Olivia fights the ghosts of her past and present.
Immediately following OC 01x04. Big thank you to DanialLove from Twitter for looking this over for me. Enjoy!
White walls, chipped paint, and a ceiling fan that creaks every fourth turn. Olivia follows the shadow of each blade as it moves the air surrounding her. Her cheeks are flushed, and she is still to wound up to feel anything but the heat of the three words that continue to play in her head.
Just get some sleep.
She tries. She tells herself that enough time has passed, that at this point in their relationship (or whatever it was) she could let his actions fall off her shoulders like it didn't matter. But instead, she lies under her down comforter, eyes wide and mind running at warp speed as she tries to simultaneously process and ignore the last 24 hours.
Six weeks. It has been six weeks since she first laid eyes on the ghost of a man who disappeared so many years ago. She was a different person then. He is a different person now. Everything has changed. She knows this.
Elliot? Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn't. Maybe he knows, but he cannot accept it yet.
Every interaction with him since his return has been…intense, impulsive, and hasty. One minute Elliot is hiding behind a wall of bricks and the next he is invading her headspace and speaking on terms that cross every line they have ever had. The lines that have faded as the years passed. The lines that don't matter anymore. The lines that Olivia wished were still in place.
Olivia did not have time to process his return. With the bombing and the events that followed, she was constantly on the go and with the death of Kathy Stabler, her animosity at the presence of her former partner was pushed to the bottom of her priority list. Instead, she was forced to accept his sudden return and chose to take on the role of supporter and friend to a grieving Elliot. Because that is what Olivia Benson does. Olivia's feelings?
Take a seat.
Her phone chirps on the bedside, but this time she doesn't reach for it. She knows the name that is flashing across her screen, knows that her phone battery is draining at a much higher rate as it tries to match the pace of his calls.
When Elliot walked out on their conversation, Olivia stayed and listened as his kids discussed their game plan moving forward. She tried to offer some advice; she reminded them that acceptance was a process and that he would need to find that on his own. She held onto Kathleen as she cried. She assured them that they didn't lose this fight, and that the intervention was the right call. She stayed until each of his five kids had left. She helped Eli pack his things and reassured him that Elliot would be okay. She promised them that she would continue to look out for him.
She frowns as she realizes that right now, she was not exactly holding up to that promise.
"I didn't ask you to be here."
His words sliced right through her resolve, but she pushed on. His kids had asked her to be a part of the intervention, so she kept the conversation about the issue at hand and chose to ignore the slow rise of her own blood pressure.
She knows. She knows exactly what Elliot is going through. She looks at him, through him, and she sees the ghost of her own past. The sleepless nights, the rewind of each moment over and over, the loss of time, the wondering, the worry, the displacement.
She knows.
"Back off."
That is what he told her a few weeks prior. And she's been trying to find a balance. She knows what it means to need space. She understands that he is trying to protect her. From himself, from his case, from the hole he is digging. But his words are a violence, and every time he pushes her away a piece of her resolve is chipped away.
It's a constant fight with her current and former self.
"I'm drowning, how's that for recognition?"
She's watched Elliot walk away from her three times since he's been back in New York. And every time, the pit in her stomach deepens. The ten-year absence still lingers and the feelings she had numbed herself to creep up every time he pushes her away.
"All you're doing is pushing me further under."
Each confession hits her square in the chest. And she knows it won't stop here. She knows that as long as Elliot is not in control, he's going to keep slipping and as he falls further under, his words will only dig deeper into her own past.
The sound of her ringtone fills her headspace, and she rolls over to glance at her screen. STABLER flashes across her screen and she tosses the electronic device back on the nightstand. Sighing, she lands on her back as she shields her eyes against the ceiling fan that mocks her behavior.
Just go to sleep, Olivia.
If she pulls, he pushes. If she pushes, he pulls. The rope was thinning from the constant tension and she knows what happens next.
"I love you."
She wants to address his confession. She wants to pretend it didn't happen. She wants to ask him why (after all this time) he would say such a thing in front of his children. She wants to remind him that he was gone for ten years and that not enough time has passed for him to even grieve for his wife.
She wants to believe that he didn't mean it. She wants to remember how it felt to lose Elliot the first time. Anytime she tries to remind herself that his sudden departure literally brought her to her knees, her insides tense up and all she feels is empty space around her. In order to move on back then, she had to build up a strong coping mechanism. Even now, she finds herself numb to his presence at times.
She allows herself to recall the memory of a time so many years ago when she had finally let Elliot Stabler go.
September 28, 2011
The package was set down neatly at the corner of her desk, unbothered by the state of the scattered papers and folders or the aged coffee stains. Olivia noticed it a while back but continued typing her report, only catching the attention of the glaring parcel when looking away from the bright lights of the computer screen. She recognized the blocky lettering, the sender's penmanship was unsteady but legible. It was a font that she criticized for years, only because she read each character as if he were screaming.
"When you write in all caps, I read it like you're yelling."
"I am yelling," he replies in a lowered tone while holding out a cup of coffee.
A peace offering she gladly accepted.
Replaying the memory in her head, her former partner's dangerous smile fills her headspace. If he were across from her right now, his crystal eyes would be searching hers, silently asking for an invitation. She can see his figure so clearly in the empty space, his forearms would rest on the desk while he knocks out his portion of the incident report. He would be stealing glances every few seconds, and eventually he would be all over her refusal to acknowledge the package across from her. He wouldn't let it go and Olivia would be forced to explain why she was avoiding the elephant in the room. Maybe she would call him a few names, things she would never mean. She'll never forget the way his eyes could read what was inside her head and how their color would match the words written all over her facial features.
Don't.
Don't go there.
Olivia had tried to stamp this chapter closed. His chapter. Their chapter. One day at a time, one step closer to a completed title. She wanted to open a new book. As it turned out, closure was not in the cards. Instead, she was left with an incomplete series. A character death would have been a better bedtime story than Elliot's disappearance.
That might change today, she realizes.
Olivia was within a few inches of an answer she had wanted for months, but as she sits here, she's finding herself wishing the parcel had never been delivered. The wondering, the replaying over and over. The questioning and the doubting. It could all be erased. All the calls that went straight to voicemail and the text messages left on read - maybe there was an answer after all. The phone number that she dialed every night was eventually out of service, and she wanted to know why.
Yet she was afraid of the answer.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Screaming.
A bitter metallic taste poisoning the air.
Eye contact.
It's over.
She had a feeling he was finished as soon as his eyes caught her from across the room. When the medics stated there was nothing they could do, she watched as the light left her partner and he said, "to hell with this fight." She tried to go to him, but he pushed everybody aside and by the time she could get away from the massive scene, he was out of the city and out of reach.
Olivia had replayed the incident over and over until her mind could recite every second of that night without missing a beat. It's been six months and there isn't a part of that night that she can't recall. Her eyes burn every night as every memory takes her farther from what she is trying to achieve.
Blinking away the lasting thoughts, Olivia sees that the final section of her report is finished. She scans the document with a gracious sigh; it is enough for now. After a quick save and send, she picks the paper up from the printer and marks the folder complete. Another case closed. Her first case with her new partner, Detective Amaro.
It's time, she decides. And so, she rounds the corner to her desk, grabs the package and runs her finger along the opening. She can picture him flattening the tape across the lip with his thumb. She wonders how long he held onto it - did he stand motionless outside of the post office with the same hesitation she has now? Did his fingers worry the corners until the color faded along the edges?
The inside is as empty as it is weightless, but her trembling fingers find the small envelope inside and grasp it with a sudden burst of confidence. Postdated less than 24 hours ago, Olivia can feel his rough calluses alongside her delicate hands as she opens the small card.
The edges are creased, and the ink has been spread. The note was folded in several directions as if the sender reopened it again and again before finally sealing it.
Her gaze falls on the miniature badge and her chest tightens.
SEMPER FI
El
Her eyes narrow and the familiar pit in her stomach begins to churn. Bubbling and starting to overflow, Olivia feels her heart slamming against her chest and she's sure her eardrums are going to blow. The familiar tap, tap, tap of her right foot triggers her consciousness. This is happening. She needs to find a space for solitude before the gates are opened up in the middle of this busy precinct.
With the small parcel clutched in one hand, Olivia throws her coat over her shoulder and makes her way to the Captain's office.
One step. Two, three - don't sprint. Don't make a scene of this, Liv.
You're halfway there.
Without knocking, she pushes the cracked door open all the way and her wide eyes make contact with Cragen's.
"Can I have the rest of the day? The Master's case file is in your box."
Cragen lifted his shoulders and stood before making his way around the desk. "Sure," he responds. "Everything okay?"
Her grip tightens around the precious metal clasped tightly between her fingertips. Her hands cross over her chest. The air is biting her forearms but her vocal cords are on fire. The walls of the office are closing in. She buried this part of her life months ago, but the grave was still fresh. One small glimpse into her previous life and she was almost completely unhinged.
"Liv?"
She shifts her eyes beyond the figure in front of her. Her toes begin to tingle, and she knows her lungs have collapsed because the air is just not passing anymore.
Keep fighting, you're almost there.
"I just need the day, Cap."
Her captain shrugged and Olivia took the opportunity to escape. With every step towards the elevator, she felt the burning in her chest dig deeper. The doors dinged and as they closed around her, the solid walls became a blur. Fist in her mouth, Olivia coughed and managed to swallow the sounds so desperate to escape.
Breathe in, breathe out. Only a few more minutes.
Breathe in, breathe out.
One step at a time.
Breathe in,
Just get to your fucking car, Olivia.
Outside, the wind chill bites at Olivia's exposed skin and she wraps her jacket over her shoulders. The sun reflects off the black pavement and the recent rain droplets fall from the buildings around her. The parking deck is not much farther. The voice in her head encourages her to keep moving, to keep fighting the demon that is clawing its way through her insides. But New York is not forgiving. It whistles and it howls. It punishes the weak and gives the strong a guided path to success.
Right now, she is weak.
A man yells as a cab driver pulls off before he can reach the door. Another one is asking why he needs to pick up pasta on the way home when they can just order take out. A woman steps around Olivia's figure, her eyes never leaving the electronic device glued to her hands. Nobody notices the statue that is crumbling, or the jarred edges falling to the hard surface alongside the rain.
She's going to die. Jenna is going to die. Elliot shot her and she's going to die.
Sister Peg. Olivia can't leave her. Why did she just stand there? She should have grabbed her -
Stop the bleeding. Stop the bleeding,
"Ah," she holds back the retching of her stomach as the bright red liquid overwhelms her.
Now the person on the ground is her. Elliot didn't pull the trigger in time and Olivia is bleeding. It hurts.
She's going to die.
A cool hand is on her shoulder and suddenly she's standing again. She looks down at her hands and the sticky, crimson substance is gone. He's planted on her left side and his mouth is moving, but Olivia can't hear him over the thunder clapping in her ears. Her knuckles are turning white, but she can't seem to release her fingers from the hold around his forearm. She knows the lighting will strike her any second.
I can't breathe, I can't -
"Liv, I'm here." She hears him and his soft tone brings her back to the surface.
"Oh!" She is jarred. "I'm sorry, miss." Another person pushes past her and she feels the sting in her shoulder. She feels and now she is heaving. Everything is coming up and it burns, it fucking burns.
Her eyes are stinging and now the tears won't stop. The salty moisture mixes with her lunch as she empties the contents into the alleyway. She clutches the brick building and prays she has the strength to get back up.
The chill moves deeper, and Olivia realizes this is the first time she has felt the cold in months.
The door to her apartment closes behind her and when the faint click registered in her ears, she finally allows what was left of her walls to collapse around her. Months ago, she had broken down in a nearby interrogation room as Cragen's words played on a loop in her head.
"Elliot put his papers in."
Twelve years of partnership turned upside down by the death of a teenage girl. Olivia often wondered why? Why after so many years together - after so many other tragedies? Why was this the final straw?
"There was nothing I could do."
Elliot never reached out to her. Cragen's words were the closest she got to an explanation. Following that conversation, it was as if she were expected to be okay. Cragen's announcement was supposed to be enough. Over a decade together and that door was supposed to close forever.
She could understand the job. The job weighed on your chest and picked at every open wound until there was nothing but a shell. "The job would eventually catch up to you," as most would say. But Elliot was more than the job. For years, he waited for an opening and planted a little piece of himself in Olivia's fortress. Eventually, he was everything and there was nothing Olivia could do, or even wanted to do, to stop him from being intertwined with all of her. The line had become so blurred that maybe the line was never there after all. They weren't just partners, they were one. He was Olivia as she was Elliot.
"Elliot is not coming back, Liv."
He didn't just leave the job. He left her and by doing that he also left the 16th precinct behind. For over a decade, it was enough, and then there was nothing. She was not proud of her response to his departure. He opened a part of her that nobody was allowed to see, and her coworkers were unsure of how to respond to the fragments and bruises she carried following his absence. She had to piece herself together, and so she began the process of bandaging and walling up the parts of her that were now empty.
"You're going to have to start working with other detectives."
Olivia peeled her jacket from her body, kicked her boots to the side, and dropped into her couch, stomach down. She folded a throw pillow underneath her head before letting the cool metal slip from her fingers. Six months. Six months and now it's day one all over again. Chest heaving, she feels her vocal cords squeezing shut, and the sutures holding the most delicate parts of her together begin tearing at the seams. She really let herself believe that she was over this. Numbed to his absence, Olivia had started to forget the 1st degree burns that his departure had left.
"Let him go."
Fuck.
She tried, but the wounds were smoldering again.
She reaches down and grasps the folded paper that was holding the shined badge. She smooths her fingers across the familiar surface and just like earlier, she could feel him around her again. Through blurry eyes, she sees his silhouette beside her on the couch. He rests his head in his hands; his knuckles are raw, and the skin is shredded between the bones. She knows that another hard surface had become a victim to his fists. He loosens his tie and his fingers tug at the fabric.
"I can't do this anymore."
She would try to talk him out of it. She would start by saying he was the best detective they had, and that the victims needed him. That he loved this job and that he was the rock when they needed solid ground. Her fingers would latch onto his bicep and she would squeeze him tightly.
"You're okay. We're okay."
He would jump up because distance is the only ammunition he would have. His fists would push into his temples and he would trace the outlines of a crack along her ceiling. He wouldn't look at her again because he knows the game by now.
"I can't keep going, Liv."
But then she would plead. She would never admit it aloud, but she knows that her final attempts to keep him around would come across as such. This is how it has always been - she has always needed Elliot Stabler. And when she was at her lowest, he was always there. She would pull her final card.
"What about me?"
She would repeat the question for the second time in their partnership. And in her version, he would stay.
Always faithful.
"You lied," she cried as the badge landed against the wall. "You lied!"
His loyalty went as far as the job, and now she is here. She is alone. He is not faithful.
So she lets him go.
The chime of a voicemail breaks the silence and the distant memories start to fade. The flashback works, though, and the pit of her stomach begins to turn as she chokes against the vibration in her throat. She hasn't truly cried for him in years and she has managed to get through these six weeks without much more than a few shed tears. Recalling the day that she received his medal and note, she finds herself unable to hold back now.
She sits up and leans against the headboard, willing herself to breathe deeply and fight against the bile rising in her throat.
Reaching over, she wrestles the nightstand drawer open. His letter sits neatly atop her latest fiction book. She lifts the paper and holds the contents against her chest. Her hands tremble and the air begins to stick to her skin.
Breathe in, breathe out.
She has a much better handle on things now. She's older, and she's experienced enough loss to know how to overcome the sudden feeling of helplessness. She is proud of who she is. She'll never get over the sting she feels knowing that Elliot missed so much. Was she better off without him? She still isn't sure of that. But things are different now.
Ten years, and so much has changed. In this letter, he did not write her name on the front. He was always going to deliver it in person. The edges were smooth and pointed; for however long he had carried it, Elliot was careful to keep it immaculate. Inside, the paper was only bent along the folded creases. His penmanship was neat and it was clear he had carefully constructed each word. His words were no longer capitalized. It was as if his soul had found peace.
She feels a sense of calm surround her as the words found in this letter play over in her head. Semper Fi never had much of a meaning to her, but this letter brought his parting statement back to life. Reading his letter was like a poem. The words, the acknowledgement within them, reads smoothly. Each paragraph brings new meaning. His apology was thorough. His regrets were written line for line and his intentions moving forward were clear.
Olivia scans the contents of his letter for a second time, and she realizes that the Elliot Stabler who authored these words is an Elliot Stabler she has never known, because the man she knows today is not at peace.
It's clear to her now that he wrote this letter before the explosion…maybe even before his return to New York. The realization sits on the tip of her tongue and she surrenders to the collapse of her remaining resolve.
I was afraid that if I heard your voice...I wouldn't have been able to leave.
You would have loved it.
You mean the world to me.
I love you.
It is this realization that causes her to reach for her phone.
They are different people now. She can't let the past hold her back, and she can't allow Elliot to collapse under the ghosts of his own. There will be a time where she can tell her former partner about her own ghosts, including the one he left behind. Until then, she can be his solid ground. When he reaches out, she wants his hands to land on stability. She wants him planted in the present.
She pushes the callback and waits. Her breathing evens out. The phone rings twice.
"Liv," he is choking. "I'm- "
"El," she whispers, "just breathe with me."
Finished.