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Trouble

Chapter 25

Part 1.

Her face floated over him, her voice echoing and distant. "I have to go."

"Don't," he said.

She nodded, her eyes glowing like stars. "I'm free of the bonds that held me. I'll miss you. But I'm free. I know you understand."

"Please stay."

"I have to—"

Her face disappeared, and he yelled, "No," scanning the room for any traces of her.

"Mr. Stabler?"

Elliot jolted awake, sitting straight up from the waiting room chairs where he had slumped. Rubbing his face, he waited for her to break the bad news to him.

"She's awake," said the nurse.

He exhaled a lungful of air.

The nurse cautioned, "But she's still attached to the ventilator, and can't talk. So far, we haven't seen any signs of brain injury, but we won't be able to tell until she can speak. She's really weak, so we'll—"

"I won't stay long," he replied.

This time there was a different kind of nervous excitement as he entered the room—not one of dread, but one of cautious hope. As he approached, her eyes remained closed, but when he sat down on the edge of the bed, she opened them part-way, and those beautiful, dark eyes met his. She raised a weak hand off the bed and held it out to him, and he knew as he cradled it in his that she was with him now.

He didn't say anything at first, just watched those eyes—alive, glistening, and tried to read her mind through them. Finally he whispered, "Hi."

She started to move as if she wanted to speak, and he held out a flat hand and said, "Don't even try to talk." As if she could, but he knew they had already warned her not to try.

Thinking it unfair that he could speak while she couldn't, and not knowing what to say to her anyway, he stayed silent, giving her hand a squeeze as he smiled at her. It seemed as if she smiled through her eyes, and then she gave a weak squeeze back. And, as if that simple action had left her weary, she closed her eyes and relaxed back into sleep.

Part 2.

Flowers filled the room throughout the day—daisies and roses and bright mums with small stuffed bears attached. Her eyes barely flitted open to see them, but they revitalized the place, spreading cheer in a room otherwise filled with nothing but plain bland walls. In the bed, her limp hands sank into the bed, reminding him that her life was still a fragile strand barely clinging to the nearest pillar. He stayed nearby to scaffold her path to recovery.

In the afternoon, they decided to try and remove her from the ventilator, saying the longer she stayed on it, the more chances she would have of developing complications, like pneumonia and other conditions that sounded too scary to think about right now. But the process of removing the ventilator was risky in itself, revealing whether she would be able to breathe on her own or not.

And it would reveal something else as well—how much could her oxygen-deprived brain comprehend, and would she be the same after losing all life signs for several minutes? Would she be the same Olivia as she was before the shooting? If not, he would still stay by her side and give her whatever she needed—he owed her that much. But his soul might be tortured forever if she could no longer function as the Olivia Benson he knew.

"Olivia, we're going to help you sit up now," said her nurse. Olivia's eyes said what her mouth couldn't—she squeezed them shut in anticipation of the fatigue and fear this entire procedure might cause. The nurse got on one side of her and Elliot on the other, and they delicately lifted her by her arms to a sitting position, careful not to disrupt the breathing tube or the IV dangling from her wrist.

After verbally prepping her, the nurse turned off the ventilator and turned on the CPAP without removing the tube from her mouth, and Olivia took a few tentative breaths on her own before opening her eyes and giving a thumbs up sign. Elliot's heart lightened at the sight, not only because she could breathe, but because she showed the first solid signs of communication since before the shooting.

Elliot held her hand for a half-hour while she struggled to stay awake, and after the doctor came in the room and determined her vital signs were strong, he said, "This is it, Olivia. We'll take out the breathing tube, and if everything goes well, you'll be breathing on your own again."

Olivia's eyebrows crowded together in apprehension, but she nodded her readiness. Before he began the procedure, he said, "Would you like some pain medication first?" Olivia shook her head vigorously, and Elliot understood why.

She went from lethargic to terrified, and Elliot squeezed her hand and sat down next to her, saying, "You ready?"

She nodded, and the doctor began to remove the tube. She winced, and as soon as it dislodged from her throat, she coughed and sputtered, and Elliot involuntarily tightened his grip around her hand, leaning forward to help her, although he didn't know what he could do. Glancing up at the doctor, though, he noticed a half-smile on the man's face as he said reassuringly, "That's good. That's normal."

Wrinkles formed around her eyes as she clenched them tightly closed, and she held onto Elliot's hand with a death grip as she gasped for air. Then her face relaxed as her breathing eased into a slow, methodical rhythm. "You okay?" said Elliot.

She opened her eyes, making contact with his finally. She mouthed the word, "Yeah," and allowed her entire body to settle back into the bed. She closed her eyes, her breathing producing a frightening rattling noise, while the nurse and Elliot helped her ease back into a lying position.

At that moment, Fin peeked his head into the doorway and, seeing Elliot, said, "Is this a good time for visitors?"

Nobody but Elliot had visited with her yet due to her fragile condition, and although the doctor nodded his approval, Elliot came to the door to meet him, not wanting to disturb Olivia after her taxing transition into the world of independent breathing. Only when he reached the doorway did he notice Nick standing behind Fin.

He spoke softly to them, saying, "Come in for a few minutes, but she just got off the ventilator, so she's really tired." Lowering his voice, he said, "Plus, they haven't yet determined if there's been any . . . brain damage." He brought his hand up to his forehead with the realization that he still hadn't been able to tell how coherent she really was.

Her gravelly voice stunned him. "I'm in the room, you know."

He turned his head to find her head turned toward them as she watched them, a familiar sparkle reappearing in her eyes. She inhaled sharply between every word as she croaked, "And I'm not dead either."

"That's not funny," he said, approaching her, but he smiled nonetheless.