A/N 1: I'm back! I was super busy with end-of-semester stuff and my family moving. We had lived in the same house since I was two, but our house was about to be foreclosed so we had to move to an apartment. I sort of like it, but it doesn't feel like home yet. Anyway, I was without internet for a while, so I just sort of fell out of the habit, until now. I started working on this one, and hopefully Darkest Nights will be updated pretty soon, depending on when my muses stop distracting me with my pet snake, Skittles. LOL. This story has eventual character death and much angst, tears, and sadness, just as a warning.
A/N 2: By reading this, you agree that Bucken-Berry may, at any time, end a chapter on a cliffhanger. She will not be held responsible for any tears, depression, or sudden desire to hug the characters. Further, you agree not to murder her in her sleep, whether for the aforementioned cliffhangers, or the emotions the story may cause. If you accept these terms and conditions... enjoy! Reviews are always welcomed.
If there was one thing Elliot hated, it was feeling worried. There was the feeling itself, the way it gnawed at his insides and made his heart pound. And then there was what happened afterwards; either he was proven wrong and made to feel like an idiot, or he was proven right, which was much, much worse. Because that meant he had reason to worry, which meant that something was wrong.
Elliot had always worried about George, ever since they'd both been attacked by Mathew Brodus, though he had kept it a secret just as long. He had to- for one, he always felt slightly uncomfortable around men, and for another, he couldn't let anyone, least of all George, know that he cared, let alone like that. His entire world would be turned upside-down, and there was no way in hell he would be able to deal with that.
So he worried in silence, only allowing his concern to manifest in the form of anger and irritation at the good doctor, though he was more often angry at George for worrying him than for any of the other reasons he cited. He didn't like getting shrunk, but he definitely exaggerated the dislike around George; he didn't mind the sessions nearly as much as he claimed to. But it allowed him to channel his anger at George for putting himself in danger so often, so he didn't try to tone it down.
After knowing George for so many years, Elliot had learned many things about him. One of them was that a pen had a higher chance of getting sick than George did; George was so healthy that Elliot had never seen him take a single sick day during the five years they'd known each other. So when, one sweltering August day, Captain Cragen announced that they'd have to find a different Fed to profile for them, as the doc had called in sick, Elliot was immediately suspicious and- as hard as he tried not to, as much as it irritated him- worried. Not only had Huang called in sick, but it was the middle of August, when there wasn't even as much as a cold going around.
Nonetheless, he simply frowned and accepted it, ready to interrogate the doctor the moment he walked in the next day and, depending on the answers George gave, scold and lecture him at length. Excessive? Probably. Necessary to assuage his conscious? Definitely.
But George didn't show up the next day, either. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. He didn't answer his phones, either, or his email. The Feds said he was out sick, George's cell phone appeared to have been turned off, and not only was he not answering his home phone, but it seemed that it had been disconnected. That didn't sound like George at all- if Elliot knew the doctor half as well as he thought he did, George would rather have to deal with the annoyance of an endless stream of calls than alarm any one of his friends and co-workers.
Still, no one else seemed to agree. Olivia always said something along the lines of, "He said he's sick, El. Maybe he just wants to sleep without having anyone bother him."
"And maybe," Elliot retorted each time, "Maybe that's exactly why we should be bothering him."
Olivia never responded after that, leaving Elliot to fume in silence and debate over what action, if any, to take. Each time, he decided to wait.
But an entire week went by with no word from George, and by that time, Elliot was almost foaming at the mouth, ready to strangle the next person who looked at him the wrong way.
Finally, he lost it while interrogating a suspect. The man was guilty, Elliot just knew,but he wasn't talking. Combined with his fear for George, Elliot quickly became a ticking time bomb, and eventually, Elliot pushed the man to the ground and picked up the chair, wanting nothing more than to hit him again and again until he was a bloody mess.
It took Olivia, Fin, and Cragen all tugging at him for him to back down, and Cragen was forced to intervene. "Stabler, my office, now," he snapped.
Once they had entered his office, he said, "Elliot, go find the doc and talk to him. It's the end of the day anyway, and you aren't going to be any good here until you get it sorted out. Go. And if it happens again, you are suspended without pay."
"Thanks, Captain," Elliot said quietly, retreating from the squad room. He ran to his car, hoping to get rid of some of the pent-up energy. He felt slightly- but not significantly- better when he sat down and started the car.
He didn't have the route to George's apartment memorized like he did for Olivia, Munch, Fin, and Cragen, but he did know the actual address and he had a GPS installed in his car.
His hands were trembling from adrenaline excess, so much so that he had trouble driving, but he still managed. As he drove, he thought about George, and wondered what kind of bug George could have got for him to be affected this way. It couldn't just be the flu, but he couldn't- or wouldn't- think of the more serious alternatives.
Finally, he arrived at George's apartment building. It looked the same as he remembered; classy and upscale, to the point that Elliot felt extremely out of place. It looked closer to a hotel, really. Tall, black and sleek, with the tenant's perfectly-kept fancy cars parked outside. He parked and walked inside, feeling the heat immediately lessened by the air conditioning as he did so.
He remembered that George lived on the fourth floor, but he only remembered the route to the room, not the number itself. He sighed quietly and walked into the elevator, quickly finding himself irritated at the gentle elevator music playing. It may have been nice and soothing at the dentist's office, but it was annoying anywhere else, especially when the slow melodies contrasted so sharply with his shaking rage and anxiety.
Once the elevator opened on the fourth floor, he was unable to stop himself from speed-walking. His heart was pounding, though that was caused by nerves, not exertion.
Inhaling deeply and slowly, he knocked three times and called, "Doc? It's Elliot Stabler."
At first, he received no response. He knocked again and again, and was about to leave when he heard a nervous, hasty-sounding, "I'm coming, I'm coming! Just a minute, Detective Stabler!"
George. He sounded okay. Elliot exhaled in relief, feeling as though the world had been lifted from his shoulders- although, keeping with his dislike of worrying, he also found himself feeling quite stupid. Whatever it was appeared to be nothing at all. But then again, he reminded himself, with George it couldn't be "just nothing".
Finally, the door opened, revealing George, who had clearly been in the bath or shower. He didn't look terribly ill- he didn't look feverish, or anything like that. But he did look slightly pale, and he appeared to have lost some weight, though it could have been the pajama shirt he was wearing; Elliot was used to seeing him in sweater-vests and work shirts only, even on hot days like today.
It became clear that Elliot had interrupted something or another. Maybe George had been with a lover? He had never mentioned having anyone, but that didn't mean he was single. The thought caused him to feel somewhat sad and even jealous, but he quickly pushed it away.
He shifted guiltily, clearing his throat to apologize for interrupting a private moment and offer to leave, but George spoke before he could.
"Detective, I…" George trailed off for a moment, then bit his lip- something Elliot had never seen him do; even when he was nervous, he never gave any physical signs- and continued, "I-I'm sorry, but can you- can you please come back tomorrow? I don't mean to be rude, but…"
"Nah, I was the rude one," Elliot corrected him, frowning. "I'm the one who came here without warning and interrupted whatever you were doing. But I was…" Elliot swallowed. "We were worried about you. You never call in sick, let alone for a week, and your phones are disconnected. So I thought I should come check on you, you know…"
George gave a frown of his own, looking him over. Elliot knew that not only the visit itself, but the motivation behind it, had come completely out of left field. He had never given George any sign that he cared, let alone enough to check on him at his apartment while he was supposed to be working.
"I need to know," Elliot continued, once it was obvious that George didn't have anything to say, "Are you alright?"
George looked downwards, breathing deeply, and Elliot could tell that he was having trouble wording whatever he wanted to say. He was taking much longer to answer the question than he would have if he truly was okay, so, reluctantly, Elliot braced himself to hear something he didn't want to hear.
"Detective…" George was clearly at a loss for words. Finally he sighed, opening the door wider. "I should- and I want to- say that I am alright, but I'm afraid I really just can't- I mean, it's not like- well, it is, actually, but not this second-" He shook his head, running a hand through his hair and forcing himself to take several deep breaths. "Please… Please come in for a few minutes, so I can explain. You really weren't interrupting anything, anyway, except for me thinking about something- well, that's what I want to tell you, so you should just come in anyway- come in-"
"Doc, what's going on?" Elliot asked, alarmed. George never struggled with words. The fact that he was meant that he was, at the very least, nervous. More likely, he was full-out terrified, and that didn't sit well with Elliot. Something was terribly wrong.
"Just come inside, okay?" George requested agitatedly.
Elliot nodded silently and followed him, stepping inside the apartment. One thing became clear the second he entered; George was, indeed, still single. Not that it mattered, he tried to tell himself, but it did. He was relieved by that fact.
However, the apartment had still changed quite a lit. It still looked upscale, the way Elliot remembered, but it no longer looked thoroughly unlived-in, like it had before, and it was far from spotless. Boxes of takeout, junk food wrappers, papers, and other debris were scattered on the floor, and his files were completely disorganized on the coffee table. George had always been a neat freak, for as long as Elliot had known him, so the disarray of the apartment only furthered Elliot's worry.
"Sorry for the mess," George acknowledged, nodding at the sofa. "It's been a rough week- I haven't felt up to cleaning."
"No problem, Doc," Elliot said, sitting on the sofa and looking George over again. "My place is just as bad, if not worse."
George sat on the chair opposite the sofa and stared downwards, clearly having trouble wording whatever he wanted to say.
"Doc, what's wrong?" Elliot asked urgently.
George bit his lip. "I… well, last week, I noticed- I began to- no, I…" He sighed, pressing one hand to his forehead. A tear- Elliot assumed it to be frustration- streaked down his face. He shook his head, taking a shuddering breath before he tried again.
"Last week- no, that's not what I want to say- I just-" He took a quick breath- "They told me I- no, I- AGH!" He hit the table in anger, burying his face in his hands for several seconds.
"Doc, come on, just spit it out- just tell me, you don't need to worry about sugar-coating it or making it gentler on me or anything. Just say what's wrong; you're freaking me out!" Elliot exclaimed.
"Well, what I have to say won't help with that," George said tearfully, voice muffled by his hands.
"Stop being all cryptic about this!" Elliot said angrily. While part of him knew whatever was happening had to be much harder for George than it was for him, he was still irritated at George. Why couldn't he just say it and let Elliot stop worrying? As selfish as he felt for thinking that way, he couldn't stop it. "I'm not some kind of delicate flower. I can handle whatever it is."
"It's not you I'm worried about!" George snapped, pulling his hands away from his face and glaring at him. Now he looked angry, not just frustrated. "Believe it or not, there are people other than you who might be having a difficult time with this! Like, oh, I don't know- me! Just give me a minute to figure this shit out, for fuck's sake!" George stood and stormed towards the window, panting for breath, hands trembling from adrenaline.
The words jolted Elliot and cleared his mind, as though he'd jumped into a freezing lake. He stood up and walked towards George, pausing behind him. He debated on whether to set a hand on his shoulder, and decided against it, even though he wanted to calm George down more than anything.
"You never curse," he said quietly. "I can tell you're tied up in knots. So calm down for a minute, okay? I don't- I don't want to stress you out or anything. I'm sorry. I was just worried, but you're right, I was being selfish about this. It has to be harder for you than for me, whatever it is. Calm down a minute and try to figure out how to tell me, then just say it, okay?"
"No, I understand why you were upset- I'm taking forever to say it, and you must be alarmed by now," George murmured. "I'm really sorry, I don't want to scare you, but I can't reassure you either… Anyway, I apologize. I was out of line, cursing at you after stringing you out like that." George swallowed hard, turning around to look Elliot in the eyes.
Elliot found himself wanting to comfort George somehow, but he knew that it wouldn't be acceptable, given their current situation. "No, you weren't, Doc," he said, shaking his head. "You had every right to fly off the handle. I was being an ass."
George nodded in response and held a hand up, signaling Elliot to be quiet and let him think. Silence fell over the room for several minutes.
"Okay," George finally whispered. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Okay. I think I'm ready to tell you now."
Elliot could tell George was already getting worked up all over again. It wouldn't matter how many times he tried to calm down; he wouldn't be able to until he had said it, and even then, he still wouldn't be able to, judging from how major this appeared to be.
"Elliot, I- I'm trying not to say it bluntly, because if I do, it'll make it real for me, and I can't deal with that right now, I can't accept it yet…" Tears formed in George's eyes, and he turned away to hide them.
"I'm not going anywhere. Take as long as you need to think it out," Elliot murmured soothingly, even though his heart was pounding, and his brain was screaming at him to find out what was going on. He tried to guess what had happened, but he couldn't think of anything besides things that were too terrible for him to imagine happening to the man he cared about so much.
"Elliot, last week, I…" George bit his lip and trailed off, shaking his head and giving a quiet sob. He silently opened and closed his mouth a few more times, struggling to find the words. Then, finally, he turned to face Elliot again.
The words that came out of his mouth made Elliot wish he could go back to just being worried about George and trying to guess what was wrong.
"Elliot, I'm going to die," George whispered hopelessly. "I have less than six months to live… I'm dying."
