Chapter Text
The hotel dining room smelled like coffee, maple syrup, and regret.
At the center of it all: the Benson-Rollins clan, already attracting side-eyes from strangers because they could never quite sit quietly.
Fin slid into his chair like his bones had been swapped out for wet newspaper. He didn’t so much sit as collapse, limbs folding in on themselves until he looked like a cautionary tale in a D.A.R.E. video.
The sunglasses stayed on, though—big, wraparound aviators that screamed do not perceive me.
“Coffee,” he rasped, not at anyone in particular—just to the universe.
Amanda, smug as hell, pushed a cup toward him. “Cream or sugar?”
He waved her off like a man refusing last rites. “Black. If I’m goin’ down, I’m goin’ down hard.”
Jesse leaned across the table, chin in her hands. “You look terrible.”
Fin raised one finger in warning. “You try doin’ four shots with your Aunt Casey while Munch sings Sinatra and then talk to me about terrible.”
“Four?” Noah asked dryly. “We counted seven.”
Fin tilted his head, winced, and groaned. “You kids keepin’ score now? That’s harassment.”
Billie piped up brightly. “You cried!”
The table stilled.
Fin slowly lifted his head, peering at her through the dark lenses. “The hell I did.”
“Yes you did,” Billie said, completely unfazed. “You said, ‘Amanda’s my little rookie and I love her so much.’ And then you hugged the cake lady.”
Amanda clapped a hand over her mouth, snorting into her napkin. Liv had to reach for her water.
Jesse doubled down, grinning like a hyena. “Then you hugged the DJ. Told him he was the realest man you’d ever known.”
“Lies,” Fin croaked, stabbing his fork into a pancake like he meant to kill it.
“And then,” Billie added, delighting in the kill shot, “you tried to catch the bouquet!”
Fin’s fork clattered to the plate. He sat bolt upright. “ALRIGHT—” His voice cracked halfway, and he winced, massaging his temples. “Okay. Okay. Everybody needs to shut up before I file a grievance with HR.”
Liv was actually wheezing now, tears of laughter on her cheeks. “Oh my God, Fin—”
Amanda was red in the face from laughing so hard. “You did! You jumped like three feet in the air!”
“I slipped,” he grumbled, hiding behind his coffee. “Floor was wet. OSHA violation.”
Jesse whipped out her phone, gleeful. “It’s on video.”
Fin groaned so loud the whole table heard. “You kids are demons. Actual demons.”
Billie leaned across and patted his sleeve with all the gravitas of a tiny judge. “It’s okay, Uncle Fin. We love you anyway.”
He slumped forward, head thunking gently onto the table. “Somebody just end me now.”
And the worst part? He meant it.
⸻
The elevator dinged once. Casey Novak sauntered in like she had just won a closing argument that had no business being won. Blazer slightly askew, hair tousled in that way that said she had not, in fact, been in bed alone. She dropped into a chair at the SVU breakfast table with a grin sharp enough to cut glass and immediately reached for the coffee pot like nothing was amiss.
Two minutes later, another ding.
Alex Cabot.
She entered as if summoned by karma itself. Perfect posture, sunglasses perched primly on her head, her navy blazer buttoned all the way up to her throat. The only problem was the blooming purple bruise just peeking above her collar. She slid into the chair across from Casey, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
It might have worked—until Jesse squinted mid-bite of her pancake.
“Aunt Alex?” she said carefully. “Did you have an accident?”
The whole table stilled. Alex blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Jesse pointed with her fork, face creased with concern. “Your neck is all bruisey. Did you fall?”
Alex’s composure faltered. She adjusted her collar, heat climbing into her cheeks. “It’s nothing, sweetheart. Really.”
Billie gasped and leaned closer. “Did you bump into a wall? Poor Aunt Alex!” She turned to Amanda, very seriously. “Should we call Nurse Lucy?”
Amanda nearly choked on her juice. Liv pressed her lips together so tightly it made her cheekbones ache. Fin groaned into his hands.
Casey? Casey sat back in her chair like the cat who’d eaten the entire aviary.
“She’s fine,” Casey said smoothly, swirling her coffee. “Trust me. It wasn’t an accident.”
Alex’s head whipped toward her, blue eyes burning. “Casey.” The single word carried so much threat.
But Casey wasn’t done. She leaned one elbow on the table, smiling in a way that was somehow both smug and affectionate. “I’ve always known Alex was talented in a courtroom,” she said conversationally. “Brilliant at giving an opening argument.” She let that hang, just long enough for the adults to choke on their coffee. “But last night, turns out she’s even better at… taking a closing argument.”
Amanda snorted so hard she had to cover her face with a napkin. Fin let out a strangled laugh that became a cough. Noah groaned and buried his face in his hands.
Liv stared at Casey, horrified and delighted all at once. “You did not just say that.”
Alex’s entire face went crimson. “I—cannot believe—you—Casey Novak, you are insufferable.” She tugged her blazer higher like it might cover the hickey, as if half the room hadn’t already clocked it.
“Insufferable?” Casey’s grin widened, shameless. “Last night you didn’t seem to think so.”
Alex’s jaw dropped. “You—” She glanced desperately at the kids, trying to salvage something. “You—”
But Jesse, oblivious, beamed and said, “So you didn’t fall into a wall!”
Billie nodded, proud of her detective work. “I knew it.”
Amanda was in tears from laughing. Liv’s mascara was already smudging.
Noah, mortified beyond belief, muttered, “I cannot be here right now,” shoving more pancake in his mouth. Liv leaned over, whispering furiously, “How do you even understand what’s going on?” His ears went scarlet. “I just do, okay?!”
Alex groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I hate all of you.”
Casey sipped her coffee, victorious. “You love me.”
Alex, muffled behind her palms: “Tragically.”
⸻
Fin’s forehead was still pressed dramatically against the table when Noah cleared his throat with exaggerated importance.
“Uncle Fin,” he said, in that teenager voice that already carried too much smugness for breakfast hour. “I, uh… think you should see this.”
Amanda froze mid-bite of toast. “Noah—”
But it was too late. Noah had his phone propped up like he was about to give a PowerPoint presentation. He tapped the screen, and the entire table—Liv, Amanda, Jesse, Billie, Alex, Casey—got an eyeful of drunk-as-hell Fin.
On screen, the audio was slightly distorted by thudding bass from the reception, but the picture was crystal clear: Fin, swaying like a skyscraper in a windstorm, clutching Olivia Benson in a death grip. His voice was hoarse and breaking as he wailed into her shoulder:
“Y-you don’t understand—you’re so beautiful, Benson. You—sniff—you’re my Cap’n forever. I’m so proud’a you. SO proud.”
Olivia, in the video, was patting his back like he was a spooked horse. Her expression? Somewhere between affection and absolute despair.
The table exploded. Amanda dropped her fork. Jesse slapped the table so hard her juice sloshed. Billie gasped like she was watching a soap opera.
“Oh my GOD,” Liv groaned, burying her burning face in her hands. “Please delete that, Noah.”
Fin lifted his head, looking like he’d been personally victimized by technology. “That ain’t real. Deepfake. AI. Russian disinformation.”
But Noah was grinning like the devil. “Wait, wait, there’s more.”
He swiped. And suddenly, on the little screen, there was Fin again—this time staggering near the door of the banquet hall as Chief McGrath came over to say his goodbyes. McGrath leaned in, murmured something polite.
Fin, glassy-eyed, pointed at him with the intensity of a prophet. “You… you’re a punk ass bitch.”
The table erupted.
Amanda actually slid down in her seat, crying with laughter. Jesse was wheezing. Billie slapped both hands over her mouth but squeaked, “Uncle Fin, you’re in so much trouble.”
Liv had tears streaming down her cheeks, trying desperately to keep her Captain voice. “Fin… oh my God… you insulted the Chief of Detectives on camera.”
Fin dropped his face back into his folded arms. His groan rattled the silverware. “I might actually die. Forget the hangover—kill me now.”
Alex Cabot, thrilled that somebody else was being targeted, raised her mimosa glass. “To Fin Tutuola, the bravest man we know.”
Casey Novak clinked hers against it, smirking. “May his formal apology be legendary.”
Fin raised one middle finger from the table, voice muffled. “Y’all are fake friends. Every last one of you.”
Amanda patted his shoulder sweetly. “It’s okay, Fin. We’ll help you draft it. Start with ‘Dear Chief Punk Ass Bitch—’”
He made a strangled noise that was either laughter or the sound of a man resigning himself to his fate.
_______
Plates were scraped clean, the last of the coffee poured, and the waitstaff had started to eye their table like maybe this circus had taken up the corner booth long enough.
Fin pushed his chair back with a groan so loud the entire restaurant turned. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Y’all better not call me for a week. I’m gonna be in bed. Dead. Don’t even think about it.”
“You’ve got three missed calls from McGrath already,” Noah deadpanned, waving Fin’s buzzing phone at him.
“Tell him I died,” Fin shot back, grabbing the phone and shoving it into his pocket like it had personally wronged him. “And tell him I left Billie in charge.”
Liv rolled her eyes, smiling into her napkin.
Casey, stretching in her chair like a cat, said, “Well. This has been fun. I should probably get going.”
Liv leaned back. “I’ll give you a ride to the airport.”
For the first time all morning, Casey Novak actually blushed. She fiddled with her empty coffee cup, then glanced—oh so quickly—at Alex. “Um. I… actually don’t need that lift. I think I’m gonna stay in New York a little longer.”
Alex didn’t look up from smoothing the cuff of her blazer, but her ears were very, very pink.
Amanda smirked, leaning into Liv’s shoulder. “Mmhm. Shocker.”
“Shut up, Rollins,” Alex muttered without heat.
The kids had already begun gathering their things—Billie insisting on carrying Jesse’s backpack, Jesse insisting she didn’t need help. Noah slipped a protective arm around both of them, herding them toward the door with the kind of casual authority that made Liv’s chest ache with pride.
Liv stood, reaching for her coat. Amanda shrugged hers on, pressing a kiss to the crown of Billie’s hair as she passed. Fin muttered something about “cab, dark room, blackout curtains” and shuffled off toward the exit like a man on his way to his own funeral.
Casey and Alex hung back, pretending they weren’t watching each other.
Liv gathered the kids with one hand, Amanda with the other, and for a moment she just let herself look: Noah—tall, steady, hers. Jesse—bright-eyed and sharp-tongued. Billie—still small, but so aware. Amanda—her wife. Their family.
She exhaled, a quiet, steady thing, and smiled.
“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go home.”
And so the five of them did—hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder—stepping out into the New York morning, into whatever came next.