Best of Luck

by Sarah-elf princess

Olivia has known about her pregnancy for two weeks, but what will happen when her body begins to reject the baby?

Best of Luck

Part of the "Six Feet Below" series

Original Publish Date: Octoberr 7, 2005

Disclaimer: I do not own SVU or any of the characters from SVU. They belong exclusively to Dick Wolf and NBC. I do however hold the rights to any original characters that may be present.

Warnings: None.

Complete.

Author's Notes: I highly, highly, highly recommend you read "Six Feet Below" before reading this. Although this is not a direct sequel it does rely on the events in "Six Feet Below".

And a huge thank you to Mousie! You are wonderful!

This takes place from Olivia's POV.

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She tried as hard as she could

But she knew it wasn't good enough and wouldn't ever be

So she had to start hiding how she felt

But she loved him he knew it

And if his hands weren't tied

He would've really like to help her

-Best of Luck

Nickel Creek

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"El, El, come on, Elliot. I really need to talk to you," I whispered anxiously into the phone. My fingers dug into the black, thin cell phone as my hand began to quiver. Tremors racked my body and I fell to the ground, crying out when the edge of the table plunged into stomach. I screamed and landed on the hardwood floor beside my couch—my hand still gripping the lifeline. I choked on my sobs as I twisted to cradle the ten week old child that was inside of me. I hastily mumbled comforting words, even as I felt warm liquid seep between my legs. I didn't need to look down to know that the baby was in trouble, my baby was in trouble.

"Elliot," I moaned, turning over, away from the slivers of glass that lay fragmented on my floor. My grandmother's antique pitcher had shattered as soon as my limp fingers had let go of it. I could still feel the absolute pain that had risen from the base of my spine, climbing, twisting around my body until it exploded at the base of my skull. My body went rigor and that's when I had reached for my cell, but it was too late.

The pain began to concentrate at my right temple, and I cried out, screaming as wave after wave of fire raced through my head and down into my body. One hand reached up, my fingers digging into my forehead as if I could pry the torture out of my head. I could feel my nails digging into my skin and my eyes burned as blood leaked out of the wounds. Blood and tears mixed on my cheeks and pooled onto the floor beneath me.

I rolled tighter into myself, trying to give myself meager comfort. Through bleary eyes I could see the pool of blood that had come from between my legs. I gingerly reached with a shaking hand to touch the blood. That was my baby there. My baby. My baby. My baby was dead.

I could hear Elliot frantically trying to get my attention. I could hear his car start and him using his other phone to call 9-1-1. I could hear him crying, almost hysterically. I could hear his breathing rushed and labored. But in the sea of pain that I was floating in, none of it mattered.

My vision blacked out and I was left cuddling my empty body and sobbing into a blackened universe. I hear the paramedics calling out from behind my door. I knew that Elliot was there, turning the lock. I felt their hands touching me, trying to call me back. I escaped to the warmth of Elliot's hands on my face, my body instinctively bending inward to protect my baby, but my baby wasn't there anymore. I stirred with sobs and cried out as the paramedics forced me onto a stretcher. I blindly grasped for Elliot's hands as they tied me to the hard plastic. I could feel the cold scissors cutting into the soft fabric of my pants. I felt the rumble of the engine as the ambulance took off. The sirens cut through the darkness and the throbbing pain started to build in my head. I could feel the second attack coming.

"Liv, hang on baby, we're almost there." Elliot whispered frantically to me, tears rolled off his face and landed on my lips. I eagerly tasted the salty liquid, and moaned as it hit the back of my throat. I dryly swallowed and gasped for breath.

"Babe, baby, please don't do this. Please don't do this." Elliot told me, the warm breath from his mouth hit my face and I could feel his words. I knew, he wasn't talking to me. "Please, please." He continued to whisper a frenzied prayer. "Please, oh God, please."

I tried to turn my head toward him, but was stopped by the restraints. It wasn't fair; I needed to be with him. Our baby was dead.

The ambulance stopped with a small jerk and the doors were flung open to the invasive sunlight. The paramedics scrambled out and pulled me with them, leaving Elliot behind as he sobbed into his hands. He too had seen the blood.

Three doctors came rushing toward us as the paramedics threw open the doors of the hospital.

The paramedic quickly listed off my symptoms. What a word. Symptoms. Here I was moaning the loss of my baby and I was nothing more than a list of indicators of what I might have. I could have told them what was wrong. I killed my baby.

Bile rose to the back of my throat and I gagged, trying to vomit while laying flat. Sharp knives dug themselves into my lower back and my spine arched, trying to escape the pain. I screamed and sobbed and moaned as the pain intensified. The muscles in my legs and back began to spasm and the doctors scrambled around me.

I opened my eyes as my back arched higher and tears flowed down my cheeks, soaking the pad I was on. I landed hard and my neck snapped up enough for my head to rise. I saw Elliot, standing there, shock and horror all over his face. His mouth hung open, his hands still holding open the swinging double doors. His cell phone, still open and connected to mine, was held limply by three fingers. The world stopped as our eyes met. I opened my mouth to breath and the pain came flooding back. My eyes rolled into the back of my head and my mouth opened in a soundless scream.

Elliot came rushing forward, only to be stopped by two male nurses. They grabbed the former marine by the arms and dragged him out of the room. I tried to call out, to have them stop, but they were gone. I could hear Elliot's cries of frustration and anger follow me, even as I was wheeled into the operating room and the atheistic took hold of my body.

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I woke to the blinding lights of the stark hospital room. Needles, attached to thin plastic tubes, traveled in and out of my arm. Every one of my senses was dulled, as if I was looking through foggy glass. I gingerly tilted my head to the right. A large window, complete with a tree outside, graced the entire wall of my room. The curtains had been flung back, casting light into every corner. A squirrel raced up a branch and into a cluster of leaves.

I scanned the rest of the room; nothing else was out of the ordinary. There was a bad painting on the wall, done in only muted colors, of beach with people on it. Including one family. There was a mother, holding a young boy. He had sandy blond hair, and a grin that could have filled any void in any heart. Tears pooled in my eyes. That's the life I wanted.

I forced my eyes away from that picture. Maybe I wasn't meant to have kids. Maybe I could be content, just me. Look at my mother. She couldn't have been a worse mother. The only difference, I told myself, was that I wanted this baby. I wanted his baby.

Someone stirred beside me. I glanced toward the disturbance. Elliot looked up at me and tried to smile weakly. His eyes were red and brimmed with tears. He looked so lost, so tired. It was then I realized he wanted this baby as much as I did—even if we could never acknowledge that Elliot was the father. His face held the imprint of his denim jacket and I wondered how long he had been sleeping there. How long had it been?

"Hey," I whispered gently, not trusting myself to say anything else. Tears rose from the back of my throat and I tired to raise a shaky hand to wipe them from my face. Elliot leaned and used his thumb to clear the tears from my face. Even as he was trying to comfort me in this small way, his own eyes filled and the cursed liquid streamed from him.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice thin and cracked. Elliot leaned in and pressed his lips to my temple. I could no longer control my grief. Sobs poured forth from me and I turned on my side, cradling my head in my hands.

Elliot left the bedside and closed the window drapes, cutting off the natural light and casting the room into darkness. The other window, the one leading toward the hallway, was already covered with shades. When the room was dark, Elliot joined me, climbing gently onto the bed. He took my head in my hands and pulled me onto his chest. I grasped his shirt and buried my head into the soft fabric. I sobbed endlessly onto him. Elliot, trying to combat his own anguish, rocked me back and forth, pressing kisses on my hair. I could hear him pray for me under his breath and I cried again.

By the time we pulled apart, his shirt had dried, but the stain was still there. Elliot held me at arms' reach. "I love you," he said again. Tears formed in my eyes and I shook my head. I had lost his baby how could he possibly say that?

"No, no, listen to me." Elliot forced my head up. "I love you and no matter what happens I want you to know that. I love you. I love you."

I tried to form the words back, but they wouldn't come. If I tried to talk now, I would break into tears again.

I soft knock at the door broke us apart. Elliot gently detangled himself from the bed and went to answer the door. He flipped on one of the lights and a soft, muted light glowed through out the room. I nodded once and Elliot opened the door.

A man, with long black hair tied back at his neck, stepped into the room. His lab coat was stained with blood and I wondered if it was mine. He looked weary; his eyes were red and tired. He took one look and Elliot and then came to stand next to me. I felt like a puppy as I looked up at him, silently begging for answers.

The doctor clasped his manila folders to his chest and looked down at me. "How are you doing, Olivia?" He asked, seemingly genuinely concerned with the answer.

I shook my head, not trusting myself to verbally answer.

"I have some good news and some bad news," he continued. His green eyes glanced over toward Elliot, who stood protectively at the end of my bed. I wanted Elliot next to me, so I could touch him, but that was no longer allowed. There was a third person in the room. He might suspect and then questions might start. It seems strange that even as we face the death of a child, we still could not bring ourselves to acknowledge our love to the remainder of the world.

"I'll start with the bad news." The doctor opened the manila envelope and then looked down at me. "You lost a baby," he said bluntly.

I bit my lip and my heart ached in grief. I knew that. I had known that since the beginning, but why did it hurt so badly to hear it? That type of reality is better as an unspoken acceptance.

My chest began to quiver with sobs, but I had nothing left to cry. The doctor still stood beside the bed. I turned away, hopping he would leave, but he still stood there. I just wanted him to leave. Why wouldn't he leave me alone?

"There is something else," he said. I turned toward him, my eyes filled with sorrow. How could I possibly take anything else?

The doctor tried to grin, but stopped. He licked his lips. "We managed to save the other baby."

"The . . . the other baby?" I whispered.

At this he did smile. "Would you like to see a picture?"

"I still have a baby?" My mind whirled at the possibility. I was carrying twins? I was carrying twins? My heart filled with joy. I had a baby. I had Elliot's baby. Reality slammed into me and I broke into dry sobs. I had lost a life, how could I rejoice at the survival of its twin?

The doctor turned from me and held out a paper for Elliot. "This is a referral for an emergency anti-depressant. At least until she can see a counselor. Many mother struggle for years dealing with the grief of losing a twin."

Elliot didn't answer him, but took the paper. I turned away from them both and clutched the blanket that was tucked around me. I just wanted to be alone with my grief. I laid one hand on my stomach, searching for a heartbeat or a kick, but felt nothing. I wanted to know that one of my babies was safe with me tonight.

The doctor left and eventually so did Elliot. I slept that night and the day and night after, but only restlessly. I dreamed that I had two children. One boy and one girl. They were gorgeous children, perfect mixes of their parents. Life was perfect, except that the girl always died and I always killed her.

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Sunlight woke me. The stretch of warmth against my face called me to consciousness. Through bleary eyes I could see Casey fidgeting around the room, cleaning things up, deadheading flowers that were sitting on the table. It took her a second to realize that I was awake.

"Oh, Olivia, how are you doing?" She breathed, rushing to my side. I smiled weakly and she took my hand. "I was so worried when I heard. I've been here since Monday. Elliot and I have switched off shift waiting for you to wake up, along with Munch and Fin."

"Since Monday?" My mind raced, "but you were supposed to be in Colorado, visiting your brother."

Casey laughed, but it was hollow. She was as tired as I was. "Olivia, I couldn't have stayed there, knowing what had happened."

I wondered how much I should tell her, but she saw right past me. "Elliot told me everything, Olivia." I opened my mouth in protest, but Casey cut me off. "I'm the only person he told and I haven't told anyone."

I mutely nodded, rubbing my stomach. Casey's eyes filled with tears and she cupped my face in her hand. "I want you to know you can come to me with anything, Liv. Anything. I want to help you through this, okay?"

I closed my eyes to hold back the tears and Casey leaned in and softly kissed my forehead. Without a word, she stood and left. Leaving me alone.

My thoughts raced around as I attempted to sort out what was happening to me. I had lost a baby, while gaining one I didn't know I had. 10 weeks old. Was that enough of a body to bury? Should I bury her? What would I have named her? In my heart I knew that I had lost a baby girl. And in my heart I knew that her brother still lived. Would I ever tell him that he had a twin?

I breathed deeply and rolled over, watching the tree outside. The squirrel was still racing up and down the branch, this time joined by friends. I spent hours that day just watching the squirrels. I knew that I couldn't allow the death of one child drive me for the rest of my life. I would give my baby the most love I could. I was not my mother. I would not allow myself to be.

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