Well, this is it! the final installment! It was a pleasure! Thank you my beautiful fans, you are truly what makes the world go around!

Sins of the Father

Part 15

Three days later.

New York.

Olivia plunked her overnight bag on the couch and sank down into the soft cushions with relief. She kicked her shoes off. Should she have tea? Or a hot bath? Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a moment... Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and a familiar voice calling her name from the other side. Olivia wasn't surprised at her partner's arrival but the thought of a warm bath dissapated as she struggled to sit up, "Come in," she said.

"Hey," Elliot pushed the door open and slid through. He was wearing the sweater and jean combo that typically meant he had a day off.

"What are you doing here?" Her bluntness was surprising, but only because she was tired. She welcomed his presence but hoped it would be short so she could pass out on the couch.

Elliot shrugged and looked around, "Came by to see if you needed anything,"

"I don't know El... I just got here, how did you know I was back?"

"Cragen called me." Elliot walked over and sat across from her, steepling his hands. His face had that look- pursed lips, small squint, eyebrows knit in concentration. Something was up.

"El... spit it out."

He rubbed his hand over the light stubble on his chin and shook his head. "Nah, it's nothing, I'll tell you later." He stood up to leave.

Olivia wanted to believe that it was nothing, but it couldn't possibly be nothing. He wouldn't come all the way down here for nothing. "Wait, what is it?"

He stopped, rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath, "Well, I... did some searching while you were in the hospital."

"Searching," Olivia repeated. "For what?"

"Not what... whom. There was a New York address in Joe's address book, a close friend, Bruce Clark."

"Okay..." Where did this lead? The name Bruce was from the letter, but Olivia hadn't thought to connect the dots at the time. Why did Elliot have to go and put his big nose into everything? She didn't want to deal with this right now. A hot bath and some tea is all she wanted to trouble herself with tonight. "You were in my apartment. You could have said something." She was tired of Elliot going behind her back trying to fix her life.

Elliot put his palms out in defense, "I am now. Just listen to me okay? You woulda done the same thing for me, you know it." He cleared his throat, "Bruce died a week ago, but since he had no family, I got a look around. " he reached into his pocket and pulled out a faded rumpled piece of paper and handed it to Olivia. It was a photocopied newspaper cut out of Olivia as a high school Valedvictorian. The words, 'I found her' were scrawled in dark blue ink. "It was sent to Bruce twenty years ago."

Olivia stared at the page, wide-eyed. "He knew me? He knew who I was?"

"He followed your career," Elliot said, but his words were lost in the flurry of her own thoughts. All this time he knew her... knew who she was, what she did... but didn't bother to meet her. The hole she thought she buried when she spoke to Bill was tearing open again and she didn't know how much she could take. She snatched the picture out of Elliot's hand and lurched out of the couch to the balcony.

xxx

Mac nervously knocked on the door of Olivia's apartment and glanced at Harm.

"Think she'll like the flowers?" Harm held up the bundle they'd brought.

She tilted her head. "Can't go wrong with flowers." She heard rustling on the other side of the door and stepped back. Stabler's face appeared, "What are you guys doing here?" he asked.

"We're catching our flight out tonight, wanted to say goodbye," Harm explained. "Can we come in?"

"Uh, yeah, I'll just go get Olivia." Elliot said. He stepped back and allowed them in. Mac closed the door behind her and took a look around. She smiled. The place was warm and cozy, not at all what she expected, it was even similar to her own apartment.

"Uh, she'll be out in a minute," Elliot called, stepping in from the balcony. "You guys want something?"

"Herbal tea?" Harm asked.

"Sure." Elliot made his way to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water, "Mac?" he asked, putting the kettle on the stove.

"Nothing for me thanks." Mac gazed out the balcony window at Olivia and wondered what she was thinking. While Mac battled nightmares and flashbacks of guilt, she wondered what Olivia battled. She became a cop. For justice? Or to not be like her parents? Probably both, Mac thought. The whistling kettle disrupted her thoughts and she stood and walked to the kitchen. She poured the hot water into the mugs, letting the chamomile aroma hit her senses. Outside, Olivia still brooded on the balcony. Mac picked up the mugs of tea and walked over to Harm and Elliot.

"Okay fine," Harm was saying to Elliot, "But that's not how you treat a lady..."

Mac handed him a mug and tried to listen to the converation, but something about Olivia's sillouhette on the balcony, the hunched shoulders and lowered head caught her eye. What did they interrupt? Mac cupped the steaming mug of tea in her hands and crossed onto the balcony.

xxx

Cool air wisped around Olivia but didn't bother her in the least. She was flush with anger and pain. Why did Elliot have to go nosing around digging up the ruins of her life? She thought she had come to terms with it. Her father was a criminal, a rapist. A victim and a perpetrator of the very crimes she investigated everyday. Perhaps in some sick way he cared about her mother and her, but at the core Joe Mackenzie could never be the father she wanted in her life. Instead he was the instigator, the reason for her being, and that felt so wrong to her.

She began to wipe the tears from her eyes when she heard the door slide open, "Elliot, I told you-"

"It's me." Mac said softly. The door slid quietly behind her.

"Oh." Taken off guard, another sob escaped her lips. She had never cried like this, never felt so vulnerable. Olivia swallowed and wiped her eyes, keeping her gaze out at the cityscape.

"Are you ok?" Mac asked, handing her the cup of tea.

"... no," and then the words just tumbled out. The pain she was in from the bullet wound that tore a chunk out of her side, the anger she felt toward her partner for snooping around... she unfolded the crumpled picture. "Why? Why did he look for me? What did he want?"

Mac covered her mouth with her hand when she saw the picture. "Oh Olivia..." she stepped up to the rail and stood beside her. "I left my father when I was seventeen... I think he felt so rejected, so abandoned, that maybe he thought..."

"That he could get to know me?"

"Maybe." Mac looked at her hands and shook her head. "I was so angry at him, you know... when I was young I blamed him for forcing my mother to leave me, driving my boyfriends away, everything that happened to me was his fault." Mac gazed thoughtfully at Olivia. "Even though you never knew him, you still carry him with you... He's part and parcel of your life. Your being a cop hinges on the fact that he raped your mother and you had to live with that your whole life."

Olivia sipped her tea and mulled over Mac's insight. Did she blame him for who she was now? Was she victimizing herself? Like Mac, Joe Mackenzie had never physically hurt her, but he was still a sore spot in her life. She stared at the photocopied picture of herself and traced the imprinted words I found her. Was he looking for some kind of redemption in her? Could she give it to him?

In the glow of the city, the pair of them stood out there and looked out over the vast metropolis that suddenly became so small.

xxx

Three weeks later.

Wakefield Va.

She had driven two hours and forty-six minutes on the I-95 on a Saturday afternoon to meet with a very important person. One of the town councillors, former Ensign Tara Littman, Since she had returned from New York, Mac had gone into full research mode. It was second nature for her to always take the opposite side of things. Even though she had been the one to send Richardson packing to Leavenworth, she couldn't let go of the insinuation that maybe she had been wrong. Although the Marine side of her felt the situation was black and white, the lawyer inside argued for the many shades of grey, and that led her to Littman. The restaurant was small but warm, with surprisingly fresh coffee. Mac took a sip from the hot mug.

"Colonel Mackenzie?"

She looked up and saw a prim blonde woman in her early thirties with bright green eyes. She was dressed casually in jeans and a turtleneck sweater, but somehow appeared very classy regardless.

"Ensign Littman." Mac stood up and shook her hand.

"Please, call me Tara."

Mac smiled and sat down. "Tara."

Tara placed a bottle of water on the table and sat down across from Mac. "So, it's a little unexpected to see you, what's this about?"

"I don't know if you heard," Mac said, straight to the point, "but James Richardson is dead." She drummed her fingers on her mug, watching Tara closely.

"Oh." Tara said simply. "Well, I guess I can have some closure then." She sighed and sipped her water looking at Mac straight on.

The way she said that last phrase, so carefree, lacking in emotional weight, as if she never needed closure, irked Mac. Mac looked for a further reaction from her, a frown, a smile, a sob, but there was none. Just a blank stare at the coffee table. She continued with her strategy.

"You know," Mac said, "I spoke to James before he died, and he said the strangest thing; he said he was been set up."

Tara shook her head, "Unbeliveable. That man would do anything to try and get off the hook."

Mac smiled, rueful. "I don't doubt that." Not one bit. "But I did my research Tara, and there is something I do doubt," Mac tilted her head. "You."

"Excuse me?" Tara's voice was layered with offense, suspicion and fear.

Exactly what Mac wanted to hear. "Your case was my first major sexual assault case that went to trial. I was so convinced of Richardson's guilt that I failed to see the big picture. And I was too blind to really dig into your and Commander McCrae's story."

"You know, Colonel, I just remembered I have something important to do," Tara stood up quickly, "I'm really thankful that you came here in person to inform me of Richardson's death, but I'm going to be late." She smiled. "We'll be in touch."

"No." Mac's voice was firm. "You leave now, I will have you arrested for conspiracy, perjury, and drug trafficking. Stay and hear me out, and I might cut you a deal."

"Conspiracy? Drug Trafficking? Perjury?" Littman shook her head. "This is harassment. I'm calling the police." She picked up her cell and began to dial.

"Go ahead." Mac gave her best artificial smile. "Actually, you won't even need to call them, just give a wave from the window." Littman glanced out the window and saw the Sheriff's car parked near the cafe. The Sheriff, covered by a shadow from the sun, leaned against the car. He caught her gaze in the sunlight and tipped his hat in her direction.

"You want to accuse me?" Tara tried to put on a front, but there was a subtle layer of fear in her reaction as she slid back down in her seat "Let me hear what you have to say."

Mac sipped her coffee, "I did my research, of all the ships in the Pacific, yours was the one with the most per capita drug infractions. Your ship had the largest global reach. You were the officer in charge of the ships inventory. And I found some interesting discrepencies in your tax file that only make sense if you won the lottery or came into a significant amount of family money. Care to elaborate?"

Tara sighed. "I think I should get a lawyer."

"You're welcome to it, but I haven't even arrested you yet." Mac reached into her briefcase and pulled out a large stack of files. "This is the evidence I have against you. We can do this two ways: I can arrest you and bring about a very public and humiliating trial that you will lose, or we can talk," Mac shrugged, "Up to you."

The former Navy officer tried to appear surprised, failed miserably, and dropped the facade. Her shoulders drooped and she turned red with shame. "What's going to happen to me?" The truth was out, and there was no running from it.

"That depends on what you tell me." Mac put a tape recorder on the table and pressed the record button.

She bit her lip, looked out at the window at the Sheriff again, and looked around at all the patrons in the Cafe. Mac knew that Tara Littman was well known and respected in the community. In fact, she was counting on it.

"Alright." Littman cleared her throat. "I sort of stumbled into this drug thing and I took advantage... I made thirty-two thousand a year, risking my life everyday for what? So I can come home every six months and defend the government's decision to go to war? My mom was sick... and I couldn't afford to pay for her treatments..." She took a couple sips of her water and figdgeted with the cap. "It was easy, a couple of guys smuggled drugs in and out for me, and I kept them in ship's stores. I dealt them out to the crew or to other offshore buyers. The take was easy and the risk low. Everything was perfect until Richardson was ordered to my section. He was mean to the girls, he didn't care about anything or anyone- I had to get rid of him."

"So you set him up." Mac tapped the table with her fingers.

"Yes." Tara pouted, "It seemed like the easiest way."

"Did Commander McCrae know about your activities?"

"She didn't have a clue. I talked some girls into making formal complaints about Richardson, and then I told her that I heard him talking to some of his shipmates about 'showing me a lesson,' and I suggested that he be transferred. She told me that he wanted to be transferred, but his application was denied, and it would be two weeks before it could be appealed."

"You hacked into his file..." Mac picked up where Tara left off, recalling the evidence she and Harm had gathered. "You made a few alterations, and then you convinced McCrae that Richardson was dangerous." Commander Macrae willingly went with it, even going so far as to lie in court for Tara.

"...yes."

Now it was time for Mac to pull out the big guns. "Well, there is something you should know, after Richardson got out of jail, he wanted others to feel what he felt." She picked up the envelope and pulled out the contents. One by one, each photo and report was laid in front of Tara. Crime photos, autopsy reports, victim statements, witness statements, police notes, Mac averted her gaze from the photo the police had taken of the gash and bruise on her forehead that Richardson had inflicted. "Three people dead, three sexually assaulted, one shot, one on trial for murder, countless lives affected." Granted, Tara was not directly responsible, but her selfishness created a nasty turn of events that never should have happened.

"You have a choice," Mac continued. "You can come with me to the sheriff's office, where I will formally charge you with drug trafficking and conspiracy and face a very public trial that you will lose, " she took a breath, relieved to still see the shame on Tara's face. "Or, you can work off your sentence on a new task force that the JAG corp is initiating. The Navy and the NYPD will be addressing the issues of harassment and sexual assault in the armed forces with the help of the Special Victims Unit from New York."

"What? What is that?" Tara asked.

"You will meet victims of rape and sexual assault and learn what they go through. I hope, Ensign, that you will learn some empathy." She emphasised that last word. As an afterthought she added, "also, any properties obtained through illegal funds will be reposessed."

"What? You can't do that!" Tara pleaded with her.

"This is a big decision Tara, take a few minutes, think about it." Mac got up with barely contained anger and walked outside, leaving the pictures and crime reports out there for Tara to look at.

The Sheriff nodded his head at her and she leaned against the car with him. "Nice acting." Mac said.

"You know, I think if I wasn't a pilot or a lawyer, Sheriff would be the next best thing" Harm said, squinting into the sun.

"The hat suits you."

He tipped it. "Thanks." He nodded at the window. "Think she'll take your good advice?"

"If she has any sense, she will," Mac crossed her arms. "Harm?" He had been with her the whole time, backing her play, supporting her.

He looked thoughtfully down at her.

Mac breathed deep, looked up at him through the bright sun, "Thanks."

xxx

Some time later

California

Olivia stepped onto the green grass of the cemetary. The cherry blossoms filled the valley with pink shades and a pleasing fruity aroma. A city girl by heart, she had never seen such beauty. Olivia walked through the graveyard, looking up and down the rows for the plot that her father was buried Olivia found the grave site, a gentle, round man with dark culy hair stood there. He wore the priest's white collar and black shirt. She wanted Mac to be here, but she was on an overseas assignment. Still, Mac did not leave her alone.

"Hello," The priest greeted her with a wide smile. "Y-you must be Olivia." He took her hand in his with such warmth and grace.

"Father Gerraro," she replied. "Mac told me about you."

"I'm glad you came."

The sun was rising over the hill of the valley. and the colors blazed around her in an amazing display. The morning mist rose off the grass and wrapped around her ankles. Olivia sighed and enveloped herself in the peace and serenity of the valley. So much she didn't understand about Joe, so much she struggled with. But somehow, here, it didn't matter. Olivia looked down at the simple grave. "So, how does this work?"

Fin