ah, this is the angst chapter. the drama chapter. the one I've been waiting for so I could stab you all with sympathy stakes and rip your bleeding hearts out.

jesus, I sound like a cannibal.

ANYWHOOOOOO, I now know how to increase my author rating. just put pregnancy somewhere in the mix. this is obviously why all the crappy fics still get lots of comments because they have babies in them. and who can resist a baby? maybe like…no one. and that Charlie Sheen guy.

so here's a really awesome chapter. at least….I think it is. I humbly request lots of reviews too. because they mean the world and YOU DON'T WANT TO SCREW WITH MY WORLD. TRUST ME.

whoopsee there, mood swings. hehehehe.

The sky was blue as ever, sun shining with all the energy of the budding and blooming earth. On the banks of the Hudson, in the shade of the giant magnolias and the great stone house looming behind them, the world was stirring breathlessly, basking in its own warm glow.

It was a good day to be buried, she thought. A good day to see him tie his last knots and cut his last ribbons, that's what it was.

Katrina wasn't welcome here by any standards, and she knew that perfectly well. She was still standing among them, among the perfect Gucci dresses and the black Prada pumps. A few well-placed sniffs here and there punctuated the quiet atmosphere, the broken silence shuddering as the steady breeze attempted to claim back its lost peace. But they stood and stared and let out a few honest sighs and sobs. Hell, some of them might actually be sad to be here. But Katrina didn't really believe it.

Valerie was standing beside Drew Evans, the one she'd been clinging to since she was 11. Katrina eyed the engagement ring glittering on her sister's finger- so the bitch was finally going to settle down? Impossible. Valerie Bates couldn't live out the rest of her years shagging only one man. She'd have to spread her legs for at least a few others before she was really satisfied with life.

Hannah was crying from where she sat in front of her sisters, a man on each side attempting to console her. She let out another dry sob, her short dark hair shuddering slightly as she leaned against the blonde one to her right. He smiled knowingly at the competition, who frowned and turned back to the casket.

Really, this was becoming sickening.

Katrina knew she was the obvious pariah here. She knew that no matter who she tried to tell, belief could not be found. But someone needed to know. Someone had to know.

And besides, once someone knew, she would be the pariah no more. Father would be crawling back to her like the sorry bastard he was, and Valerie wouldn't have a choice but to let him be on the matter. Katrina was sick of sainthood, and not prepared for martyrdom.

The casket loomed dangerously before her, flowers flung over the mahogany and baskets lining its front. She was done crying today. Jonathan knew she loved him, knew she would have spent the rest of her life digging the graves for him. And Jonathan had told her once that she was never to cry at his funeral, not if the job had claimed him first.

Because she loved him, she obeyed, much as it hurt.

She walked away from the family plot that sat on the cliffs, walked away from the collection of Bates who would ever be bastards to her. This house…this family…it had been hers once, too. She had shared what Jonathan had never been able to give up, and now it was gone. This didn't belong to her anymore, this jaded life of silk sleeves and million dollar pearls and back-stabbing bitches. Katrina was a stranger here, an alien in the half-familiar land that seemed only available in timelessly walked dreams.

But not for long.

They ignored her when she left, and she stepped up the back stairs to the dais by herself, the mansion seemingly empty with the family all crowded around a lonely plot at the bottom of the hill. The garden was just as inviting as it had always been, so instead she retreated to a place once reserved for thinking. In the cool confines of the hedges and the rose bushes, she was hidden between the marble gods that shadowed her from sight.

There was stirring behind the hedges that ran higher than her head, surrounding her in a conforming circle around the fountain, shielding it from the prying eyes of passerby's. A familiar face emerged from behind the rosebuds, a small smile on his lips.

"I thought you might be hiding." He said, coming to sit beside her on a marble bench, a bottle of wine suddenly in his hands. "Do you remember sneaking off during the dinner parties, downing something from the wine cellar, getting completely drunk, and then falling asleep naked in the hedges?"

"Ah yes, good times." Katrina laughed quietly, giving him a momentary glance before turning back to the fountain.

He grinned boyishly. "Well, what are third cousins for?"

"Fourth cousins, Ripley."

Ripley Montgomery was the only other member of the family that could qualify for a black sheep besides Katrina. He was born the golden boy of the Montgomery family, only child of Anthony and Marie Montgomery, heir to a fortune the size of Rhode Island. Yet he was the private school dropout, the trouble child that seemed to always be encountering some problem at the Ivy Leagues they sent him to, from Princeton to Harvard and back to Yale.

Ripley was also one of the reasons Katrina had never quite fit in with our own brood. Her tight associations with him since infancy had run some mild problems into the adolescent mix, yet she stuck with him. Ripley was dependable in the sense that he could always be counted on to misbehave. He had admired Jonathan in a faraway sort of sense; the two had never been particularly close, but this was only because Katrina's father had done everything in his power to keep the Montgomery offspring from poisoning the perfect Bates boy's mind.

This was probably why Katrina had originally fallen in love with Ripley.

But everything had changed in the five years since they'd gone their separate ways. Ripley was a businessman, having inherited that lofty fortune of his deceased father and earning somewhat of a level of maturity in the process.

"Rip…"

"What?"

"Jonathan was not as straight-laced as you think, you know."

"I knew that. Sister like you…he was bound to crack sooner or later." He took a swig of the wine, and then handed her the bottle. She took a tentative sip, giving him a small frown.

"Rip, I'm serious. Jonathan, he told me…he said before he died that he needed something done. He said his friend was becoming dangerous. I thought he was talking about one of those imaginary ones, but…he was real."

Ripley frowned, his round lips creasing and his brows furrowing beneath the dark locks of his curling hair. "What'd he do?"

"Jonathan couldn't really do anything. He tried to tell father about it, but he wouldn't believe him. And then he started getting desperate. He used to call me at night and ask me if someone was outside my window. Ask me if I saw a face…on my wall. It was like he was going insane or something, but I just thought the schizophrenia was coming back."

"Not Jonathan, his friend. What'd his friend do that was so terrible?"

She ignored the question. "Ripley, my brother is dead. Jonathan is dead. All because he defended an old friend. And now what he wanted…he tried to start."

"I am now aware of that, Kat. But what the hell do you want done about it?"

Her voice lowered as she leaned closer to him. "I need a favor."

He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of favor?"

"You know what the Bates family believes in, Rip. Honor and all that, we hold that rather highly."

He laughed, taking another swig of the wine. "Katrina, I'm not exactly a full-blooded Bates, in case you haven't noticed."

"I wouldn't care if you were a Hilton, Ripley. You can have whatever you want: cash, stocks, booze…you name it. I need a favor and you happen to be the only one who is willing to trust my instincts right now."

He grinned, his hand falling onto her thigh. "Considering what happened three years ago, I wouldn't trust you either."

"We all make mistakes, Rip." She inched closer, letting his fingers run the length of her back. "Now let's put the past aside for Jonathan's sake, alright?"

"Ah, of course. Jonathan." An eyebrow rose. "Who are you doing this for, Kat? Because this sounds like a very good scheme to put yourself back in favor with your father."

"It might be."

He slipped one hand over her shoulder, ran his tongue along her ear.

Ah, the memories.

"So what am I getting out of this, Miss Bates?"

"Me," She whispered, letting his hand creep down the front of her shirt- searching, pressing, grasping…

"And what do you want done, Kat?" The wine bottle was knocked over by his knee as he climbed across the bench, onto her. It was spilling like blood on the stones that lined the fountain, staining them a dark red until they soaked black.

"The job wasn't finished. I need you to kill two people."

He hesitated before knocking on the door. There was a memory in this somewhere, pressing at the back of his mind like a dull razor. He begged to be bled at this moment, to recall whatever danger it was that tore him backwards in time. He needed an excuse for the upcoming events, the reason for giving her a piece of a broken truth.

He cracked open the door, finding the bed beside her unoccupied. She was asleep, and for a moment he was hopeful, happy almost. He could wait and think this out more, just sit and figure out exactly what he was going to say, and then it would be alright.

But no matter how long he thought about it, he doubted it would be alright. It wasn't supposed to work like this…relationships, he meant.

She stirred, her eyes fluttering open and meeting his as he wavered beside the doorway.

"Hello stranger," She whispered, stretching one arm and yawning.

"Hey," He walked slowly to her bedside, bending over to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead. She was warm to the touch, but it was a sickly sort of warm. "You've got the place to yourself now."

"Not for long. They'll probably move someone in soon." She stared at him, her eyes large and deep. She gave him a small and knowing smile, resting a tired hand on his knuckles. "Have you heard the verdict yet? Am I here forever?"

"A few more days, that's all." He tried to smile, but found he could not manage a sufficient one. "You'll probably be home by the weekend, Liv. You can stay at my place for a while, just so you won't be alone."

"You're very good to me, did you know that?" She twisted a finger around his thumb. "But…there's something on your mind, isn't there?"

"Well…I…"

"El," She raised an eyebrow, her hand clenched tightly around his. "Please."

His stomach tightened. It was strange, staring at this woman and seeing her as the mother of his child. He'd been prepared with Kathy. They'd actually been trying after the first time around, so it was always a pleasant but not entirely unexpected surprise when they figured out they'd succeeded in conceiving. But he hadn't even been thinking about this. He hadn't even thought about if he wanted kids. Yet here she was, and somewhere in there was someone else too, someone that could call him 'Dad' and grow up before his eyes and look almost like him and almost like her.

"Elliot, are you crying?" Her eyes were soft suddenly, a strange softness he's never seen in them before. It was a calm and peaceful expression, one of motherly soothing.

"No," He wiped his eye, finding it to be moist. Probably red, too. Christ, he was screwing this all up. "Just dry in here…"

"Elliot, what is going on?"

"Liv…" He sighed, kissing her again, this time on the lips. Oh god, he couldn't stop thinking about this now. Once the fact and been brought to his attention, it commanded his thoughts. Jesus, he was a father again. And by Olivia for Christ's sake. This little thing had been alive for a few weeks without anyone even knowing about it, without anyone caring to be happy and surprised, or get excited about its birth, or start thinking about what to call it. It had just been there- lonely, unloved. Unknown.

"Liv, did you know…I mean, maybe you didn't want to tell me yet, but…the nurse said…and she wasn't telling me because I asked, but…"

"Elliot?" She frowned, releasing his hand. "What are you talking about?"

"Did you know you were…well…" He took a deep breath, but he saw the understanding in her eyes. A hand went to her belly, the reaction immediate and deep.

"I thought about it, but…I just waited. I thought maybe it'd come around again and everything would be okay. I thought I was just stressing out over everything." She looked at the wall ahead of her, eyes blank and unfeeling. "I can't…and…" She looked up at him, brows furrowed. "You knew?"

"The nurse mentioned it yesterday. She thought I already knew about it." He took a seat on the bed, and her legs pressed up against his hip. "I guess we weren't as careful as we thought."

"We didn't think we were careful, El. We knew the risks." She closed her eyes, her fingers kneading her forehead. "Jesus Christ, what the hell are we going to do?"

"Do you…do you want this?"

It was a strange question. It was strange because it was impossible to answer without sacrifice. But then again, life was about sacrifices. His job was about sacrifices, his family, his love…everything. Would they sacrifice their own child just for normality?

"I don't know…" She started to cry now, tears rolling down pale cheeks that shone in the flickering light above them. He hated this, tears in the stale air, crying on the stuffy hall of a hospital. It felt like bad luck, grieving a life still beating brightly when you were in a place so stifled by death.

And suddenly the tears were gone. She closed her eyes, lying back onto the pillow, her face easing and her expression awash with calm.

He stared, blinking tentatively at her.

"I knew this would happen." She whispered, to no one and to everyone. "Do you know…I even wanted it? I just kept thinking all that time you were with me, all that time I was sharing your bed and your breakfasts and your company…I just kept thinking about it. I don't know why. I didn't know why then. But I thought 'if we had a child, wouldn't this all work out? What if…what if we had a family?'" She laughed quietly, a weak expression of relieved tension. "But they say that for every 'what if' you make, you end up with another disappointment."

"Is this a disappointment?" He was suddenly embracing her, folding his arms over her, leaving a kiss on her cheek. "Liv, we have something. We made something. This is a miracle, not a disappointment."

"Elliot, we can't…how can we honestly make this work? We have the job on our backs all the time, not to mention a relationship that's against our rules, and now…I mean…" She sighed, her voice so weak and quiet, barely a whisper. "I want this, Elliot. I've never…" She smiled, letting out a small laugh. "Elliot, I'm pregnant."

"I know," He whispered, kissing her again. His eyes were wet again, the smile on his mouth suddenly undeniable.

"But…" Her smile disappeared, her eyes clouding over. "But what about last night?"

"I…I don't know…" He held onto her even tighter, pressing his face close to her forehead. "We just have to wait, I guess."

"What if-"

"No," He placed a finger over her lips, softly, smoothly. "Don't look for it in a 'what if.' Just…try to find it somewhere else."

He lay beside her for a few hours more, contemplating in the growing darkness where it was he was to find this hidden hope. She slept on, searching for her own truths in dreams he could not fathom. But Elliot…Elliot had to hold onto her and remember why he was here, and remember that he had to find the answer in them. In what they were. In what they could be.

He looked over at her sleeping form, her face so peaceful…and yet so pained. His hand drifted across her body until it rested on her own fingers, rising and falling on her middle. His thoughts were on the tiny being now drifting inside her, safe beneath its parents' hands.

He showed them his badge, then went through the stale halls, stride getting longer with each step. Protocol. It was getting to be ridiculous really. These were not cases to him. Not names on a file with distant photographs, faces he no more recognized than honestly felt affection for. These were family, almost.

"Olivia Benson's room, please." The nurse nodded and gave him the number. He dreaded the next discussion. He didn't want this to start, this exchange of words that only recalled memories of pain and misfortune. He was the captain, though; the role model at all costs. The standard setter. Donald Cragen was expected to endure the pain he saw in someone else's eyes. Most humans were, actually.

It was a stupid request.

The door was closed, but he cracked it open without a sound, thankful for whoever last oiled the hinges. If she was asleep, he would wait. It would be inhuman to just wake her up and start questioning her about all of this…

But he saw she was not alone. No, there were two figures lying on the bed of this patient. One was long and dressed in street clothes, his familiar form rising slowly in sync with his bed partner's breath. A hand rested on her lower abdomen, placed gently over her own. They were perfect beside one another, complementary and yet fitting, like puzzle pieces left on the porcelain plate of life, fit together over worn time.

Cragen backed away suddenly, feeling as though he were the intruder on this moment. An alien in this rare point of peace.

He left the room, silently. Unnoticed. He would come back, he resolved. But for now, something about this hour belonged only to them, two souls lost in one another, exhausted of the rest of the world.

Cragen retreated into the hall, meeting one of the nurses on his way back to the waiting room near the elevators.

"Donald Cragen, Special Victims." He showed her his badge, to which she simply nodded. "Do you have the files for Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler?"

"I'll get Dr. Ramirez for you."

Dr. Ramirez returned in no time, a man barely into his thirties but with a friendly and intelligent air. "Captain Cragen?" He shook his hand, giving him another eager smile. "I'm Dr. Ramirez. You're working on the case for Olivia and Elliot?"

"They're my best team. I'd be crazy not to."

"They're certainly close."

I can obviously see that.

Dr. Ramirez handed him two files. "You'll find their medical records here. Copies of the ultrasounds and cat scans of Miss Benson are in her file as well."

Cragen scanned them over, reading the report on injuries with a small pain in his throat. Beaten, kicked. Broken ribs, bruised spine. Countless bruises. All done in less than a minute.

Jesus fucking christ.

"How long are you going to be keeping Olivia here?"

"As long as we have to. We're basically looking to keep a close eye on the fetus, just so we're not risking a miscarriage here."

"A what?" Cragen attempted to clear his ears out, blinking.

"A miscarriage. But after everything that's happened, I wouldn't be surprised if this aborts itself in a few days. There was evidence of bruising to her lower abdomen, but we can't go in and look for traces of internal bruising or bleeding out of care for the fetus. Any more shock and it will definitely die."

Cragen's mouth hung open momentarily. "I'm sorry, did you say fetus?"

"Yes," Dr. Ramirez raised an eyebrow. "Miss Benson is about five weeks along."

"She's pregnant?"

Jesus fucking christ.

So this is why Elliot gets no paperwork done at home?

"So what can you do about it?"

"We're doing everything we can. Right now, we're just hoping for a miracle. But if the fetus ends up aborting itself, no harm should come to Olivia. The emotional shock of course, but…that's why we're keeping her here. If anything happens, she'll be with us and the better to deal with it."

"As soon as you can send her home, do it." Cragen turned to the elevators, thanking the doctor. "The longer you keep her here, the worse it will be."

"Two days, Captain. She's leaving in two days."

"Good." Cragen strode towards the elevators. Somehow, unknown to him as it was, he wanted out. He needed a walk. This was way too…complicated right now.

He hadn't known about Benson and Stabler. I mean, there had been tension before but…she was carrying his child. So they'd been sleeping together for at least five weeks. And this whole case…the Bates had disappeared until Valerie had shown up out of the blue. And then the attack. What if the Bates were behind all of this? Or what if they were simply the middlemen?

He frowned, pressing the star for main floor. He was sick of asking questions. Sick of not ever really understanding the things closest to him.

And he hated using the words 'what if.'