A/N: Thank you to my little betas. I could have have done this without you. Thanks also to Adrienne, who put up with my OCD and constant e-mails about changes!
Voices hovered over her like specters, too many to keep track of. They grew louder and more numerous as the fog in her brain lifted. She cracked one eye open, then another.
Colors swirled around her. It reminded her of cars on an interstate at night, the headlights blending together to form a single blurry line. Each pass of light sent a series of shooting pains through her head.
She flinched as a cool, metallic object brushed against her temple. Her eyes crossed as it swung like a pendulum in and out of her line of vision. In her tired state, she sluggishly identified the stethoscope as it dangled from the neck of one of the first-responders. She willed her eyes to focus as a face materialized, its origin she wasn't sure.
Something pinched her hand. Confused, she tried to look down, but the plastic collar around her neck restricted any movement.
The panic bubbling beneath the surface of her usual cool demeanor increased and she started to thrash around. Her arm shot out in an attempt to dislodge the clear mask covering her nose and mouth. A hand caught her flailing limb before gently placing it onto a plastic board beneath her body.
She blinked rapidly, surveying the scene the best that she could. She saw a stoplight overhead and realized she was in the middle of the street. She heard the slow progression of tires as they passed by and silently apologized for being the reason for the traffic jam.
She tried to whisper a short, fragmented question to gain some kind of knowledge as to what happened.
The sheer act of speaking was torture and her voice was too muffled for anyone to hear over the noise. She closed her eyes in a futile attempt to escape. If only she could.
With her eyes clamped shut, she focused on her other senses. Each sound was separate from the rest. An engine idled nearby as officers shouted out orders to each other around the perimeter of the accident. Her accident.
She remembered a horn and the stinging sensation of gravel as it tore through her clothing, ripping and abrading skin. The memory was distant, held in some dark recess of her mind until she was ready to face it, to make sense of it all.
Hands tapped her cheeks while latex-coated fingers pried her heavy lids apart, drawing her away from her thoughts. She coughed at the smell, a scent that reminded her of the victims she'd dealt with on a daily basis.
She wanted to yell at them to leave her alone, that the light they kept shining into her eyes only made her head hurt worse. It pounded, intensified by the hurried footsteps as they scraped against the pavement near her head. Nausea rose as her stomach churned, ready to release its contents.
She stilled as the hands pulled her shirt away from her body. Goosebumps rose on her torso as the cold air hit exposed skin. She shivered in a subconscious attempt to ward off the chill.
A yelp pierced through the night as the fingers poked and prodded, adding insult to injury. She tried to turn away from the cause of her discomfort, only to be met with a resistance too great to overcome.
More voices, this time louder. She grasped keywords that clued her in as the paramedics spoke to one another, flanked on each side of her.
Contusions. She focused on the burning sensation of the multiple cuts and scrapes on her body. Her face had absorbed some of her fall, or maybe when she landed. She knew she had a terrible case of road rash all over her body.
Fractures. Internal bleeding. Her breath hitched as crushed pieces of her right shoulder and left hip grinded together. She slowed her respirations, suddenly aware that the smallest movement could send fragments of bone into fragile organs.
She snaked her arm out and the back of her hand brushed up against her jacket. Her sluggish movements turned frantic when the fabric slipped between her fingertips as it was pulled from her grasp.
She choked back a sob as, piece by piece, her lifeline fell out of the pocket and onto the ground.
Moments into her despair, she was lifted onto a stretcher. She flinched when the locking mechanisms snapped into place, the telltale clink signaling the transfer to the ambulance.
She caught the fast-moving faces, the looks of concern as she passed by. Her body rose and she felt herself moving backwards. The door closed with a slam and she jerked in response, sending waves of pain coursing throughout her body.
She wondered if he was already at the hospital after having been notified of the accident. He would have rushed to the scene if they hadn't told him to go straight to the waiting room. Defying all attempts at calming him down, they would have to restrain him long enough for her to be wheeled through the sliding doors where he would follow directly behind until the doors abruptly shut.
She could see him peering through the rectangular window, feeling more lost than he'd ever been. It was the same pain she was feeling and no amount of medical intervention would save her from such heartache. Not until he was by her side.
Xxx
"…no identification."
"…in and out of consciousness…"
"…starting to come around again."
Stats, injuries, procedures, and medications were shouted from the medical personnel surrounding her as she wearily opened her eyes. She'd hoped it was a nightmare and that, when she woke up, sunlight would be streaming into the window instead of the fluorescent light above.
She held her injured arm against her body in hopes that they would leave it alone. Suddenly, it lifted without her permission and further down her battered body the same torment was inflicted upon her leg. The endorphins had long worn off and sheer agony took their place.
She lay as still as possible as her hand was squeezed tightly. She recognized the gesture. She'd used it before in hopes of alleviating the physical pain of an exam.
She panted in spite of the mask, unable to draw in vast amounts of much-needed oxygen. The squeeze returned, only more noticeable before she felt the edge of a scalpel seconds before it pierced her side. She writhed on the table, her chest heaving.
Gentle hands wiped her sweat-drenched face with a towel, catching the beads of perspiration that she knew had mixed with her tears. She saw compassion in eyes that never left her gaze. She drew strength from them, letting the hazel depths of a complete stranger sooth her.
Each new breath proved to be easier than the last. Her stomach lurched at the sickening red liquid passing through the tube as red-stained hands held it in place. The pinpricks of the needle into her skin were manageable compared to the white hot flashes of pain she'd just felt.
She heard a squeak as the stool rolled away and took the nurse along with it. She stared at her hand and observed the whiteness of her skin change into a shade, she thought, was of a normal hue.
Another nurse appeared with a syringe, injecting a murky liquid into her IV port. The effects were instant, taking her away from the lights and sounds of the Trauma Room.
Xxx
His stomach growled again, earning him an amused look from Munch. Elliot had been there for an hour and he was already starving.
He reached across the threshold between Olivia's desk and his, looking around casually as if trying to make it seem like he wasn't just snooping around on his partner's desk.
If she had been in, she'd have just shot him a look and asked him why the hell he even bothered asking. They'd been partners long enough to know each other that well. It wasn't a month into their partnership when she'd started 'borrowing' sugar packets from the top drawer of his desk. He'd started keeping an extra supply for that reason. That and on the mornings John's coffee was harder on the palate than usual, the sugar came in handy.
He reached around the picture frames. He knew their order without even looking, and wished his would end up there, too. If it weren't for politics, they wouldn't have to be so secretive.
His arm snaked around the folded up bag of sunflower seeds and located the cup of pens she kept. Far enough where she wouldn't knock them over but close enough where he could do just as he was doing. He knew she kept the black ones closest to his desk and pulled one out, smiling triumphantly as if it was the first time he'd played the little game.
Settling back into his chair, he resumed working.
Damn it. He'd still have to get up for food.
He eyed the bag of sunflower seeds.
X x x
Her stomach growled intermittently as the heart rate monitor beeped at steady intervals.
She licked her dry, cracked lips and swallowed, feeling the tiny stream of saliva just barely coat her parched throat.
Through blurry vision, she spotted an ivory pitcher next to an overturned cup of ice resting on the bedside table. She supposed it was moved to the left side of the bed to allow access with her good arm. Each injury made itself known and she wondered if they had any idea at all that getting to the table would be nearly impossible.
She gripped the hard plastic of the bed rail with her arm and pulled. She instantly regretted the action as a sharp pain in her leg stilled any further movements toward the edge of the bed.
She lay there, panting, trying to get her breathing back to normal. She took the moment to study the multiple wires around her.
Wires and tubes snaked out of her gown, their origins she didn't know. She lifted the blanket, bracing herself for what she would see beneath. Her gown had been pulled up to give the doctors and nurses access to the lower half of her body.
The round pads of the heart monitor made themselves visible first.
She noted the scrapes on her stomach that blended in with an array of bruises, all of varying colors. Her eyes trailed over her ribcage, taking in the site of some life-saving procedure. She studied the black stitching coiled around the point where a clear, rubber tube had been inserted into her side. She winced, suddenly remembering how it had gotten there.
Her left arm had been wrapped in gauze, the same with her right, which was nestled in a sling. Her right shoulder had a mass of thick, heavy bandages. She could only imagine what it looked like underneath.
She pulled the blanket back over her bare legs, hating the fact that every resident on the floor had most likely seen her in such a rare, vulnerable state. She knew the likelihood of having anything to wear under her gown was slim, if not impossible.
Tears of frustration clouded her vision and she wiped them away with shaking fingers and let the exhaustion carry her away.
X x x
The seat was empty. He glanced at it again, as if she would magically appear just because he was staring. The black zip-up hooded sweatshirt hung precariously on the back, the left arm dangling off. He imagined it was almost touching the floor. She liked that hoodie, and he'd feel bad if she came back and couldn't wear it.
He rubbed his tired, gritty eyes. The clock on his computer suddenly seemed bigger, as if taunting him, taking pleasure in how lost he was without her. Now he knew how Dickie felt when all the girls had gone on a mother-daughter trip. Elliot had been used to being alone, but had noticed how his son had kept glancing at the digital readout of his watch until the door finally opened. It still amazed him how close his twins were.
He shifted uncomfortably, his city-issued chair making a resounding squeak each time he shimmied his ass to the left and back to the right trying to find the 'sweet spot'.
He eyed the phone. She was an early riser, by nature; the job warranted it. Even when she slept in, she was still up before many of the morning commuters.
His hand kept migrating toward the black, also city-issued, phone. The numbers had all but worn off and while he didn't mind it so much 99 of the time, he hated that he had to use hers whenever he had to call one of those damned 800 numbers. Hell if he knew where the 'J' or the 'M' was. Was 'Q' even on there? He'd start to get flustered and before the first curse she'd nudge her phone toward his desk, all the while shaking her head as she continued working. She was good like that.
He wondered if she'd thought of putting some Tylenol and water by the bed for when she got up. He still had his inebriated moments and the hellish morning-after torture. He thought up a reason he needed to call her, but at the moment they hadn't had any cases. Of all the damn times. What a bastard he was for even thinking such a thing.
He'd been happy for her when she'd gone into Cragen's office asking permission to have the previous night off. It had been short notice but their superior had reassured her, reminding her how much leave she had on the books. She'd come out a few minutes later with the biggest grin since he'd surprised her with flowers that one time at the park. They hadn't been wrapped up in any tissue paper or cellophane and he'd nearly been caught by the Conservancy employee when he'd started to pick them. Luckily he'd brought his badge on 'accident', because he just never knew when he'd need it.
He'd ushered her out the door and that was that. Not since his single days had he had a night to himself. He was free.
No, he was a lost little boy.
He wondered if Dickie was up yet.
X x x
The seat was empty. As much as she didn't want anyone to see her as banged up as she was, she'd welcome someone, anyone to come just for a few minutes. She pictured him pacing the hallway until Cragen made him sit down, all the while silently pleading with the nurses to allow one, small visit. As soon as possible.
She couldn't pinpoint which injury had started to hurt the worst. She just knew that she didn't care anymore. No longer could she feel her ribs move with each exhale, or the twinge of pain in the subtle movement of her left leg. Gone was the stinging sensation as her scraped cheek stretched each time she opened her mouth.
For the first time, she felt a hard object pressing into her calf muscle and pulled on the attached cord ever so gently until she had a firm grip on the device.
She pressed the little button with her thumb and within seconds the ache in her body became manageable.
She went to that in-between place. Not asleep yet not fully lucid. She smacked her lips, wishing she could have some of that ice. There had to be an easier way of getting it, but she couldn't think of one.
She felt her mind clear and turn hazy once again, the in-and-out feeling becoming annoying. She chided herself in pushing that damned button.
At least she didn't have a hangover.