Slap: Chapter 4
The conclusion she reached was the same every time and it made her a little sick to acknowledge it. She had stood there and let Elliot say those things about her, accuse her and dredge up her past. She had let him slap her twice and squeeze her wrist hard enough to dislocate it. He had done all of those things and she hadn't run.
She hadn't run because she had believed him. She hadn't hit back because she believed him. She believed she truly was all of those things, she was alone because she deserved to be, she didn't know how to have true relationships, she was the wicked spawn of a drunken mother and a violent father and if he thought she should be slapped for it, then he, who knew all her secrets and knew her better than anyone, was right.
Sitting in the passenger seat quietly running this through her mind, she began to feel sick. Speaking up suddenly, she told Fin she wasn't feeling well and asked him to drop her off at her apartment.
He looked at her again through squinted eyes and said "Yeah, of course. You allright, Liv?" Whereas during his first investigation she had looked well, with color in her cheeks, now she looked pale, almost green and was shrugged down into the seat. He figured it must be some weird bug, to come on so fast for no reason. He pulled to a stop and barely had the car into park before Olivia was halfway out the door. She stood grabbing her keys and waved him off, giving him the signal that she would call him later. As he drove off, she turned into the small alley between her building and it's neighbor and promptly vomited her lunch onto the ground.
Still bending over in the alley, Olivia spit twice trying to clear the taste of vomit from her mouth. She rubbed the tears leaking from her eyes and ran into her building. Ignoring the doorman who waved at her, she ran up the 3 flights of stairs. Out of breath, she fumbled for the keys and hurried inside her apartment, slamming the door behind her as she sunk down to the floor, knees bent in front of her. She could feel the panic in her chest.
'Shit.' She thought. 'Shit. Shit. Shit.' Now what was she going to do. She couldn't go back to work with him. She was so angry, still so hurt, but mostly now she was fuming. He had crossed a line, he had not only crossed it he had run over it full speed ahead. He had dumped on her and now they were broken. Permanently. She felt her chest heaving, tears of anger and grief rushing to her eyes. She was pulled out of it by the ringing of her phone. Caller ID told her it was her boss. Fin must have gotten back to the station and told him of her flame out. She answered the phone, knowing she'd have to answer eventually.
"Benson."
"Olivia, are you allright? What's going on?" The voice on the other end barked at her. "Now is not the time, we have a pile of open cases here."
"I know, Cap. I'm sorry, I think it was something that I ate, I've been puking all afternoon." Well, at least that last bit was mostly true. All she knew at this point was that there was no way that she could go back into work today, not when there was a chance she could see him. She'd take the night and figure out what she was going to do.
On the other end of the line, she heard her boss say "Fine, feel better," and then she heard the click.
Back at the station, Elliot had returned from court and was sorting out his messy desk. Fin and Much were making phone calls about their open cases. Cragen came out of his office and walked to Fin's desk. "Was Liv okay when you dropped her off?"
Fin tilted his head, half giving it a shake. "She was okay at the Emerson place and we got in the car and she just turned green, looked pretty bad. Sad she just needed to go home, so I dropped her off. It wasn't too far out of the way. I didn't want her puking in the car, man, and she looked like she was about to…" He shrugged his shoulder again. "Why? She okay?"
"Says she is, she'll be back tomorrow."
Overhearing part of their conversation, Elliot inserted himself into the conversation, "Why, what happened to Benson?"
"Went home sick, Fin said she almost puked in the sedan," Cragen said. "Elliot, can I talk to you in my office. Now please." It was not a question.
Elliot turned and followed the older man. Reaching the office, Cragen closed the door. Elliot thought he'd been in this same situation far too often recently. "So," Cragen spoke, "Any idea what's going on with your partner? She's taken more voluntary sick days this month than in the previous 8 years. She okay as far as you know?"
Elliot swallowed, thinking back involuntarily to his hand hitting her face. 'You don't have anything,' his angry voice saying.
"No, things have been fine lately, as far as I know," he lied. Things had been 'fine' but they certainly hadn't been 'good' or 'right' between them. That was not something he was going to talk to his Captain about. Not when he was already being forced to see a shrink.
Cragen sighed. "Fine," he said, dismissing Elliot with a wave. "Get back to work, we're down a man. I need you out there."
Inside her quiet apartment, Olivia still sat on the floor, back against her apartment door. Her eyes were dry, but her chest was still heaving, as if she was crying without the tears. She could still taste the bitter aftertaste of vomit in the back of her throat. She pulled herself up, found a bottle of scotch she had stored above the refrigerator, poured a generous two fingers into a glass and tossed it back. She hissed as the alcohol burned the back of her throat, settling into her empty stomach with a familiar burn. She poured another and took it over to the sofa where she sat, staring at her hands.
She didn't know how long she sat there, probably a couple of hours. She finally moved when she noticed her forearms going numb from leaning on her knees. She'd been toying with her options, turning each of them over and over in her mind repeatedly. She thought she had it sorted out.
She had three options: She could go back to work, pretend nothing was wrong, pretend she wasn't broken by her partners actions. She wouldn't be able to be his friend, he certainly wasn't hers, but she could fake the calm and get through the work days for a while.
Another option was to go into work now, or tomorrow morning and confront him, yell at him, punch him, scream at him, tell him all the things she should have told him that day but had been too afraid to, had been too busy believing him to say or do. She could tell him why she made him go to therapy. She could tell him she knew he was going to blow his stack, take it out on himself, or heaven-forbid his family; he had been losing control, she could see it and needed to do something about it. She could handle a strung-out Stabler, or so she had thought, but she knew his family couldn't and they were more important than her.
She thought about that a minute. After the incident in the locker room, a small part of her had known that whatever they had had was gone, was irreparably broken, but she knew that his family was still salvageable. They could keep going as they were and he could lose his family, or she could make him do something about it. He would lose her, but keep his family. She knew he was partially lost to her already, but the sacrifice of losing him altogether would be worth it if it saved his family. That was probably why she hadn't been eating properly, there just wasn't much point if that was the case, which, she realized now, it was.
Her third option was to leave, to transfer out, to get out now and put it all behind her. She'd had good reasons for being in SVU when she'd joined, had good reasons for staying for so many years. Those reasons had changed though. She didn't need to be there for her mother anymore. She'd proven to herself she could work that job; she didn't need to be there for herself anymore. And now she certainly didn't need to be there for her partner. Didn't want to be there because of her partner. She thought about her options with the NYPD other than SVU. She was sure there were plenty. She had a good, mostly clean record, a few commendations. She'd be able to find someone to take her. Something better than Computer Crimes, she hoped. The last time she had transferred out it had been in a hurry and that was all they had open. She could wait it out for something good she thought, knowing if she left, she probably wouldn't be coming back a second time. She remembered the Captain at the Bronx SVU offering her a position if she ever wanted it, but she didn't really want to leave Manhattan.
Looking down at her still full drink, she tossed it back appreciating the burn again. She rubbed her shoulders, tight from sitting unmoving all afternoon. She thought she knew what she was going to do. It would probably end up being a combination of all of the above.
Stepping into the shower, she started to cry silently. She was letting herself grieve for what she had lost. She was crying for Elliot, knowing that they couldn't really be friends like they had been, for their lost friendship, for leaving her other colleagues, for Fin and Munch and the Captain. She cried through her anger at Elliot for putting her in this position, and for herself for being weak enough and damaged enough for it to even be an issue. She grieved for herself and her mother and all of the things she hadn't accomplished at SVU. When she had cried herself dry, she got out of the shower, dried off, wrapped herself in a towel and padded into the kitchen. She poured herself another drink and tossed it back with the careless familiarity of someone who did that often. She placed the glass in the sink and the bottle back into the cabinet. The hot shower and the booze together made her head fuzzy, made everything seem a little softer and further away. It was a welcome feeling.
