Chapter Text
Weaving through the other doctors, nurses, and techs, Dr. Choi made his way over to the central command station. There he asked a nurse to bring an icepack to the patient. Suturing an injury without a medicinal form of local anesthetic wasn’t the easiest of tasks, but it was more than likely that the detective had a high pain tolerance. After all he’d been through, Goren could probably stay perfectly still during the procedure without even breaking a sweat.
Reflecting on how badly injured Goren had been when Voight had first brought him in all those years ago, Choi was simply amazed at the detective's current condition. Reactive, coherent, and unfazed, the man currently in treatment three was nothing like the individual Choi and the rest of the staff had treated prior.
Speaking of other members of the Med staff who had a role to play in Goren's previous hospitalization, close by was the head of psychiatry in the Emergency Department. Sitting at a desk and looking rather preoccupied, Dr. Charles was reviewing case notes on a computer with his glasses balanced at the end of his nose.
"Dr. Charles," Choi said, approaching the older man, "do you have a spare minute?"
"For you, Ethan," Charles replied, not looking up, "always. What's going on?"
"Do you remember that case we had a few years back? Voight and his crew brought in a kidnap victim, who later turned out to be a cop. You had me put in a feeding tube after he refused to eat, remember?”
"Remember?" the psychiatrist said, a little surprised by the question. "Of course, I remember. Robert Goren isn't an individual one easily forgets. In fact, I've done my best to stay in touch with him. And given what he had been through, he's done remarkably well. Why do you ask?"
"He's here."
Dr. Charles pulled his glasses off of his face and let them fall to his chest, hanging by the cord around his neck. With an unblinking stare, the psychiatrist pulled Choi in as he asked,"Detective Goren is in the building?"
"Yeah," Choi replied, a bit rattled by Charles' distinct reaction. "He got shot."
"Shot?!" Charles gasped, getting to his feet. "Which room?"
"Treatment three."
Immediately, and without another word, Charles turned and proceeded immediately to the treatment room. Normally a bit more reserved, the psychiatrist pulled back the curtain and entered without even a courteous knock to announce his approach.
Right on the psychiatrist's heels, Choi hoped he hadn't mis-stepped by telling Charles about Goren being here. He didn't want to inadvertently send the message that he believed Goren needed psychiatric intervention.
"Bobby," Charles exclaimed as he entered the room, "what are you doing in Chicago? Dr. Choi told me you've been shot!"
"Hey, Dr. Charles," Goren replied, his countenance brightening up the moment the psychiatrist walked into the room. "Don't worry, it just grazed me. Besides, it gave me an excuse to stop by Med. I was hoping to see you today, anyway. I would've called and told you I was coming, but I didn't know if we'd have time."
"As much as I appreciate you making the time to come and see me," Charles scolded, "it wasn't necessary for you get to shot in order to come to the hospital."
“Uh, that would be my doing," Voight interjected. "I was accompanying Goren here and his lieutenant on a police matter when a suspect from one of the local cases I'm working drove by. Shots were fired and Detective Goren knocked me down when he saw the gun. Saved my life."
"I've been a cop for a long time," Goren added humbly. "Instinct just kicked in."
Distracted by the conversation, the detective's grip on the icepack slipped and it nearly toppled over the edge of the bed.
"Here," Charles said, picking it up, "let me get that."
"Sorry," the detective apologized, "my fingers went a little numb."
"That's good, actually," Choi mentioned. "Means we can get those stitches in and have you discharged sooner rather than later."
Coming around from where she had been standing, the NYPD Lieutenant removed the pack from Dr. Charles and took it upon herself to hold it against her detective's arm.
"It's good to see you again, Lieutenant Benson," Charles said, after relinquishing the ice to her. "Though I'm surprised you're here with Bobby and not his former partner."
"I needed Eames to stay behind with Katherine Elizabeth," Goren explained.
“Oh, that's right. You said last time we spoke on the phone that she was doing better now. Terrible what happened to her."
"Who?" Voight asked, voicing aloud the same question that Choi was thinking.
"Just a close friend," Goren explained. "There was a serious incident. She experienced significant memory loss. But, uh, like I said, she's doing better. Now, she knows who I am, at least."
"She had us all real worried about her for a while though," Benson added.
"Memory issues can be tough," Choi said sympathetically before adding. "How's the arm feeling?"
"I can barely feel it," Goren replied with a bit of a laugh.
"Then I think it's time I get that gash closed up."
Coming around to the side of the bed, the other occupants of the room moved out of the way as Choi pulled out a needle and sutures from a nearby cabinet. Placing a sterile cloth down across a mobile raised tray, the doctor set the supplies there while he had the detective lean back against the bed. As he unwrapped the gauze and dressing from the injury site, he heard a small gasp behind him.
Turning his head, Choi looked over and the visiting NYPD Lieutenant who had gone distinctively pale.
"Liv," Goren said, looking down at his arm and back up at his Lieutenant, "you okay? It's really not that bad."
"No, I'm fine," she replied, though she didn't look it. "If you'll excuse me a moment. I think it's just a bit crowded in here."
Pushing past Charles, Voight, and Choi, Benson beat a hasty exit.
"She alright?" Charles asked.
"I think she's just been feeling poorly," Goren answered. "Maybe traveling just takes its toll on her. I'm sure it's nothing."
Making a beeline to the nearest bathroom, Benson burst through a stall door and promptly lost her lunch. Well, more accurately, she lost the remains of her breakfast. They hadn't had time for lunch yet. Lately, she found herself getting nauseous whenever she went without eating for more than a few hours. It hadn't been an issue until recently. Traveling, it seemed, had exasperated the issue.
"Ma'am?" a woman's voice called from outside the stall. "You doing okay in there?"
Olivia would’ve answered. However, another wave of nausea hit her. She started coughing, gagging on the surrounding air until her stomach emptied itself once more.
"Ugh," Benson moaned, pulling toilet paper from the roll and wiping her face with it before throwing it into the toilet.
She flushed and was surprised when a knock came at the stall door.
“Ma’am,” the woman said, “my name’s Dr. Manning. I’m one of the physicians here. Were you waiting in the ED to be seen?”
“No,” Olivia replied, swallowing hard and trying to get rid of the lingering taste of stomach acid. "I'm here with a colleague who's getting stitches. For some reason, seeing the injury made me nauseous. I probably just need to eat something."
"Do you feel light-headed or chilly?"
"No," Olivia assured her. "I'm fine. It's nothing."
"When was your last period?”
Olivia shook her head at the absurdity of the question and instead replied with a simple statement, “I'm 49. So if you’re suggesting what I think you are, then that’s highly unlikely.”
There was a rustling of fabric, and Olivia turned to see the doctor had crouched down and had stuck her hand under the edge of the door. In her palm was one of the cheap single-use pregnancy tests that hospitals and clinics bought in bulk. No pink-tipped caps, digital displays, or ergonomic design. The device was meant for a simple, rapid test.
“In my profession,” Dr. Manning explained, “the standard procedure is if a female is between the ages of ten to sixty, we always run a pregnancy test. The last thing we want to do is expose someone to an X-ray and then, oops, there's a baby. And believe me, that sort of thing does happen. A couple of weeks ago we had a 55-year-old in here complaining of weight gain and heartburn. She was seven months along.”
Not wanting to be rude, Olivia reached down and took the offered plastic test strip.
"You just —“ the doctor began to explain.
"I know how to use it," Olivia interrupted. “This is just … absurd. I mean, I haven’t had my period in a while but I have had some spotting. My gynecologist said it wasn’t uncommon for someone my age.”
“Ma'am," Manning insisted, "I know you don’t know me. But as a doctor, I take the Hippocratic oath, to treat those of sound mind and body as well as the infirm, pretty seriously. So, if you don't mind, I'd like to get you checked out. If not for your own peace of mind, then for mine.”
Staring blankly at the locked stall door, Olivia wondered what would Goren or Voight think if she walked back out into the ED just to have a doctor fussing over her just for throwing up. Goren would be concerned, undoubtedly. But, Voight, he might think less of her as a commanding officer. Her detective had just had a near brush with the business end of a gun and here she was, acting ill and drawing attention to herself.
With a sigh, she relented. She wasn't exactly happy to be peeing on a stick, but considering that she and Bobby had always used condoms, she wasn't too concerned. To be honest, for the last decade or so of her life, she had begun to suspect she was infertile. She hadn't always been careful but, while she had had some scares, she had never actually gotten pregnant.
Emerging a minute or so later, the sight of a dark-haired woman wearing a white doctor’s lab coat greeted her. Manning had, at this point, donned a pair of plastic gloves and held her hand out for the testing strip. Olivia handed it to her before making her way over to the row of sinks. Washing her hands, Olivia’s eyes followed Manning as the doctor placed the device in a plastic bag and laid the test flat on the counter.
"Now what?" Olivia asked.
"Now we wait," Manning said, pulling off the stethoscope from around her neck. "Do you mind letting me check your breathing and heart rate quick?"
Rolling her eyes, Benson allowed herself to be given a once-over. She felt foolish. All this over what was probably just the stomach flu.
"Your heart rate is a little elevated," Manning stated. "But you said you came in because a colleague got injured? That stress could be the reason. I wouldn't worry about it, though."
Backing up, the doctor leaned over to check the strip still lying on the counter. Then, pausing, she picked it up to inspect it closer.
"Just one line, right?"
"Um," Manning hesitated. "I think maybe you should take a look at it."
"Why?"
"It might just be the light in here, but I think there's a faint second line. Listen, I have another test if you want to give it a few minutes and try again.”
Standing with his hands in his pockets, Voight was growing restless. Goren was all stitched up and chatting away with Dr. Charles while they waited for Olivia. But wherever the lieutenant had gone, she still hadn't returned.
"Goren," Voight grumbled, "we should get going. They probably need the room."
Looking over at him, the detective replied, "Benson will be back soon, I'm sure. Then we can head out."
"Tell you what," the sergeant stated, "I'll go find her and we can meet back at the entrance. Sound good?"
"Probably for the best," Dr. Charles interjected. "I need to get back to work anyhow. It was good seeing you, Bobby. Give my best to your Miss Basil and Dr. Fray when you see them. And tell your old partner I said hello.”
“Will do," Goren replied, dismounting from the hospital bed.
Grabbing the detective's jacket, Hank held it out to him, making sure it wasn't left behind.
Goren sighed as he took the garment.
"I don't think there's saving this either. The tear in the sleeve from the bullet isn't easily mended."
"I gave up wearing the conventional suits and ties a long while back," Voight said in passing as he and Goren walked out of the treatment room. "My unit has always been more unconventional than most."
"Oh," Goren muttered in agreement. "I am very aware of that. But, uh, you go find Benson and I'll be waiting over by the entrance. I need to call Eames and check-in. Though I should probably figure out a way to break the news to her about this little incident. She's going to be pissed but, knowing her, it's better to tell her now than risk having her find out from another source."
"Good luck with that," Hank said before turning and walking towards the opposite end of the department.
Passing the restrooms, the sergeant paused and waited to see if Benson was in the area or if she was in the bathroom. After waiting a few minutes, he decided to try looking for her at other locations. If the SVU lieutenant truly wasn't feeling well, she could've found her way over to the commissary or cafeteria. However, upon reaching those locations and looking around, there was still no sign of Lieutenant Benson.
"Hey," Voight said, stopping a doctor he knew rather well from the ED.
One of his detectives, Jay Halstead, had a brother who worked here at Med.
"Dr. Halstead, have you seen a friend of mine? She's average height, dark brown hair and eyes, professional looking?"
"Um," Halstead replied, his lips tightening as he considered the question, "sorry, Sarge. I don't think so."
Coming up beside him, another familiar face was walking by with a cup of coffee in her hand.
"Hey, Natalie," Halstead said, stopping her and repeating the description Hank had given him.
"If it's who I think it is, then she went to go get some fresh air," Manning answered.
"Outside?"
"No, not outside of the building. But I could be wrong and it could be someone else entirely. But there was a woman I ran into earlier who asked where she could be to just get out of all the commotion of the ED. I sent her upstairs to that outdoor balcony no one ever likes to use."
"Ah," Voight replied. "I think I know the one. Thanks, Natalie."
"No problem," Manning replied, sipping at her coffee and continuing on her way.
Giving Halstead a brief farewell, Voight found himself making his way to the upper levels of the hospital. The balcony in question, on the tenth floor, provided one of the best views of the city. However, it was windy up there and most people tended to avoid it. And, not that the staff here would admit it, but there was a rumor that it was haunted due to some past unpleasant incidences involving the now-deceased Dr. Wheeler.
As he walked towards the balcony, Voight could see the SVU lieutenant outside, leaning up against the railing, staring off into the distance. Pushing open the glass door, he stepped out onto the patio and called out to Benson.
"Don't jump," he said, hoping his morbid joke would ease whatever tension that led Benson to seek the solitude of such a place.
"Don't tempt me, Hank," she replied, her voice full of emotion.
"Hey," he said softly, realizing he had completely miscalculated the situation. Coming closer, he noticed that Benson had been crying and the wind wiping her hair around her face would catch on the wetness on her cheeks. Assuming there was only one logical thing she could be upset about, he continued, "Olivia, don't beat yourself up over what happened earlier today. We've all lost someone to this job. But Goren is fine. He's all patched up and ready to go."
"This isn't about losing one of my detectives. Though trust me, I don't want that either," Benson explained. "Hank, I'm going to lose my job."
"Because of Goren getting shot?"
"No," she replied. "Though I've learned that Bobby has more resilience than people give him credit for, even if he does find himself in unfortunate circ*mstances more often than others."
"You care deeply, Olivia," Hank said. "Not only for the victims, but for entire whole unit. That's not a bad thing. I, for one, admire it. Goren has come a long way from the man I pulled out of that basem*nt. And I'm sure that no small part of his rehabilitation has been due to your caring influence."
"My caring influence?" Benson echoed in a mock-rhetorical tone. "I doubt the NYPD brass will see it that way."
Troubled by what the SVU lieutenant was saying, Voight pulled Olivia away from the edge of the balcony so that she was facing him.
"Olivia," he said, "commanding officer to commanding officer, we both know making the tough calls doesn't mean we're always playing by the book."
"That's the thing, Hank," she replied. "I should've kept to the book on this one."
"I don't think there's a rule about not accompanying your detective on a trip to make sure he has the support he needs when navigating through a difficult situation."
"But there is a rule about not letting yourself get drawn into a relationship with one of your detectives," Benson confessed. "f*ck. What was I thinking? I have a son at home to take care of. How can I do that without a job? What have I done?"
Given the context of their conversation, it didn't take much of an inference for Voight to guess what Lieutenant Benson was truly upset about.
"You and Goren been knockin’ boots?"
Sniffling, Benson wiped at her face.
"Not anymore. We both knew better, and I broke it off weeks ago. Still, when the brass finds out, I'm going to lose my job. I'll be disgraced. I can read the headlines now: Special Victim's Lieutenant Ousted for Sexual Misconduct Involving a Vulnerable Subordinate. My life's work ... completely eviscerated."
Letting a few seconds of meaningful silence hang between them, Hank didn't want to lessen the significance of what Olivia had just confessed.
"Seeing as you came with him on this trip to support him," Voight finally said, "by all appearances, it looks as though the two of you clearly have each other's best interest at heart. What makes you think Goren is going to turn you in? Doesn't seem like something he would do, all things considered."
"No," Benson said with a shake of her head. "I'm going to turn myself in. I don't see another choice."
"And why is that?"
Shaking her head, Benson did not reply.
"Olivia, this is my city and I'll tell you, we don't play by the same rules you do in New York. And seeing as you're here now, maybe we can deal with this problem before you have to leave and go back home. You just have to tell me what it is.”
"If it were only that simple.”
"It can be.”
"No," Benson replied. "I can’t.”
Sighing, Voight launched into a story.
"An old buddy of mine, Angel Batista, down in Miami, found himself in a similar situation not too long ago. He's a sergeant too. Well, as it turned out, he had a thing going with his lieutenant. Not a great match, to be honest with you. But the two of them managed to circumvent department regulations."
"How?"
"They, uh, got married."
Shocked, Benson's eyes went wide.
"You've got to be kidding!"
"I'm not," Hank countered. "Think about it, Olivia. Would it fix your problem?”
“I can’t ask him to do that.”
“Goren is not the same man I pulled out of a f*cking basem*nt three years ago. The man waiting for us downstairs is the furthest thing from that victim who crawled out of bed with two broken legs so he could get hold of a pair of cardiac paddles trying to off himself. Natalie Manning had to shock him back into rhythm. I saw that with my own two eyes.
"Goren was broken, mentally and physically. And you're right about getting sacked if that's the version of Goren your Internal Affairs will see if they wind up coming after you for sexual misconduct. I understand wanting to do things the right way. But if you don’t want your life’s work to be tarnished by your relationship with Goren, you need to do something that proves it’s a legitimate thing."
"It was a legitimate thing," Benson replied. "But, like I said, it's over now."
"Because you broke up with him?"
"Yes. I already said that."
"How did Goren feel about the breakup?"
Huffing, Benson replied, "He was hurt."
"So it's fair to say he didn't want the relationship to end?"
"I can't walk it back, Hank. Goren isn't going to want to marry me just so I can save face."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm sure people would talk," Benson countered. "He and I would both be ridiculed."
"But," Voight rationalized, "you'd both still be employed. Let me ask you this: You think Goren is going to want you to end your career over him?"
"No," she said with a shake of her head.“But I’m his commanding officer, Hank. It’s my duty to look out for him, not the other way around.”
“You think he doesn’t care what happens to you? Olivia, when those shots were fired, he might’ve pulled me down and out of the line of fire. But the first thing that came out of his mouth was to ask if you were okay. If you’re really in such a predicament where your career and livelihood are at stake, you should at least have the decency to tell Goren what’s coming down the line. Ask him to help you?”
"Goren and I have both spent our lives working for the City. Keeping a marriage under wraps without someone noticing our names on an official record would be impossible."
"Then get married here."
Shuffling his feet, Bobby paced in the hospital lobby.
His phone up to his ear, he chatted with his former partner on the other end of the line.
“It grazed me, Eames. It bled more than it hurt. I’m fine, really.”
———
With a chuckle, Bobby replied, “Honestly, I’m just relieved. Giving my statement to the judge was overwhelming, but getting shot at really put things in perspective. I dunno. Maybe the adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet.”
———
“Listen, Voight’s alive, Benson’s alive, and I’m alive. The perps are in custody and I got to see Dr. Charles. This day has been so wild. It can’t get any worse, can it? Anyway, I’m eager to get back to the hotel and sleep. I’m just waiting for the others now.”
———
Bobby shrugged unconsciously as he answered, “Benson hasn’t been feeling well this whole trip. She went white as a sheet when I was getting stitched up. She left the room. I’m not sure where she went. Voight left to track her down.”
———
“No. I’ll talk to Katherine Elizabeth when I get home.”
———
Looking up at the ding of elevator doors echoing through the room, Goren watched as his lieutenant and the CPD sergeant finally appeared.
“Listen, Eames. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you in the morning before we board our flight. Okay?”
———
“Bye, now.”
With his arm beginning to throb, Goren approached them. Both the lieutenant and the sergeant looked rather grim, and it was more than a bit concerning.
"There you are," Goren said. "Is everything okay? Liv?"
"Let's not talk about it here," she replied, pushing past him and heading back towards the exit.
Glancing over at Voight, Goren shot the sergeant a questioning look.
"You heard your lieutenant, Detective," Voight said. "Let's go."
Without any explanation, Goren trailed behind them as they made their way back out to the black Cadillac Escalade. No one spoke a word as they climbed in and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Stranger still, instead of getting into the front seat with Voight, Benson got in the back next to her detective.
"What's going on?" Goren asked, once the doors were closed and the engine started.
Ignoring him, Voight didn't answer and instead backed out of his spot and quickly exited the parking structure. Pulling into traffic, the car was silent. It wasn't until they were well away from the hospital that the silence was finally broken.
"You hungry?" Voight asked. "Portillo's is a bit of a tourist trap, but they do have a great Italian Beef."
"No," Goren answered. "That is unless you are, Lieutenant?"
Next to him, Olivia merely shook her head.
"Tell you what," Voight said, pulling over. "I'm going to run a quick errand and you two can figure out what you want to do."
And as quickly as the sergeant got out of the vehicle, he was gone. Craning his neck, Goren tried to look and see where it was Voight had gone, but the man had simply disappeared. Looking over at Olivia, Bobby was disconcerted that she wasn't reacting to the other man's sudden departure. Instead, she stared straight ahead, her eyes almost blank, as if she wasn't focusing on anything within her line of sight.
"Olivia?" Goren inquired. "What is going on? Did something happen that I'm not aware of? Is there a case that’s blown up back in New York while we’ve been here?"
"Bobby," she said softly, biting her lip, "you know how you've kept asking me on this trip if I've felt okay?"
"Yeah?" he replied, worry and concern building inside him.
"You were right to ask," she continued. "I haven't felt very well on this trip or for the last few days, weeks even. But I just chalked it up to having indigestion or something."
"Olivia, are you okay?"
Benson shrugged and then admitted, "I'm pregnant."
Bobby's eyes went wide and his heart all but stopped. The rational part of his brain was crowded with a hundred questions, but the emotional side of him reacted first, silencing him.
Finally, after the longest seconds of his life, Olivia muttered, “Say something.”
“I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting this.”
“And you think I was?”
“I’m going …” he said, his words coming out in what he felt was a haphazard jumble. “I’m going to need a second.”
Unbuckling his seatbelt, Goren pushed his door open and stepped out into the street. With the car door now shut behind him, he thought he might scream. Instead, he whispered.
“f*ck.”
Taking a deep breath, and then another, he tried to calm himself.
"f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, f*ck," he huffed in quick succession.
Bobby walked to the back of the car and leaned his head against the vehicle’s exterior panels.The warm metal did nothing to cool his heated face. Another few deep breaths later, he climbed back into the back of the vehicle.
"Sorry," he said, sitting back down and closing the door.
Looking over at Olivia, he could see she was crying and the last thing he wanted to do was upset her more than she already was. Instinctively, he went to pull out a handkerchief to offer her but realized his was already gone, having used it earlier to stem the flow of blood from the gash the bullet had left in his arm.
“When did you find out?” he questioned, knowing better than to ask about the paternity of the fetus.
“Today,” she answered. “This afternoon.”
“At the hospital?”
Olivia nodded and said, “I'll have to get blood work done once we get back to New York to confirm, but I’ve taken two tests already. Both were positive.”
Goren gulped against the lump forming in his throat. Olivia had just found out, and her first instinct was to tell him. While he appreciated the fact that his lieutenant was now in a very tenuous predicament, he felt as though this announcement couldn’t have come at a worse time.
Steadying himself, he made the conscience effort to try to remain objective.
“Then there is a choice to be made,” he stated. “Am I to be part of that decision-making process, or am I just being notified?”
“Bobby,” Benson said softly, her voice full of silent pleading as she placed her hand on top of his.
The detective pulled his hand away from the woman who had broken his heart. This situation was far too fraught with unknown ramifications. He could not risk letting any romantic feelings get in the way.
"This is all my fault," he said. "f*ck, Liv. What were we thinking?”
“Questioning how we got here isn’t going to change anything.”
“People like us shouldn’t —”
"Stop, Bobby," she interrupted him. “What are you saying? You told me yourself that you always wanted kids.”
Goren looked over at his lieutenant and felt his eyes begin to well with moisture. His voice now hollow, he said, “That doesn’t mean I deserve to be a father.”
Olivia replied, her tone firm and unwavering, “I don’t want an abortion.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to get one.”
“Because,” Olivia explained fervently, tears now falling freely, “being a mother was the best decision I have ever made. Loving my son has brought out a strength in me that I didn’t know I had, and I will not deny this child a chance to experience that love.”
Hesitantly, Goren gazed down at his hands as he asked, “Even if that child’s father is a bastard: a product of an extra-marital affair between a schizophrenic and a killer?”
The lieutenant’s posture stiffen as she replied, “Do you think it matters that my mother was an alcoholic, who, by the way, got pregnant with me because she was raped?”
Rubbing his hands together, Bobby didn’t look up at her.
“No,” he said. “That doesn’t matter.”
“There’s no gene that predisposes someone to develop violent behavior. Trust me, Bobby, I’ve done my research on that one.”
“You’re willing to take that risk?”
“We take risks every day. I don’t see this as being that different.”
“Liv,” Goren said, more emphatically as he finally shifted to face her, “let’s be sensible about this. Okay? I’m in my fifties and you are not that far behind me. A child, now, at our age, is incredibly risky.
“And I know, I know,” he continued. “When I came to your apartment and asked you to be with me, I told you it was worth the risk. But where did that get us? Broken up, broken-hearted, and with an unplanned pregnancy. The first two things we can hide. The third is going to get us fired.”
Clearing her throat, Benson remarked, “About that…”
Goren could feel his face going pale.
“Liv, don’t … don’t ask me to pretend like the baby isn’t mine.”
“No. Besides, it’s not like I’ll be telling anyone I’m pregnant, at least not for a while. However, when it gets to that point, I’m sure I’ll have to face disciplinary action.”
“You’ll get fired, Liv,” he said, almost pleading with her not to put herself in jeopardy. “Even if I quit before anyone finds out I’m the father, the Brass isn’t going to care. They’ll throw the book at you.”
“I don’t think you should quit, Bobby. That’s the last thing you should do,” Olivia admitted.
“I can’t let you take the fall for this.”
Heaving a sigh, Benson said, “If you quit, it will serve as an implication that I pressured you into doing it. And I know exactly what happens to commanding officers who abuse their positions. There have been too many lawsuits over the years and there is zero tolerance for liaisons and affairs. The fact that I'm a woman and you're a man means they'll have a chance to prove that they are "equal opportunity" in pursuing action against me; maybe even charges. Bobby, I don't want anything. I need ... I need a Hail Mary.”
“I can’t perform miracles, Liv.”
Huffing, she replied, “You sure about that? You got me pregnant. Isn’t that a miracle in the first place?”
“So, what’s this Hail Mary then? What do you need me to do?”
Next to him, Goren could see the nervous look in Benson’s eye as she visibly gulped.
“Bobby,” she muttered so quietly he could barely hear her, “I need you to marry me."
