Chapter 2
Olivia spent the rest of the night sitting on her couch staring into space, her left wrist ensconced in black fiberglass and resting on her knee. Every now and then she would move and the heavy weight and tenderness would pull her out of the trance. She truly felt unable to move, to sleep, to do anything but sit and try and evaluate what had happened that day. Elliot had hurt her.
He had hit her.
And she let him.
She let him.
She let him.
She couldn't stop running the incident over and over through her mind. She saw herself slap Elliot after hearing those words, she saw his hand come up and saw herself unmoving, not reacting, not reacting the second time, nor trying to escape the death grip he held on her wrist. She could hear his angry words in her mind. She clenched her right hand in and out of a fist, clenched her arms and legs, her abdominal muscles. She was strong, she was fit, she didn't know why she hadn't fought back. Elliot was strong, but not that strong, and he wasn't really aware of what he had been doing; she had been. She was faster than him, she knew that. She heard the words he had said on endless repeat in her mind. "Shut up. You don't have anyone. Drunken mother. Rapist father. What do you know?"
Nothing she had ever felt hurt as bad as those words coming from his mouth. He was her partner. Her friend. He knew how much those words would hurt her, hell, he knew everything about her and he still let those thoughts come out of his mouth. She sighed and hung her head. She had long ago stopped caring what most people thought or said about her, years of living with her mother had taught her that. But this was different. This was Elliot. He had been her rock, someone she could always depend on. She definitely cared what he thought. And now she knew. She thought back involuntarily to the good times they had shared, joking about a case, about each other, sharing takeout. Those memories were bitter now, only making her current heartache worse.
Olivia sat on her couch throughout the night, not sleeping. She must have dozed off for a few minutes, because the next thing she knew it was not quite so dark in her apartment. The city was waking up. She pulled herself further down on the couch and closed her eyes, blissfully sinking into a light, restless sleep. She awoke to the sound of her cellphone buzzing on the table in front of her. She looked at the clock, 8:25. She was supposed to have been at work a half hour ago. She looked at the caller ID on the phone. Elliot.
She set the phone back down on the coffee table and let it go to voicemail. Sitting up on the couch with her elbows on her knees, she let her head hang forward. She felt hung over. She grimaced. If she was going to feel so awful, she should at least have gotten to bury some of the hurt with alcohol.
She heard the phone beep telling her Elliot had left a message. Ignoring it, she dialed the Captain. He was concerned about her, he said, but more than happy to grant a day off for the first time in who knew how long. She reassured him at least 5 times that she was fine, then looked at her wrist. How was she going to explain that? She told him she wasn't sick, she just needed a day off. Knowing she wasn't going to get any peace of mind sitting on the couch, she moved on autopilot, throwing out the uneaten takeout from the night before, cleaning her apartment. When she couldn't think of anything else to do, (her apartment wasn't that big afterall,,,It only took so long to clean 600 sq ft) she pulled out some workout clothes and runners and contemplated a run in the park. Looking outside, the glare of the sun on the buildings made her blink. It was sunny and clear, but frigid, well below freezing. Well, it wouldn't be the first time she'd run in the cold. Pulling out an extra set of earmuffs and gloves and an extra layer of fleece, she shoved her phone and keys in her pocket. She glanced at the mirror in her hallway on her way out. 'Bonus, the earmuffs covered the stitch an overeager intern had insisted on putting in under her eye, promising it would leave less of a scar.'
On her way out of the building, she waved to her doorman, who waved back, warning her not to slip on the ice or get too cold. She pulled her fleece over her mouth and nose to protect it from the icy air and started a slow jog towards the park.
Back at the precinct, the day was going on as usual. No one was taking Olivia's absence too seriously, except Elliot. He'd called her once in the morning and gotten only her voicemail. He was stomping around the room and generally being unpleasant to everyone. By the third time he'd snapped at Munch for asking a basic question, the older, skinner detective snapped back.
"Look, Stabler, just because you have your panties in a twist because you and your partner got into a little tiff, doesn't mean you have to take it out on us. Take it out on her if your pissed at her." At that, Elliot slammed shut the folders he was half-heartedly looking at and climbed the stairs to the cribs two at a time.
"Phhewww," Fin exclaimed through his teeth. Munch looked at him expectantly, as if to say 'what'd I do?' "I think that was the problem to begin with, man. He took it out on her." Munch turned and looked at his colleague on the stairs. He shrugged, "How was I supposed to know? How do you always know exactly what's going on around here?"
"Perception, man. I pay attention, it's not that hard," Fin replied.
"Hmphh," said Munch, making a face of concern. "Think Liv's okay?"
"Benson? Yeah, she can handle Stabler, she can give it as good as he can. One of the few who have ever be able to handle him," Fin replied.
"Yeah, well, one day one of them is going to cross the line. I have a feeling Liv will be on the wrong side of that argument," Munch stated prophetically.
Upstairs in the silence of the dark cribs, Elliot pulled out his phone and dialed Olivia's number. It went straight to voicemail. He then called her home number. No one else had her home number, he only knew it because he'd given it to the multitudes of takeout places. No answer on that line too. Either she was out, screening her calls, or both. Not being able to be alone with his thoughts, or rather his memory, he jogged down the stairs, grabbed his coat and hurried out the door, throwing a half-assed "Cover for me" towards Fin and Munch.
"Not likely" Fin snorted, but when the Captain came looking for him, Fin looked up and told him Elliot had just left to grab some coffee, blaming it on the notorious poor quality of Munch's brew.
Outside in the cold, Elliot drove the few blocks to Olivia's apartment. Standing outside her building, he hit the buzzer repeatedly without response. Finally the old doorman came and opened the interior door for him. "She isn't home, stop bothering the rest of us, Detective," the old man told him pointedly. He'd worked at the building as long as Elliot had known Olivia. Seeing Elliot's crestfallen face, he mentioned "I told her it was too cold for a run, but she's not gonna listen to anybody, so off she went..." The elderly man gestured outside toward the park.
"She went for a run? In this weather? Elliot asked eagerly.
"That's what I said, but yeah, I think she did. Headed towards the park. Crazy, right?"
"Absolutely," Elliot replied with a grin, fist hitting the counter. "Thanks, man." He turned out of the building and walked as fast as he could towards Central Park. He drove uptown the few blocks, parked in a loading zone on Central Park West and made his way to the southwest edge of the loop. He knew where she usually ran and he figured he could catch her on her way back down. Pulling his coat a little closer and rubbing his hands, he leaned up against the fence post; he was too cold to sit. He was rewarded for his efforts. In less than 5 minutes he saw a familiar figure running along the path towards him. He recognized her before he could even identify her features. He knew how she moved; he'd recognize that stride anywhere.
Olivia felt her lungs burning as she rounded the last corner. It was only a couple miles but the frigid air wasn't helping. She was a cop, it was her instinct to be fully aware of her surroundings at all time, so when she heard Elliot call at her from his post along the benches, she wasn't surprised. She'd seen him there. She also didn't respond. Pretending she hadn't heard him, she pumped up her music a little louder as she followed the road East again, swearing at him inwardly for making her take a second lap.
Seeing that she hadn't heard him, Elliot jogged towards her calling again, matching her stride even as he was dressed in street clothes and shoes. She looked over at him and met his eye, but didn't slow her pace. "What do you want, Elliot, I'm on vacation." She said it more like a statement than a question.
"I just wanted to...I needed to see, to say..." He stumbled as he realized he really didn't know what he needed to say.
"Well, hurry it up, I've got one more lap and it's cold," she replied, voice as cold as the air. She picked up her pace. Elliot struggled beside her in his work shoes, slipping on the ice. He moved over to the edge of the road where the ice was tempered with the dirt and leaves and was much less treacherous. Now on her left side, he tried to match her new pace.
"Olivia, can you stop for a minute?" he said, exasperated. He reached out and grabbed her forearm, trying to get her to turn towards him. He felt his hand hit the plaster of the cast he hadn't known she had. An involuntary hiss escaped her mouth. He almost lost his balance in shock as surprise as she increased her pace yet again.
"Keep up or go home, Stabler," she tossed over her shoulder, leaving him in the middle of the path. A horse drawn carriage with some tourists covered in blankets and another runner passed him as he stood there. Turning around, he settled himself back at the post where he knew she would turn towards her apartment after the second loop.
He waited. Another 30 minutes went by. He knew the loop was only 2 miles long, at her pace she should have been by at least 15 minutes ago. Even if she had taken the longer loop to the reservoir she would've passed by again. Chilled to the bone and convinced he had missed her, he admitted defeat and headed back towards the precinct. Halfway there he had a change of heart and headed back towards her apartment for one last chance. He had two texts on his phone from Fin telling him to get his ass back to the precinct before the Captain asked more questions he couldn't answer. Caling Fin and telling him he'd be 5 minutes, he hung up the phone and swung into the loading zone in front of Olivia's apartment again.
Halfway through her second lap, Olivia's lungs and nose were burning. She swore at Stabler under her breath. What was he doing, trying to torture her? At the 72nd St crossover she made a split second decision and exited the park, heading back towards her apartment on the city streets. She had a feeling Elliot was still waiting for her in the park and she didn't feel like indulging him a second time. She was mad, and hurt, and she wasn't going to take it just to assuage his guilt. Not this time.
Feeling the heat of her apartment building, she grinned at the doorman. "Glad to see you survived, Miss. It's too cold out to voluntarily be outside."
"Ah, come on, Joe. It'll put hair on your chest," she joshed with him as she pulled on her gloves and fumbled for her keys.
"That may be, but it's still too cold for reasonable people. Oh, Miss Benson, your partner stopped by. I told him you'd gone for a run. Did he find you? "
She smiled, 'bless that man, always looking out for her even when she didn't want him too,' she thought. "He did, Joe, thanks. Hey, if he or anyone else from my work stops by, tell them I don't want to be disturbed please?"
"Sure, no problem, Miss. Everything okay?" he asked, a little suspicious of such a request.
"Yep, no problem, just trying to take a break from work, need some time off," she replied with a smile, hoping he would buy it.
He didn't, but he was polite enough to pretend. "Okay then, no visitors for you."
"Thanks," she called as she climbed the stairs, lungs thanking her for the warm air.
Not more than 10 minutes past before Elliot was pulling up in front of her building. Joe meeting him at the door, Elliot asked. "She home yet?"
"Yes sir, but she asked me not to let anyone up," Joe replied.
"What do you mean?" Elliot asked, stopping in his tracks.
"Well, sir, she told me not to let anyone from her work upstairs and not to buzz her, she said she was on vacation. That's kind of the point of having a doorman, right?" The old man nodded at him.
"Uh, yeah, right. Well, I guess I'll call her later." Elliot said, turning back towards his car. He wasn't going to try and get past the doorman, it would be humiliating for all of them if he showed up at her door after she'd given express wishes to be alone.
He swung by the coffee shop so at least he'd have some semblance of a reason for being gone for an hour. Luckily, it seemed the Captain had been occupied. Later that afternoon he'd walked by Elliot's desk and slapped a note with tomorrow's date, a time and an address in front of him. He recognized the address as Huang's. He nodded at his boss and went back to work.
Back at her apartment, Olivia cleaned up, forgetting how difficult things were when you had to do them one handed. At least she was right handed. She spent the rest of the day not doing much more than moping, she pulled out a book, a magazine, an old movie, none of which distracted her for any significant amount of time. She thought about returned to work the next day, planned it out in her head so she would have a response ready for every possible comment. She had a story for the cast for Cragen and the other, had a line complaining about the 10 days of desk work it was going to require, a line in response to getting a hard time for taking a day off and still managing to hurt herself. The only thing she didn't have a response for was Elliot.
Her face burned everytime she thought of their 'fight' as she thought of it, although she had done very little of the fighting. Cragen had sent her a message last night telling her Elliot had agreed to talk to Huang. That was something. She was sure he'd get through whatever had been crawling up his rear but she wasn't yet sure she would. Realizing she hadn't eaten anything all day and feeling a dehydration headache coming on, she made some tea and found a can of soup in the kitchen. She lost interest halfway through the soup and tossed the rest down the sink.
She finally decided that she was mortified to see her partner. She was embarrassed by what he had said, and what he had done, what she had allowed him to do. Well, embarrassment was something she knew how to deal with. Those other emotions, the fear, hopelessness and sadness, those were more complicated. But shame? She had no problem dealing with shame, she'd been doing that her whole life.