A/N: Okay, I'm reposting Pox. I have done some light editing, but I figure it's only right that I put it back up, since it is finished, after all. I began writing this around season 8 or 9, so just bring yourself back to a simpler time when SVU was the Elliot and Olivia show. Sigh. Those were the days...
Pox
"Is something going on with you that I should know about?" Olivia asks, blowing at the steam billowing above her cup of hot tea. Her partner is rubbing at his temples, with a frustrated expression on his face. She can see that he is stressed about something; his face is drained of color and his eyes have dark circles underneath them. "You look like hammered shit."
Normally Elliot will answer her sarcastic remark with a quip of his own, but instead he puts his free hand at his shirt collar, tugging at his tie restlessly. "I'm fine."
She forces back a smirk. Fine, huh? "Why don't you just take that off?" It looks uncomfortable anyway. Olivia's noticed in the past few weeks that the once nicely pressed dress shirts have resigned to a fate of rumpled dishevelment, and she believes this aligns with the amicable separation of the always tumultuous Stabler union. He'd admitted only about ten days ago of his marriage's fate, and she'd tried to be offended that he'd kept it from her, but silently she was relieved. It explained his most recent sullen and sometimes volatile attitude. Olivia had spent a while wondering if he just needed a lobotomy to help his mood.
He presses his knee into the steering wheel as he wrestles the tie off, flinging the piece of fabric behind him into the backseat. "I'm having a bit of a rough start," he finally admits, his voice raspy. He picks up his coffee from the cup holder and sips at it, wincing as he swallows.
Olivia studies his actions, concern beginning to trickle into her middle. "Are you feeling all right? You're as pale as a ghost, El." She wants to reach out and touch his shoulder, but the passive coworker in her keeps her from slipping. It isn't proper for her to be so personal, even though the woman and friend inside of her itches to.
He sighs, jaw clenched. "My throat's been a little sore. Over the weekend I've felt achy, but Lizzie had the flu last week, so I'm probably coming down with it. It's all right, though. I had a couple DayQuil before leaving."
She nods, wondering if she should order him to cough up the driver's seat and whisk him home where he belongs. Yeah, good luck with that, Benson, she thinks derisively. "You've got a mountain of sick leave, El. You can always take a day off, you know."
He shoots her a disdainful look. "Like that would do me any good."
"Elliot, if you've got a bug, you run the risk of infecting everyone at work."
"Did you know that people are most contagious when they have no symptoms, Liv? If I were going to infect other people at the station, it's already happened by now."
Olivia chuckles, putting her hands up in mock surrender. "Just trying to help."
Elliot worries his bottom lip as his eyes scan the road, appearing apologetic. He turns his head and regards her with a small grin. "Eh, if I start feeling that bad, I just might take you up on that." He raises his cup again, but glances at the brown liquid and thinks again.
A few hours later at headquarters, Olivia is discussing their current case with Fin and Munch, as Elliot slouches in his worn desk chair, his hands crisscrossed over his face. After arriving at the precinct and working diligently on paperwork for the last two and a half hours, she has watched his movements degenerate from attentiveness to fidgety discomfort, and now nearly comatose.
He's been leaning back in his chair like that for a good ten minutes, so she knows he is miserable at present. Whatever Elizabeth managed to give him over the weekend is now running full course throughout his body. "Wilson left fingerprints all over the windowsill after the incident, so there is absolutely no way he is getting out of that one. We got 'im." Her gaze averts as Elliot shifts his position only to fold his arms across his chest. He looks chilled. "Elliot, you up for it?"
After a few seconds of dead air, Fin smirks. "Earth to Elliot. Come in, Elliot." He taps the man's elbow lightly.
He startles as if awoken from a nap, and peers at Fin with his trademark scowl, the one that has made him famous among perps. "Yeah."
Olivia shares a look with the two other detectives, but they only appear amusingly confused. She listens to her partner push forward, stand with painful slowness, sigh, and walk up beside her. "El, you look like you're about ready to fall over."
"I'll be fine." She half-smiles at his predictable answer.
"Sure. I have an idea," she says, placing a hand softly on his right arm. "Why don't you crash in the crib for a few hours? You won't be much help to the investigation if you're sick."
Munch allows an uneasy look to fall over his face. "You breathing germs into my face and forcing my body into being susceptible to a virus? Please heed your partner's warning." Elliot frowns severely, until it appears his eyebrows are cutting a slice down the middle of his forehead. "What?" The slighter man shrugs haplessly.
"You're going to need my back up, Liv," he states gloomily.
She bites back a grimace. He's been up for the job other countless times while sick with whatever is being passed around his house, whether a cold, a stomach virus, or the flu. She's not sure why this time feels much different. "Wilson is not known to be violent, and has no criminal record. It'll be fine to crash for a couple hours. I promise, I will drag you out of the crib if anything happens."
He nods once and Olivia escorts her partner towards the crib. She can't help but feel concern tangle her insides, especially when he hardly fights with her to lie down on one of the cots. "I'll be back in a couple hours," she whispers as he settles in, wrapping himself with the scratchy, dark blue department-issued blanket.
"Yep." He listens to the door creak closed and shuts his eyes, feeling defeated and secretly relieved for the momentary respite.
When Olivia, Fin and Munch return a few hours later from an unfruitful sweeping of the streets in their search for Dirk Wilson, she expects him to be awake and lurking around the precinct, angry and determined to give her the wrath once he lays eyes on her. Surprisingly, the floor is relatively quiet, save for the usual scattering of discussion, rustling of papers, and occasional ringing of desk phones. She immediately makes a bee-line to the crib to check on Elliot, but when she pushes the door open, she spies his motionless form in the same cot she left him. She feels slightly nervous as she creeps over to him, and then touches his shoulder gently. His body is emanating warmth unusual for a January evening in Manhattan.
"Elliot," she says in a voice barely above a whisper. Her only response is a small grumble and she watches as he sleepily turns from his side to lie on his stomach. "El," she says, louder this time.
"Hmm?" he groans into the thin pillow, and then turns his head to the other cheek, facing her. She watches his eyelids part to slits.
"I'm back."
He squeezes his eyes shut as he yawns, then pushes up from cot, shoves the blanket off of his body, and sits up slowly. He takes a moment to rub his eyes wearily, appearing so much like a sleepy child that she can't help but let a tiny grin break out on her face.
Olivia waits for a few seconds and schools her face back into professional impassivity, and then continues. "We weren't able to locate Wilson."
He draws his palm over his chin and scratches, pausing to stare at the floor. She wonders if he's heard anything she has said. She chooses to keep talking, assuming he just needs some time to wake up, especially if he's not feeling very well.
"We've got unis patrolling the streets around the school. Fin and Munch are looking over security footage again to see if they can find any indication of his whereabouts."
He nods. "Okay."
She narrows her eyes, staring at him critically all of a sudden, realizing that he is not snapping out of this funk that he's in. "El, are sure you all right? You look pretty flushed." She pushes aside any reservations and palms his forehead, then pulls it away as if it has been burned. "Elliot, you've got a fever!" she gasps.
"A fever isn't going to kill me, Liv," he murmurs and yawns again.
Olivia glares at his insolence. "Come on," she says finally. "I'm driving you home."
He shares her furious glare. "I don't need to go home right now."
The look she lets slip onto her face says it all. And Elliot is definitely not in the mood to argue with her, not when he feels like his head is about ready to split open, his joints ache like he's aged fifty years in a few hours, and his stomach is rolling in a way that he fears has the potential to become ugly. She nods wordlessly at his silent acceptance, and then moves toward the door, hoisting it open. "Get moving, Stabler."
Elliot sighs dejectedly and stands with his arms and legs moving like tree stumps. As if perfectly cued, Cragen breezes by when the two detectives descend the staircase. The captain stops before them, his hands on his hips. "Oh, good, you're awake. Elliot, Olivia, I want you two to check out the lead we just got at Hudson University. Dirk Wilson has a particular obsession with librarians, and one of them called with his description."
Olivia looks at her partner, knowing he is going to refuse the sick day now that he knows he is needed. "Actually, Captain, I was on my way to taking Elliot home."
Cragen narrows his eyes, sweeping his critical gaze over Elliot, fixating on the obvious exhaustion and flush of his face. "What's going on?"
"I don't know," Elliot says, feeling ridiculous. "Lizzie had the flu recently, but I don't remember it being very nasty. If you need me, Cap, I can stay."
Olivia allows her mouth to hang open in shock. "Your forehead is burning up, El. You need to rest."
Cragen nods. "I agree with Olivia. Go home and sleep some of that flu off. Call tomorrow and let me know how you're feeling."
Elliot holds up his hand and shakes his head. "No, no, it's fine. I should be there. I owe it to the victims to get this jag off." Olivia scoffs next to him.
Cragen shrugs at her in understanding. "Do me a favor, Elliot. Go home afterward, will you?"
"I will," the detective assures him, and then forces his body into a stroll as he grabs his jacket and a wool cap. She can only stare at him as she follows suit.
It's only a little after eight o'clock and Elliot is sleeping fitfully in his bed when a loud knocking noise sounds at his door. He contemplates simply ignoring whoever is there, but the responsible cop and father in him knows that if he ignores whoever this person is, he may be ignoring something important. His body protests as he climbs slowly out of bed, noticing that his joints are still quite achy. His head throbs at the base of his skull, and he places his hand on his neck as a way to push the intensity of it away. Much to his chagrin, he manages to stub his toe on his coffee table in the front room and he curses lividly. He limps to the front door where the knocking persists annoyingly. "What? Yeah!" he calls, undoing the locks. He swings it open to reveal his partner. Her expression is a mixture of hesitancy and irritation, and he notes that she is wearing a sweat suit in place of her immaculate work outfit.
They stand silently for what seems ages until she finally says, "Are you going to let me in?"
He steps aside, permitting her entrance into the apartment he'd secured just a couple weeks ago, feeling slightly embarrassed. Compared to his house, the one-bedroom flat is scantily-furnished and bare and there are boxes lining the walls, containing items that have yet to find a place. It must be strange for her to be so familiar with him living in a house full of family and warmth to a blank, depressing apartment with no color or life in it whatsoever. Elliot has tried to spend as much time away from the place as possible, since it often puts him in a sour mood staring at the white walls. The apartment is simply a place for him to pass out after work when he cannot find any other reason to linger around the precinct or dwell in a bar stool. His refrigerator doesn't even really have much in it—lots of leftovers from takeout and ready-made frozen dinners in his freezer, but he figures this hardly matters.
Olivia saunters in, the dark room seeping into her bones. "Don't you have any heat in this place?" The early winter cold resides in the air and frosts her cheeks.
His eyes are bloodshot. "Yeah, guess I forgot to turn it on." He sits down untidily into the recliner he insisted on removing from the house, the only item he is attached to that Kathy is willing to be rid of. She'd always threatened to throw it out, especially when the fabric had begun to tear away from the cushion underneath. Olivia takes a seat at the couch, setting her purse and keys down onto the table before her. She notices that envelopes and magazines are scattered all over the surface of it.
"Love the new place," she quips, leaning into the couch pillow and turning her knees in his direction. He quietly snickers, then rubs at his eyes, looking far more exhausted than she expects.
"Something going on?" he asks, crossing his arms and tensing in the frigid chilliness of the room. He was so comfortable in his bed, and despite the fact that his partner has made the effort to visit him, he is incapable of stifling the irritability in his demeanor.
She smiles uncertainly, spreading her hands out onto her thighs. "Well, I came to see how you were doing. You didn't look too great at the end of the day." She watches him carefully, noting that even in the darkness she can still see the paleness of his face. However, a red flush has spread on his cheekbones. "Have you taken anything for the fever?"
Elliot shrugs. "I took a couple Ibuprofen when I got home."
"Are they working?" she asks, as if very put upon. Is she going to have to drag the questions out of him?
"Eh," he mumbles, closing his eyes. "I probably should have taken another one."
Olivia surprises them both by reaching out with her hand and palming his forehead. His eyes shoot open, staring at her, marveling at the close proximity of their bodies. Her breaths come in short bursts, and he notes that she smells like peppermint gum.
She is distracted by the warmth, so he feels slightly more at ease, even though his flesh rises at her touch. "You still feel a little warm," she answers, her tone conveying a maternal concern. Their gaze meets and she pulls away, sensing the dangerous territory they are creeping into, made more so by his separation from Kathy. She reminds herself that this is her partner, her co-worker. It's the same Elliot she's worked with for years. She's shared a platonic friendship with him for a decade now that has teetered into the gray area a few times, but for the most part they have stayed well within the boundaries of partnerly amity.
Elliot clears his throat as if doing so will clear the tension between them. "I'll just grab another Ibuprofen." He stands gingerly, rubbing his arms, and then turns his thermostat to a more comfortable temperature. Olivia sits back into his couch and grabs the TV remote, tuning into the evening news. A reporter graces the screen, her body stiff as she stands behind the courthouse that she is painfully familiar with. She sighs and watches the segment with the volume low until commercials comes on, and she wonders if Elliot has gotten lost in his medicine cabinet. What is taking him so long? The news anchors are back on screen when she gets up, determined to see what exactly is taking the man so long. Can it really be that it takes him fifteen minutes to down a pill? Or is it something else?
She finds him in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of his bed with his gaze aimed at the ground. "Elliot?" He doesn't answer her; instead, he hides his face in his hands. "What's wrong?" she asks gently, wracked with concern.
He pulls his hands away, his frown even more cutting than usual. "Turn on the light." Olivia flicks the switch and he winces visibly. "Does this look like a rash to you?" he queries, motioning at his cheek. She peers closer, touching his chin to examine both sides of his face.
She nods, mystified. "Yeah, it does. God, Elliot, they're all over. Are they anywhere else?" He lifts his shirt, revealing his bare torso, and the two of them notice small red bumps have appeared on his abdomen. After turning around Olivia confirms that they are on his back as well, spreading down his spine. "Could it be a heat rash?" she asks.
He looks just as stupefied. "I don't know. Maybe." He feels his skin crawl on his face and he instinctively reaches up to scratch the surface, but catches himself with a sickening realization. "Chicken pox?"
Olivia chuckles a little. "No, it couldn't be. Isn't it a childhood illness?"
He raises his eyebrows. "I never had it, and adults can get it." His memory kicks in suddenly and he thinks back a couple weeks, when they had brought in a suspect of a rape who'd been covered head to toe with bright red bumps. They'd had to bring him into the hospital even though the entire crew had really wanted for him to suffer miserably in a jail cell with the things. "No way."
"What?"
"That miserable son of a bitch," he groans.
Olivia feels like throttling him. "Who are you talking about?"
"Remember that case we wrapped up about ten days ago? Well, Lohman had that rash all over him. We sent him off to the hospital and the doctors thought it may be chicken pox. I will shit if I have it." Elliot chuckles humorlessly. "All it took was wrestling the idiot to the ground." She casts him a sympathetic smile. "You've had it before, right? The only one of my kids who actually got it was Maureen, but she was a year old and I managed to avoid them. Kathy made me stay at a hotel for a week until the scabs started to go away. The other ones got the vaccination so it wasn't a concern after that."
She looks clueless. "Elliot, I was a kid when I had them. I don't remember much, except not to scratch." Just as she says as much, he is absently raking his fingernails over a red bump. She grabs his hand and pushes it away. "You need to call your doctor and make an appointment. He can tell you what to do about treating the symptoms." He grumbles under his breath as she beams at him; the picture of health. "Why don't you take some antihistamines or NyQuil? Maybe sleeping it off would be best."
"Yeah," he answers as she meanders into his bathroom, immediately taking in the unkempt condition of the small space. A pill bottle is sitting on the counter, towel thrown over the shower door, aftershave and razor laid out on the sides of his sink. She supposes there is no need to be tidy if it's just him. She searches his medicine cabinet, unable to find any type of sedative save for a packet of Benadryl. That will do, she reasons. Olivia comes back into his bedroom armed with a cold washcloth, a small cup of water and a pink and white pill. Elliot has decided to lie back down and is buried underneath his comforter. "Take this. You'll be in dreamland in a half an hour."
He pushes away the blanket long enough to toss back the medicine. He takes the cloth from her and presses it to the sides of his face and neck. "Thanks, Liv," he mumbles quietly.
"No problem."
"You leaving?" he asks as he sets the cloth onto the bedside table next to him.
She shrugs. "I think I'm going to crash on your couch. Is that okay?"
He nods, turning onto his stomach like he had in the crib. She backs away, watching him for a couple minutes before closing the door.
Olivia has been watching the last remnants of the news and a bit of David Letterman when she drifts off to sleep. She hadn't really meant to, as she didn't expect to be able to fall to sleep so easily on Elliot's couch. She wakes up to the dark room, lit up by the flashing of the TV screen. For a moment, she just watches the scene before her blearily, until she remembers where she is and why she is there. Olivia sits up hurriedly, her muscles shaky and her brain still in a fuzz. The clock on Elliot's wall reads that the time is 4:45 in the morning, so she stretches and adjusts her clothing. A handful of hours of sleep will be enough for her to manage on, as long as she can pass out later on.
Her stomach growls audibly, so she steps into his tiny kitchen and opens the refrigerator. There are few contents in there, none that she finds the least bit appealing. She sighs and closes the door, deciding that she'll go and get breakfast and coffee right after she checks up on her partner. And after doing that much, she will call Elliot in sick. Olivia makes her way down the short hallway and pushes her way into his bedroom. Sometime in his sleep he had taken his shirt off; he is still lying on his stomach, with the blanket shoved down around his waist. The muscular part of his back is visible, his arms crammed into his pillow. She can see in the dim light the red spots covering his skin. They've darkened in color and grown larger, now beginning to appear on his shoulders and travel downward onto his biceps. She wants to check his forehead, just in case he is feverish again, but she also doesn't want to disturb him while he rests. God knows he needs it.
Olivia goes against her better judgment and carefully touches his neck. He is very warm and this alarms her greatly. He stirs slightly, but remains asleep. His face is fairly warm, but she is hesitant to wake him up, because she knows he'll need all the rest he can get. After gazing at the prone, slumbering partner of hers for a few more seconds, she pushes herself back up into a standing position, stretching her exhausted muscles. She craves the comforting embrace of a nice hot chamomile tea, but knows that Elliot hates tea and definitely will not have it in his cupboards. Considering the fact that he probably indeed has chicken pox and needs medical supplies, she determines she'll head on over to a twenty-four hour pharmacy and pick up a few necessities, not to mention her tea, just so she can weather the rest of the morning in Elliot's frigid apartment with as much normalcy as possible.
With one longer look at the snoozing, polka-dotted lump on the bed, she swivels and treads back through the hallway, snatching up her keys and purse, then closes his door as quietly as possible.
The drive is quicker than she thinks. Walgreens is naught but five minutes away, so she expertly parallel-parks against the sidewalk and hops out, pushing her way through the glass doors of the store. A bored cashier has been folding a heap of cheap t-shirts when she waltzes in and seeing that a customer has entered the empty place, the pile of clothing is put on hold for later.
Olivia glances up at the aisle markers and grabs a bottle of calamine lotion, as well as oatmeal bath, some NyQuil and then heads over to the food to grab a box of tea and a package of frosted donuts. She makes her way to the front of the store where the cashier waits behind her register.
"Pretty late night, would you say?" asks the woman who scans the products, glancing at them curiously.
Olivia sighs, pasting on a smile. "Unfortunately."
"Looks like somebody has the chicken pox," the cashier, whose nametag reads Ella, chuckles.
"Yeah," she snorts. "Just broke out in the rash last night."
Ella continues to run the rest of the items past the scanner. "How old?"
The detective frowns in confusion. "I'm sorry?"
"Your little one? How old?"
"Oh," Olivia laughs, this time it is a genuine one. "No, it's...my friend. He had a fever earlier in the day and then broke out in a bunch of spots last night. Chicken pox is the only thing we can think of to cause it."
"Lordy. A full grown man with the chicken pox? You may need this NyQuil more than he does."
The women share another laugh. "I may indeed."
Ella reads off the price amount, then grows serious. "Just be careful," she warns. "Don't give him any aspirin. It has potentially dangerous side effects."
Olivia pauses, feeling the icy grip of concern clutch her middle. "Really?"
"Mm-hmm. And just so you know, chicken pox is a lot worse in adults than in children. The symptoms are usually last longer with age. Believe me, I had them four years ago and I was totally miserable. I developed pneumonia a few days after the initial outbreak of the pox. I guess it's a pretty common occurrence with adults."
"God, pneumonia and the chicken pox?"
"Yeah, it's called varicella pneumonia." Ella hands her the plastic bag. "Make sure he sees his doctor."
"I will. Thanks."
"Have a good night."
When Olivia steps back into the darkened apartment, she is surprised by the fact that the kitchen light is on. This means Elliot is actually up and on his feet. "El?" she calls out, wondering what he is doing. He rounds the corner stiffly, scratching his side, looking dazed and she wonders if he is sleepwalking. "What are you doing?"
"I needed a glass of water," he mumbles. His eyes grow inquisitive when he notices that she holds a plastic bag full of supplies. "Where did you go?"
She opens the plastic bag and rummages through it, then locates what she is searching for. She pulls it out and holds it in front of him for his inspection. "Feel like taking a bath?" Elliot grins slightly as he takes the box of oatmeal bath, looking as though he is a bit embarrassed.
"Anything helps, I guess." He turns the thing over in his hands to read the directions, when Olivia wordlessly places a cool hand against the skin of his forehead. His eyes flit up to meet hers, blue meeting brown. The small grin is creeping its way back onto his face, so she removes her palm and rubs it against the other nervously, taking a quick step backward. "How's my forehead?" he asks humorously.
"Still a little warm," she says, one side of her mouth lifting mirthlessly.
Elliot turns the box over and studies it, eyebrows raised. "I can't remember the last time I took a bath."
Olivia's mind tries to scour up the image of full-grown Elliot sitting in a tub and it causes her to snicker. He shoots her a derisive look. "Sorry," she laughs, then sobers quickly. "But seriously, the oatmeal bath is supposed to help with the itching and the warm water might make it easier to fall back to sleep."
He nods. "All right," he says and heads off to his bathroom. He turns to face her after a few steps. "You heading into work soon or are you sticking around for a little while longer?" He sounds so damn hopeful that she can't help herself.
"I can hang out for a bit. I still have a few hours before I need to go in. Plus, I brought donuts in case you're hungry and tired of moldy takeout."
Elliot's grin is lopsided. He seems relieved. "Not sure I'm that hungry, but feel free to dig in."
Olivia's mind is on Elliot all day while she works, churning constantly as she sits at her desk. She stares at her partner's empty chair across from her, studying the threadbare fabric, the few strands that have escaped from the stitching. The day is not necessarily quieter without his presence, as it usually seems to be more active when one from the unit is out sick, in court or taking care of other matters. She is currently trying to get some paperwork done, but finds it nearly impossible as her focus is continually drifting back to Elliot, and how she left him earlier in the morning. The oatmeal bath had done the trick apparently, because he'd returned to his bedroom after climbing into some comfortable clothes and sitting on the couch for about ten minutes. He had begun to drift off, so she'd instructed that he should go to bed and he'd mumbled an apology and complied.
He'd been grouchy as all hell when she nudged him awake to remind him to make a doctor's appointment, and his fever hadn't seemed to be any better or worse. She supposes this isn't too surprising, considering he had just broken out in the rash yesterday. She contemplates calling him to see if he's done what she's asked, but wonders if that will be the right thing, since she wants him to rest as much as possible and doesn't want to seem too much like a mother hen.
She thinks back to just six hours earlier; Elliot had been in the bathroom for what she deemed was an excessive amount of time to sit in a tub when she decided to check on him, when she'd finally figured that she could spare herself some embarrassment if she considered the intrusion as a real concern for his wellbeing. Olivia chuckles quietly as she thinks of Elliot's horrified expression.
"El?" she asked, knocking on the door a couple times before pushing the door open a crack. "You okay in here? You've been in the tub for an hour..."
Elliot was sitting on his toilet, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist while he worked at applying calamine lotion to each spot. His eyes seized hers and his cheekbones quickly darkened into a self-conscious shade of red. "Liv-" he rasped and paused his hand in midair with the white lotion on his fingertips.
Olivia smiled shyly, unable to avoid glancing at his bare skin. "Sorry." She searched desperately for something to talk about to distract him from the fact that she was staring at her almost naked partner. "Need me to get your back for you?"
He watched her for a moment, the look on his face teetering between cautionary timidity to something else that she didn't want to over-analyze. "Sure." He continued applying the lotion to his forearm, then grabbed the towel to keep it from slipping off of his body. He tightened the hold the fabric had on him and tucked a corner further around his waist, then handed Olivia the bottle and faced the sink in his bathroom, gripping the counter and ducking his head away from the accusatory mirror.
She squeezed a dollop of the calamine onto her left palm and positioned herself behind Elliot, briefly taking a moment to admire the broadness of his shoulders and the way his waist fell into a seamless "v." She dipped her fingers into the lotion and began to lightly apply the substance onto every offending spot on his skin, and each time she could see a small shift in the muscles of his back and shoulders. Olivia hurried through the process faster than she probably should have, because she wasn't sure if she could take much more of the warmth of his skin under the pads of her fingers.
Elliot held his gaze at the sink drain the entire time Olivia worked on the infuriating blisters, and when he noticed a lull in her application of the calamine, he chanced a look and caught her stare in the reflection of the mirror. The look in her eyes unnerved him, and not in a bad way. It made him feel less like her partner and more like a recently separated man.
He cleared the charged air. "Thanks, Liv. I think I can get it from here."
She made a quick smile, glancing to the side. "Welcome." She moved a few inches away and toward the door, noticing the immediate change in the temperature. Either it was suddenly stifling, or her body was on fire. "I'll just be out here." She opened the door, and then turned abruptly. "Need anything?"
Elliot shook his head wordlessly, and watched the back of her head as she exited the bathroom.
Olivia jumps in her seat, startled by Fin's voice a few feet away from her. "Hey, Liv, is it true Elliot came down with the chicken pox?" The laughter in his voice is hard to miss.
She rolls her eyes. "Well, not confirmed, but that's what it appears to be."
"I'd hate to be around him while he has that. Damn, it's hard enough to deal with his cranky ass, just imagine what he's like now?"
Olivia smiles and turns back to her paperwork, then picks up her phone. She'll just make sure Elliot has actually called the doctor like she asked.
"Elliot?" she asks, the coddling tone in her voice even more apparent over his cell.
He wants to throw the thing out the window, but answers her instead knowing that will be a losing battle. "Hmm?" His head is pounding against his temples and his throat feels as though someone has scraped it raw with sand paper.
"Have you called your doctor yet?"
He sighs, rubbing his free hand against his eyes, which feel sore themselves. "Not yet."
"Do you want me to do that for you?" She sounds infuriatingly over-anxious.
"No," he mumbles. "I'll do it."
"Okay. Do it right after we hang up."
"I will."
"See you later tonight."
"Bye." He hangs up his cell phone, and then pulls it away at arm's length, where he can study it before him. The display reads the time at 1:30 in the afternoon. Elliot knows his doctor's office number by heart, so he quickly dials it and waits for the receiving end to pick up.
"Dr. Crowley's office, this is Dana speaking."
Elliot clears his throat, then regrets it when the action causes it to hurt even more. He will not be surprised in the least if his voice falls victim to this illness. "Yeah, my name is Elliot Stabler, and I would like to make an appointment."
"How do you spell the last name?"
"S-T-A-B-L-E-R."
A quick pause. "What's the purpose of the appointment?"
"I think I might have the chicken pox."
"Uh-oh," she laughs. "What are your symptoms?"
Elliot rolls his eyes. "Uh, fever, sore throat, and rashes all over my body."
She is quiet for a few seconds, and he can hear the clicking noises of her fingernails hitting a keyboard. "We're full for today, Mr. Stabler, but let me speak to Dr. Crowley and see if I can't get you fit in today."
"Thanks."
"Can I get a call back number?"
"Sure." Elliot rambles off his personal cell, then hangs up with the secretary and falls back against his pillow, placing his phone next to his alarm clock, preparing to completely ignore everyone and everything for a while longer.
Twenty minutes later, he is just settling into a nice, quiet slumber when his cell phone jangles near his ear. He opens his weary eyes and stretches his arm to the left, swiping with his exposed hand and snatches the phone off of the table. He jabs at the screen to press 'accept' and falls back against his pillows.
"Yeah." He expects the voice on the other end to be Olivia.
"Mr. Stabler?" the cautious female voice replies back. The receptionist from his doctor's office. Ah.
"Speaking."
"This is Dana from Dr. Crowley's office. We were unable to fit you in today, but he would like for you to be seen by a doctor as soon as possible, so he recommends visiting an urgent care clinic or an emergency room."
Elliot is frustrated by this, and wonders why in the hell he can't be seen today by his own doctor since he pays so much out of his ass in insurance. "Is there any reason why I can't just come in tomorrow?" He palms his forehead, feeling the tension mounting.
"Dr. Crowley feels it is necessary to be seen quickly. If you do have the chicken pox, you'll need to begin taking anti-viral medication right away so that it will work effectively. It'll make the probability of developing pneumonia less likely."
"I have to take anti-virals? I think I'd rather just tough it out." Elliot thinks back to the anti-retrovirals he took years ago after a scare with HIV. His insides clench nervously.
"Taken at least twenty-four hours after the initial rash outbreak, it should greatly reduce the chance of developing any complications that adult chicken pox can cause. It'll also cut down the convalescence."
He sighs, defeated. "All right. I'll go in to the ER."
They hang up and he pushes on the button at the top of his phone, staring at the ceiling. He thinks about calling his partner, and wonders if she is busy. He knows that Olivia will be more than willing to drive him to the hospital, but what he really wants to do is go back to sleep. The exhaustion is pulling at his eyelids, so he lets his head hit his pillow and drifts off almost immediately.
The loud ring in his ear reminds him that his phone is still in his hand and he growls out a few choice words for whoever is bothering him. "What?" he grumbles after accepting the call and shoving it against his ear.
"Hey, El."
Olivia.
He is reminded of what the secretary said just a short while ago and knows he must get up. "Something wrong?"
"Just checking to see how you're doing." She sounds uncertain, very uncharacteristic to her usual demeanor.
"You really want to know? Itchy. In all the wrong places."
She chuckles and the sound warms his middle.
"And my doctor wants me to visit the ER."
"What for?"
"They can't get me in and they think it's necessary for me to be seen right away."
The sunny timber in her voice changes to unease. "Do they think that it's serious?"
Elliot rubs a hand over his short hair. "The secretary said it's important to start taking anti-virals at least twenty-four hours after the rash appears or something like that."
Olivia pauses briefly. "Do you want me to take you?"
He stares at his unnaturally bright room and for a fraction of a second wonders why it is so strange to see the sunlight and shadows play across his walls. He knows the answer easily. He spends most of his time laying in the same manner staring at the walls when they are dark.
He thinks about sitting behind the wheel while he feels so shitty and decides having her drive may not be such a bad idea. "Yeah, why not." It'll be nice to have someone to talk with while waiting what he assumes will be five hours before being seen by overrun emergency room personnel. He'll be lucky to get out of the place while the sun is still out.
"All right. I'll talk to Cragen and call you when I get there."
"'Kay." He sits up with a groan that makes him think of an old man and grimaces at the notion of him being that advanced in age. The t-shirt he threw to the ground in his sleep is lying in a crumpled heap near his feet and he reaches down, grabbing it and tossing it over his head. He catches sight of the blisters on his arms, which have become redder and angrier. He itches all over and he rubs his palm over his cheek, thinking incessantly how wonderful it would feel just to satisfy a little bit of that maddening itch. He hopes the doctor he sees gives him a nice sedative so he can sleep through this whole ordeal.
He's lounging in the front room in his gray hoodie and a pair of jeans when his partner raps on the door lightly. He gets up and opens his door, greeting her with a tired half-smile. She looks just as worn-out as he does; the evidence is in the puffy, dark circles under her eyes.
"Ready to go?" she asks. If she is exhausted, her voice doesn't reveal it.
"Yep."
She silently surveys his physical appearance, probably looking for something he can't see himself. "How's the fever?"
Elliot shrugs. "I don't know. I think it's gone."
The two turn and head down the hallway towards the exit. "This is going to be fun."
He smiles. "Hey, no one's making you go with me."
She frowns at him comically. "Come on," she says as she pushes the 'down' button to the elevator at the end of the hall. "What would you do with all the time you have ahead of you?"
"Scratching sounds nice."
Olivia shakes her head. "You better watch yourself, Stabler."
He grins and the two traipse into the elevator after the doors swing open.
Elliot is impatiently tapping his fingers on his thigh as the hospital staff and the intermittent patient passes by him and Olivia. The place is overrun with people. That's not too surprising for a triage center in lower Manhattan, but to his disappointment, this means they are stuck toughing out a lengthy stay in the waiting area with the crowd and he must endure plenty of curious or horrified stares from the other occupants of the room. He is slouching in the stiff plastic chair with his arms crossed over his chest, allowing his chin to sit upon his collarbone.
The admit clerk had handed Elliot a respiratory mask similar to a surgeon's, with specific instructions to cover his face for the safety of the public. Elliot had initially growled his response, his raw throat enhancing the petulance of his tone, but Olivia had smacked his arm and agreed that it'd be no problem. An hour and a half had passed before a triage nurse bothered to take his name and insurance information, boredly snapping a hospital bracelet around his wrist, then directed him to get comfortable because the wait was still fairly long.
"What's the hold up?" Elliot had asked, his skin crawling with the urge to appease the itch. "All I need is for someone to write a prescription for an anti-viral and then I can be on my merry way."
The clerk doesn't even pull her eyes away from her computer screen. "I'm sorry, sir. You'll have to wait like the rest of our patients."
"Come on, Elliot," Olivia says softly.
The young woman finally peers up at them. "It's a full moon tonight. We always see a surge in activity when it comes out." She narrows her eyes. "We have a lovely selection of magazines if you would like to read as you wait." She motions at the waiting area, then stands up and wanders away, no longer interested in assisting them.
"Gee," Elliot says angrily. "Thanks."
Olivia huffs a soft laugh next to him as he glares dagger after the woman's retreating form. "You sure do bring out the best in people." She shoves his hand away from his face when he rubs at his cheek. "Quit scratching!"
Elliot makes an annoyed sound from beneath the mask. "It itches! This stupid thing is making it worse!" He tugs it down below his chin and swipes his mouth in irritation.
"Put it back on, El." He turns his head and raises his eyebrows.
"Yes, ma'am."
Olivia shakes her head and laughs, then grows serious. "What if you infect an elderly person or someone with a compromised immune system and they get sick? Come on, you big baby." She moves the filtered paper mask back over his mouth and nose and he sighs indignantly, and then readjusts his posture when the slouch starts to hurt his neck. "Be good and maybe I'll reward you with a dinner on me. But you have to keep the mask on and no scratching at all whatsoever."
"I'd take you up on that offer if I was hungry," he sighs, pulling the elastic strings back around his ears.
She peers at him worriedly, squashing the urge to touch his forehead. "When was the last time you ate anything?"
He ponders the thought, but comes up empty and shrugs. She is about to respond when Elliot's name is finally called to a triage room. She follows him into the little cubicle that has a messy desk and medical equipment crowding the small space. Olivia takes a seat in one of the chairs as he plops untidily next to her. The nurse grins at the two knowingly.
"Looks like you've had an eventful day," she says sarcastically. "How long have you had these blisters?" She touches one on his forehead, testing it briefly.
Olivia answers for him. "It's been about, I'd say, a day now, right?" She turns her head at her partner for an affirmation. "You went home around five yesterday."
Elliot nods, unsure. "Sounds about right."
The nurse records their words onto a chart, then grabs her stethoscope and a mechanized blood pressure cuff. He shrugs out of his gray zip-up hoodie and offers his left arm. She wraps it around his bicep and pushes a button. The device beeps after about thirty seconds of silence and Elliot's uncomfortable squirming. "BP is a little on the high side."
She blows on the probe of her stethoscope and presses into his chest over his t-shirt. She moves it around, stoically listening to his heart, then his lungs. "Hmm. I don't know what to make of your lungs. I don't hear a rattle, but your breathing is a little on the shallow side." She pushes a couple buttons on the blood pressure device and attaches a pulse oximeter clip to his index finger.
Olivia observes the machine nervously, noticing the 95 flashing on the screen and the LED lights that moved with his heartbeat. "Is that normal?" she asks indicating the number.
The nurse has a thoughtful expression gracing her features. "It's not terrible, but we'd like to see his pulse ox around 98 if not higher." She pulls out a hospital-grade thermometer, placing it into a container, where it captures a protective seal and pushes the mask aside to place the device under his tongue. It beeps after just a few seconds. "Temp's 101.4."
She leans down with a speculum in hand and inspects his throat, making a sympathetic noise. "Pretty colorful in there." She pauses and bites her lip, appearing unsure of her next move. "Well, it looks like the chicken pox. I'm going to try to get you red-lined to a doctor as soon as I can. I'm concerned that too much time has passed for the anti-viral to work. But you do still need to be examined by a doctor. He'll be able to diagnose you officially."
Elliot sighs impatiently. "If I can't take the medication, I'm not sure what good seeing a doctor's going to do for me."
The nurse frowns. "You'll need a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia. It's more prevalent in adults with chicken pox. It has the potential to be fatal, so I don't want you to ignore your symptoms or treat this like it's nothing. Trust me, it's definitely something."
Olivia is officially worried now.
"Why don't you put your mask back on and follow me," the nurse says, and leads them through the double doors to the emergency room.