Title: Nights like these
Author: Tany
Category: Angst, Vignette
Characters: Olivia Benson, Elliot Stabler
Feedback: Much appreciated! ;)
Disclaimer: Don't own the show, characters, settings, anything! They all belong to Dick Wolf & NBC. I only borrow them from time to time for my own personal amusement! ;)
Summary: "Nights like these are unbearable. Nights like these remind her that she isn't normal. That she has never been and that she never will be."
A/N: This came to me at the wee hours of the morning, and I still don't know where the inspiration for this came from. Hope you like.
(Special thanks to my most wonderful and beautiful beta Meish (delgaserasca at LJ). You rock girlie, you have no idea how much your words encourage me. Thank you so much! Love you to pieces, Miss M.!)
It's cold, and it's not just because of the cool night air that comes in through the window. It's her soul that feels empty and frozen. She feels like a shell; her own skin is on so tight that it makes her feel trapped.
Nights like these are unbearable. Nights like these remind her that she isn't normal. That she has never been and that she never will be.
The horrors she has seen happen to others blend in with the horrors she's lived with since she was a child. She struggles to breathe and it hurts. It feels like a thousand needles pricking her lungs. And she sighs. Tonight sleep won't come easy, if it comes at all.
She sees her mother. So beautiful yet so broken. She remembers her clouded eyes and the mix of hatred, guilt and love that were harbored there. She remembers the beatings and she remembers the hugs. She remembers words of hatred and words of love. A tear falls and travels down her cheek and she doesn't even bother to wipe it away. What good will it do, when she knows others will follow shortly?
She remembers the bottles of whiskey. She remembers the sound they made when they crashed against the living room floor; how that simple sound made her jump and hide underneath her bed because it meant mommy was mad again and she would surely take it out on her. She remembers the yelling; every time her mother would scream at her and drag her out of her room by the arm and tell her that she was worthless. She remembers the blood; the blood that seeped from the cuts those broken pieces of glass made as she was forced to clean up the mess.
She sees herself as a child, a wounded little girl who only wanted her mother to love her, to kiss her and hug her and show her the most precious things in life. Instead, she was a child paying for a sin that didn't belong to her, a sin that she didn't commit. A child trying to comprehend why her mother was so empty and frail - a child that struggled with the reality that her mother didn't want her, that she only reminded her of the man that took everything away from her and left her damaged with a daughter born out of hatred and not love.
Her thoughts travel to the victim of her most recent case. Beautiful caramel ringlets that flowed freely down to her waist; brown eyes so vivid and filled with wonder. Eyes so reminiscent of hers she could have sworn she was looking at a picture of herself as a child. Six years old, the class extrovert. A laugh that would transcend any barrier; a free spirit that blessed every heart it ever encountered. An innocent little girl that now lies in the morgue after her own mother beat her to death in a drunken rage. An innocent soul whose only crime was to be born as a result of rape.
She chokes on her tears and covers her mouth with her right hand to muffle her cries.
It could have been her. She could have been the one lying in the morgue, bruised and beaten. It should have been her, she muses as she brushes her hair with her trembling fingers. She would have given anything and everything if she could to save that little girl, even if it meant trading places with her. Exchanging her own life with the life of that little angel. That little angel that didn't deserve to be dealt this hand any more than she did. They were both victims: victims of men who violated innocent women without an ounce of remorse. Victims of mothers who couldn't separate the child from the rapist.
She remembers interrogating the mother of the little girl. How she couldn't believe what she had done to her own daughter. 'I loved her,' she proclaimed, eyes filled with tears as the realization of her crime came crashing down on her.
And she saw her own mother. How after every beating, she would hug her and plead for her forgiveness. She would tell her that she loved her and she would believe it. She would believe it because she was her mother. A mother who was a victim of a ruthless crime. The only mother she had ever known and no matter how much pain she had caused her as a child, she still loved her.
Her thoughts pause for a second as she ponders about whether she's thinking about the little girl or herself. She decides that either way they were both victims of circumstances beyond their control.
She feels anger bubble up inside her and she wipes her tears in a vain attempt to make them stop running down her cheeks. She feels angry because it isn't fair. It isn't fair that that little girl had to pay for the crime of her father - it wasn't her fault. She didn't ask to be born. She didn't ask to be brought into this world that's filled with so much pain and hatred. And it wasn't fair that instead of crying and protesting, she hid her pain deep within her, put on a happy face and brightened the lives of those who happened to have crossed her path with just one smile.
She's exhausted now, both physically and emotionally. She wants to sleep, she wants to forget about everything and sink into a deep slumber. But she can't. Haunted by the images of that little girl lying on a cold metal slab at the morgue, she's also haunted by images of her own childhood. She turns in bed and wraps the blankets tightly around herself.
She feels alone and scared. And the typically independent and self-sufficient Detective suddenly wishes he were here with her in bed.
She's suddenly pulled away from her thoughts when she hears the door to her apartment open. He's home. Her heart leaps and relief washes over her entire body. 'He must have finished with his latest case,' she speculates. She sighs and sits up, legs dangling over the edge of the bed.
After his divorce finalized, their working partnership slowly progressed into a life partnership so powerful that it pushed work aside and united their broken souls to form one complete being. They've been living together for almost a year, but lately they haven't seen much of each other. They work in different precincts; different cases keeping them apart for days on end.
He comes into the room and looks at her with sad blue eyes. He knows about the case. And he knows how it must be eating away at her. Instead of saying empty words that would float into the night and disappear before they were really heard, he approaches her silently and sits down beside her. The light from the street lamp peering in through the window and bathing her with an almost heavenly glow. He thinks she looks like an angel - although to him she always does.
She looks at him, her brown eyes shining with tears as she lets out a shaky breath. He reaches out to brush away a stray lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. He takes her in his arms and she buries herself in his embrace, holds on tight as if afraid she's going to lose him the moment that she lets go. The tears begin to fall freely once more, but this time she doesn't muffle her sobs. This time she lets her cries be heard loud and clear.
He doesn't say anything: he doesn't need to. He knows about her demons and he doesn't shy away from them. Instead he embraces them and lures them away with his love and understanding.
She doesn't need to tell him about the case, or how it affected her. He already knows; just by looking at her, just by holding her. No words are needed. Their connection is far deeper than that. It always has been.
Her tears start to subside and she feels a kind of peace surround her, a peace that she's come to associate with him. A peace she had never felt before until he held her in his arms for the first time two years earlier. She feels her pain slowly go away for the time being. Her demons hide deep inside her once more and all she feels is the heat radiating from his body and his gentle crooning.
He lays them softly on the bed and caresses her cheek softly. Her breathing settles into a steady rhythm and he knows she's asleep.
As she lets herself be lulled into a dreamless sleep, she doesn't feel empty or cold anymore. She feels complete.
She rests her head on his chest as his arms tighten protectively around her and for tonight - here in his arms - she can pretend that the world is good and she is normal. She can pretend that nights like these don't exist, that little girls aren't killed by their drunken mothers, that women aren't being violated by unscrupulous monsters, and that the world is safe and peaceful.
Before she drifts to a quiet dreamland, she thanks the high heavens for this man that rests beside her because without him she would never survive nights like these.
Fin.