Law and Order: SVU
Thanks for the feedback on the first installment, everyone! Stay tuned for the last half!
PS: Try to hang it there with the first bit: it's what Olivia "sees" and "feels" while she's unconscious. It's not supposed to be logical or clear, but her hallucinations or visions or whatever you like to call them correspond to what physically happened in the last chapter and to memories from past episodes. I've also interwoven a few lyrics from "Scarletina," the song used in the promo for "Paternity."
-rosa
Feels Like Home: Part 2
pain.
there was pain everywhere in her arm her side in her head, and her heart.
A voice. "Olivia! Olivia, can you hear me?"
No. the voice was worried, scared, but the voice also brought pain. run deeper, away from the voice and the metal and the sirens.
the world was red, and loud. the voice was insistent. shouting, doing her job, what she should be doing, replacing her. no matter how deep she went, the voice couldn't be escaped.
I'm seeing things in my mind, my eyes are closed
it was cold. someone was breathing hard, faster than her heart could beat. it was so loud. she wanted quiet, wanted the voice to go away the pain to go away the red to go away. her heart was pounding pounding deafening sirens and cutting metal glass shattering like her loud heart
sudden darkness. the red went away into total black. terror gripped her and she fought and fought to climb up but something was dragging her down, something pressing on her from above she could barely breathe something closed in around her neck death's fingers? she wanted to fight. wanted to fight the world closing in around her body, trapping her
another voice. better voice, deeper. loud and afraid. she'd never heard this voice afraid, and she was scared to, wished this voice was closer. her father's voice wouldn't have sounded like that, would it
the voice put images in the darkness, powerful man, open heart, troubled eyes. not her father, but leading her, protecting her.
she felt thrown upwards, felt pain in her back. not her father's voice was following and she would have smiled if the red darkness wasn't so heavy
My infrared mind, burning at night
loud noises, pounding like her heart. she was flying. flying and it felt like swimming through a dark red haze, blood and metal and fear. not her father's voice was there, she was glad
where was the other voice? the one she wanted to hear so badly. shouldn't a baby be crying too
The inside is warm, with a life that's unborn and mine
the voice she wanted to hear wasn't there, but she heard him in the past
i'm your partner for better for worse drop it freak now you first Olivia look how great you turned out olivia oh my god no I can't do this I can't keep looking over my shoulder to make sure you're okay we both chose each other over the job you and this job are the only things I've got anymore I don't want wreck that otherwise we can't be partners tell them we can't wait
It speaks to me in a tone that I already know
where was he?
I'm seeing things in my mind, always there for you to find
she was sweating and cold and she couldn't breathe and pain in her arm side head heart
suddenly a light too bright and too many voices. shock gotta warm her up nasty fracture, keep her neck still need more blood and fluids concussion internal injuries possible kidney damage put her under careful with her legs heart rate dropping get the paddles
They're wanting existence aligned with those left behind
I wish
XXX
Elliot burst through the doors to the TOR waiting room. Captain Cragen, who had been hunched over, head in his hands, popped from the chair and grabbed Elliot by the shoulders.
"Calm down, Elliot." It sounded like an order.
His eyes were wild. "Where is she, Cap? I have to see her. Where is she?"
Don pushed Elliot into a chair, speaking slowly and calmly. "She's in surgery. She'll be there for a while. You should wait downstairs with your wife."
"How bad is it?"
Cragen shut his eyes against the question, trying to shut out the desperate fear in his detective's eyes. Instead, his closed eyes saw visions of Olivia in the helicopter, bleeding, bone protruding from her arm, blood running over her face, still as death. He heard the moaning flatline. He opened them again, quickly, taking in a deep breath.
"It's bad, Elliot."
He sagged in the chair, clenching his fists. He wanted to punch something, wanted to find the man that had been driving and beat him. Wanted to see his partner...
"You rode with her? In the chopper?"
Don sighed, not blinking. "I did. Elliot... she flatlined. They were giving her transfusions, an IV line, trying to stop the bleeding in her side, trying to warm her up because she was going in to shock, and she flatlined. They brought her back though." Elliot looked ready to crumble, but Don forged ahead. "In the OR, they're going to set her arm, check for internal injuries, sew up her side. MRI her legs and head to check for damage. The longer she's there, the better."
Elliot looked up. "Why?"
Cragen knew Elliot wasn't thinking, but he still hated having to spell everything out for him, hated saying these terrible truths out loud.
"Because that means she hasn't died on the operating table."
Elliot grimaced, looking physically pained. "She drove Kathy because I forgot. Because I got too involved in a case that I didn't feel I could pull away, not even to drive my wife to the doctor. Now my partner's paying for it."
"Elliot, don't even start," Cragen interrupted, gripping Elliot's forearm. He emphasized every word. "This is NOT your fault. This was an accident."
Silence ensued when Elliot didn't bother to argue. Cragen wanted to let that be it, not add any more to Elliot's misery, but he couldn't. His conscience refused to let it lie.
"Elliot..."
He looked up, dread in his face.
"She hit the side of her head on the steering wheel when the airbag didn't deploy. She never regained consciousness."
This time Elliot found the answer on his own. "They're afraid of brain damage."
"Paramedic told me that most likely, there'd be too much swelling to tell. But they're concerned. Could just be a bad concussion... could be worse."
"Oh, God." Elliot shot back up out of his chair, pacing erratically."I can't stay here. I can't be here right now. I'll be in the chapel. Call me if you hear something. I'll be back soon."
He fled the room, almost running over Munch and Fin on the way. Munch sagged into a chair two away from Don. Fin stayed on his feet, fidgeting with his hands.
"Is Lake at the house?" Someone had to be at the 16th from the SVU. Wasn't he still commanding officer? Don was torn between sending newly promoted Sergeant Munch to keep an eye on things and going himself. He couldn't bear to leave or send John back, when both were worried.
"Yeah," Fin answered, staring at a stationary spot on the wall. "We filled him in. He's anxious as hell but says he'll keep at our open cases till quitting time. No new cases."
"Cap, Fin told me what you saw. I can't believe it. Olivia's never been shot and survived a bunch of attacks, but some john running late for a meeting and running a red light is the one to get to her? It's ridiculous."
John's rant didn't require a response. Fin was pacing slowly, cracking his knuckles.
"When will we know something?"
"Hopefully not for a while."
XXX
Detective Chester Lake leaned back in his chair, feet propped on the desk, arms tightly crossed over his chest. He was oblivious to the chaos in the station, reeling from Fin's phone call.
His first impression of Olivia was scratchy—he'd come in and worked a case with Fin before permanently joining the 16. She'd barely been around, but she'd struck him as tough, classy, independent. After joining the precinct, he'd been drawn in by her beauty, her empathy for the victims, her consistent passion for the job.
Like any man, he was attracted to her. But despite all her virtues, Lake had a policy—co-workers were off-limits. Besides... sometimes, he noticed Stabler gazing at her while she was working. He wondered, but he didn't ask questions, not even of Fin. Being the new guy on the block, he decided for now it was better just to watch than put his nose in other people's business.
Lake moved his feet, leaned over his desk and pushed some papers around. Couldn't believe Benson could go down from a car crash when a few weeks before, followers of a serial killer had tried to blow her up and then attacked her in her home, slicing her arm. She seemed to brush it right off, but he'd heard her voice in his sleep for the next few days screaming "10-13, I've been stabbed!" He'd had to work on swallowing some irrational guilt issues after that night.
But she'd hardly seemed affected, seemed unafraid after the bomb with her name on it had exploded in the precinct, after a brainwashed zealot had tried to kill her in her own home. He admired her for that, and as soon as his shift was done, he was going to pack it up and check up on her. After all, he wasn't being very productive anyway.
XXX
Hours passed.
John Munch had known Olivia for almost 10 years. From the beginning, he'd felt protective of her, simply because she was a woman. As he grew to know her, as years passed and they endured horrible scenarios, shootings, and attacks, shared enough drinks after tough days that he eventually came to think of her as a sister, not just a lady sharing the blue with him, but a woman for whom he truly cared. She'd penetrated his calloused exterior, blistered by four bitter divorces. Now, he was squirming in a hospital waiting room, anxiously waiting for news on her.
She'd survived so much, seemed invincible. And the irony of the car accident sickened John. He hoped to wake up from this nightmare any moment.
Across the room, his former partner, Fin was standing ramrod straight, arms crossed. He'd paused his pacing briefly, glaring at a nurse who had come through the door only to be giving news on another patient.
Fin Tutuola, like Munch, rarely let people in, rarely showed emotions other than anger, righteous or otherwise. But he was unashamed to admit that Olivia had gotten under his skin and that his fury to the poor schmo that crashed into Olivia and Kathy was far from righteous and closer to vengeful.
He resumed his pacing.
XXX
Lake was just arriving when a surgeon came into the waiting room.
"My name is Dr. Addlestone. Is there a Simon Marsden or an Elliot Stabler here? Mr. Marsden is listed as Ms. Benson's next of kin and Mr. Stabler is listed as her emergency contact."
Munch, Fin, and Lake looked confused, but Cragen, having finally been informed of the circumstances, let out a sudden breath. "Oh, no. No one ever called her brother."
"Olivia has a--"
"Who is--"
Cragen lifted a hand for silence, then turned back to the surgeon. "Elliot went to the chapel. Lake, go to the Chapel and look for Elliot. If he's not there, he'll be in room 1249 where his wife is."
Chester left immediately.
Cragen returned his gaze to Dr. Addlestone. "I'm Detective Benson's superior officer. Can you talk to me about her condition?" His scrutinizing gaze was unsettling even on the weathered trauma surgeon, whose lovely feminine features had been slowly eroded with wrinkles and gray hair from prolonged stress.
"I'll tell you what I can."
XXX
Elliot found himself back in the Chapel. He'd spend an hour there, maybe praying, before he left to check on Kathy and Elliot Junior. Kathy was asleep, and the baby had been taken back to the nursery. By some miracle, the little boy was perfect, and Kathy had no serious injuries. And despite everything, he was truly grateful, truly thankful for that.
But it was so unfair. He watched Kathy sleep for a while, then went back to the Chapel. And he was certainly praying this time, though his prayer was less supplication and more accusation.
Elliot considered himself a good Catholic. But sometimes, it was best not to ask God questions in his line of work. He had to keep himself a good distance away from God, or the dead children and battered women would drive him mad, made him ask questions that would send deadly tremors through his faith's foundation. All the victims never managed to send his knees to the ground and his eyes to the sky, but when his partner, who'd escaped death and injury time and time again, was this seriously touched by a car accident, then the world was truly fucked up and someone had to answer to it. Elliot figured the only one with the answer was God.
For hours, he hashed it out with the Father, first praying fervently for Olivia's survival, being thankful for Kathy and his son's safe return, more desperate cries for Olivia's recovery, then his prayers became silent shouts, accusing God of every injustice the situation merited, furiously demanding that Olivia be okay.
Finally, when his anger was spent, Elliot hit his knees on the floor of the chapel, and asked why. He waited so long without speaking or moving that he simply existed in an expectant solitary silence until a hand on his shoulder sent a startled jerk through his body. He stood up and whirled, and Detective Lake took a defensive step back.
"Sorry," he offered in a whisper. "But the surgeon came out with news on Benson."
"And?" His voice was too loud.
"They're looking for her next of kin, for some paperwork."
Elliot stared. Then, a flash of annoyance sparked in his eyes, and he took off towards the door of the chapel, muttering, "I'm her next of kin."
Lake kept up easily, but Elliot caught the Native American biting his lip out of the corner of his gaze.
"Actually, they're looking for a guy named Simon Marsden. Her brother?"
Elliot stopped short, stunned.
"She changed it? She took me off as her NOK?"
Lake looked away, shuffling his foot. "You're listed as her emergency contact. Do you know how to reach Mr. Marsden?"
Elliot shook his head, to clear it, then nodded with a groan. "Yeah. They just found out about each other, only just met last year. I can't believe I forgot to call him." Elliot dialed as he walked back to the waiting room.
XXX
Elliot was hanging up as he came through the door. Munch and Fin were talking to a prim, middle-aged woman in a lab coat, almost cornering her. Cragen stood up immediately to intercept Elliot.
"How is she?"
Don took a deep breath, clasping Elliot's shoulders. "She made it through surgery."
That news alone elicited a sigh of relief from Elliot. He waited for Cragen to continue, not basking.
"They set her arm without any problems. Her legs were pretty torn up from being pinned, but no permanent damage."
Elliot crossed his arms. "That's the good news, I suppose."
"The metal from the car cut deep enough into her back and side to damage one of her kidneys. It had to be removed."
"You only need one kidney to live," Elliot recited impatiently, distracted by memories of a certain conversation he'd had with Olivia in a hospital elevator. "What else?"
"She's not out of danger, since her body is still recovering from shock and the risk of infection is very high. She's on a preemptive run of antibiotics. But they were able to sew her up and compensate for the blood loss in her side and arm."
There was good news in that bit, too. As much as he lapped every shred of optimism up, he knew there was more. Elliot grabbed Cragen's shoulders, speaking through his teeth, emphasizing every word. "What. About. Her head?" Just two weeks ago, he'd faced the chance of head trauma altering his vision. The possibilities terrified him.
"Olivia has a severe concussion. Grade V."
Elliot's grip on Cragen loosened; his arms fell to his side. He knew it was too early, but relief swarmed him.
"Concussion." He tested the word on his lips, relishing the familiarity, the ordinariness of it. Concussion. Even if it was a bad one, it was still only a mild TBI. He felt he could dance.
But Cragen still looked solemn. Perhaps he shouldn't organize a parade just yet.
"She'll probably have some memory loss, and some symptoms that stick around for a while."
Elliot shook his head, walking away in a jagged line. "We'll deal with it. She'll bounce back, she'll make it." He turned back, eyes determined. "Where is she? I want to see her."
A question rose in Cragen's eyes.
"Marsden is on his way." Elliot thought that might be what he was asking. "He's too worried to be pissed that we waited this long to call him."
His Captain's expression didn't change. Obviously that wasn't the answer he was looking for. Elliot suddenly knew, remembered Dr. Hendrix's evaluation.
They're too close.
Nine years turned flirty smiles, accidental touches, and long gazes into a desperate need, a reckless passion, an intimate connection, unbreakable to outside forces but fragile as a butterfly's wing to his own or Olivia's hand. He needed her. She needed him.
"I have to see her, Captain."
"She's being moved to the ICU. She won't wake up for a while, and when she does, she could be missing hours or days of memory."
"All the more reason for me to be there. Captain, she's my partner!"
Cragen searched Elliot's impassioned eyes, as he had so many times over the years, wondering when the day would come that he would have to separate them.
It wouldn't be today, obviously. "Go. But only one person is allow in the ICU with her at a time, so when Simon gets here, you're out."
Elliot was already walking away with his back to the Captain, but he tensed immediately. "I'm her family, Captain. He shouldn't replace me just because he's her blood. I'm her blood. I know her, I know what makes her smile, what makes her angry, even what makes her cry. What does he know? I am her family!"
He turned and stormed off. "The records had to change, Elliot!" Cragen called after him halfheartedly. "It doesn't diminish anything," he added, more to himself than to Elliot's retreating back.
XXX
When Elliot had run into Kathy's hospital room, he'd been prepared for the worst. Terrified, not sure what to think, not thinking much at all. He was totally panicked but he'd been ready to see the absolute worst, and when she and their son had been unharmed, the shock of it almost overwhelmed his relief.
This time was different. So much of Cragen's news was so much better than it could have been, that Elliot went into Olivia's room in the Intensive Care Unit hoping for the best. He put on the scrubs, and let a nurse disinfect him with deluded images of optimism in his sight. The shock of what he saw couldn't overwhelm the horror.
His eyes went first to her face. One side was mottled by bruising. Gauze circled her forehead, and an oxygen mask hid her lips. Elliot's stunned gaze slowly slid down her body. Her forearm was wrapped in gauze, trapped in a splint. The scratchy outline of more gauze and padding was visible around her abdomen and legs, through the thin fabric of her gown and a single sheet. The oxygen machine hummed, a heart monitor beeped, other monitors ticked and sparkled behind her bed.
Elliot was sliding into the lone chair, when it hit him.
She could have died.
Last month, she could have died, too, when the comic book geek attacked her in her home, but she'd kicked his ass. In fact, the only remark he'd offered on that subject was in fact, "Wow, you really beat the crap out of him."
A slice on her arm, and enough annoyance to light up the island of Manhattan was all she got out of that struggle. It could have been worse.
Now it was.
But she was alive.
Elliot left his chair, knelt by her bed. Took her uninjured hand in his own, wishing he didn't have to wear the sterile gloves, wishing he could feel her skin on his. She didn't stir, but the contact reeled Elliot down to his center, and he crossed his arms on her bed, by her side, still holding onto one of her hands, and let his head rest on his arms, closed his eyes, listened to her breathe, and tried not to disappear.
XXX
I'm seeing things in my mind, my eyes are closed.
It wasn't so loud in the haze of red any longer. The red didn't seem so threateningly crimson, so suffocatingly close. Maybe it was the red of a sailor's preferred sunset, or a little girl's Christmas dress. It didn't seem so bloody, so dark.
It was quiet. She was glad it was quiet. Her head hurt.
There weren't any voices here, no movement or jostling, or pain. It was oddly comfortable, but lonely.
Olivia was pretty sure she wasn't dead. She wasn't sure where she stood with God or what death would be like, but this wasn't it. Sounds and sensations started to poke slivers of white light through the haze gently swirling around her.
Something was beeping. That sound was harsh, painful. Each beep sent a flash of pain through her head. Heart monitor? Those things had a volume control, didn't they? They should.
Something was hissing quietly. The sound, combined with the outline of plastic she felt on her face... oxygen. For her? Why?
If she was in the hospital, she probably got shot. That's why cops went to the hospital unless they got their heads bashed into car windows or passed out after breathing in noxious pesticide.
Still no voices. She started to feel, feel where her arms and legs were, that they hurt. Felt a bed under her, an IV line in her arm. Smelled antiseptic.
Slight pressure on her hand.
What was that?
Who?
Breathing. Haggard and exhausted. Weight on one side of the bed. Shudders reverberated through her thin mattress. Latex fingers entwined through her own. The world of red was gone, replaced by the dull gray of closed eyes.
The fingers. She liked them, wished the gloves were gone.
Surrounded by life feeling high and it feels like home...
She could feel her eyes, now, knew they were shut. Either her bed was rolling on ocean waves, or she was going to throw up.
She focused on the breathing, on the fingers. Opened her eyes.
Light invaded, sending her shortly back into a haze of red pain. She gasped.
"Liv?"
The voice was too close, making it loud even though it was barely above a whisper. She bit her lip, rolled her head away from it. She heard a moan. That was a sad sound. She hoped it wasn't her own voice.
Suddenly, the weight off one side of her bed vanished with the pressure on her fingers. She heard footsteps, then a cool darkness swept the room as the lights went off.
"Better?" Soft now. Her head still pounding like speakers at a concert with every heartbeat, but at least people were whispering now.
She opened her eyes, willed the room to stop spinning, willing her blurred vision to focus on the person sitting by her bed.
"Elliot?"
This time, two hands encased her own. "It's me, Liv. I'm here."
She slowly blinked back waves of nausea, tried not to focus on the pain. "Where is here?"
"Intensive Care Unit. You were in a car accident."
Damn room was still tilting. "What?"
"You were driving Kathy to the doctor. A guy ran the red light and crashed into your side of the car."
She continued to stare, aware that a cold sweat had broken out on her body. Just being conscious was exhausting.
"What?" That seemed to be the only word she knew.
"Kathy and the baby are fine. Simon's on his way here to see you. You have a broken arm, and some stitches, a bad concussion, and you're now short a kidney, but you're gonna be okay."
He didn't sound so sure, she noticed, but that wasn't important. His list of her injuries didn't make any sense.
"I'm not shot?"
He blinked, leaned in closer, studying her face. "No," he breathed finally. "Just a car accident."
That was ridiculous. Just last week some serial killer's comic-crazed fan had tried to blow her up then tried to stab her to death in her own apartment. She didn't get into car accidents. She hardly ever got into cars.
"What?"
He laughed softly, a shuddering whisper. "I know, it doesn't make any sense. I was wrapped up in the case, and forgot about Kathy's doctor's appointment, but you volunteered to take her. Some schmo was late for a meeting and blew through the intersection, and crashed into you. That's what happened."
Olivia let all that filter slowly through the muddied synapses in her mind, then she blinked again, willing her damn head to stop pounding so she could concentrate. "Which case?"
He stared at her, dumbstruck. Then he laughed again, louder this time. Before she could complain about the volume, he was leaning over her, wrapping her into a hug. And for a moment, the room stopped spinning, the pain in her arm, her head, her heart, faded away, she was hyper-aware, aware of Elliot's breath brushing her ear, his arm shaking slightly as it gently slid under her shoulders, the tremor in his fingers as his other hand supported the back of her head, the soft beat of his pulse in his throat against her own.
Surrounded by life feeling high and it feels like home...
Somehow, she found the strength to lift her uninjured arm, and lift it to rest on his back. She let her eyes close, let herself bask in his whisper.
"You're gonna be okay..."
He sounded sure this time, and she believed him.
THE END
Feedback is appreciated. Hope you enjoyed it!
-rosa