Prick
The body bag is zipped and transferred to the gurney swiftly. Moments later it is wheeled out of the room and past the sombre employees who had arrived soon after learning of their friends' death. Ryan O'Halloran had been a hard-working, respected, popular and well-liked by everyone who met him.
At the back of the room, his murderer whines at Melinda about his back where Elliot's foot made contact after he dropped to the floor. She shows Stuckey little sympathy as she prods the spot and declares him fit enough to stand. Fin needs no further encouragement and hauls Stuckey up by his cuffed arms and marches him from the room.
"But Elliot kicked me!" The blonde haired technician whines as they passed Elliot and Olivia in the corridor.
"You duct taped him to a chair, I say you're even," Fin replies and pushes him forward onto the elevator as Munch follows.
Melinda's eyes fall on Elliot when she comes out of the lab. She sighs as she looks at the long red slashes across his chest. "You need to get them checked out," she tells him with a no nonsense, yet comforting tone. "I'd do it myself but I've got to…" she gestures down the hall in the direction the gurney was taken. Melinda's gives them a knowing look, sympathetic coupled with a shared grief over a lost friend. Only she now has the unpleasant task of overseeing the autopsy of said friend. That responsibility fell to her too often. "Any other injuries?"
"I'm fine," Elliot shakes his head and Olivia takes a step closer. She's been hovering closer since help arrived. They've given brief accounts to Fin and Munch about what happened with Stuckey but they kept certain details to themselves. They will have to give detailed reports later because Olivia knows Stuckey won't keep his mouth shut.
There's an awkward pause as Melinda seems like she's about to say something but she changes her mind at the last moment. "I'll get the results to you as soon as I can," she says finally and strides down the hall.
"Thanks Melinda," Olivia says quietly. Then it's just them. The colleagues who lined the hallway minutes ago have left to grieve their friend while crime scene officers from Brooklyn worked the crime scene in the lab behind them to limit the chance of contamination. After a long, drawn out sigh Olivia says. "I'll drive you to the hospital."
"I'll be fine," Elliot protests with a groan and a flinch when he moves. "I do need to get my spare shirt from my locker."
….
A few hours later, Olivia is standing outside a curtained off cubicle in the hospital as a few of Elliot's deeper wounds are stitched by the doctor. In her hands are Elliot's bloodied jacket and tie and his gym bag with his spare shirt. His shredded shirt is in an evidence bag and someone took photos to catalogue his injuries. He refused to let her call Kathy, he didn't explain. They had sat in silence while they waited.
She doesn't want to eavesdrop but her attention is drawn by the murmured conversation between Elliot and the doctor. In the noisy corridor she can't discern anything other than their tone. Elliot sounds more pained than before and she wonders when the pain killers will kick in. They stop talking and seconds later the doctor pulls the curtain back to leave, eyeing Olivia as she does. Olivia switches places with her to find Elliot sitting shirtless on the side of the bed. She moves around to be in his line of vision and sees the fresh white bandages on his chest. He looks up and his lips form a thin line.
"Thanks," he says as he reaches out for the bag in her hands.
Olivia hands it over and sees the tension in his face as he tries not to show the pain the movement causes him. He digs out his spare shirt and can't hold back the wince as he slips his arms through the sleeves. He lets the shirt gap, he doesn't move to button the garment as his hands drop to the bed and he exhales loudly.
"Are they discharging you?"
"I've got to sign the papers and get my prescription filled." There's a pause. He swallows. "Am I really that bad?"
"What are you talking about?" Olivia counters taking a step forward.
"'Liv do this, Liv do that.' 'If you knew half of what this prick has done,'" he mimics her voice as she had said it. He lifts his head to meet her guilt ridden gaze. "Am I really that bad?"
Her first instinct is to tell him he's not that bad. He's not, not all the time anyway. She was trying to gain Stuckey's trust but she would be lying if she said she wasn't exaggerating her frustrations with Elliot. She steps forward and sits next to him on the bed when he doesn't move to stop her.
"Sometimes you can be," Olivia admits quietly. His chest heaves as he sucks in a breath. Her hand touches his to stop him from interrupting. "But I wouldn't have put up with you for nearly eleven years if you were always like that. Also, I know it's not personal, and I would rather you do that than beat up some perp and end up in Rikers instead of them."
Beside her Elliot releases the breath he had been holding. "I don't mean to be…"
She turns her head at his falter to find his eyes trained on her. He swallows. "Just tell me when I'm being a prick."
"I've never had a problem with telling you before," Olivia promises. Their gazes hold for a beat. They're okay, they can move forward from this. "Let's get out of here."
Elliot nods and fastens his shirt quickly. She helps him with the jacket then leads the way out of the cubicle. In the hallway they walk side by side.
"The slapping was a little dramatic, don't ya think?" Elliot says dryly.
She smirks. "I could've punched you."
He laughs. "Did you really need to kiss him?"
Her smirk drops. "Elliot," she sighs. She would rather just forget about that.
"Yeah."
"You're being a prick."