Thank you so much to everyone who reviwed. It was wonderful to hear from you :)
"Good morning, Mr. Stabler," the petite woman behind the desk nods politely in his direction as he approaches. Her hair is pulled back in a tight knot at the back of her head, and her black-rimmed glasses perch low on her nose. Her young face looks up from the computer screen while her fingers continue dancing furiously across the keyboard. She smiles in Olivia's direction, peering from above her glasses. "Ms. Benson."
"Hey, Michelle," Elliot replies, reaching into his pocket for his wallet, and producing the small rectangular identification card stamped with Olivia's picture and name. He hands it across the desk to the secretary, who pauses briefly to memorize the name and number before her, before proceeding to type them into the computer, her fingers flying across the keys. "Ten-thirty with Dr. Valance?" Michelle confirms, barely waiting for Elliot's acquiescent nod before printing the receipt. "If you could sign here," she hums, slipping the paper from the printer onto the countertop.
Elliot touches Olivia's back lightly, gesturing with his hand to the waiting area, where several chairs line its perimeter, the centre table complete with magazines and Kleenex boxes. "You can go sit down if you want," he tells her, "Usually it's about a fifteen minute wait." He grabs the pen sitting on the counter next to him, and proceeds to fill out the receipt.
He watches out of the corner of his eye as Olivia wanders toward the waiting area, her hands in her coat pockets, her chin tucked down into the collar. She is like a little girl in cold weather, guarded, trying to hide, to shield herself from the coldness of the biting wind.
Half concentrating on the form before him, Elliot watches as she lingers at the threshold of the room, glancing wearily around and taking in the older man who sits in the chair across from her, his head in his hands. She glances at the woman who leans over the magazines, spreading them meticulously out on the tabletop, hitting the cover of each rhythmically with her index finger and mumbling under her breath. Olivia turns around and walks back to where he stands, and his heart warms at how close she is standing to him, her arm almost brushing his.
"Is it okay if I just wait here with you?" she murmurs, once more tucking her chin into the collar of her coat. She is nervous; he can tell immediately.
He nods casually, turning back the form and placing a hand on her bicep. "Are you worried?"
She shrugs, almost imperceptibly, and sighs. "No."
He smiles at her and squeezes her arm before releasing it and sliding the completed form back over to Michelle. "It's fine, Liv."
Michelle smiles, ignoring the exchange between them. "That'll be about a ten minute wait. Dr. Valance will be with you shortly."
"Thanks," he says, before turning towards Olivia. "Let's go sit. Come on." He unzips his jacket and slides out of it, looping it over the hook on the coat rack. "Gimme your coat," he offers, holding out his hand for her jacket. She removes the black garment, but instead of handing it to him like he expected, she shifts past him and hangs it up herself. He smiles, his heart clenching at the parts of her old self that sometimes shine through.
When she lost her memory, she became a whole different person, and it had shattered his heart irreparably. It had caused him to mourn a loss so horrid that it was as if the woman he loved had suddenly died. Sometimes, though, he is rewarded with moments where her old self shines through. Be it a flash of stubbornness, or a beat of independence, or even the rare occasion when she calls him El, he cherishes each one.
"It looks scary, but it doesn't hurt at all," Dr. Valance says as she gestures to the enormous white machine with a dome shaped length and several electrical wires protruding from each end to plug into the sockets on the wall. Dr. Valance flips a switch on her desk and the machine jolts to life with a low whirring sound that gradually accelerates until it is a constant hum.
Olivia feels her heartbeat pound in her ears, and her vision quakes slightly around the edges with each thump. Elliot had explained that she was in for some weekly tests, and that there was nothing to worry about. She wonders bitterly how she is supposed to stay relaxed with the thought of having to lie inside that machine in the forefront of her mind.
"She's old, so she's loud," Dr. Valance nods to the machine and then winks at her. "Don't worry, Olivia."
Olivia cannot decide if she likes this woman. As opposed as she is to judging by first impression, there is a part of her mind that automatically reads and categorizes them. You used to be a cop, she reminds herself. Reading people was part of your job. With her doctor, there was no immediate sense of familiarity, like there was with Elliot. Lauren Valance has proven to be nothing but kind in the few short minutes since she's known her, but there is a sincerity missing, and Olivia can't feel her. It frightens her. Olivia doesn't make to sit down, doesn't venture farther into the room, and makes no attempt to become familiar with her surroundings in the room. Instead, she lingers by the threshold, her back against the door.
"If I could just get you to put on this," Dr. Valance smiles again while handing Olivia a folded light green garment. Olivia steps forward and takes it, and as she pulls it toward her the neatly folded material unravels to reveal a plain hospital-like gown.
"Okay," she replies, and shifts awkwardly on her heels when the doctor does not appoint her a room where she can go and change. "Uh," she starts, a blush forming on her cheeks.
Elliot drops his gaze to the floor and clears his throat before stepping past her and slipping through the door, exiting the room and waiting out in the hall. Dr. Valance is already out of the room by the time Olivia turns back around to look at her, the second door on the other side of the room pulling quietly shut.
Alone and private, Olivia steps out of her clothing and slips into the cold gown. Goosebumps pucker the skin of her arms. She dumps her clothing onto a nearby chair and then steps toward the door, opening it a crack and sticking her head outside. Elliot leans against the opposite wall.
"You can come in," she says, and opens the door wider.
"Actually, the sessions are private," he tells her, stepping forward. "Usually I go in the waiting area or something during the appointment."
"What?" she blanches, "Why?" She doesn't want to be alone with the doctor. Elliot is the only person she trusts, and even then, it's thin. Transparent.
"It's procedure," he explains, his hands tucked into his pockets. "You'll be fine."
She narrows her eyes. "You don't know that it will," she snaps.
"And you don't know that it won't." He sighs, and then places a hand on her shoulder. "Olivia. You come here every week. It's fine."
Frustration bubbles up inside of her at his unwillingness to talk to her. She feels like a child. She feels like shaking him and demanding that he tell her absolutely everything.
How can he ask her to believe him on blind faith? It's her life, she realizes. She leads her life by being lead, like a sheep that cannot think for itself.
"Fine," she scowls, and slams the door.
"Everything okay?" Dr. Valance asks as she strides back into the room.
"Yes." Olivia is seated in the chair next to the one on which rests her folded clothing.
"Great. Let's get started, then." She walks over to the machine and lifts the lid, revealing a space large enough for a person to lie down in. "Go ahead and lie down," the doctor says, reaching for a thick folder on her desk.
Cautiously, Olivia lifts herself up into the machine and lies down in the claustrophobic enclosure. Her arms lay at her sides, and she stares at the ceiling.
"Okay. Make sure you hold onto this, and be very careful not to let go," says Dr. Valance, as she hands Olivia a round, bicycle-horn like gadget. If you squeeze it, it'll let me know that you want to tell me something. I can't hear you once I close the lid and start the tests, so it's important that you squeeze it of you want to tell me something, okay?"
Olivia swallows, and circles her hand around the small object. "Yeah."
Dr. Valance smiles and slowly pulls the lid of the machine down. Suddenly, all she can see is black, and the air around her feels thick and mouldy. The smell from the machinery accumulates in her throat and makes her desperate for the freeness of open air.
"Okay in there?" she hears the doctor ask.
No, she thinks. No, I want out! "I'm fine," she answers, unwilling to show this woman her weakness. Then she realizes that the doctor cannot hear her anyway, and anger simmers in her stomach at the thought of this woman mocking her position.
"Perfect!" Olivia hears some rustling in the room outside her small enclosure. "Olivia, I'm going to show you some photographs. If you remember anything, or if you have anything at all to say, please squeeze the horn."
Olivia closes her eyes tightly against the sudden onslaught of light that filters into the tiny space from a screen built into the lid of the machine, directly above her. When she opens her eyes, she is met with a photograph of a woman.
The woman is tall, her hair blond and her eyes green. She is seated, and on her lap is a small child with a dark complexion, and a pout gracing its tiny lips. The woman's arms hold the baby securely, but there is sorrow in her eyes. Olivia doesn't squeeze the horn.
The next picture is of a woman with red hair and a form fitting pencil skirt and matching jacket, outside on a busy street. She smiles at the camera, her green eyes sparking and her briefcase clutched in her hand. Casey Novak, the sticker on her briefcase reads. The name is as alien as the face, and Olivia wonders if this woman was part of her life, if she's family, a friend, a co-worker.
The screen flickers and another image appears. A house, two stories and built from tan brick, with white window shutters and a white front door. The grass on the front lawn is a yellowy-green, and looks like it needs to be mowed, but the house is otherwise well kept. A sedan is parked on the driveway, and a bicycle is lying on its side behind it, the pink streamers attached to the handlebars looking scraggly.
It is all frighteningly unfamiliar. Olivia is smart enough to realize that the doctor is showing her photographs of her life, pieces of her memory, clues, but she cannot remember anything. She pushes, sweeps the emptiness of her mind, searching for memories that connect to the images.
The next photo is of a teenage girl, brown haired and blue eyed, standing beside a Christmas tree. She wears baggy sweats and her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, remnants of yesterday's mascara lightly smudged beneath her eyes. She looks happy though, the way she smiles and gestures to the tree in a proud fashion. Her teeth are white, but Olivia's eye catches on the one blemish of this beautiful girl, her tooth on the utmost left corner of her smile is missing.
Dr. Valance trills something about just a few more images, but Olivia is only half listening. She is mesmerized by the photos in front of her. She doesn't want to miss out on a single one, doesn't want to lose any part of her life before herself, even if she'll only have this knowledge for today.
The screen flickers once more and a tall building with a revolving door is cast across the small screen. The windows are dark, stacked several stories on top of each other, and the brick of the building looks expertly designed and expensive, like that of a distinguished hotel.
Suddenly Olivia is suffocating; sweat misting on her temples as her eyes roll back into her skull, her mind assaulted by images. She cannot stop the headache that pounds in her temples as some sort a dam gives way and an enormous flood rushes through her mind.
She is seated in a room she does not recognize. There is a large window on the far wall, the drapery that hangs from the detailed curtain hanger cascades to the carpeted floor. The comforter on the bed in the centre of the room matches the material covering the window, presenting a stylish, modern appearance. She turns around on her stool and she is facing a mirror, which sits upon a rosewood dresser. Various bottles of perfume and beauty products are scattered across its surface. Olivia looks at her reflection and a feeling of pride and contentment swirls in her stomach, for her carefully curled hair and flattering makeup make her look pleasingly attractive. Behind here, there are candles lit and roses scattered randomly across the bed and floor. She stands, smoothing her hands down the soft chiffon of her black dress, adjusting the straps to ensure the concealment of the black garment underneath. She turns to the side to view herself in profile, and with a smug smile she turns to walk toward the adjoining bathroom, throwing a quick glance at the clock. Her tall heels thump softly against the carpeting.
She knows she still has time, so she ventures into the bathroom and turns the tap of the tub on, making sure to adjust the temperature to just a little hotter than usual. Tonight must be perfect. She wants it to be the best night of their relationship, one for apologies and forgiveness and making up.
She lets the tub fill and then turns off the water, taking the towel off the rack and folding on the rim of the tub.
In the other room, a knock sounds at the door. Her pulse accelerates, anticipation bubbling in her stomach. Elliot. Elliot is here. She takes her time walking to the door, trying to calm herself. She has made too many mistakes with him recently, and she will not fuck this up. Tonight she will take his breath away.
When she opens the door, however, it is fear that stops the air in her lungs. Her throat constricts and a cold adrenaline rush washes down to her toes.
"What are you doing here?" she hisses at the unexpected man in the doorway. He is not who she expected. This is not the right person. Her hands shake at the sight of his face, his eyes that are alight with anger.
"Let me in."
"No," she shakes her head. "Go away."
His face twists into a snarl, his brown eyes hard as flint. "Get in the fucking room, Olivia."
Stunned, she takes a step back and almost rolls her ankle as her weak knees give out and she teeters in her heels.
He pushes forward and wraps his hand tightly around her bicep, whitening the skin around his grip. He shuffles her farther into the room and shuts the door behind him, his eyes menacing. Her breathing accelerates until she is panting.
"Get off me," she whispers. "He's gonna be here, you need to go!"
He laughs harshly, and his voice bounces off the walls of the hotel room. "You're stupider than I thought, Liv." His teeth clench and his hand around her arm tightens. Olivia feels the dread mounting rapidly in her chest. The man's face is obscured, blurry, but his body language sparks anger like a thunderstorm.
"What?"
"He's not coming," The man growls through clenched teeth. "And you're not fucking leaving."
She glares at him, her heartbeat resounding in her ears as her vision shakes with betrayal. She jerks her body violently, trying to free her arm from his grasp.
His hand comes down suddenly and with force, striking her across the face. She is dazed, and the next moment she is being forced to the ground by his big hand on the back of her neck.
"You're nothing but a stupid little bitch, Olivia. Look at what you've done. Elliot hates you. He hates you so fucking much. And now," he breathes into her ear as he presses her face into the carpet, "You've made me hate you, too."
She groans from the sheer force she exerts into her muscles as she twists and thrashes, trying to turn onto her side to she can kick, bite, punch, anything to release the hold he has on her neck. The panic suffocates her nearly as much as his hand on her throat.
He grabs her hair and uses it as a handle to smash her nose into the floor.
When Olivia opens her eyes, the images have disappeared and her hand is squeezing the horn as hard as she can. There is sweat on her face, running down her temples, and her vision swims as she is thrust back into the present, into the machine with the picture of the hotel with the revolving door still glaring at her from it's illuminated spot on the screen.
A sound rips from her throat, ugly and desperate, and suddenly she cannot get enough air into her lungs, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fights for control of the muscles in her throat that tighten and tighten until she can literally feel the air she's inhaling scraping against the walls of her swollen throat.
Her foot jerks up and she kicks the top of the machine, desperate to escape from the enclosed space. She stills squeezes the horn in a death grip.
Immediately, the lid of the machine opens and a woman Olivia vaguely recognizes swims in her line of vision. The woman looks worried, her face frowned in concern. Olivia pushes her out of the way as she springs from the machine, stumbling to the far side of the room.
The woman's worry grows and she starts to walk towards her cowering position on the other wall. Olivia does not care. She needs out. She needs air. She needs to go far away where it is quiet, where she can be alone and safe and hidden.
"Olivia," she distantly hears the woman calling her name. "Olivia, it's Dr. Valance. Can you tell me what's wrong?" Suddenly there is a hand on her shoulder, and it frightens her greatly. Her body is tense, immensely so, and she springs away from the woman with the kind eyes that has backed her into the corner.
"Fuck off!" she yells, smacking her hands to her temples in a fruitless attempt to ease the headache.
The Dr. remains calm, but there is worry in her eyes. "Okay." She lifts her arms by her head. "Okay. Easy." She slowly backs over to her desk and presses the intercom.
"Michelle," she says, slowly and evenly. "Please tell Mr. Stabler to come to my office immediately."
The doctor watches her with intent eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?"
Olivia's breathing is still too quick and she doesn't want to risk loosing out on any oxygen by speaking. She is trembling, the memory too fresh in her mind. Earlier, she had wanted nothing more than to remember. Now, she yearns to forget. It is too much, too quickly.
She jumps again when there is a loud knock on the door.
"Come in," the doctor calls, still standing at a distance from Olivia.
The door swings open and Elliot comes in, shutting it behind himself. "What happened," he demands, his expression filled with concern. He turns to her, takes in her position in the corner.
Embarrassment washes through her at the thought that she must look weak, ridiculous, in front of the man with whom she lives.
"I think one of the pictures triggered something," Dr. Valance says, never taking her eyes off Olivia. The doctor makes her feel like a lab animal, an experiment. She focuses on Elliot, who slowly walks toward her.
"Liv," he whispers. "C'mon. C'mere."
"I don't want to talk about it," she stutters, her arms still clutching herself.
"That's fine, we won't," he tells her reassuringly. "Let's get changed, huh?"
Olivia nods, her racing heart slowing gradually as that strange sense of familiarity and comfort that follows Elliot like a second skin begins to ebb at her dizzy mind.
He holds out her clothes and outstretches his arm, waiting for her to come to him. Reluctant to move from her spot in the corner, her mind too shaky to tell her legs how to even walk, she eventually pushes off the wall and steps into his embrace.
His arm curls around her and she drops her forehead to his shoulder, but the rest of her body remains stiff in his arms. There is a battle within her – the instinct of trusting him and loving him, and the instinct that he is a stranger and unpredictable. His thumb rubs small circles into her lower back.
"Okay?" he whispers, after a moment, pulling back.
She sighs, letting the air out of her lungs in a long, shaky exhale. "Yeah."
"Good. Put these on and we'll go home." He presses her jeans and sweater into her arms.
Dr. Valance watches, and then follows Elliot out the door when he leaves. Olivia is once more alone in the room, and she slowly unties the gown and begins to dress.
Elliot has been watching her closely all evening. Every sigh, every time she shifted, his eyes had flickered to her momentarily.
Although she is terribly frightened of it, she doesn't want to forget this memory. She can feel it in her gut that it is a very important piece of information. She also knows that when she wakes tomorrow, she'll have no idea that the whole ordeal even happened.
Elliot is in the bathroom showering before he goes to bed, and so she creeps into the study that is just down the hall from the bedroom.
It isn't hard to find a pen and paper, and she sits down in his leather chair and begins to write down everything she can remember about the memory. It makes her bones cold and the back of her neck tingle, but she wills herself to continue writing.
When she has filled the page with her sloppy handwriting, she folds it carefully and slips it on top of the tall shelf next to her. Elliot won't be able to see it there. This is something she wants to keep private. She isn't ready for him to bombard her with questions about her writing it down just yet. She doesn't know if he will like it or not. She doesn't want to test him.
With the pen, she scribbles on the palm of her hand, 'Top of bookshelf in study.' She hopes that tomorrow she will see the inscription on her palm and be able to re-read the memory, to find out more about it.
Later, she finds that she cannot sleep. She is too frightened, too confused. Elliot is not asleep either, because the motion of his back pressing into her side isn't rhythmic and deep like she knows it should be.
"Elliot?" she whispers into the darkness of the bedroom.
He turns over and looks at her.
"How did this happen?"
"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice throaty.
"This. My memory. How did it happen?"
He sighs heavily and rolls over completely to face her. He supports himself on his elbow. "Are you sure you want to know?" he mumbles, his gaze drifting over her. His eyes are anxious.
Does she? Will it even make a difference? She'll have forgotten by tomorrow anyway. "Yeah."
He touches her shoulder lightly, and gives her a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Okay. Tell me if you feel upset." She nods. "You were walking home from the liquor store that's a few blocks down. I'd taken the sedan so you had to walk." He swallows harshly. "Uh, they aren't quite sure…" he mumbles, averting his gaze. "They think you went to cross the street. You didn't see the car coming."
Olivia tries to remember something about a car, an accident, but her mind comes up blank. "Go on," she whispers, staring at him with slightly parted lips.
"Fucking bastard wasn't watchin' where he was going," Elliot grumbles, swiping a hand across his face and then settling it on her stomach. "You were hit."
She inhales sharply as she visualizes it, and although it sounds real, and the emotion in his voice is unmistakably sadness, something doesn't feel right.
"Your head hit the windshield and then the pavement, consecutively. They aren't sure which blow caused the, uh, memory problems." He watches her intently.
She searches his face and sees nothing but honest hurt in his eyes, but the feeling in her stomach is still one of disbelief. "Are you sure?" she asks, curling toward him so he can't see her face.
"What do you mean?" He asks, his hand settling on the back of her head.
"Never mind. Thank you," she murmurs, faking a yawn.
He doesn't answer, instead lies back down on his back, closing his eyes. "Night, Liv."
"Night," she whispers as she shifts next to him.
She knows. She knows her accident has nothing to do with a liquor store. It has nothing to do with crossing the street. It has nothing to do with being hit by a car, but everything to do with a hotel room and roses and candles, and a violent stranger.
The confusion coats her like a thick blanket, as she lies awake, wondering why on earth Elliot would lie to her.
Wondering what else he is keeping from her.
Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought :)