Annihilated
Friday night
"I gotta get out of here." Elliot's voice is low as he leaves the hospital room. He's struggling for air as the images of Malcolm Royce's dead children fill his brain. Murdered in their sleep, he wonders if this is his worst case yet.
His kids. He needs to see his kids. Needs to know they're alive, see them breathing. He doesn't know how long it takes him to drive to Kathy's but it's too long. She lets him in; she understands. He opens the door to his girls' room. They're safe, breathing. He checks on his son who moves in his sleep at the disturbance. They're okay, they're okay he tells himself. He walks down the hall to Kathy's room – their old room.
"Thanks for letting me come by," he says.
"Did it help?" she asks softly.
"Yeah." He half-smiles. It's easier between them since he signed the divorce papers a few months back. He'd even wanted to try again after that but now, as he stands in his old room, he feels like he doesn't belong. He realizes he's moved on and so has Kathy. She's happier without him; it just took him time to see it.
"Goodnight." He smiles as he turns to leave.
"Goodnight." She smiles back at him.
There's only one person he wants to see now - only one person who understands the horror of this case, who feels it too. It's late now though, she'll be sleeping he thinks as he reaches his car. At least one of them should get some sleep he reasons as he starts the engine. The drive to his apartment is quiet. He pictures his kids sleeping and promises himself he will do whatever he can to protect them. Always. Despite the turmoil of the day he feels a kind of peace about his family. They're okay and he is okay.
Back at his apartment, he barely has time to undress before he falls onto his bed and sleep overtakes him.
A buzzing sound awakens him. It can't be morning yet he thinks as he reaches to answer his phone. It's 2am. "Hello?" he mumbles. O'Halloran's voice is alert and deafening to Elliot's exhausted state. "Okay I'll be right there," Elliot responds. He scrubs his face with his hands to wake himself up.
Elliot arrives at the Royce residence fully awake. O'Halloran talks him through the laser gun display at the now processed crime scene. The gun trajectory is conclusive.
"He killed them all." Elliot sits on the bed in shock. He killed his own kids, in their sleep. It's incomprehensible. He drives straight to the hospital to confront Malcolm Royce and finds him on the roof of the building. Malcolm's performance as the grieving father who no longer wants to live makes Elliot sick to his stomach but he plays along with it. He plays along long enough to talk Malcolm down from the ledge before arresting him. He should have helped push him over the ledge he thinks as they travel to the precinct.
At the precinct Cragen, Wong and Casey watch the interrogation. Malcolm has an explanation for everything. He concocts a story to fit the new forensic evidence. Elliot knows that if he plays this long enough, if he keeps pushing him, Malcolm will break. Elliot is relentless. Hours pass and Malcolm eventually admits to killing his wife, claiming it was in revenge for her killing their kids.
Elliot steps out to get Malcolm some water. "It's not enough is it?" he says to Cragen and Casey. There's no way he's backing off now. He heads back into the interrogation room. He is focused, determined. He keeps questioning Malcolm but nothing breaks him. Elliot is so repulsed by this man. Being trapped in this room with him for hours is like a sickness permeating his body. He realizes that words will get nowhere. This narcissistic manipulator can think of a plausible response to any accusation.
Elliot barricades the doors with chairs. The man is a coward and there's only one way to break him. Elliot's disgust and anger take over as he grabs Malcolm and threatens to snap his neck. Malcolm folds almost instantly and is admitting he killed his wife and kids after drugging them.
Elliot drops him, kicks away the chair and walks from the interrogation room in a stupor. He doesn't see Munch and Fin who have arrived for the morning shift. He doesn't even hear Olivia's "Hey El, you okay?" as she gets out of the elevator. He just keeps walking.
He has to get away from the precinct, away from Malcolm Royce. He drives home on autopilot, his only desire to put distance between himself and this case. He showers as soon as he gets back to his apartment, tries to wash the stench of hours of interrogation off himself. Tries to wash the images of Royce's face from his mind. The images of the dead children won't wash away though.
He closes his eyes and places a hand against the shower wall to steady himself as the water pours over his head. Minutes pass and his breathing slows. He turns off the shower, grabs a towel and goes to stand in front of the bathroom mirror. He sees the dark circles underneath his eyes in his reflection. He tries to relate to the person looking back at him but he doesn't feel like he is in his own body.
He walks to the bedroom but he knows trying to sleep is futile. He throws on some sweats and heads toward the kitchen. He feels too sick to eat so he turns on the TV and lies down on the couch. The sound of the TV is a comfort and he eventually falls into a fitful sleep.
Saturday evening
Elliot sleeps on and off throughout the day until the sound of his phone wakes him up. He checks the time: 6:30pm. "Hey Liv," he answers.
"Hey El, I'm just calling to see if you're okay." Her voice. He presses the phone harder against his face, willing her nearer to him.
"I'm… I just…" He falters.
"I know," she says softly. Of course she knows. She always knows, he thinks.
"I'm just leaving the precinct. Have you eaten? Want to come over? I could get Chinese."
"That would be great," he manages, still gripping the phone tightly.
"Okay, great. See you soon El." She hangs up.
An hour later and he's in her apartment, watching as she transfers takeout from cartons to plates and pours herself a glass of wine. He grabs a beer from the refrigerator and stands next to her at the kitchen counter. He's relieved to be out of his apartment.
"Thanks," he says, his voice almost breaking.
"For what?" She looks up at him.
"For this…" He gestures vaguely at the takeout in front of them. "For everything."
"We're partners," she says softly with a small smile as she touches his arm with her hand. He grabs her arm then and pulls her body against his. He hears her gasp in surprise and then she sinks into him. He can't seem to take a breath because it's her, Olivia. He's holding her and she's holding him. He worries he's crushing her but she's holding him just as tight. He rests the side of his face against the top of her head and finally takes a breath.
He loosens his hold slightly but he can't let go. Not yet. He needs to feel her in his arms, her body holding him up. He runs one of his hands up her back. She sighs lightly against him. She pulls back, keeping hold of him in her arms. Their eyes lock for a moment.
"Your kids are safe El," she whispers. The tears in her eyes match his own.
He nods. "I know." He smiles at her and she smiles back. They break apart and she goes to pick up the plates. He grabs the drinks and they head over to the couch. He feels lighter now; some of the horrors of the night are fading. He thinks of all the times she's brought him back from losing himself in a case. The countless times a word or a look has saved him from reliving the horrific details of all that they have seen over the years.
Olivia turns the TV on and they settle on some schmaltzy romantic movie set in New York that they would normally both avoid. Tonight though, this movie version of New York – so different to the streets they walk – is a strange comfort.
"You nailed the bastard El," Olivia says as she stabs at her food.
He nods. "Yeah." Olivia puts down her food and takes a sip of wine.
"You could have called me," she says. "You didn't have to face him on your own."
"I know," he pauses, "but I needed to talk to him alone. I couldn't stop 'till he confessed."
She nods slowly. "I'm here for you now."
He looks at her and smiles and it's the first time he's felt at ease all day. She tucks some hair behind her ear and smiles back at him as she takes another sip of wine. He thinks about how lucky he is to have her as his partner. He remembers the day she first walked into the precinct. She was so confident and made him laugh and they'd connected in seconds. He watches as her hair falls back toward her face and she absentmindedly pushes it away. Sitting next to her on the couch, he feels like he is returning to himself.
Elliot awakens with a jolt, surprised to hear an anguished groan in his ears before realizing it is him that is groaning. "It's okay El, I'm right here." Olivia. Beside him. He feels her hand on his arm. He looks up to see the movie credits rolling. "You fell asleep," she explains. He smiles in spite of himself. "You okay?" she asks.
He looks at her and sees the concern and warmth in her eyes. "Yeah," he says and takes a deep breath.
"It's late, you wanna sleep here tonight?"
He nods. "Thanks."
"Come on." She gets up off the couch and holds a hand out to him. Confused, he takes it and she pulls him to his feet. She leads the way to her bedroom.
"Um, Liv? I can sleep on the couch-"
"I know," she says simply, "but you shouldn't be alone tonight."
Olivia pulls out her pajamas and disappears into the bathroom. Elliot climbs into her bed and lies on his back. He is grateful that he won't be spending the night alone, staring at the ceiling of his apartment. Olivia returns and slides into the bed next to him, turning off the light.
"Goodnight El," she whispers.
"Night," he says.
He turns away from her onto his side and falls asleep to the sound of her breathing.
Sunday morning
Elliot opens his eyes as sunlight spills into the room. Olivia. Next to him. She is sleeping on her back, her face turned toward him. Her hair is decorating the pillow. Olivia. Warm. Breathing. He thanks God he woke up first. He has seen her sleeping before of course. In the crib. In the car during a stakeout, or sometimes when he drives her home after a late finish. Once even at her desk. He never looked at her for more than a moment though. Too intimate. Too intrusive. Now he watches as she breathes in and out. Peaceful. She is beautiful he thinks. He can think that now without the usual rush of guilt.
She starts to stir. He thinks he hears the quietest of whimpers and then her eyes open. Hesitantly at first, as if she might fall back to sleep. Then she clocks him. A fleeting look of surprise and then she smiles. Shyly at first before a wide smile spreads across her face when he grins back at her, and he thinks his heart might burst. She rolls onto her side so that she is facing him. She's so close now.
"I'm glad you stayed," she whispers.
"Me too," he whispers back.
He reaches over to brush the hair from her face. His hand finds her cheek and he holds her with the gentlest of touches. He forgets to breathe.
A phone buzzes from the nightstand and she rolls away to grab it. "Message from Cragen," she states. "Confirming we don't have to be in 'till 11am tomorrow. Guess he thinks we deserve it after this case." She starts to sit up. She looks a little nervous now, as if not sure how to proceed in this unfamiliar territory.
"Coffee?" she asks, eyebrows raised.
"Coffee," he confirms.
She flashes him a smile as she moves off the bed. He jumps up to follow her into the kitchen. "You make the coffee, I'll get breakfast," he offers.
"Breakfast?"
"Toasting bagels is one of my skill sets."
She laughs. Her laugh that can fling the darkest shadows from his mind. He puts his hand on the small of her back as he moves around her in the tiny kitchen to look for plates. They are used to navigating in small spaces. Subtle touches, sidestepping, never bumping into each other. Ten years of perfect maneuvering around desks in the squad room, around a perp in the interrogation room, around a crime scene. She makes the coffee, he toasts the bagels and it could have been choreographed he thinks as they head over to the couch.
She takes one end, he the other. She tucks her legs underneath her. Her NYPD sweatshirt that would be too big even for him covers most of her and catches the crumbs as she eats. He knows she can tell he's gazing at her but he can't pull away. She always knows he thinks, but this is not stolen glances in the squad room. This is just them. In her apartment. After sleeping side by side.
The image of dead children passes through his mind. He had forgotten. Not even thought of it since waking.
"You okay El?" she asks, eyes full of concern.
"Yeah," he nods, grateful when she doesn't press him further.
He thinks in that moment how much he loves her. How he thinks he might always have loved her.
They talk and laugh about how Munch and Fin are probably moaning that they are on call today. She digs a toe into his thigh when he suggests she should buy them lunch tomorrow since he fixed breakfast today. They walk back to the kitchen and he washes the dishes while she pours them another cup of coffee. He doesn't want the morning to end, wants every morning to be like this.
"I'll head back to my apartment for a shower and change of clothes," he suggests. He's not sure if he sees a flash of disappointment before she agrees and turns to move away. He pulls her in for a quick hug before she's gone and she presses into him. He grips her tightly. He's scared that now they've hugged not once but twice that they won't be able to stop. But he's also scared that she'll never hug him again so he kisses the top of her head before letting her go.
She heads toward her bedroom. "See you tomorrow," she says over her shoulder. He grins back at her and then he's heading out the door.
On the drive to his apartment he thinks about the line they've crossed. The unspoken rule never to hug each other. He's looking forward to seeing her again at work the next day he thinks. He always looks forward to seeing her at work he realizes. He needs to see her. Needs to be next to her every single day. He knows he could never be partners with anyone else. He knows she is the reason he's still at SVU. He knows that when they're no longer partners he'll be done. No transfers. Done. He wonders if they were lovers instead of partners, whether he'd manage just seeing her for a couple of hours in the evening. He wonders if they didn't have their work, if they'd drift apart. No cases, no sidewalks to pound, no perps to outwit, no justice to seek. No late night takeout and coffees and bad jokes and comfortable silences.
He's scared if he tells her he loves her, he'll lose her. The job throws them together, day after day. He needs that. He needs her. Olivia.
Monday morning
She's already at her desk when he walks into the squad room, her head bent over some paperwork. She looks up and smiles when he gets to his desk. He smiles back and then she laughs when she sees him notice the stack of papers on his desk. He hangs his jacket on the back of his chair and as he sits at his desk he thinks, in this moment, there's nowhere he'd rather be.