliberate–toward the FBI SUV a few yards behind the police line.

Officers ducked behind barriers. Civilians were ushered behind makeshift cover. Chaos unfolded in the background, but Alexis had tunnel vision now.

She skidded to the back of the Bureau-issued vehicle, yanked the hatch open, and ducked into cover behind it. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, adrenaline buzzing under her skin. She shoved aside a sealed evidence kit and unlatched the tactical weapons case secured along the floor of the trunk.

Fingers steady despite the tension in her shoulders, she popped it open. Her rifle was nestled inside like a waiting hand. Familiar. Reliable.

She grabbed it, checked the chamber, clipped the scope into place with practiced ease, and dropped to one knee behind the rear bumper for partial concealment.

—Miles, how's my window? she asked over comms, already adjusting the dial on the scope to compensate for distance and elevation.

—Still active. Movement behind the glass, three o'clock. Amanda's suppressing fire's holding him, but not for long.

Alexis braced the butt of the rifle against her shoulder, peeking through the scope. The third floor window–dusty glass, cracked open just enough to allow a barrel through–was still there, but the glint was gone.

That didn't stop her.

—I've got him. He's moving right, probably repositioning.

Through the lens, she saw the faintest flicker of shadow shift behind the curtain. She adjusted her aim a fraction to the left.

—Come on, she murmured. Give me an angle.

Olivia, still crouched behind a patrol car near the sidewalk, pressed her comms.

—Lexi, wait–don't overcommit. We can fall back and-

—No time, Gray said, voice clipped. If he's repositioning, he'll take another shot in seconds. I'm not giving him a clean one.

The seconds dragged like hours. Wind picked up. Sirens whined distantly. And then-

Movement. A silhouette leaned too far into the window for just a breath.

—Gotcha.

Alexis squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang sharp and clean, echoing like a whip across the rooftops.

Through her scope, she saw the figure jerk backward violently, then disappear from view.

—Target down, she said into her comms, lowering the rifle. Window's clear.

Miles was the first to let out a low breath.

—Damn, Gray. You still got it.

—I never lost it, Alexis shrugged, slinging the rifle across her chest and finally standing up fully.

Amanda called over from her position, eyes still scanning the skyline.

—Scene's holding. Officers moving to secure the building now.

The SEAL exhaled sharply, her breath fogging in the cold air as she swept one last, meticulous glance across the rooftops. Her muscles remained taut beneath the weight of her vest, adrenaline still humming just beneath the surface of her skin. The silence that followed was thick and unforgiving, broken only by the distant wail of approaching sirens and the murmur of officers regrouping behind cover. No more shots. No more glints of light. Whoever had pulled the trigger was gone.

She lowered the rifle, not completely, but enough to let herself breathe again.

Her gaze snapped back to Olivia.

The lieutenant was slowly rising from behind the cruiser, her palm braced against the fender, her movements careful and deliberate. Dust clung to her coat. A scrape marked the side of her hand. But she was standing–alive. Visibly rattled, but composed in that quiet, defiant way that Olivia always was. The kind of composed that came after years of getting up, no matter how hard you were hit.

Alexis moved toward her in three brisk strides, boots crunching on scattered glass and debris.

—You okay?

Olivia nodded, but the moment her eyes met Alexis's, something in her expression flickered—gratitude, fear, anger at being caught off-guard, maybe all of it layered into a single breath.

Without hesitation, Alexis extended a hand. Olivia took it, and Alexis pulled her up in one smooth motion. For a beat too long, neither of them let go.

—You got hit, Olivia murmured, eyes narrowing as she glanced at the back of Alexis's vest. The impact mark was deep, slightly off-center–close enough to be lethal if the angle had been just a little different.

—Vest caught it.

Alexis brushed it off like she hadn't felt the wind knocked out of her when it happened. She could still feel the ache blooming across her spine like bruised thunder. But none of that mattered. Not when Olivia had been the target.

—Are you always this dramatic when you come back from deployment? Benson said, trying for levity but not quite hiding the emotion in her voice.

Alexis gave a tired, crooked smile. And for a moment, in the wreckage of spent bullets and scattered glass, the weight of what could've happened hung between them like smoke that hadn't cleared.

—Figured I'd make an entrance.

*

TAGLIST: @nciscmjunkie @makkaroni221 @thefatobsession @ginasbaby @certainlychaotic @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter 12 • Unfamiliar Territory

TAGLIST FORM

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary:

Content Warning: Usual SVU & Violent Crimes talk • The Leo Navarro Case, sniper, shooting, taking a bullet to the vest.

*

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 03

Manhattan — FBI BUREAU

Violent Crimes Unit Floor

06:29 PM

As a detective, Olivia had spent so much time in the 16th precinct that its sight had become familiar to her. There had been changes since her first year in the Special Victims Unit–the building had leaked and they'd had to move, furniture had been modernized, spaces reorganized–but she always managed to find her way back. Even in times when it was more than just some desks that were gone.

This was unfamiliar territory.

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd set foot here. The Bureau was full of FBI agents and she'd spent most of her career away from them. The place felt colder than she expected–not in temperature, but in tone. The floors were dark, polished to a low sheen that reflected the soft overhead lighting. The walls were a mix of metal and glass, sleek but impersonal. It was late enough in the evening that the energy had dimmed, agents either wrapping up for the day or already gone, but the air still held the weight of unfinished work.

She stepped out of the elevator, slowly, a little unsure, her eyes scanning for anything that resembled direction. There was no receptionist, no sign that screamed 'this way', only a hallway that spilled into a larger room ahead. Her feet carried her toward the low murmur of voices and the faint clatter of keyboards. She followed the corridor as it opened into that large, open room–the Violent Crime Unit's squad room.

It reminded her of her own precinct in shape. The desks were arranged in pairs, each one facing its partner, forming small islands of controlled chaos. Most were empty now, save for scattered files, mugs, and the occasional jacket draped over the back of a chair. But in feel, everything here was cleaner, quieter, more calculated.

Her eyes swept over the room, in search of any recognizable faces. They landed on him, in the far-left corner of the room. Miles Langford, unmistakable even from behind, his tall frame bent slightly as he organized a few files into a shoulder bag for the night. His movements were methodical, tired. He hadn't seen her yet. Hadn't seen her took a slow breath and crossed the room, her gaze briefly flicking to the desk that faced his. Empty, clean, organized. Untouched. Alexis'.

—Hey, Olivia said softly as she approached.

Miles looked up, then smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked exhausted. There were shadows under them that hadn't been there two days ago.

—Olivia. Hey. Wasn't expecting you.

Her gaze drifted, taking in the space between them before settling on his desk. Three pictures sat propped in the corner like anchors to another life. One of him with a woman and a little girl–his wife and daughter, she guessed. Another of just the two of them, the little girl laughing mid-spin. But it was the third one that made Olivia pause.

A candid photo. Him and Alexis. Her arm was slung around his shoulder, hair pulled back, his hair a mess like she'd just roughed it up. They were both grinning. That kind of grin that only showed up when you were safe, when you trusted the person next to you completely.

—You two look like trouble.

The agent looked over, and for the first time, the weariness in his eyes gave way to something warmer. He could smell the clean air again, hear the birds singing, see the greenery all around him. Eventually, after six months, Alexis had persuaded him to go camping with her. They'd left town for the weekend, pitched their tent down in Pennsylvania, somewhere where Miles had lost his shoes and his dignity.

—It was a good trip. I think she shoved me into a pond about twenty minutes after that was taken.

Olivia huffed a soft laugh, then glanced at the desk across from his again–Alexis'. There wasn't much on it. Not a single photo. Not a post-it note. Not even a paperweight. Just a closed tablet, a sealed bottle of water, and perfectly stacked folders. Clean lines. Everything in its place.

—That's hers. Hasn't changed in three years. She's got a place like that, too. Looks like no one lives there. Not until you find Champ's corner and realize he owns the lease.

Miles finished zipping his bag, then leaned a hip against the desk, a long yawn escaping him. His day had begun yesterday at 8 a.m. and was just about to end. Turns out, Leo Navarro's case was far more complex than it appeared. And though he and Alexis had devoted hours to the matter, it was beyond their control now.

—Long day?

—Long night, long day. Langford rubbed his eyes for a moment and tucked his brunet curls back. Lexi and I pulled nearly twenty-four hours chasing down leads. Baldwin's company is dirtier than we thought.

—How bad?

—We're talking about an international ring. Guy claims protection for any wealthy family, invades their privacy and spreads chaos. So far, there have been several complaints in California, Europe and even Greece.

—And you're not on it anymore because..?

Olivia was well aware of everyone's turf. Numerous cases had been taken away from her on the pretext that they now fell within the jurisdiction of the FBI or any other agency. It was the same at the edge of Manhattan. The rules were quite clear. If a case like the Baldwin affair were to go international, the lieutenant knew that another unit would take care of it.

—Apart from the fact that it's out of our jurisdiction, as I'm sure you know, Miles began, tone clipped with frustration. Reynolds benched us.

—Because of what happened?

—Because Alexis took a round to the vest two days after stepping off the tarmac. He says it's protocol. Says she needs recovery time, mental clearance, whatever.

They didn't need more than a glance to share the same understanding. Olivia could feel the same frustration pulse low in her chest. This was Lexi they were talking about–one of the most capable, determined women either of them had ever known. She wasn't built to be sidelined. And she sure as hell didn't need a signature from some shrink to tell her whether she was ready to work. She'd been through worse, over and over again. This wasn't about recovery. It was about control.

Olivia exhaled quietly, eyes drifting to Alexis's empty desk again. Her mind replayed the last twenty-four hours—the gunshot cracking through the street, the weight of Alexis pushing her to the pavement, the dull thud of the bullet hitting the vest. And after that? The way Lexi had covered her, refusing to move until Olivia was safe. No hesitation. No thought for herself. She'd walked away from a war zone and right into another one, and instead of resting, she threw herself into the fire all over again.

—She doesn't stop, Benson said, half to herself.

Miles caught the note in her voice and gave a knowing tilt of his head. It had taken him a while, but he now knew Alexis better than anyone. She wouldn't stop, not until death overtook her.

—Never has. It's not in her nature.

—She's still here?

He nodded, tipping his head toward the hallway behind him. Just past his desk, a short flight of steps led up to the elevated section of the floor, where a pair of glass-fronted offices overlooked the squad room below. Behind his shoulder, Olivia caught sight of the conference room and what looked like a small break area–coffee machine, microwave, a few scattered mugs. Beyond that, a long corridor stretched out, lined with doors that suggested more rooms–storages, archives, maybe interrogation or private workspaces.

—Had to check in with the Bureau doc. Box to tick before she gets put on administrative leave–if Reynolds gets his way. She wasn't thrilled, but she went. She's probably in the locker room now, he gestured with a lazy wave, cooling off. Or, more likely, stewing in silence.

Olivia hesitated for a moment, eyes lingering on the faint trace of Alexis's presence–on the clean desk, the empty chair, the untouched water bottle. Then she turned, her steps already heading toward the hallway, each one faster than the last.

—Up the stairs, straight down the hallway. First right, then left. You'll see it.

It was unfamiliar territory. But she wasn't here for the Bureau.

She was here for her.

*

Olivia walked in the direction Miles had pointed out, heels muted against the polished floor. The small set of stairs gave way to a quieter corridor, the bustle of the room fading behind her–no more than the occasional murmur of voices or the faint rhythm of fingers tapping on keys. It felt like the whole building had taken a breath, the kind of stillness that settled only after long hours and too many unanswered questions.

She moved forward with quiet purpose, though a subtle hesitation tugged at her stride. She'd spent her career moving through precincts and offices, rooms where the weight of the job hung in the air like a second skin. But this place wasn't hers. Not her walls. Not her rhythm. And somehow, that made all the difference.

The door to the locker room was ajar, swaying just slightly as if someone had passed through moments before. Olivia eased it open, the hinge giving a soft creak that echoed the stillness. The room greeted her with that familiar mix of metal and disinfectant, dim fluorescent lights buzzing quietly overhead. Rows of lockers stretched out before her, each one identical, impersonal, and silent.

At first glance, it seemed empty. Then a flicker of movement caught her eye–subtle, tucked between two rows near the back.

Alexis.

She stood facing an open locker, partially in shadow, her shirt folded neatly on the bench beside her gear. Her back was bare to the room, the skin along her shoulder marred by the deep, mottled bloom of a fresh bruise. She leaned closer to the small mirror fixed to the inside of the locker door, trying to twist just enough to catch the worst of it in the reflection. The edges were angry and raw, the mark unmistakably shaped by the force of a bullet caught by a vest that had done its job–just barely.

Olivia lingered at the threshold for a moment, her presence quiet, almost uncertain. From where she stood, she could see the pain written in the lines of the woman's shoulders–but some stubbornness too. The same fire that had led her to throw herself in front of a sniper's bullet without thinking twice.

—I'm fine, Alexis said, without turning. Her voice was calm. Measured. The kind of tone that tried to shut the door before anyone could wedge it open. Just a bruise. The doc said so himself.

The lieutenant stepped into the room, letting the heavy door fall shut behind her. Her footsteps echoed lightly on the tile, slow and hesitant as she crossed the space.

—You always diagnose yourself before anyone can get a word in?

Benson's voice was soft, but there was weight behind it–an edge threaded with something deeper. Not anger. Not really. Worry, maybe. That quiet frustration that only showed up when someone you cared about acted like their pain didn't count.

Alexis didn't turn right away. She stood still, her hand braced on the edge of the locker, back exposed to the cold air and Olivia's gaze. When she finally did glance over her shoulder, it was brief–just long enough for the other woman to catch the faintest pull at the corner of her mouth. Not a smile. Not quite.

—Better than waiting for everyone else to panic about it.

Her tone was light, deflective, but Olivia didn't take the bait. Her eyes didn't move from the bruise–angry, raw, still blooming across her back like it hadn't decided how much damage to settle on. Then her gaze rose to meet the agent's, and her voice dipped lower.

—You didn't even hesitate.

The words hung there, heavier than the quiet between them. Olivia didn't ask it like a compliment, or a question. It was an observation wrapped in something else–something that stuck in her throat because she hadn't been able to stop it. Because she had felt it happen, the rush of movement, the weight of Alexis slamming into her before the shot rang out.

The youngest turned back to the locker, jaw tight, the fabric of her shirt still bunched in her fist.

—Wasn't a decision, she said after a beat. It was instinct.

—That instinct could've killed you.

There was a little more steel in Olivia's voice now–not loud, but firm. It wasn't anger, not really, but it landed close to it. Close enough to make Alexis pause.

—I was wearing a vest, she replied, like that was supposed to make it fine. Like that made it less terrifying.

—You didn't know that was all it would take, the brunette countered. You didn't know the shot wouldn't go higher, or hit somewhere the vest couldn't cover.

Alexis turned then, slowly, the fabric of her shirt loose in one hand. Her bare shoulders tensed slightly under Olivia's gaze, but her expression remained composed. Unshaken on the surface. However her eyes–those told a different story. That same stubborn fire lived there, the one Olivia had seen in every room they'd ever worked together. The one that surfaced every time Alexis stood between danger and someone else. Not because she had to–but because she didn't know how to do anything else.

—I knew you weren't wearing one.

It hit Olivia like a slow, deep bruise–one that settled in her chest and stayed there. A simple truth. No dramatics, no second thoughts. Just a fact.

And for a moment, she couldn't breathe around it.

She thought about all the times Alexis had stood at her shoulder, never demanding space, but always taking it. Watching her six. Keeping quiet tabs when things ran too long or threats got too close. The special agent was always there–offering backup before Olivia ever had to ask, anchoring herself in the middle of chaos like it was second nature. And not just for her. For every detective on her squad. For every victim they carried together.

She realized now how much she'd grown used to that–used to Alexis being there. And how easily she could've lost her.

Olivia blinked, exhaling slowly through her nose, the words still caught somewhere in her throat. But Alexis was already shifting the air, trying to turn the page.

—Okay, she said, tugging her shirt back over her head with a wince she barely acknowledged. Enough of the dramatics. How about I make it up to you with pizza? Best slice in the city. I'll even let you pretend it's better than whatever uptown nonsense you've been eating.

—You're bribing me with carbs?

—Always. It's a foolproof strategy.

The lieutenant shook her head gently, but there was no edge in it–just something soft, something caught between apology and appreciation. The warmth of Alexis' offer lingered in the air, brushing up against the tension she hadn't fully shaken off since the shooting. It was still there, wrapped tight around her ribs like a too-familiar pressure–what could've happened, what almost did.

—I'd say yes, she said quietly, her voice thinning slightly. But I've got to get home. Free the babysitter. Noah's probably halfway through a bag of marshmallows and pretending he's a spy.

Alexis let out a quiet breath of a laugh, but the motion of her hands slowed–fingers pausing on the buttons of her shirt like the moment had shifted under her feet. She didn't look away, though. Just tilted her head a little, considering.

—You could bring him, she said after a beat.Her tone was light–too light. Almost casual. But Olivia heard the hesitation tucked between the words. A flicker of something more tentative, as if the idea mattered more than she wanted to admit. He likes pizza, right?

The question stopped the mother. Not because of what was said, but because of how.

She looked at her friend–really looked—and saw something else underneath all the usual deflection. That familiar guarded ease had cracked just a little, giving way to something more uncertain. A rare vulnerability. One Alexis probably didn't even realize had slipped through.

Olivia's lips parted, then curved into a slower smile. A real one. Quiet and unguarded.

—Yeah, she murmured. Yeah, he does.

A flicker of relief crossed Alexis' face, like she'd taken a gamble and won.

—Then come, she said, her voice gaining a bit more steadiness. There's a booth in the back he can take over. Sit sideways with his sneakers on the seat, boss everyone around. He'll love it.

Olivia arched a brow.

—You planning to hand over tactical control to a four-year-old?

Alexis shrugged one shoulder, still working on the last of her buttons.

—Kid's got instincts. I mean, I haven't met him, but I've heard the stories. If he calls for air support, I'm not gonna question it.

That earned a laugh—quiet and genuine, the kind that softened Olivia's shoulders without her realizing. It slipped past the lingering worry still curled in her chest, a moment of warmth after two days spent edging around what could've gone so wrong.

—You're ridiculous.

—I've been called worse, Alexis replied, smirking as she slid her jacket on. And hey–I'll even try not to swear too much. I'll treat him like a tiny agent in training.

—A four-year-old in training?

Alexis zipped up her backpack, sliding the last of her gear inside with the ease of routine. She slung it over her shoulder before turning to face Olivia fully. Her stance had shifted–no longer tight or braced like it had been all day, but looser, her weight settled evenly. Her edges weren't quite as sharp now, her gaze clearer.

—Gotta start 'em young, she said with a small smirk, nodding toward Olivia's phone. He's got your eyes–give it another year and he'll be interrogating playground suspects like a pro.

The brunette let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. The smile that followed was instinctive, lingering like a warmth she hadn't expected.

—That might be the most terrifying thing I've heard all week.

—New year, new me, Alexis replied without missing a beat, though her voice dipped a little as she added, more softly, But seriously... I'd like to meet him.

It wasn't just something to say–it landed differently. Olivia heard it in the way Lexi's tone dropped, in how her gaze didn't waver. It wasn't small talk or a casual deflection. It was steady, honest–spoken with the kind of sincerity the young woman reserved for the people she let past the surface.

Olivia's fingers hovered over her phone for a beat, then brushed against the screen as she looked down. A pause, just long enough to let the weight of the offer settle. When she looked back up, her voice was quieter.

—Alright. Let me text the sitter. If Noah's not three marshmallows deep in chaos–we're in.

A slow smile spread across Alexis's face–not the cocky grin she wore in the field or the wry smirk she used to sidestep feelings, but something real. Something that reached her eyes.

—Good. I've got a lot of making up to do. And if he's half as cool as you make him sound, I'm already outmatched.

—You haven't even met him and he's already got you under his spell.

—What can I say? the agent shrugged with mock defeat. I've got a thing for smart kids... and strong moms.

The words hung there a second longer than either of them expected, a quiet beat stretching between them–steady and unspoken. Then, with a glance that felt a little like a promise, they stepped out of the locker room together.

The Bureau had slipped into its evening lull—overhead lights dimmed, monitors casting blue glows over empty desks, the air filled with the distant hum of vending machines and shuffling paper. Most agents were gone. The chaos of the last two days finally beginning to settle into memory.

Their footsteps echoed quietly, side by side, easy now in a way they hadn't had the space for until this moment.

And just like that, the shadows–of the case, of the shot fired, of what could have been–began to lift. Not completely, not forgotten. But quieter. Lighter.

Because ahead, there was something simple waiting: a booth in the back of a pizza joint. Laughter over greasy slices. A wide-eyed four-year-old staking claim to a corner table like it was his command post.

Not just a distraction.

Something real.

They moved forward–worn, but steady.

And this time, they weren't carrying it alone.

*

TAGLIST: @certainlychaotic @ginasbaby @nciscmjunkie @hi-i-1 @thefatobsession @makkaroni221 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter Ten • It’s a Long Way Back

TAGLIST FORM

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary: Alexis is back in town.

Content Warning: none, for once. I think.

*

TUESDAY, JANUARY 30

Manhattan — Langford House

06:45 AM

Alexis hadn't set foot here in weeks.

The familiar shape of the Langford's home stood before her like something from a different life. It felt both the same and utterly new, like stepping back into a dream you weren't sure was real anymore. Her boots thudded softly against the sidewalk as she dragged one of her military-issue duffels behind her, the other slung over her shoulder, heavy with gear and sand and months of dust.

The Manhattan streets were still cloaked in the quiet hush of early morning, a thin veil of frost coating the pavement and car windshields. The house sat quietly beneath the indigo sky, soft golden light spilling from the living room window like a beacon against dawn. The commander could already picture the scene inside–Miles half-asleep, probably in the middle of his first sip of coffee. His wife in the kitchen, wrapped in her robe, already planning breakfast.

She reached the porch and rang the bell. Then, for good measure, gave two short knocks. The wood beneath her knuckles was cold, and the early morning air stung her cheeks. Her silhouette was unmistakable–strong shoulders under the olive green of her combat uniform, face a blend of exhaustion and quiet resolve. Her hair, usually neatly pulled back, had loosened during transit, the bun slightly crooked at the nape of her neck. Still, there was something about her presence–steady, grounded, unshaken–that hadn't changed despite months away.

She waited.

Nothing at first. Just a low hum of silence. Then she heard the telltale shuffle–footsteps. Cautious. Purposeful.

She could practically hear the quiet rustle of movement on the other side, imagining the instant tension in Miles' shoulders. Of course he'd go for the drawer. Of course he'd have the safety off already.

—Miles, she called through the door. It's me. You can lower the weapon. Unless you're planning to shoot me for coming home unannounced.

A beat. Then another.

The lock turned.

And there he was.

Miles Langford stood in the doorway, bleary-eyed, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, his expression somewhere between disbelief and awe.

—Lexi?

His voice was a rasp of disbelief. She gave him a crooked smile. Her uniform was wrinkled from travel, the bun at the back of her head had come loose, and she smelled like desert air and jet fuel. But there was no mistaking her.

—Hey sunshine.

He pulled her into a hug without hesitation. It was tight and full of unspoken things–relief, frustration, affection. When he finally stepped back, he was shaking his head like he still couldn't believe she was standing there.

—I thought you weren't back for another few days. What the hell, Lex?

—I missed my dog. And you. Maybe. A little.

Behind him, Ava appeared in the doorway, one hand wrapped around her robe, the other holding her phone like she'd just been checking the weather. Her eyes softened instantly at the sight of Alexis standing in the entryway.

—Holy crap. You're home.

The woman didn't wait for permission. She crossed the space in three long strides, nudging her husband aside, and wrapped Alexis up in a hug that felt more like a tether than a greeting. The kind of embrace that said I worried, I missed you, and Thank God all in one.

The SEAL stood still for half a second, caught off guard by the sudden warmth, then allowed herself to lean in. Her arms curled around Ava's back, not too tightly–it had been months of sand, adrenaline, noise, and orders–too many nights without softness, too many days without a single human touch that wasn't tactical or necessary. This? This was grounding.

But then, behind them, a low whine sounded. A shuffle of claws on hardwood.

Alexis lifted her head just as Champ bounded forward from the hallway, tail thumping against the wall as he rushed her with all the unfiltered joy of a dog who'd waited far too long.

Ava let her go with a soft laugh, stepping aside as Gray dropped to her knees without hesitation.

—Hey buddy. Hey! Look at you!

Champ threw his weight at her, licking her cheek, nudging into her chest, tail wagging like a metronome gone haywire. Alexis laughed into his fur, arms wrapping around his thick neck as he tried to climb half into her lap.

—God, I missed you, she whispered into his fur, scratching behind his ears like muscle memory. You've been good?

Miles leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Had he been a little reluctant to keep the dog in the first place–years ago–he now found it hard to imagine him returning home again.

—He's been great. But don't let him fool you–he moped around for weeks. Acted like you abandoned him.

Alexis looked up, her chin resting on the top of Champ's head.

—I mean, technically, I did. But I sent him to the best co-parents out there.

As the man of the house finally closed the front door behind them, his wife reached for their friend's chin. She cupped it gently, tilting Alexis' face toward the morning light filtering through the living room windows.

Ava didn't say anything at first, but her brows knit slightly, her gaze taking in every mark—every faint bruise still fading beneath the surface, the shadow of a healing cut near Alexis's temple, the hollow under her eyes that no amount of coffee could disguise. The once-over wasn't invasive, but it held the kind of silent worry only someone who truly cared could carry without speaking it aloud.

—You look like hell.

Alexis laughed under her breath, reaching up to rub the back of her neck.

—I feel like it, too. Thirty-seven hours, six time zones, and one broken zipper later.

—God, you haven't slept, have you? Ava turned toward the kitchen already. Coffee. You're getting coffee and something to eat before you even think about collapsing somewhere.

—I missed you, too.

She followed the familiar path into the kitchen, where the soft clink of mugs and the hum of the coffee machine filled the silence. The smells, the warmth, even the subtle light seeping through the window above the sink–it all felt achingly ordinary. And right. Like something sacred in its simplicity. The kind of quiet you didn't realize you were starving for until it settled over you like a second skin.

The brunette pulled out a chair and sat without ceremony, her legs grateful for the relief. The heaviness of her boots echoed on the floor, and for a second, she felt like an intruder in her own life. The uniform, the dust still clinging to her sleeves, the desert air still clinging to her lungs–none of it belonged here, and yet, here she was.

Miles sat down opposite her, where he usually ate breakfast every morning. His plate from earlier had barely been touched, now pushed to the side in favor of giving her his full attention. No badge, no case files. Just him. The friend, not the agent.

He folded his hands together, elbows braced on the table, watching her in that measured way of his. Quiet but not distant. Present in the kind of way she never had to second-guess.

—I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but you really do know how to make an entrance.

Alexis arched an eyebrow as she leaned down to give Champ another greeting letting the big dog press against her lap and sniff every corner of her uniform like he was cataloguing where she'd been.

—What can I say? I've got a flair for the dramatic.

—You know you could've called, right?

—And ruin the fun of seeing you in full 'home defense mode'? she teased without looking up. Pretty sure you were two seconds from grabbing the shotgun.

Miles snorted, but she saw the tension release from his shoulders all the same. There'd been worry in his eyes–of course there had. She hadn't told them when she'd be back, mostly because she didn't know until the very last minute. Now, seeing her alive and right there, even with the dark circles and exhaustion on her face, was enough to bring them both a little peace.

Ava returned with a mug in hand and passed it over.

—Black, no sugar, right?

Alexis accepted it like it was gold.

—You're a damn saint.

—You need a shower and about fifteen hours of sleep. But we'll start with caffeine.

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She cradled the mug in both hands, grounding herself in the heat. For a second, she didn't say anything. Just took a long sip of coffee and let it settle her. She hadn't realized how badly she missed the taste. Real coffee. Not instant powder. Not canteen sludge.

Home.

*

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 01

Manhattan — SVU Bullpen

01:16 PM

Olivia was buried in paperwork, a half-finished report on her screen, half a cup of coffee gone cold beside her. The bullpen was buzzing with its usual chaos–phones ringing, keyboard tapping, detectives murmuring about interviews and warrants, coffee machines sputtering in the break room.

She sat in her office, its glass walls giving her just enough separation from the noise to think, though not enough to truly escape it. Her eyes were fixed on the report in front of her, but her focus was drifting. Too many things had piled up lately–cases, court dates, Noah's new class schedule, the silence that followed Ed walking out the door. She hadn't allowed herself to feel any of it, really. She'd just kept going.

That was when she felt it.

A shift in the air. A subtle stillness against the usual noise. Like the calm before something important.

She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat.

Alexis Gray was leaning against the doorframe, not saying a word. Dressed in a black raincoat that still held the memory of colder months, the collar turned up slightly. Her hair was down, half-swollen by her coat, and she looked... different. Not because of anything obvious, but in the way someone carries themselves when they've seen something they can't yet talk about.

She'd changed, and yet she hadn't.

Her arms were folded loosely across her chest, one boot crossed over the other, just watching Olivia with the kind of quiet confidence that could only come from someone who knew her far too well. Someone who knew the way she pretended to be okay. Knew what to look for when she wasn't.

Olivia stood slowly, her hand still on the edge of her desk.

—Am I interrupting?

The lieutenant didn't answer right away. Her gaze lingered on Alexis like she needed a few more seconds to believe she wasn't an hallucination conjured by fatigue or wishful thinking. The last time they'd spoken–really spoken–the agent had been in some undisclosed location halfway across the world, under harsh sun and foreign silence. And now, she was here. Just across the room. In a raincoat that smelled like February, in clothes that made her look less like a Navy SEAL and more like someone who had stepped out of a daydream Olivia hadn't known she was having.

The question lingered in the space between them. Am I interrupting?

—No, Olivia said quietly, her voice steadier than she felt. You're not.

Alexis pushed off the doorframe with the kind of effortless grace that had always annoyed and impressed Olivia in equal measure. She stepped inside slowly, letting the door ease shut behind her. Her eyes swept across the office–briefly touching the files, the evidence boards, the badge on the desk–before returning to Olivia.

—I know it's the middle of the day and you're probably drowning in a dozen cases, she said, voice lower now, more careful. I shouldn't have just shown up like this. I almost didn't.

—But you did.

The youngest gave a small shrug, though her hands stayed tucked in the pockets of her coat.

—Yeah. I did.

There was something different in her eyes. A weight. Not from deployment–it wasn't the hardened stare of a soldier who'd seen too much in too short a time. No, this was something else. A tiredness Olivia recognized in herself. The kind that came from emotional distance, from stretching a connection too thin and not knowing if it would hold.

The SVU lieutenant gestured to the chair across from her desk.

—Sit. Please.

Alexis hesitated for only a moment, then walked over and took the seat, crossing one leg over the other with practiced ease. She let out a breath, like she'd been holding it since she walked in.

—I thought maybe I'd feel better once I saw you.

Olivia blinked, surprised by the honesty.

—And... do you?

The SEAL tilted her head, a faint smirk teasing at the corner of her lips.

—I'm still working on it.

That made Olivia smile, faint but real. It was strange, this feeling blooming in her chest—unexpected warmth tangled up in a knot of uncertainty. She'd missed this. Missed her. In ways she hadn't allowed herself to examine too closely.

She leaned back against her desk, her arms loosely folded, though it felt less like a defense and more like a way to keep her thoughts from spilling out too quickly. Alexis had always had a way of doing that–unraveling her without trying, like a knot she hadn't realized she'd tightened herself into. It had been months since they'd stood in the same room, and yet the rhythm between them hadn't vanished. It had only gone quiet.

Alexis shifted slightly in her seat, fingers threading together in her lap. Her eyes scanned the office again, then settled on her friend.

—You look tired, she said, her voice gentler now, less teasing.

—I am. But it's not just the job. It's everything. Ed... the cases we had in the last few weeks. Life.

Gray nodded, like she understood more than Olivia could say out loud.

—I saw your name in some reports. About a shooting. She didn't ask for details. Didn't press. You okay?

—I keep saying I am, Olivia said, her voice low, honest. So maybe one day I will be.

Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was that kind of quiet where things had room to breathe, to settle. The kind that hummed with all the things neither had said aloud yet, but were hovering just beneath the surface. Alexis leaned back a little, her posture relaxed but alert, her gaze softening as she studied Olivia in that way she had—like she was reading a page she already knew by heart.

—You could've called, she said after a moment. Anytime.

Olivia looked down at her hands for a beat, then back up. There was a rawness in her expression she didn't bother hiding, not with Lexi.

—I thought about it. Every day, honestly. But you were gone. I didn't want to... get in your head while you were out there.

Alexis exhaled slowly, the breath catching just enough to give her away. She wished she could say she hadn't thought about Olivia, not once. That the desert heat, the operations, the adrenaline had pushed every trace of the lieutenant out of her mind. But the opposite was true. She'd thought about her more than she should've. More than was safe. At night, in the quiet between briefings. In the harsh light of a transport bay, trying to tune out the sound of rotors and heartbeats. Olivia had stayed with her, like a pulse she couldn't ignore.

—That's not how it works. You don't get in the way, Liv.

The words landed softly, but with weight, catching Olivia off guard. She blinked, as if the air shifted just slightly between them, tightening her throat before she could respond. She wasn't used to hearing things like that–not from anyone, not in that tone. No hesitation, no deflection. Just truth. Alexis had always been a woman of few words, but when she spoke like this, it meant something. It carried purpose.

—I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was coming back, she said, voice quieter now. She took a slow breath, her eyes scanning Olivia's face like she was reading for changes–some subtitles shift in emotion, some flicker of what had been and what might still be. I didn't know what version of me would be stepping off that plane. Or what version of you would be waiting.

There was something deeply human in that confession. A vulnerability the SEAL rarely let show. Olivia looked down for a moment, her thumb brushing lightly across the edge of her desk as if grounding herself with the familiar texture.

—I wasn't sure either.

—But I'm here. And you don't have to do this alone. You never did.

That silenced Olivia more than anything. For years, she had carried it all–the weight of her squad, the heartbreak of the job, the responsibility of motherhood, the bruises that never showed on the surface. She'd become so used to being the strong one that it felt unnatural to imagine herself leaning on anyone else. The offer Alexis made wasn't loud or dramatic, but it hit deeper than most declarations ever could. You don't have to do this alone. That wasn't something people usually said to her. Not sincerely. Not without expecting something in return.

Alexis never offered empty comfort. She didn't waste breath trying to say the right thing. If she showed up, if she stayed — she meant it. And Olivia knew, deep down, that the woman standing in her office wasn't just there out of curiosity or to kill time. Alexis had flown under the radar, arrived unannounced, and stood in front of her like a lighthouse cutting through the fog. It meant something.

Before either of them could speak again, a knock tapped lightly at the glass wall behind them. They both turned, and Fin poked his head in with a curious tilt of his brows. His expression shifted when he spotted Alexis.

—Well damn, he said, letting himself grin a little as he stepped inside. Didn't think I'd see you around here again so soon.

The commander lifted an eyebrow and straightened with a quiet chuckle, hands sliding into the pockets of her coat.

—Thought I'd swing by and make sure you hadn't scared off the whole precinct, Fin.

—Still working on it, he shot back, giving her a mock-salute before glancing back at his boss. You got that witness coming in fifteen.

—Thanks, Olivia nodded.

Fin lingered just long enough to glance between the two women, like he could sense the air was heavier than it looked. But he didn't press, just gave them a final nod and stepped out again, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

The moment shifted–subtly, but enough. The outside world was back, tapping at the windows. Reminding them that the clock kept ticking.

Alexis looked toward the door, then back at Olivia. Her gaze lingered, as if she wanted to say something else but wasn't sure how far to push. Instead, she gave a half-turn, one hand still in her pocket, her voice lighter but not empty.

—Dinner sometime?

Olivia hesitated, and Gray watched her with something that wasn't quite hope but wasn't far from it either. The kind of look that said, I'll take what you're ready to give.

—Yeah, the oldest said, the answer quiet but genuine. I'd like that.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Alexis's mouth.

—Good.

She gave a familiar flick of her fingers, the same little wave she used when she left rooms she knew she'd return to. Then she slipped out the door with that steady, unhurried walk of hers.

Olivia stood still for a moment. The space felt different. Not fuller. Not empty. Just... softer. Like something had cracked open inside her without pain. She sat back down slowly, letting her hand brush the edge of her desk where Alexis had leaned moments ago. There was no trace of her, and yet something remained.

The warmth lingered—quiet and stubborn. Like sunlight through a half-open window. Like a door left unlocked, in case someone came back.

Like hope, settling in again.

*

TAGLIST: @nciscmjunkie @makkaroni221 @thefatobsession @ginasbaby @certainlychaotic @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter Seven • HAUNT YOU EVERYDAY

TAGLIST FORM

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

⚠️DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary:

Content Warning: SVU & Violent Crimes talk • Mention of a Crime Scene, police talk, murder, bodies, SA, victims (adults and children), blood, violence and abuse, a killer| Mention of classified deployment | Mention of the Navy | BIG WARNING FOR THIS • Religious Talk • using religion as a way to punish and purify, mention of the Bible, being punished with a wooden spoon and soap, mention of Bible verses, using verses as weapons, committing a crime and using a religion to excuse it, mention of words such as sermon or preaching, explicit talk about being punished by an abusive parent.

A/N: Do not hesitate to share your opinion! A big thank you to those reading. Hope you have a nice day/night. ALSO, YOU CAN GET TAGGED BY FILLING THE FORM 👆🏻

*

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 4

Upper East Side — Manhattan

11:56 PM

The street was unnervingly quiet for a crime scene.

Midnight on a Sunday should've meant peace for this sleepy Upper East Side neighborhood–kids asleep, TVs flickering behind curtained windows, families winding down from the weekend. Instead, the house at the end of the block was ringed with cruisers and crime scene tape, flashing lights turning the early December frost into a strobe of red and blue. Officers moved with subdued urgency, technicians already setting up their equipment. A faint hum of radios and murmurs buzzing in the background like static.

Miles parked a few houses down, killed the engine, and stepped out into the cold. He slammed his car door shut, shoulders hunched against the bite of the air. The moment his boots hit the pavement, something in him shifted. That old, tight coil in his gut wound itself back up. He didn't need to see the bodies to know what kind of scene it was. The officer's voice over the phone had been clipped and grim. He hadn't asked for details. He didn't need them.

For the first time in a long time, he headed for the scene alone. He had been able to drive his own car, park as he pleased and hadn't even been allowed a few dry remarks on the way. His partner wasn't there. For once, she wasn't the one stepping out of the driver's seat, already halfway toward the scene before he could even close the door.

It felt wrong.

His shoes scuffed against the pavement as he made his way toward the crime scene tape, flashing his badge to the uniform standing guard before slipping underneath. The house, an elegant brownstone with Christmad lights already strung along the porch railing, looked almost untouched from the outside. But Miles knew better. He knew what kind of horrors hid behind walls that should've been safe.

Just at the foot of the front staircase, Olivia and Fin stood, deep in quiet conversation. The call had dragged them out of bed too, right into the city's paralyzing cold. They'd had their fair share of murders and shady cases, but this one was much more typical of what the FBI duo was used to. If they were there, it was on the grounds of clear signs of abuse.

The wind was tugging lightly at Olivia's coat, brushing away the scarf wrapped snugly around her neck. She looked rigid–arms crossed against her chest, jaw set–but calm. Her eyes gave her away. She didn't look at the agent right away, scanning the street behind him, the shadows between the cars, the stretch of sidewalk that remained stubbornly empty. Only when he was a few feet away did her gaze settle on him, brows subtly lifting.

—Just you?

Her voice was low, carried more by cold air and instinct than actual curiosity. Miles nodded, stepping up on the sidewalk, shoulders still squared against the biting wind.

—Yeah. Just me tonight.

There was a beat of silence, the kind that lingered longer than it should have. Olivia's eyes searched his face for a second too long before glancing again toward the street, her brow furrowing.

—Gray's not with you?

Fin, reading the tension in the air with a veteran's ease, gave a slight nod and slipped inside, leaving them under the dull glow of the porch light and the howling wind that made the railing creak. The agent shifted his weight and looked past Olivia for a second, as if trying to organize his thoughts against the icy ache settling in his bones. Then he exhaled, long and slow.

—She left. November first. Got called up.

The words seemed to hang there for a second, carried between them by cold air.

Olivia blinked, lips parting.

—Left?

—Yeah. Navy. Classified deployment, he said, his voice lower now, edged with something that wasn't quite irritation–more like resignation. They didn't give her much time. They called her on Halloween night and she was gone by sunrise. Not a lot of room for goodbyes.

The wind blew again, harsher now. The SVU Lieutenant turned her face slightly into it, adjusting her scarf as she did, but not before Miles saw the flicker of something across her face. Surprise, of course–but also a note of something more personal, more subtle. Disappointment, maybe. It passed quickly, but he caught it.

—That was over a month ago, she murmured.

He hesitated. His breath came out in a puff as he tilted his head slightly, studying her.

—She didn't tell you?

Olivia met his eyes, and for a second, the streetlight caught something guarded in her expression. Her hands were buried deep in her coat pockets, but her voice had lost its evenness, just slightly.

—No. I thought... I don't know. I thought she might've said something. We'd been talking more, working more together. She didn't mention a word.

Miles pressed his lips together and looked away, dragging his gloved hand down his face before glancing toward the taped-up door.

—That's Lexi. She carries most of her life like it's classified, even when it isn't. Doesn't mean she doesn't want to talk–it just means she doesn't always know how.

Olivia gave a small nod, but her jaw was tense. She looked back down the street again as if she expected Alexis to materialize from the dark, a few minutes late, brushing snow off her jacket with a sheepish smile. But there was no movement. No shadow. Just cold.

—She was getting good at it, you know, Olivia added softly. The talking.

Miles didn't reply right away. He just stood there, eyes fixed on the distant shadows curling along the sidewalk. All he could think about was Alexis and the years of knowing her in ways few people ever would. He was her partner, he knew how her mind worked, how she compartmentalized every emotion with surgical precision, how she'd rather carry a burden alone than risk unloading it on someone else.

He'd spent long enough beside her to understand that Alexis didn't disappear to keep people out–she disappeared to keep them from having to carry pieces of her too. And yet, despite all that, she had started showing up in ways that surprised him.

She had been opening up, bit by bit, with Olivia. He'd seen it happening, watched her soften in ways most people didn't even realize she could. So when the Lieutenant said she'd thought Alexis might've told her, that she was getting better at talking, it didn't surprise him. It just made the silence she left behind feel that much heavier.

—What are we looking at?

He forced her to refocus, pulling both of their attention back toward the house. Olivia shifted, as if only remembering about the case.

—Family of four. Parents, teen daughter, little boy. All of them found dead by the father's brother who stopped by to drop off Christmas lights. The door was unlocked. Nothing's stolen, but...

The sights were still vivid in her mind. The bodies had been carefully moved and placed so as to leave a message. Blood had splattered everywhere, leaving trails on the floor. Both mother and daughter had suffered violence and abuse before being killed.

—Brutal doesn't begin to cover it. Some kind of religious undertone–scripture carved into the floors, handwritten notes on the walls. It's...

—Twisted.

*

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 6

Langford House — Manhattan

01:14 AM

The kitchen table looked more like a murder board than the heart of a family home.

Printouts and photographs had taken over the soft floral tablecloth Ava insisted on keeping year-round. Bible verses were scrawled on yellow legal pads, half a dozen highlighters lay uncapped, bleeding color into the wood beneath them. A tableau of violence was all Miles could see. Each evidence captured the grotesque aftermath of a family's annihilation: the father, the mother, the daughter and son, their lives extinguished in an almost ritualistic way.

The words haunted him. Words written in blood and etched into skin, words meant to condemn, to purify, to punish. His fingers traced the edges of the Bible that lay among the files–his own relic from a past life, its pages annotated with the scribbles of a younger, more devout boy. He could still remember the sting of the wooden spoon against his skin, the taste of soap as his father forced it into his mouth to 'cleanse the lies'.

"He who spares the rod hates his son, but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him"

"Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him."

Phrases his father had used like weapons.

Phrases Miles had once memorized alongside spelling words and the Pledge of Allegiance.

He drew in a breath through his nose, held it, and exhaled slowly. The silence of the house pressed down on him, different from the usual quiet that came with the late hour. This was something heavier. Oppressive. Every page on the table felt like a doorway into a past he thought he'd buried deep enough to forget.

Until this case.

Until a killer began using the same distorted gospel to justify atrocities.

Four victims in one day. Two other families targeted in another state. All with the same ritualistic pattern: scripture carved into walls, Bibles left open to marked passages, the same words whispered by the dying girl who clung to life long enough to speak.

"He said it was for God."

Miles rubbed at his neck, fingers pressing into the tense muscles just above his collarbone. The killer wasn't just quoting scripture–he understood it. Twisted it with precision. This wasn't zealotry. This was personal. Educated. Cold.

And somehow, that made it worse.

From upstairs, the house creaked—a soft, sleepy sigh of wood in the winter wind. Outside, December had buried the neighborhood in frost. The windows were fogged at the edges, and despite the heat running low, there was a chill in the air that made his skin feel tight.

The stairs creaked behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was. The steps were slow, careful, almost too quiet. Ava had always moved that way when she didn't want to startle him—especially on nights like this.

—You're still up, she said softly, padding barefoot across the tile.

She wore one of his old shirts, sleeves pulled down over her hands, her voice the kind of warm and low that only came when she was worried.

—I could say the same about you.

He glanced back with a tired half-smile, taking in sight the woman he had once promised everything to. No matter the years, Ava was still the most beautiful woman in the world–even when she wore that concerned frown.

—I woke up and you weren't in bed.

She paused, looking at the mess across the table. Her eyes moved over the photos, the notes, the quotes underlined again and again. Miles had been called abruptly on Sunday night. She'd seen him leave in a hurry and, for once, hadn't had the chance to be reassured when spotting his partner's car in front of the house. Alexis hadn't returned yet. He had left on his own. If he hadn't said anything about the affair during the evening, Ava already knew it was nothing ordinary.

—It's the case?

—Yeah. He reached for the legal pads and pushed it a few inches to the side. It's the case.

Ava didn't need to ask what kind. He saw it in her eyes—recognition. Sadness. That edge of protective fire that always sparked when the past tried to claw its way into their lives again.

—He's not just using the Bible. Miles dragged a hand down his face with a sigh. He knows it. Word for word. Book, chapter, verse. He's not guessing, Ava. He's quoting it like a sermon. Like he's preaching.

She came to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her cheek to the top of his head. It was quiet for a moment: her breathing with him, him trying to breathe at all.

—It's hitting too close.

The agent didn't deny it.

He let the silence stretch.

—You remember when I was ten and I lied about breaking the garage window?

Ava's arms only tightened. She had heard the story before. It was part of the secrets they preferred to confide in each other rather than turning them into threats to their happiness.

—He washed my mouth out with soap, Miles said, barely above a whisper. Told me it would cleanse the sin. That lying was the Devil's tongue. Then he made me read Proverbs 12 aloud. Every verse about honesty. Over and over. Until I could recite it without stuttering.

His wife exhaled softly, her hand moving to the back of his neck, warm and steady. She wanted to envelop him, keep him away from all that darkness. It was all he'd ever known before her. All that continued to haunt him.

—He's not here anymore, Miles.

—But someone like him is. He looked up to her, jaw clenched. Someone who thinks pain is redemption. That blood is sacrifice. That fear equals obedience.

She stepped to one side, her soft, slender hands wrapping around his face. Somehow, she could still see in him the young boy she'd known. Timid. Haunted.

—And you're not that boy anymore. You're not a scared kid trying to survive in that house. You're the one protecting people now.

—I just... he hesitated. I wish she was here.

Ava stilled, her thumb resting on the man's dark eyebrow. She didn't need any clarification. She just knew. There were three women in Miles' life. His wife. His daughter. And–

—Lexi. She gets this kind of broken logic. She sees through it. And she'd know how to put herself between me and this damn spiral.

The brunette sat down across from him, gently nudging his coffee aside to take his hands.

–She'll come back, baby. You know that.

—Yeah, but when?

His voice cracked before he caught it, and he turned away, embarrassed. He loved to joke about Gray being a ticking time bomb and how she'd had that effect when she arrived at the New York Bureau. But one thing he never said was how much this woman had become family.

—She left the day after Halloween. You've been holding your breath ever since.

—I didn't realize how used to her being around I'd gotten until she wasn't. She's always just... there. No matter what. Even when I don't ask.

—Because she sees you. The real you. She doesn't flinch away from it.

—I don't want Charlie to grow up seeing that side of me, he said suddenly. The side that can't sleep. That spirals into these memories and won't let go.

Ava reached across the table, suddenly puzzled by one of the Bible verses on one of the pages. She tapped on it, bringing the legal pad closer.

—For the Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. That one never made the cut when your father was preaching, did it?

—No. It didn't.

*

Taglist: @nciscmjunkie @certainlychaotic @thefatobsession @ginasbaby @makkaroni221 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr

[itwasrealtome]

Hello,

You recently asked for feedback on your Agent Gray series, so I'd like to share my opinion with you.

(Hmm... that feels very formal. Sorry, I've been dealing with so many people and sending emails to professors and administrators that it feels weird to not type like that.)

I honestly love the series! I got a bit behind reading it because of classes and exams, but it was amazing to just sit and read after everything. I'm glad Gray returned home with minimal (physical) damage.

I enjoy your writing style and characterization of Olivia. You give her a lot of dimension, and it's nice to see the tension build and fade between her and Gray.

Our dear seal/agent is very mysterious, and I'm excited to learn more about her. I think it's cool having two strong women in a relationship, both supporting each other. I hope they continue to support each other and avoid any major miscommunication (unless that's a future plot point? That could be interesting - even if it would stress me out lol).

Miles and his family are very interesting too. Their characters seem well thought out, and they also seem like great friends. I hope to see more of them (and the other detectives like Amanda) helping/pushing Olivia and Gray together. The shared knowing looks between Miles and the detectives are funny.

I don't know how you write, if you plan ahead or just go with the flow, but I was wondering if there would be any situations where Olivia's family (Noah) and Miles's family met? Of course, Olivia and Miles seem to try to keep work and home separate, so it's fine if not (I was just curious).

Gray also seems to get bruised pretty often - I'm assuming her tendency to jump into danger (even if it's to help people) will be the subject of a disagreement or two between Gray and Olivia.

Are you planning on throwing in a lot of angst? (I'm going to need a warning because my poor heart can't have too much dropped on me)

Anyways, I hope you have a great day, and I'm looking forward to the next chapter.

Hello there,

I did recently ask my Agent Gray readers to send me some feedback. It may sound strange, but I think it’s important to get your input so that I can improve my writing and my fic.

So, first of all, a big thank you for taking the time to write to me. You have no idea what it means to me. Don’t worry about the formality, it’s actually nice to have such a detailed and clear message to read.

I hope all went well with your exams and classes—I know how stressful it can be.

I’m delighted to hear you’re enjoying the story. Olivia is a character I grew up with and admire a lot. I do my best to convey her personality and giver her character the direction I want—which can sometimes be difficult. Now about the tension between those two—I really like the fact that you can feel it. Especially that it goes back and forth between them depending on the moment. That’s what I’m looking for and I’m glad it comes across in the reading.

Alexis is a character I adored and still love to shape. She’s presented as a fierce former SEAL, and that’s how Olivia sees her as first too. But I hope you’ll also enjoy her character development over the chapters. I don’t want to spoil and I won’t, but I’ve considered quite a few situations that could challenge the characters.

Miles is one of my fav. I do hope you’ll also like this new character introduced in the upcoming chapter. Because this woman has my whole heart too. I can already tell you’ll be seeing a lot more interaction with the other detectives. Since I’m following the series’ timeline (through the seasons) you can expect some new faces too. And I’ve also got a few funny moments that I think you’ll like!

To explain a little about the way I write (you might think it’s a bit crazy :P ) :

I watch the episodes of L&O SVU and track down the indicated dates and key events (season, weather, SVU cases, personal moments, etc). Then I fill in my tables on google doc to list everything.

Then, I match my chapters and their dates with the calendar I’ve found in the series. It helps me match key elements. Like Olivia and Ed’s breakup with Alexis’ call and then return.

I have so many notes that I pretty much know the path I want to take. All I have to do now is make sure everything is timed correctly and write my chapter.

There will be moments between Olivia, Noah and Miles’ family, you can be sure about that. This will be brought up slowly over the course of the chapters. Because yes, the way things are going, we'll be together for many long chapters!

Gray is going to experience the roller coaster, I prefer to warn! She's what we call a real daredevil, and Olivia will hate that. There will be angst, I won't hide it. As a reminder, all TWs are at the beginning of chapters whether on Tumblr, Wattpad or AO3. But to reassure you, there are also lots of beautiful moments, softer moments, and if I can find the words, a bit of smut too!

I hope you'll fall in love with this story as much as I have.

I'm open to all your feedback, you and others, don't hesitate. And thanks again for your support. Enjoy your reading.

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter 13 • Time in a Bottle

TAGLIST FORM

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary:

Content Warning: None?

*

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 03

Manhattan — Alexis' apartment

07:03 PM

The elevator was taking its sweet time–far too slow for the pace Alexis was running on tonight. It was old, more often than not out of service, and looked oddly misplaced in the middle of a building that had otherwise been given a fresh coat of modern polish. On any other night, she might've paused, leaned against the wall, let herself catch her breath. But tonight wasn't one of those nights. She took the stairs two at a time, boots landing with steady urgency, the kind that came from keeping promises.

The second floor greeted her with a familiar hum—the faint buzz of a hallway light, the distant sound of a TV behind closed doors. She rounded the corner toward her apartment, already reaching into her pocket for her keys, when the only other door creaked open.

—Is that you, little crash? came the familiar voice of Mrs. Adler, warm with affection and tinged, as always, with just a touch of concern.

Alexis eased her pace, her boots stilling against the worn floor as she turned toward the familiar voice. The sigh she let out wasn't frustration–not really–but the kind of fond exhale that only came with people who'd carved out a quiet place in her life.

Mrs. Adler stood framed in the doorway like she always did, cardigan sleeves pushed up to her elbows, a mug of tea cradled loosely in one hand and the ever-watchful look of someone who noticed far more than she ever said.

The woman was a constant–steady, bright-eyed, and unshakable in her belief that Alexis, for all her hardened edges, needed looking after just as much as anyone else. Over the years, she'd taken on the role without asking. Dropping off soup when Alexis came home late. Leaving notes taped to her door when the news mentioned something close to where she'd been deployed. And always, always waiting with some mix of affection and light-hearted interrogation when she came back from a stretch away.

—Evening, Mrs. Adler. You're up late.

—Oh, don't give me that. I know you're trying to sneak past me. The older woman stepped fully into the hall now, her brows lifting. You've been gone nearly three months and this is the first time I've seen more than the back of your head since you got back. I was starting to wonder if the government had replaced you with a quieter model.

The brunette huffed a quiet laugh, already inching toward her own door. She had given Olivia her word that she'd show up around 07:30 p.m. and had no intention of being late. Her muscles were still aching faintly, the deep bruise beneath her shirt throbbing with the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, but she pushed past it like she had a thousand times before. She was used to doing things with pain. What she wasn't used to–what made her chest feel tight now–was the idea of not keeping her word.

—You know I'd never be that lucky, Alexis called over her shoulder with a crooked smile, her words trailing behind her as she pushed open the apartment door.

The entryway welcomed her with its familiar stillness, shadows stretching long beneath the soft glow of the hallway light. She didn't bother flipping on the overheads–the place didn't need them. It smelled like home: clean laundry, worn leather, and the warm, earthy scent of the one creature always waiting.

At the creak of the door, Champ appeared like clockwork, padding into view with his usual calm dignity. His tail gave a few lazy, thumping swings against the wall, eyes lifting to meet hers like he'd been timing her return.

—Right on schedule, partner.

She dropped her keys into the ceramic dish by the door with a quiet clink, the sound echoing softly through the darkened apartment. Her backpack slipped from her shoulder a second later, landing against the wall with a dull thud. The moment the weight was gone, a sharp pull bloomed across her upper back—the bruise protesting the motion—but she didn't flinch. She didn't let herself. Not even for him.

From the entryway, Champ gave a soft whine, like he knew anyway.

Alexis glanced down, managing a faint smile.

—I'm fine,  she said out of habit, her voice quiet and steady. She bent to unhook the leash and harness from their spot by the door. But you're getting your walk. That's non-negotiable.

Champ stepped forward like he'd been waiting for the cue, head tilting slightly, one paw already raised. She crouched to secure the first strap, fingers moving with muscle memory born of years spent side-by-side. The leash clicked into place with practiced ease, the moment as routine as it was grounding.

Most days, this little loop–the walk, the weight of the leash in her hand, the quiet company–felt like the only still point in a world that never stopped moving.

—Okay soldier. Let's stretch those legs.

She locked the door behind them and turned back to the hallway, Champ trotting beside her. The leash lay slack between them, a familiar rhythm already falling into place.

Mrs. Adler was still standing in her doorway, arms folded like she'd never left. Her gaze swept over Alexis, then down to the dog, and back again–eyes narrowing in a way that was more affection than judgment.

—You okay, sweetheart? You look tired.

The brunette paused, one hand tightening briefly on Champ's leash. There was no use pretending with this woman. She could spot a forced smile or an aching shoulder from a hallway's length away.

—I'm fine, she said again, the words automatic–but softer this time. Less deflective. Just a long day.

Mrs. Adler gave a small, knowing hum.

—You've had a lot of those lately.

Alexis didn't argue. She just nodded once, the corners of her mouth lifting in something close to gratitude.

—Yeah... but this one ends with pizza and good company, so I'm counting it as a win.

That earned a chuckle from the older woman. Her young neighbor wasn't exactly known for her social calendar–and if she was this keyed up about running late, it sure as hell wasn't Langford she was meeting.

—Mmm. That's the first sensible thing I've heard you say all week. Who's the lucky dinner date?

—Just me, a four-year old, and his mom.

The woman's brow arched with practice ease, curiosity blooming behind the warm lines of her face.

—The detective?

Alexis gave a half-mile as she adjusted the leash in her hand, Champ waiting patiently by her side.

—Words travel fast.

Mrs. Adler hummed knowingly, lips twitching into a smile as she leaned a little more against her doorway.

—They do when you've got a nosy neighbor who worries. You've mentioned her before, you know. Always with that tone like you didn't mean to.

The agent let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh, dragging a hand through her hair as she looked toward the stairwell.

—It's not like that, Mrs. A.

—Maybe not yet, sweetheart. But you've got that look. The one people wear when someone starts mattering more than they expected. And if her little boy's involved now... well. That tells me plenty.

Alexis opened her mouth to respond, but couldn't quite find the words. She never had been great at talking about this kind of thing—not feelings, not hope, not the slow unfolding of something that felt real. So instead, she offered the older woman a lopsided smile.

—We're just getting pizza.

Mrs. Adler tilted her head, wise eyes twinkling.

—Mmm. That's how it always starts.

*

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 03

Manhattan — Olivia's apartment

07:30 PM

Alexis stood in front of Olivia's apartment door, shifting on her heels, the nerves she'd managed to ignore most of the drive there now settling squarely in her chest. Her hands shook slightly, unable to stay long in the warmth of her pockets, and instead found comfort in the repetitive tug of her raincoat's zippered chest pocket. It was an old habit–one born on long missions and tense debriefings, when her body needed something to do while her mind wrestled to stay calm.

The hallway was quiet, dimly lit, wrapped in that kind of stillness that stretched time and made every footstep echo just a little louder than it should. The building, now that she was standing in it, made perfect sense. Clean walls, polished floors, discreet neighbors who kept to themselves—it was the kind of place someone like Olivia would choose. Safe. Controlled. Secure, without feeling cold.

The brunette exhaled slowly through her nose, hand hovering near the door, still not knocking. Never had a simple piece of wood felt more like a wall between her and something she didn't quite have the words for. She was exactly on time–7:30 sharp–after what could only be described as a tactical shower, a minor skirmish with her closet, and a full-blown standoff with her reflection about what passed as 'casual enough' without looking like she was still coming down from an op.

It wasn't a date.

Just pizza.

Just Olivia.

And her four-year-old son.

Whom Alexis had never met.

Her fingers tightened briefly on the edge of her coat, the black rain jacket zipped halfway, the material still cool from the outside air. She could feel her pulse ticking quietly beneath the collar. She wasn't nervous about the kid—not exactly. It was more the unspoken weight of this whole evening. The way Olivia had smiled when she said yes. The quiet, steady kind that stayed with you.

Finally, Alexis drew in a breath, knocked–firm, but not loud. Then waited.

A moment passed. Muffled footsteps inside. The soft creak of the floorboards. And then the click of the lock.

The door opened, and there was Olivia.

Hair tucked behind one ear, dressed in dark jeans and a loose, wine-colored sweater that hung just right on her frame. Barefoot, comfortable in her own space, she looked relaxed in a way that knocked the wind slightly from Alexis's lungs. Beautiful–so effortlessly it made her forget, for one disoriented second, why she'd been nervous in the first place.

—Right on time, the lieutenant said, voice soft with a note of approval.

She stepped back to let her in, her eyes warming the moment she saw her–saw all of her, from the slight tension still held in her shoulders to the telltale restlessness of someone wired for chaos trying to settle into quiet. Alexis hesitated only a beat before stepping over the threshold, raincoat still buttoned and her posture trying too hard not to overthink the moment.

—You look... Olivia tilted her head slightly, brow lifting in a way that made the youngest woman's chest tighten. Like you drove here rehearsing what to say.

Alexis gave a dry huff, running a hand through her hair as the door clicked softly behind her.

—That obvious, huh?

—A little, Benson said with a smile, crossing back toward the living room. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't do the same thing.

The tension eased a fraction, and Alexis followed her into the soft, warm light of the apartment. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something sweet—maybe whatever Noah had been snacking on before she got there. A few toys peeked out from under the edge of the couch, and a tiny pair of sneakers sat neatly near the door.

—Where's the kiddo?

—In his room. Giving Eddie the Elephant a pre-dinner pep talk. He's been excited since I told him you were coming.

Gray smiled—small but real—as her thumb slid back into its old rhythm against the zipper of her coat.

—I hope I live up to the hype.

Olivia moved a step closer, eyes catching hers.

—You're already doing just fine.

The quiet that followed wasn't awkward. It hung between them like a pause before something meaningful. A second later, small feet thundered down the hallway.

Noah appeared in the doorway like a bolt of energy, an elephant plush clutched in one hand, the other already reaching for his mom with the urgency only a four-year-old could manage.

—You said we were getting pizza!

—We are. Olivia said, crouching down to help him into his coat. Her voice was calm, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. And remember what I told you? Alexis is taking us.

The boy paused, halfway into the sleeve of his jacket, and turned wide, curious eyes toward the tall figure near the door. His gaze flicked from Alexis' boots to her raincoat to her face, like he was sizing her up the way only kids could–completely unfiltered.

—You're Lexi? he asked, voice full of suspicion and awe, like he wasn't entirely convinced she was real yet.

Alexis blinked at the nickname, something in her chest giving a quiet, unexpected lurch. She hadn't heard it said like that in years–if ever–with such earnestness. A slow smile tugged at her lips.

—I am, she said, squatting down a little to meet him at eye level. And you must be Noah.

He nodded solemnly, still holding tight to his elephant.

—Mommy says you do cool stuff. Like chase bad guys.

The brunette gave a small chuckle, the sound low and warm, tugging gently at the zipper of her coat in a familiar, almost unconscious gesture—one she defaulted to when nerves started whispering too loudly in her ear. It was her way of staying present, of reminding herself that this wasn't a warzone or a debriefing. It was just a hallway. A kid. A moment. Still crouched low enough to meet Noah's eyes, she tilted her head slightly, a soft smile playing on her lips.

—Sometimes, yeah. But tonight, I just do pizza.

Noah considered that with the intensity only four-year-olds could manage, his brow furrowing like he was evaluating a top-secret dossier. Then, without hesitation, he extended his hand—though not to her, but to present the small, well-loved elephant clutched tightly in his grip.

—This is Eddie, he announced with complete seriousness. He's coming too.

Alexis nodded, her expression softening further as she leaned in just a touch. The gesture felt instinctive, respectful. She treated the introduction like it carried actual weight–like Eddie wasn't just a stuffed animal, but a VIP guest on a mission they were all part of.

—Nice to meet you, Eddie. I hope you like pepperoni.

Noah grinned like he'd just passed her first test, holding Eddie a little higher like he approved, too. Behind them, Olivia stood quietly, watching the exchange unfold with a warmth that tugged at the corners of her mouth. The nerves she'd seen on Alexis's face moments ago had faded slightly—smoothed out by the easy, unfiltered acceptance of a four-year-old and his stuffed elephant.

*

The scent of warm dough and bubbling cheese wrapped around them the moment they stepped into the pizza place–cozy, lived-in, and humming with the low din of chatter and clinking plates. Alexis opened the door without a second thought, her hand catching it easily and holding it for Olivia and Noah, not as a gesture of politeness but from the same instinct that had her walking curbside or checking a room without meaning to. She just moved that way. Attentive. Anchored. Quietly protective of the people who mattered.

The cold slipped off their shoulders the moment they stepped inside, replaced by the comforting warmth of softly humming heaters and the rich, mouthwatering scent of garlic, oregano, and freshly cooked tomato sauce. The space was bright but cozy, the kind of neighborhood spot where every corner seemed familiar even if you'd never been there before.

Olivia stepped past Alexis with an easy grace, murmuring a quiet thank you, her fingers brushing against the young woman's arm–a soft, absent touch that didn't ask for anything but still landed with weight. Gray didn't flinch, didn't pull away. She caught her gaze for half a second, enough to let the moment settle before letting it pass.

The young boy didn't wait for either of them. His boots tapped eagerly across the tile as he darted ahead, still clutching Eddie in one hand and turning in a slow circle to take it all in. There was something wide-eyed and reverent about the way he looked at the glowing string lights overhead, the little arcade game tucked into the corner, the giant chalkboard menu written in uneven loops of colorful script.

This was an adventure.

They found a booth near the back, tucked just enough to feel private. Olivia slid in first, already pulling Noah's scarf loose with practiced hands as he clambered closer, not bothering with formalities. His beanie and puffy coat were next, revealing pink cheeks and tousled hair that had flattened a bit beneath the knit. He fidgeted as she straightened his collar, already squirming to move.

Then, without warning, Noah ducked beneath the table in one swift motion, his mischievous grin flashing just before he disappeared beneath the edge. His mom opened her mouth to call after him, but he was already reappearing on the other side—right next to Alexis—like he'd simply followed some invisible thread that tugged him toward her.

He slid onto the booth with practiced ease, climbing up as if it had been his seat all along. The agent blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but her body adjusted without hesitation. She shifted to the side, made space, her arm drifting instinctively behind his small back to keep him steady on the cushioned seat. It was a quiet, fluid motion–muscle memory more than thought–and she didn't even look down as her hand settled lightly against his sweater, like she'd always known he'd land there.

Across the table, Olivia paused mid-motion, coat still in one hand, her brow lifting with a mixture of surprise and something warmer. She studied the easy closeness between them, the way her son was already leaning slightly into Alexis's side, entirely unbothered by personal space.

—He usually sticks to me like glue, she murmured, a hint of amusement in her voice, but also a softness that hadn't been there earlier–a subtle shift that said she wasn't just observing anymore. She was feeling it. Letting herself feel it.

Noah, unconcerned with the adult energy hanging between them, dropped his elephant on the table with a light thud and turned to look up at Alexis with wide, unfiltered eyes.

—Lexi's cool, he announced, matter-of-fact and entirely unbothered by the formality. She said we're on a mission.

Gray gave a quiet laugh, low in her throat, the kind that warmed her chest without her meaning it to. It wasn't forced or guarded—it just slipped out, carried by the easy rhythm of the moment. She reached for the laminated menu and unfolded it, laying it flat in front of them and angling it toward Noah like they were plotting something far more important than dinner. Her tone dropped into something mock-grave, the corners of her mouth tugging up as she leaned a little closer, voice pitched just for him.

—I take pizza operations very seriously.

The boy's eyes widened like he'd just been let in on a classified briefing. He leaned forward too, elbows propped on the table, the tip of Eddie's trunk resting near the edge of the menu like even the elephant needed to be in on it. He gave a solemn nod, playing along with perfect sincerity.

—What's the best kind?

Alexis tilted her head like she was truly considering the question, her expression thoughtful, brows drawing together just slightly as if this decision carried the weight of national security. She glanced at the menu, then at Noah, then back at Eddie–because if they were doing this, they were doing it right.

—That depends, she said slowly, tapping her finger next to the cartoon illustration of a large pepperoni pie. Are we talking classic mission success? Or maximum cheese pull with low risk of mess?

The brunet blinked,  clearly absorbing the criteria, then shifted even closer, nearly tucking himself fully under her arm. His voice dropped to a whisper, conspiratorial.

—The one with the cheese in the crust. That one.

—Ah. Advanced-level tactics. Risky, but bold. I respect it.

Across the table, Olivia was watching them with quiet amusement, chin resting on her hand. The smile she wore wasn't the practiced one Alexis had seen on her before–the one reserved for strangers or reporters or too-early mornings. This one was soft. Real. Like seeing the two of them together had let something in her exhale.

Alexis caught it, caught her watching, and for a moment, her stomach tightened in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. She gave a small half-smile in return, then turned back to the boy beside her.

—Alright, Commander. Cheese-stuffed crust it is. But I think we need a backup–just in case the tornado strikes before it gets here.

Noah lit up, grinning.

—Fries!

—Strategic. I like it.

Olivia reached for the menu with a quiet laugh,  her hand brushing against Lexi's in the exchange–a featherlight touch, brief but not careless. It lingered in the space between them even after contact was lost, like an echo neither of them acknowledged aloud but both felt just the same. The oldest didn't pull back right away, and her friend didn't rush to fill the silence.

For a half-second, they just looked at each other across the table–Olivia's smile still warm, still amused, but softened now by something gentler beneath it. Familiarity. Maybe even comfort.

—Okay, okay, before you two plan an entire invasion of carbs... let's get our order in.

*

The place had grown quiet since they arrived, the evening crowd thinning as snowflakes continued to drift lazily past the window. Their plates had been cleared. Noah now curled beside his mom again in the booth, head tucked against her side, limbs heavy with sleep and the unmistakable weight of contentment. Eddie the elephant had slipped from his grip, resting between them like an unofficial fourth guest.

Alexis sat across from them, her back to the window, jacket draped over the back of her chair. The warmth of the restaurant had finally eased some of the tension from her shoulders. She nursed the last inch of her drink, fingers wrapped around the glass, her voice low and steady as they spoke in the hush that always follows a good meal and an even better pause.

Olivia glanced down at her son with a soft smile before meeting Alexis' gaze again.

—I heard about Reynolds. Word travels fast in certain circles.

Gray's jaw flexed slightly. She didn't look surprised–Miles was loyal, but subtlety had never been one of his strong suits. If Olivia had heard about the benching, it probably hadn't come through official channels.

Her fingers tapped absently against the side of her glass, a slow, rhythmic motion that matched the quiet churn of her thoughts. Then she exhaled, steady and deliberate, like she was laying down weight she hadn't realized she was still carrying.

—He means well, she said, her voice calm but edged with something sharper. Reynolds. He thinks he's protecting the team. Or maybe just himself. The illusion that he has control over what we walk into every day. She glanced down, briefly watching the condensation drip toward the coaster before meeting Olivia's gaze again. But sidelining me after a hit like that? That's not about safety. That's about fear. And fear makes you sloppy.

She leaned back slightly, fingers finally still.

—If I'd led my SEAL team like that—pulling people back the second things got messy–I wouldn't be here. And neither would half of them. You can't lead from behind a desk. And you can't protect people by pretending risk doesn't exist. Her mouth curved, just slightly. Miles and I... sometimes it feels like we're holding the entire unit together with duct tape and bad coffee.

Olivia's mouth twitched, but she didn't interrupt, just watched her with that steady detective's gaze–half curiosity, half instinct.

—You led a team?

—Twelve operators. We trained together, deployed together. I was responsible for every call. Every movement. Every breath when we were in the field.

There was pride in her tone, sure, but also something weightier–grief, maybe. Or reverence. Like every word she spoke was laced with the names of people she'd once fought beside, people she'd led through hell and brought back—some whole, some not. Her voice didn't tremble, didn't soften, but the way her gaze drifted just slightly to the side said enough. It wasn't just a story she was telling. It was a life she still carried with her, stitched into the way she sat, breathed, held her glass.

Olivia didn't press. She didn't need to. Years on the job had taught her how to spot the difference between silence that was guarded and silence that was sacred. Alexis's was the latter. Whatever she'd done, whoever she'd lost or saved or become in the process—those things weren't for public consumption. They were tucked deep, held close, worn like armor beneath the surface.

So the lieutenant just gave a small nod, slow and respectful,  letting the quiet linger between them for a breath or two. She didn't rush to fill the space—just watched Alexis with that calm, intuitive gaze that always seemed to cut through everything unnecessary. But eventually, gently, she spoke.

—I thought you were retired, she said, not accusatory, just observant.  Then I blinked, and you were gone for three months. No word. No message. Just... gone.

Alexis's gaze dropped for a second, her thumb tracing along the rim of her glass, the motion more muscle memory than thought. She didn't flinch, but something flickered in her expression—like the echo of a door she hadn't quite closed.

—I was. Retired. At least, that's what I told myself.

The oldest stayed quiet, but Gray could feel her listening, waiting without pressure, just... present.

—The thing about the IRR, Alexis continued, her voice low and steady, is that you're not really done. Not unless you make a whole lot of noise about wanting to be. I didn't. I left the SEALs, signed my paperwork, turned in my gear. But I didn't make noise.

She glanced up, eyes dark but honest.

—So when the call came, I picked up. And when they asked if I could be ready in twelve hours, I said yes.

Olivia's brows drew together, not in judgment, but with a softness that came from understanding.

—You didn't even say goodbye.

Alexis swallowed, her eyes dropping to the edge of the table where her fingers now stilled. She didn't look away because she was ashamed–she'd made peace with the necessity of it–but there was something about Olivia's voice, quiet and steady like the hush after a storm, that made her feel the weight of her absence in a different way.

—I couldn't, she said finally, voice low. There wasn't time. They don't give you days to tie up loose ends on that kind of mission. I was wheels up in less than twelve hours, and everything from there on out was blacked out.

Olivia offered a faint smile at that, but the weight in her expression didn't lift completely. She understood. God, she understood. The job demanded things–sacrifices that most people never saw. But even so, three months was a long time to be gone without a word. Especially for someone who never really let people in unless they were already halfway out the door.

The brunette looked back up, meeting Olivia's gaze now, steady and unflinching.

—I wanted to tell you. I almost did. That last morning before I left, I even had my phone out, thumb hovering over your contact. But what was I supposed to say? 'Hey, sorry, gotta vanish into the wind for a while, don't worry if you don't hear from me'? It felt... cruel.

A long silence settled between them then—not uncomfortable, just full. Olivia leaned back in the booth, brushing her fingers over Noah's hair as he shifted in sleep against her side. There was something protective in the way she moved, like even now, even with him safe and warm and full of pizza, she was always guarding him against things she couldn't name.

—I wasn't mad, Olivia said quietly. I just... noticed. One day you were there, and then you weren't. It happens. I just didn't expect it from you.

That cut a little deeper than Alexis expected it to. Not because Benson meant it to hurt, but because she didn't. There was no bitterness in her tone–just honesty, plain and unvarnished. Lexi sat with it for a moment, then nodded once, slow and serious.

—I'll do better next time. If there is a next time.

—Is that your way of saying you might go again?

—I'm still in the IRR. It's not something I talk about often, but yeah. I train a few weekends a year, get updates, do the refresher courses. And if something comes up–something serious–I can be called, or I can volunteer. She glanced down at her hands, then added. It's not a decision I take lightly. But I spent a decade learning how to lead those men and women. They don't forget that. And neither do I.

There was pride in her voice, but it wasn't flashy or defensive. It was quiet, hard-earned. The kind of pride born from years of sacrifice, from moments she could never speak about, from names she'd never get to say out loud.

Olivia took a sip of her drink, still watching her.

—That doesn't scare you?

—Of course it does. But staying back while someone else takes the risk? That scares me more.

The room had emptied some while they talked, the low murmur of other diners fading into the background. Outside, snow still fell in soft, steady flurries. Alexis followed Olivia's gaze to the window, her jaw loosening as the tension of the last few minutes gave way to something a little softer, a little more present.

—You're still the same, the mother said after a moment. The way you move. The way you look after people. You didn't leave that over there.

—It comes back with me. All of it does.

—And when you're not deployed? Olivia asked, glancing down again at her son. When it's quiet?

The SEAL looked at Noah, still sound asleep against his mom, completely unbothered by the world around him. She gave a small shrug, her voice softer now.

—Then I come here. I get to be Lexi. I walk Champ. I carry way too much coffee into the Bureau every morning. And if I'm lucky, I get invited out for pizza.

Olivia smiled at that, slow and genuine, something flickering in her eyes that hadn't been there earlier in the evening. Something open. Something warm.

—Well, she said, brushing a curl from Noah's forehead. Next time you disappear, at least tell me where the coffee's hidden.

Alexis chuckled under her breath, and this time, it didn't sound forced.

—Deal.

*

TAGLIST: @certainlychaotic @ginasbaby @nciscmjunkie @thefatobsession @makkaroni221 @hi-i-1 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr

[itwasrealtome]

It’s called Agent Gray, and I’m working on chapter ten already. There’s a google form to fill to be tagged on every upcoming chapter (or you can simply leave a comment or send me an ask/private message).

Hope you guys like this one!

The beginning was Olivia inviting an FBI agent she works with a lot over for a last drink at her place. Then the two ended up on a rescue mission that didn't end well.

And now they're engaged, have been through some crazy stuff and are thinking of buying a house together.

Help me, this has gone too far! It was just two one shots.

[divinidoles]

#NW : 🎬 @nbcsvu / 18x06. ❝Broken rhymes❞ ►❤ #LawAndOrderSVU 👮🏻‍♀️🔫🔪😱🏢🌃🚓👮🏽🗽 #DickWolf #LawAndOrderSpecialVictimsUnit #LAOSVU #NBCSVU #LawAndOrder #SpecialVictimsUnit #SVU #LawAndOrderSVUAddict #SVU18 #SVUSeason18 #MariskaHargitay #KelliGiddish #IceT #RaulEsparza #PeterScanavino #BestShow #GuiltyPleasure #NowWatching #NewYork #NewYorkUniteSpeciale #Crime #CrimeScene #Drama #GreatShow #MariskaHargitayRules #MariskaHargitayIsMyHero #Tolerance #LGBTQ