Though skies may turn from blue to gray . . .
For the last week Olivia Benson has had the same nightmare every single night of the week. She's in some sort of Big Band club, think swing, think Glen Miller. Champagne is flowing, people are laughing, women are smoking with amazingly perfect styled hair that doesn't move even when they dance. They are playing Stardust and she's dancing with someone, he's wearing a low hat and she can't see his face but for some reason that's okay. That's how she knows she's in the dream, because this shit wouldn't fly anywhere else. Sometime in the middle of the song people start screaming, and she reaches for her side arm, already ducking down, pulling the man she's with down too. However there is no gun, there is no man, just gun fire and more screaming. Even as the bodies hit the floor, the band keeps playing, and she's screaming why. Not why are people dying, but why are they still playing that fucking music?
She wakes up shaking and swearing under her breath, wonder what the fuck that came from. The first time it happened, she got out of bed and grabbed up all her Big Band CD's and throws them in the hall closet, to lock away that evil. Because it's clear that it's a handful of CD's that that are causing these bad dreams.
Olivia Benson is tired, she's always tired, and standing in front of the bathroom sink, she watched the water run. It seemed fascinating, the water just dropping right down into the drain, down into the pipes and form there . . . who knows? You know you're a little out of your mind when you wander what happens to water after it leaves your sink. So in order to mix it up a little bit, she threw up, coughing at the water that comes from her nose. Sighing, she put her forehead against the faucet and washed her face before turning off the water and stumbling back to bed, feeling oddly relaxed.
Life goes on as normal, still not cleared for active duty she spent a majority of her time a little high on pain medication and taking statements from witnesses. It's a pretty helpless feeling, typing down where he touched her, how she fought back, what he smelled like, what he said to her. Telling the woman across from her that they are going to get the bad guy when she can't even stand up without wincing like an old woman. The whole time she has Poinciana stuck in her head to the point where she thought that maybe a pencil in the ear wouldn't be such a bad thing.
She can hear, in her head, phrases like "leave of absence" and "psych evaluation" already. Those are frightening prospects. No one likes a crazy cop, except maybe Elliot.
Friday, Cregan opened his door and called her name, causing her to look up from the stack of papers she was working on. Apparently she couldn't remember the word "forced." The distraction was a welcome one, even though she is was pretty sure she was going to be hauled off to a loony bin. When you think you are crazy, you think that the rest of the world knows you're crazy too. They only know if you start wearing the tinfoil hats.
That reminded her to pick up tinfoil at the store.
Cregan shut the door behind her and motioned for her to take a seat, she shook her head and told him that she would rather stand, she's been sitting down for too long. He sighed and picked up the manila envelope on his desk and finally handed it to her after a moment of thought, "Your transfer went through, you can take the job, if you'd like."
For a long time she didn't move, just stared at the envelope. Finally she took it and opened the top to pull out the approved papers and her eyebrows shot up. She had forgot that she had put in for a transfer, only because it's been forever since she put in for one.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" He breaks through her thoughts, and for a minute she wondered if he actually wanted her to stay. For some reason that surprised her.
"I have to think about it." It felt as if those were the first words she's actually spoken in months. He gave a nod and then looked down at his desk, silent as telephones rang outside on unoccupied desks. "You'll always have a place here," there was an eternity of silence between the words.
"Thanks, Captain, that means a lot. I'll let you know."
She took the envelope home with her and put it on the island before pouring herself a glass of wine and sitting down on the couch. Olivia flipped through the TV channels before wondering what she was going to have for dinner. Nothing in her fridge looked appealing, food in general didn't look appealing, but she cooked herself something just to ignore the envelope on the island. She was only half accepted, there was still a very real chance that the offer that was extended to her so long ago was now off the table. So instead of calling Carlton with the news, she sabotaged herself even further by waiting a good week and a half to finally tell him.
Old habits die hard, and somewhere in life Liv learned that she wasn't allowed to be happy. She just had to unlearn that now.
She wakes up shaking and swearing under her breath, wonder what the fuck that came from. The first time it happened, she got out of bed and grabbed up all her Big Band CD's and throws them in the hall closet, to lock away that evil. Because it's clear that it's a handful of CD's that that are causing these bad dreams.
Olivia Benson is tired, she's always tired, and standing in front of the bathroom sink, she watched the water run. It seemed fascinating, the water just dropping right down into the drain, down into the pipes and form there . . . who knows? You know you're a little out of your mind when you wander what happens to water after it leaves your sink. So in order to mix it up a little bit, she threw up, coughing at the water that comes from her nose. Sighing, she put her forehead against the faucet and washed her face before turning off the water and stumbling back to bed, feeling oddly relaxed.
Life goes on as normal, still not cleared for active duty she spent a majority of her time a little high on pain medication and taking statements from witnesses. It's a pretty helpless feeling, typing down where he touched her, how she fought back, what he smelled like, what he said to her. Telling the woman across from her that they are going to get the bad guy when she can't even stand up without wincing like an old woman. The whole time she has Poinciana stuck in her head to the point where she thought that maybe a pencil in the ear wouldn't be such a bad thing.
She can hear, in her head, phrases like "leave of absence" and "psych evaluation" already. Those are frightening prospects. No one likes a crazy cop, except maybe Elliot.
Friday, Cregan opened his door and called her name, causing her to look up from the stack of papers she was working on. Apparently she couldn't remember the word "forced." The distraction was a welcome one, even though she is was pretty sure she was going to be hauled off to a loony bin. When you think you are crazy, you think that the rest of the world knows you're crazy too. They only know if you start wearing the tinfoil hats.
That reminded her to pick up tinfoil at the store.
Cregan shut the door behind her and motioned for her to take a seat, she shook her head and told him that she would rather stand, she's been sitting down for too long. He sighed and picked up the manila envelope on his desk and finally handed it to her after a moment of thought, "Your transfer went through, you can take the job, if you'd like."
For a long time she didn't move, just stared at the envelope. Finally she took it and opened the top to pull out the approved papers and her eyebrows shot up. She had forgot that she had put in for a transfer, only because it's been forever since she put in for one.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" He breaks through her thoughts, and for a minute she wondered if he actually wanted her to stay. For some reason that surprised her.
"I have to think about it." It felt as if those were the first words she's actually spoken in months. He gave a nod and then looked down at his desk, silent as telephones rang outside on unoccupied desks. "You'll always have a place here," there was an eternity of silence between the words.
"Thanks, Captain, that means a lot. I'll let you know."
She took the envelope home with her and put it on the island before pouring herself a glass of wine and sitting down on the couch. Olivia flipped through the TV channels before wondering what she was going to have for dinner. Nothing in her fridge looked appealing, food in general didn't look appealing, but she cooked herself something just to ignore the envelope on the island. She was only half accepted, there was still a very real chance that the offer that was extended to her so long ago was now off the table. So instead of calling Carlton with the news, she sabotaged herself even further by waiting a good week and a half to finally tell him.
Old habits die hard, and somewhere in life Liv learned that she wasn't allowed to be happy. She just had to unlearn that now.