Title: Shahryar
Author: mindy35
Rating: T, adult themes
Disclaimer: Not mine, you know whose
Warning: Major Character Death
Spoilers: "Scheherazade", "Paternity", "Child's Welfare" and probably many others….
Pairing: Elliot/Olivia x 2
Summary: An Elliot & Olivia Romance. That's all I'm saying at this point.
A/N: This story is inspired by the eighth season episode "Scheherazade". For those who need a reminder of the legend Huang relays to Elliot, Scheherazade (or Shahrazad) was the storyteller of "One Thousand and One Nights", a collection of tales told to the King of Persia. The King's first wife had been unfaithful to him so every night he took a new wife then had her executed the next morning. But Scheherazade told the King a gripping story every night for 1001 nights, always stopping at dawn with a cliff-hanger and forcing him to keep her alive to complete her tale. This story is named after the king, Shahryar, who fell in love with Scheherazade's stories, eventually marrying her and making her his queen.
i.
He knocks and waits. This is a bit of a leap.
He's generally not a bold man. He's a safe man, a serious man. When placed in circumstances that require some measure of boldness, he often tries to channel his father, approximating his formidable solidity and drive. Any composure he's mustered abandons him though when the door opens on a woman with olive skin and dark eyes. Her curly hair is pulled into a loose bun and propped on her head are a pair of narrow specs. She's his age – or maybe a little younger – and that can't be right. He glances down at the name and address his sister scrawled out for him.
"Hi, ah, hello," he stammers, shoes shifting in place. "I'm looking for Olivia Benson."
The woman blinks at him, one hand still holding the door. "She's not home right now. Can I help you?"
"I hope so..." He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a card in a familiar gesture. "I'm a doctor over at St. Brendan's. I have a patient…who's been asking after her."
The woman glances at his card then returns her steady gaze to his. "Can you tell what this might be regarding?"
He sniffs, stifling a twinge of annoyance – he's not about to tell her everything, not when he has absolutely no idea who she is. "I believe they were work acquaintances. Many years back."
The woman nods, lifts his card and tells him, "Well, I'll let her know and see that she gets your details."
"I'd appreciate that." He nods in return, voice hardening slightly as he adds, "My patient doesn't have much time."
Her eyes glint with unconcealed empathy. "I'm very sorry to hear that."
He lowers his gaze, takes a step back. "Well, thank you for your help, Miss—?"
"Harrison," she says, extending a hand. "Doctor, also, actually."
He shakes it. "Good to meet you, Doctor Harrison."
"You too—" she glances at his card, "…Doctor Stabler." Then, with a brief smile, she closes the door.
Eli heads down the corridor, punching the elevator button before glancing back at the door he just knocked on. He's still clutching the slip of paper with the scrawled name and address on it. He'd bunched it up in his sweaty palm as he talked to the beautiful doctor. Now, he smooths it out, folds it neatly and slips it back in his pocket. Then, as the doors slide open, he runs his damp palms down his jacket and boards the elevator.
-x-
He always thought it would be his children he'd want to see, beg forgiveness from, receive absolution from. He always thought that, on his deathbed, he'd regret all the hours he robbed from his family to spend on his work, at his desk, at her side. He always thought they wouldn't be able to forgive him his absence, his split focus, the long years spent looking after other people's children. He'd always worried that their forgiveness would be even harder to obtain than his own.
He was wrong.
His children are good people, forgiving people. They visit often. Maureen with her children – she has five, just as he and Kathy did. Although unlike him and Kathy, Maureen's divorce actually stuck. Kathleen visits every weekend with her wife and adopted daughter. Dickie, his wife and twin boys visit whenever they are in town. And Lizzie, her partner and step-son come whenever she can snatch a few hours away from the Force. He knows how that goes. He knows his children are happy and successful, each one of them, in their own way. He knows they all love him and forgive him. He's secure in that. He can rest in peace knowing that. But there's someone else. Someone he longs to see. Just one last time. Someone whose forgiveness he must receive before leaving this world for good.
-x-
He floats in and out of consciousness, blood pumping feebly through his veins. His eyes drift around the room, over the cushy green couch, the familiar family photographs, the wildflowers Kathleen brought and the chart hung at the end of his bed. Any moment he expects his heart to give out. To slow, to quit, to finally admit defeat. He prays that it won't be yet, not before she comes. If she comes. He's hallucinated her so many times, held entire conversations with her without knowing, or really caring, if she was real. Without knowing if he was dreaming while barely awake or if he'd died and gone to heaven where a merciful God deigned to grant his last wish. Without knowing if he was lingering in some sort of deceitful purgatory or simply high on whatever cocktail of drugs is currently keeping his ailing body alive. He takes the little pills without question now. He'll keep taking them. Keep cracking his blurry old eyes to scan his room, checking to see if she's come yet.
His eyes drift to the door, float open and shut before registering the silhouette in the doorframe. His room is dim, the light from the hallway hiding her features from him. But Elliot smiles in recognition.
"Liv...?"
The woman on the threshold starts. "No— well, yes..." She steps forward, into the inky darkness. "My name is Olivia Harrison. I think you know— knew…my aunt."
He squints at her but his faded vision and the shadowy light doesn't allow him to see anything more than her outline. "You're Olivia's niece…?"
He turns his head on the pillow, reaches for his bedside lamp. His hand is clumsy though, it bangs against the table edge, shocking his bones and nearly knocking over a tumbler of water. The woman moves closer to his bed, leaning down to switch on the lamp for him. The yellow light illuminates her face, shows him her dark eyes and hair and skin. She straightens slowly, eyes scanning his face and a curious smile on her lips. She's dressed in professional attire – a functional, practical suit and blouse, with an ID pouch dangling from her hip and a pen inserted into her breast pocket.
Elliot sighs, slackening into his pile of pillows. "You look like her."
Her smile grows. "That's what my father thought. That's why he named me after her."
He shifts in his sheets, making an effort to sit upright, and young Olivia leans in again to help. She presses the button to incline his bed, arranges the pillows behind his head and back. Elliot re-settles, puffed from the minor effort but eyes suddenly alert and awake.
"So you must be Simon's daughter."
Her smile fails just slightly. "You knew my father?"
"I met him…" he nods, releasing a long breath. "A few times. He seemed…troubled."
The younger Olivia nods at the floor but says nothing. Elliot doesn't avert his gaze from her face but nor does he watch her closely. He doesn't need to – not in order to see what she's trying so hard to hide. Watching the obvious daddy issues play out on her face gives him a sad sense of déjà vu. Her attempt to conceal her sensitivity on the subject of her father is valiant. She's good – but he's seen better, known better. For thirteen years, he witnessed similar issues fight to be released on the features of a true expert of concealment. His skills might be rusty but he knows how to read Olivias, he learnt that years before.
He reaches for the water by his bed, muttering the morbid question that has gradually become a reality of time, of life, of age. "Is he still with you?"
"He's inside," Olivia answers, moving to the foot of his bed. "Serving a life sentence."
He watches her instinctual retreat, smiles a little as he sips his water. "You have other family?"
"A brother. Ty." Her hands pick up his chart in what seems like an automatic gesture. She holds it in front of her shield-like, without glancing at it. "He went to live with his dad after my mom died. Olivia and Noah took me in so that my dad could maintain visitation."
"So…" Elliot budges up a little higher on his pillow, "Olivia raised you?"
She nods. "Since I was nine."
He sips his water, head bobbing. That explains a lot – the similar stance and borrowed mannerisms. The professional look and tone that allows this Olivia doppelganger to keep a safe, firm distance between herself and the rest of the world. Elliot looks into his glass, clears his dry throat. "So who's Noah then? Her husband? Partner?"
Her eyes narrow at him. "How is it you don't know any of this? If she's so important to you that you'd ask for her when—"
"When I'm dying?" he interjects, brow raised and voice unflinching.
She raises a hand. "That's not what I was going to say."
Elliot releases a breath, places his glass back on the tray with a shaky hand. "Liv and I sort of…fell out of each other's lives."
Olivia pauses, eyes running over his face. "But she was important to you?" She slots his chart back into place, curls both hands around the steel bar at the foot of his bed. "…How important?"
"Doctor Harrison."
Her head turns toward the intruding voice. Eli is standing at the door in his white coat. His expression is stern and voice firm as he murmurs:
"Could I please see you in the hall?"
Elliot sags in his sheets. He watches Olivia hesitate, unwilling to obey. He watches Eli step to one side, his hand sweeping outwards. Neither of them says anything more but an interesting tension stretches across the room. Elliot watches it happen, eyes sliding back and forth between them. He isn't sure whose will is stronger but part of him wants in on the silently raging struggle for supremacy.
He lifts his old hands, tries his best to look alert. "Hey, we're just talkin' here."
Eli glances at him but doesn't waver. "You don't need a psyche consult, Dad. The problem's with your heart, not your head."
Elliot's eyes light up and an unimpeded chuckle rises up from his chest. "Olivia raised a psychologist? That's…oh, that's just perfect..."
Olivia's niece darts him a look as she turns to face his son. "I'm a psychiatrist, actually. Although I'm not here in an official capacity. Your father and I were only chatting."
Eli faces her, hands shoved stubbornly in pockets. "Well, he needs his rest."
Elliot chuckles again. "Eli, come on—"
"Elliot, Dad, don't call me that in front—" He breaks off, gathers himself then waves again in an officious gesture. "Doctor Harrison. If you don't mind…"
Olivia briefly turns back to him in his bed. "It was nice to meet you."
Elliot nods glumly in reply. "No one ever lets me have any fun anymore…"
Her lips twist in a slight smile which disappears as she heads for the door, brushing by his son on her way out. She's pissed – and far less skilled at hiding that – but at least she's not pissed at him. From his bed, he can hear them bickering in the hallway outside his room. People are always whispering about his health out there, thinking he can't hear. There's absolutely nothing wrong with his hearing but he's become used to being left out of such conversations. There's no point in fighting the inevitable. And he prefers to conserve his energy. For when she comes. Because that's not going to be easy, that's the struggle he's waiting on, planning for, building up to.
The fight in the hallway is petty in comparison. Because people are petty and proud and ridiculous when they're young. They spend so much time and energy fixating on things that don't matter. He knows, he's been there. His son is being a jackass, just like he used to be at his age. Eli accuses Olivia's niece of trying to shrink his head, of concealing the fact that she's a psychiatrist. Olivia accuses his son of being one of those old-fashioned doctors with a phobia of anything mental, anything emotional. He says she overstepped her bounds, gaining access to his father with her credentials. She replies that it's unethical for him to act as his father's doctor and that he could just have said from the outset that he was advocating on behalf of his own father, not a patient. Eli says his motivations are none of her business and that the invitation he extended was to Olivia Benson – she was who his father asked for. The younger Olivia responds by saying that she only came to tell his father in person that her aunt refused to see him.
Elliot's amusement fades. His heart falters, his ears quit listening to the argument in the hallway. And his eyes close slowly over.
Her face is murky. Never – not in all his years did he ever think he'd forget her face. Parts of it still linger. Other parts remain fluid, unfixed. Pieces of her float into place, linger a millisecond in a familiar combination he longs to hold onto, but then they keep on floating, drifting away, fleeing to the four corners of his dwindling memory. He'd need to see her again to fill in the glaring blanks caused by so many years of absence. He'd need to see her again to get her right, to fix her in place before taking her memory with him into the next world.
A tear slips out of one eye, slides down his cheek and lands with a soft pat on his pillow. Outside his room, a pair of heels echo down the hall, their swift click-clack eventually receding. And when he opens his eyes again, his son is standing over him, looking down on him with a concerned expression.
"I want to see her again," he tells him, voice rough and desperate.
Eli frowns. "What?"
Elliot persists, nodding at the doorway through which he stole Olivia. "You need to apologize to her, make her come back."
"Dad—" He sighs, shakes his head in bewilderment. "You barely know the woman."
Elliot holds his gaze. "I want her back. Get her back."
-x-
The next time she visits, he's dressed and ready.
His clothes hang off him now, suspenders stop his pants from falling at his feet. It seems pointless to buy new clothes when his weight – and days – just keep steadily decreasing. So he wears a pair of bright red suspenders he inherited when Cragen died. At the time, he'd thought of them as a nostalgic memento, not a practical gift for the future. They'd been delivered along with three other pairs by Munch, who would pass away shortly afterward. Elliot only ever found out about such losses after the fact. He'd have liked to have gone to those funerals, those and others. But in divorcing himself from his partner the way he did, he also divorced himself from their friends and colleagues. Like every divorce, assets were fairly or unfairly divided. He got his family and she got hers.
He always knew, or rather, assumed that she was still alive. The job was dangerous, but if anyone was going to outlive the bunch of them it was Olivia Benson. This gut feeling was confirmed whenever he spotted her on the news, standing to one side at press conferences or guiding hand-cuffed perps from precinct doors to police car. Once, he thought he picked her out on a beach where dozens of police were combing for bodies. He willed the reporter to get closer to her, to ask her a question, make her speak to him. She didn't. And that was the last time he ever saw her.
Elliot pats his cleanly shaven face dry, examines himself in the mirror. Something he was never told about growing old was how hard it is to shave saggy, disappointed skin. Mostly, he doesn't bother. If anyone has a good excuse to sport a scruffy grey beard it's a dying man. And while he feels ten years younger having made the effort, ten years younger still makes him a very old man. He emerges at an old man pace from the bathroom in his baggy navy pants, a thin white shirt and bright red suspenders just as Olivia the Second is knocking on his door. He is sans jacket and shoes, just slippers over socks, but she looks him over with a smile.
"You're looking better."
Elliot grasps the handle of his cane and makes his slow way to the couch. "I take it my son apologized."
Olivia slips her bag off her shoulder and hovers behind him until he takes a seat. "He…tried."
He collapses into the couch cushions, leans his cane against the end table. "Eli isn't good at apologies. It's sort of a family trait."
She settles in the armchair opposite, tips her head to one side. "Is that why you wanted to see my aunt? To apologize?"
Elliot lifts his brows, eyes lighting up. "Ah, the doctor is in the house..."
She opens her mouth to respond but closes it again as an attendant enters with a tray of weak coffee and dry cookies. Olivia thanks the attendant then pours the coffee, muttering as she hands him his cup, "Not sure you should be drinking this…"
Taking the cup in both hands, Elliot sniffs its sour aroma and mumbles, "The day I stop drinking coffee is the day they put me in the ground."
She picks up the other cup, cradles it in her lap. "I fluctuate between tea and coffee myself."
He hums and sips. "Like your aunt?"
She looks at him from the corners of her eyes. "So that you know?"
He sips again. "Oh, that I know…"
She sips her coffee, hesitates a moment then says, "I brought you something." She leans down, slips a hand into her purse and retrieves a photo frame. "This…sits on my desk at work…" She glances at it before handing it across. "That's me, my brother, Ty, my Aunty Liv and Noah." She lifts her eyes to his face before adding, "Her adopted son. We were raised together, he's like another brother to me."
Elliot studies the photo as she speaks. In it, she is maybe fourteen years old. One brother is a little older, one a little younger. The older is black with a brash smile. The younger white with a shyer look. All three sit in a row at a picnic table, elbows propped on its wooden top. As they smile into the camera, his former partner stands behind them, leaning over them, arms spread about them like a guardian angel. Her face is full and lined, her smile wide and relaxed. She looks both familiar and unfamiliar and he can't take his eyes off her unmoving face. It's odd seeing her as a mother, as part of a family. It's odd glimpsing a part of her life that he never shared.
He swallows, voice cracking as he asks, "How is she?"
Her niece's voice is quiet as she replies, "She's good. Really well."
"Is she…" his hand shakes, almost losing his grip on the photo frame, "happy?"
Olivia hesitates then answers, "…Mostly. Yeah."
Elliot nods, clears his throat then hands back the photograph. Olivia tucks it away then sips her coffee, giving him a moment to collect himself. Glancing about the room, her eyes land on a similar photograph, one also populated by young smiling faces and proud parents.
"Is that your family?"
"Yes."
She rises, moves to the end table by the couch and picks it up. Elliot points to each young face as he introduces her to his impressive brood.
Olivia nods, eyes on the family photograph. "So Elliot's your youngest?"
"By fifteen years."
"That's quite a gap." She looks at the photo a moment longer, eyes moving between his younger self and his youngest son. "He looks like you, the same…"
When Elliot looks up at her face, Olivia lowers the photo and returns to her seat. "You must have started young."
"Too young."
"Regrets?"
He humphs into his cup. "Too many to count."
She sips her coffee, tips her chin at the photo. "What about your wife?"
"Kathy passed away. Ten years ago."
"I'm sorry."
Elliot dips his head, sets his coffee aside. "What about you? Married? Kids?"
Olivia shakes her head, lowers her eyes and reaches for a cookie. "Neither. Guess I've just been… too focused on work."
"You enjoy it?"
"I do…" She bites her cookie and chews pensively. "But I would like to, you know…one day."
"Have a family?"
She shifts in her seat and he sees the change of topic coming a mile off. "So I…spoke to my aunt about you."
Elliot lowers his gaze to his skinny old knees, smiling sadly. "She wouldn't come."
Her niece crosses her legs, props an elbow on one knee. "I thought you might be able offer some insight as to why."
His smile grows less sad, his eyes start to glint. "Which one of us are you trying to fix, Doctor? Her or me?"
She waves her cookie in mid-air. "Well, clearly there's something here that needs resolving."
"And you're just the shrink to do it?"
"It is my job, Detective Stabler."
His head pulls back at the tired old moniker. "Detective Stabler…you even sound like her..."
Olivia leans in, eats the last of her cookie then says, "The only thing my Aunty Liv would tell me was that you used to work together. Back when she was a detective."
"We worked together." He nods, heavy head lolling weakly on his neck. He suddenly feels exhausted by her energy, her curiosity, her persistence. "We worked together…a long time."
"How long?"
"Long." He rises with as much dignity as his bones will allow. "You want more than that, you'll have to come back." His hand curls around his cane and his back turns as he begins shuffling back to his bed. "Next time…I'll make sure they bring tea."
Olivia sighs and rises, dusting some cookie crumbs from her fingers. She picks up her bag and heads for the door but stops on the threshold, her bag on her shoulder and her eyes watching him climb into his bed. A moment later, he hears an attendant pass her by in the corridor outside his room.
"He's been much more sprightly lately," the attendant says, "Your visits must be doing him good."
Olivia doesn't answer. And inside his room, Elliot closes his eyes and leans back in his pillow.
Her face is clearer now. The exact shade of her eyes, that scar on her right brow. The petite sweetness of her nose that seemed so at odds with her powerhouse presence. He remembers having a conversation with her once while on stakeout – she thought her nose was odd, he told her it was cute. His breathing deepens and he drifts off to sleep, thinking about Olivia Benson's nose and eyes and scars.
-x-
"Doctor Harrison."
"Doctor Stabler."
Eli steps to one side, out of the way of some hurried pedestrians. "I was just heading in to visit my dad."
Olivia sidesteps with him, her gait less certain. "I've just come from there. I…I hope that—"
"Oh no," he holds up a hand, nods a few times, "I know he was eager to see you again."
"Well," she shrugs a shoulder, tucks a brown curl behind her ear, "He seemed to be in good spirits. Although I think I might have tired him out a bit."
Eli glances up at the hospital façade, the wind ruffling his dark blond hair. "He's more robust than he looks. I…have to remind myself of that at times."
Olivia smiles slightly then frowns. "I'm actually glad I ran into you, Doctor Stabler—"
"Elliot, please."
She nods once, "Olivia," then goes on, "I, ah…I know we got off to a bumpy start. But I would like to figure out what all this is about."
Eli scratches his temple, shakes his head. "I'm not sure I can help you out there. I know my siblings remember your aunt but I was too young."
"Well…" she juts her chin at a nearby café, lips inching into a tentative smile, "maybe we could grab a coffee? Exchange information and see what else we can come up with?"
Eli glances at his watch then stammers, "Sure. Yes, yeah. I mean…I guess I've got the time."
TBC...