Olivia has been shot three times before, shot at more. The first time was just a graze really, left a terrifying bloody mess, but the doctor had stitched it up and proclaimed her fine with a wry I've-seen-it-all-before-and-worse stretch of her lips while Olivia breathed and breathedbreathedbreathed.
"Come home with me." She asks Alex."They'll expect you to go back to your apartment." She's just short of pleading, and the words almost catch in her throat, but Alex is stubborn and stalwart and they're standing close enough that she can see her breath in the air. She knows Alex won't say yes, and she doesn't. She takes Olivia's hand, rubs her fingertips along her knuckles in all the ways they've never talked about and says she'll be fine.
Olivia knows that optimism can be tricky, finicky, and sometimes crushing. She also knows that this isn't optimism.
Elliot pushes her out of the way and her ears ring and ring–
Elliot wrenches his feet to the ground and takes off after the guy and–
(goddamn why wasn't she the one next to her why hadn't she why–)
"Alex." Her name is heavy and sharp in the cold air, something wrenched out of her stomach like bile, and she ignores the sting in her sides and knees, the bits of gravel caught in her palms.
"Look at me, Alex. Please–" Her blood is warm, (is that good? is that bad?), pumping, (that's good, right?), and it's a shoulder wound, people survive from shoulder wounds all the time, don't they?
God, she's not looking at her.
This doctor's look is I'm-sorry-for-your-loss with just a hint of impassivity that spoke the amount of times he had to say that and Olivia looks forward, caught by the block pattern on the linoleum.
(Alex's heels clacking on the squad room floor, Alex's glasses on Olivia's coffee table, Alex with papers spread out on it working until the late hours of the night, looking back at Olivia with her wry smile, thank you for inviting me over, detective)
"I'm so sorry, detectives. She just lost too much blood." She looks up.
Elliot looks at her first with so much concern. "Liv–"
She shakes her head, furiously enough that her head begins to swim, vision blurring by the minute and an I wish caught in her throat, one that he won't understand.
"I'll call you later."
She pushes the hospital door open and heaves against the cold wind.
a/n: This fic is based on a prompt from skillzyo on tumblr: That terrifying moment between the sound of the gunshot and the sight of Alex hitting the sidewalk. (or something along those lines)