He awoke from dreams of red and metal in a cold sweat, and, choking on fear, made his way to the shower, and then to the hospital. Elliot wasn't there. No one was there. He took Olivia's hand, desperate for her pulse, his mind reaching for thirty hours ago, a raid that went wrong, his detective on the concrete with a bullet in her lung and a dead man not two feet from her.
"Cap?"
"His throat tightened, she was alive, he hoped this was the first time she awoke; he didn't want her to wake alone.
"No, no, don't sit up. Just lay there." He pushed the button to raise the bed and pressed ice chips to her lips. Olivia closed her eyes,
"Is Maya okay"
"Yeah, Liv, you saved her. Fin found her in the bathroom after you… She had a couple cuts and bruises, but no sexual trauma. We got there just in time."
She sat up, then faltered, he caught her halfway down and eased her back to the bed.
"Liv, take it easy. Everything's fine"
"Elliot? Where's Elliot?" her head whipped to Don, "Are you-"
"Olivia, everyone is fine. Well, except for Timothy Masner, he's dead. I killed him"
"Oh God, Don, I'm sorry, are you alright? What is IAB doing?"
"Liv, I'm fine. He's dead, and he deserves to rot in hell. IAB isn't raising a fuss. You need to rest.
Her eyes were on him. He took her hand and she laid back into the pillow, was asleep within seconds. He sat for quiet hours, staring at the veins in her arms and the tension lines of her forehead. She had simultaneously aged and grown younger over the years, grown sadder, grown quieter. Elliot had grown meaner, sharper, he walked a tottering line and Olivia kept watching his step, keeping him from falling. He lost one he lost the other.
She gave a soft moan, and shifted; He hoped her nightmares weren't as red as his, he hoped she made it out of this. There had been too much already, too much pain in her eyes, too many flinches when approached from behind, too many bitten lips and held back tears and hurt expressions.
Hurt expressions. Those usually came from Elliot lashing out, his shoulders wide and arms flying, and she, backing away with rage. He had a black eye from Elliot, he couldn't handle the man, he was a walking bomb and Olivia somehow detonated him every time. Elliot. Elliot threw himself into a flying rage just twenty eight and a half hours ago, screaming that Don should have had her back. And when Cragen simply stood there, he had found himself against a wall with a throbbing eye and Elliot curled on the floor, staring at the wall.