Her boss is waiting patiently in the lobby when they approach, relief registering on his face, as if he were worried Olivia wasn't still alive. His eyes land on their enjoined hands.
"Olivia," Cragen greets warmly. "I'm so glad to see you this morning."
It takes her a second to reply, as if she were expecting to be reprimanded for being twelve minutes late. "Thank you." But her voice is so soft, it's barely recognizable as hers. She stares at the floor, distant and subdued.
"And I see you got your wrist brace off."
She glances down. "Yeah."
Apparently expecting more from her, Cragen shifts his attention to Elliot. "Going for the hipster look?" He nods at his chin.
Elliot freezes, shoots Cragen a look. Don't go there. "Something like that," he mumbles.
Olivia looks up at him curiously, her eyes zeroing in on his stubble. Elliot meets her gaze, about to shrug it off, but it's too late. Her cheeks flush and her eyes skirt back to the floor. She's figured out that he threw away the razors.
Cragen, realizing he stepped in a landmine, gestures in the direction of the restaurant. "Are you hungry?"
Elliot runs his thumb over her hand, a prompt to respond.
"Okay," she manages, eyes still on the floor.
Cragen watches the exchange. He holds out his arm in the direction of the entrance. "After you then."
Elliot's unnerved to see his former boss look this unsure of himself.
The restaurant's emptiness on this Monday morning is a stark contrast to the zoo they encountered yesterday. The first thing Elliot notices is that the TVs in the bar area are switched off. Small favors.
As the three of them shuffle through the buffet, Olivia puts random food on her plate, and Elliot loads up on scrambled eggs. But Cragen fancies himself an omelet, which is custom made in front of them by a staffmember who deftly handles a pan that sizzles dramatically.
It takes Elliot an extra second to notice how Olivia has tensed up, as she stands, transfixed, watching the blue flames leap up from the pan not two feet away. Cragen, just ahead of them in line with his back to them, looks on in anticipation, enjoying the spectacle. But it's only when the omelet guy adds bacon to the pan, and the smell of cooking meat hits their nostrils, does Olivia truly start to panic.
Seeing the way her eyes go wide and her face freezes, Elliot steps up to her and pulls her backward in the direction of the dining area.
"Liv," he says into her ear. He takes hold of her wrist. "Come, step away from it. You're okay." He pulls at her wrist, nudging her away. "Look away from it, come out of line. You won't smell it anymore."
She takes a step backward, lets him lead her away, still breathing hard.
"You're okay," he repeats, straight into her ear. "Take a few breaths. It's okay."
Cragen, oblivious to the near-meltdown he's just missed, picks this moment to turn away, plate in hand, and notice the two of them planted ten feet away from the buffet, seemingly stuck to the floor.
"We were just about to find a table," Elliot calls, locking eyes with his former boss.
Cragen's eyes dart from Elliot to Olivia and back to Elliot, trying to decode the scene.
"Go do that," he replies evenly. "I'll get us some silverware."
Elliot pulls Olivia away, towards the dining area. "You okay?" He keeps his voice low.
"He's got bacon on his plate," she whispers. "The smell makes me sick."
"I know. I'll tell him to get rid of it, okay?"
She looks up at him, ready to cry.
"Liv, he's not here for the bacon. He'll probably think you're doing his heart a favor." He nods ahead. "Go find a table, I'll tell him, don't worry about it."
He retraces his steps back to the buffet, where Cragen is collecting silverware.
"Don."
Cragen whips his head around, apparently startled.
"Can you lose the bacon?"
Cragen looks at him quizzically. "The bacon?"
"She … the smell … it reminds her of …"
Cragen's eyes widen in sudden comprehension. "Damn." He looks across the room to where Olivia is slumped at a table, his face etched with concern. "Is she all right?"
"I think so."
He glances down at his plate, at the three glistening slices that frame his omelet. "Go on ahead, I'll get rid of these."
"Thanks."
"Better anyway. I don't need the extra fat."
Five minutes later, with the three of them seated next to the window, Olivia stares outside listlessly. Whereas yesterday, though, her lassitude stemmed from shock, Elliot thinks today that there's something deeper going on. In the last twenty-four hours, the enormity of what's happened to her has hit her, and she's overwhelmed by pain that she doesn't know what to do with. And though she's dealt with more than her share of anguish in her lifetime, this, he knows, is so, so different. Because her crutches are gone: never mind physical pain killers; the one tonic she's always relied on when things got rough was an adage that no longer applies: at least I'm not my mother.
He's profoundly worried about her. About the intensity of her nightmares, about their frequency, but also about their breadth. Which is no wonder: because the attack lasted four full days. So much was packed into those four days. The average attack he's seen in his career lasted less than an hour, and the trauma such victims experienced was devastating. But four days? So much time for Lewis to invent new, creative ways to inflict pain. The senseless cruelty she was subjected to was not just extreme in intensity but also vast in scope. And she withstood all of it – all of it – for four grueling days, fighting with everything she had, surviving so much against all odds – only to arrive at the finish line and learn it was all a twisted, sadistic mirage. Not only hadn't she beaten him, not only wasn't she free, but it was all about to get so much worse. She was about to experience the one thing in the world that absolutely terrified her.
And now she's come out on the other side of it, and the tenuous relationship she'd had her whole life with her identity, her existence, her self-image, her career, has suddenly been exposed. She thinks she's an impostor.
Elliot knows what to do with wounds, with physical pain, with injuries. And he knows how to talk to rape victims, to comfort them, to offer guidance and compassion, and, occasionally, a dose of justice. But despite the hundreds he's helped over the years, he's not sure what to do to help her. She is impervious to the little speeches full of wisdom and platitudes, to assurances that nothing was her fault, that she should not feel shame. And although she's the first to offer compassion, comfort and support to others, she thinks that needing any of it herself is a sign of weakness.
As soon as Cragen starts talking, Elliot realizes it was a mistake to agree to this breakfast. She is plainly not up to conversation, and all it's doing is making her boss acutely aware of it. He knows Cragen would defend Olivia to the death, but he also has certain duties to the Department. She's just been promoted. He's wary of the position Cragen will be in if he witnesses a breakdown like yesterday's. She desperately needs professional help; Elliot understands this, but it doesn't mean her boss has to witness Exhibit A.
An uncomfortable silence hovers over the table as the two men eat, while Olivia stares out the window, not even making the pretense of eating, or of acknowledging their presence at all. Elliot wants to urge her to have some food, because he's not sure how much longer she can go without blacking out, but he also doesn't want to embarrass her.
"Olivia," Cragen starts, trying to get her attention. "I gather there are reporters who want to talk to you."
"I don't want to talk to anybody," she mumbles.
"I figured," he says kindly. "I'll do what I can to make them stay away. But the brass has asked a few times about your willingness to give a press conference."
She freezes. Elliot winces.
"You can say no, of course."
Elliot reaches over to her lap and grasps her hand. Her fingers close over his reflexively.
Cragen continues. "But you should know, as far as the Department is concerned, you're a hero, and that's the way you'll be portrayed if you choose to do it."
"Viva's the hero," she says.
"She is," Cragen agrees. "But so are you. Everyone is rooting for you."
"Okay," she says, not clarifying whether she's agreeing to do it, or just acknowledging the option. Under the table, she squeezes Elliot's hand.
Cragen clears his throat. "I also wanted to tell you that Lewis is being charged with rape."
Her face darkens. "He already was," she rasps. "For Mrs. Mayer."
Cragen cocks his head, looks at her curiously. It's off-putting to hear her speak so softly. "Yeah, but now he's also being charged with raping you."
She squeezes her eyes shut, takes in several measured breaths. "That seems … redundant."
Cragen glances at Elliot, trying to make sense of such an out-of-character remark. "You deserve justice too, Liv."
In her lap, Elliot's hand is being crushed. He hears her take in a sharp breath.
"Liv?" Cragen prompts gently. "Are you okay with that?"
"I'll have to testify," she murmurs. Her words come out in a torrent. "The defense'll say that's convenient that suddenly I remember something I didn't the day after it happened. They'll say there's no mention of it in my statement. Barba'll get some shrink to say it's normal to not remember and it'll sound all rehearsed, I'll get asked if I remember it and if I say yes they'll ask how come I didn't right after and if I say no then it's basically game over, and they'll repeat his original claim that I had a vendetta, and they'll bring up the things I said in the interro – "
"Liv," Cragen interrupts. "Viva will testify too."
"What if she's scared, or-or she gets deported, or intimidated, or – "
Elliot reaches to her lap with his second hand, sandwiches her hand between his. He leans in, trying to break the loop she's in. "There's the physical evidence too," he reminds her, hoping not to have to say it explicitly. The gun.
Watching the exchange, it's Cragen's turn to lean in, try to get her attention. "He's going to go away forever. Barba will make sure of it."
"We'll see."
Cragen seems surprised. "The case is rock-solid."
Elliot clenches his jaw, feeling that familiar rage, the emotion he's worked so hard in the last two years to control. In this moment, it all comes rushing back to the surface. "Olivia, he better pray he gets a life sentence. Because if he ever gets out, I'm going to kill him."
"I didn't hear that," Cragen says.
"I should've killed him," Olivia whispers suddenly, as if talking to herself.
Elliot and Cragen both turn to her.
"I should've. Why didn't I?" She looks up at both of them, as if genuinely perplexed.
"Liv," Cragen starts.
"I should've killed him. I should've killed him. What the hell's wrong with me? Why did I hesitate? Why didn't I just shoot him?"
"Liv," Elliot warns, his eyes darting to Cragen. Shut up.
She's intent on her monologue. "He knew I wouldn't do it. He looked at me, and it's like he knew. He wasn't afraid at all."
"Stop," Elliot repeats.
"I had the chance. I mean, I had the gun. I was right there." She looks at Elliot, for the first time during the breakfast, making eye contact. "I mean, you would have. You wouldn't have hesitated. And I just stood there like an idiot."
"Because you're not a killer," Elliot says simply.
"Neither are you," Olivia challenges. "But some people deserve to die. Don't tell me you wouldn't have done it."
"Oh, I would have, no question," Elliot agrees. "But you have better control than I do."
"And Elliot would've been tried for murder," Cragen interjects. "Liv. As hard as this is for you, it's better that you didn't kill him."
Like hell, Elliot thinks impulsively.
"Better for whom?" she says, more to herself.
"He's going to go away for the rest of his life," Cragen asserts. "And you're going to recover and live your life."
Suddenly, Olivia's breath hitches.
"Are you all right?" Cragen asks.
"Someone's smoking."
Elliot and Cragen both look around the room. "I don't see anyone," Elliot says.
"Someone is. I can smell it."
"There." Cragen points straight ahead, to a man in a gray suit at a window table by himself, Wall Street Journal in one hand, lit cigarette in the other.
Elliot follows his gaze down the aisle, frowns. "Well that's pretty brazen. I'll go remind him what decade we're in."
Cragen catches his forearm. "Let me." He stands from the table, marches across the room.
Elliot turns to Olivia. Her eyes are transfixed on the cigarette, its orange embers visible even this far away. "Are you okay?"
When she doesn't reply, he grasps her wrist, squeezes it gently. "I know the smell upsets you. But he's going to put it out." He pauses. "Okay?"
"It's not that."
"Then what?"
Her eyes flick to his. "I should be the one marching over there giving that guy a piece of my mind. Not Cragen."
Elliot sighs. "You know, it's okay to let other people do things for you sometimes."
Six tables away, Cragen is pulling out his badge, prepared to intimidate the obnoxious guest into following the rules.
But it's already too late: she is up from the table, fixing to make a beeline out of the restaurant. "I need some air."
Elliot stands too, tries to block her. "Liv, stay. He's putting the cigarette out. It's over. Take a breath, you're okay."
She considers the request. With his mission accomplished, Cragen is already halfway back to their table.
Olivia shakes her head as Cragen returns. "The smell … I'm sorry, I'll be back, I just need some air."
Elliot starts to follow her, but Cragen stops him. "Give her a minute."
Elliot hesitates, reseats himself. "Okay." He watches her stalk away, towards the main lobby. She is still slow on her feet, still wobbly; whether from pain or from lightheadedness, he doesn't know.
"Listen, Don, that talk about killing him – "
"What talk?" Cragen raises an eyebrow. "I didn't hear her say anything."
Elliot holds his gaze. "Okay then."
"Besides," Cragen continues, grabbing a piece of toast, "it's not a crime to regret not committing a crime."
"Okay."
"Frankly, Elliot, my much bigger concern right now is about how she's coping."
"She's doing okay."
Cragen looks him square in the eye. "Is she?"
Elliot can't tell if Cragen is asking or doubting. "I think so, considering."
Cragen shakes his head. "She doesn't look well to me."
Disarmed by the bluntness, Elliot turns back to Cragen. "It's the cigarette smoke. I think it's a bit of a trigger."
Cragen takes a bite of toast. "Well on that, I don't blame her. CSU counted sixty-eight cigarette butts on the floor in her apartment. I'd gag at the smell too."
He pales. "Sixty-eight?" The number makes him queasy. "Jesus."
Cragen swallows, puts up a hand. "We don't know that he used all of them to … some of them he probably just … smoked."
"That's a lot of … smoking."
"People smoke that many over two days." Cragen abruptly closes his mouth, as if realizing the implications of the statement. He forks a piece of melon.
Elliot knows they're both thinking the same thing: Two days he tortured her in her own apartment and nobody noticed.
"But anyway," Cragen continues, clearing his throat, "I'm not talking about that. She's entitled to feel sick by the sight and smell of cigarette smoke." He pauses, looks guiltily at his plate. "And by bacon. Which, turns out, smells an awful lot like burnt human flesh."
Elliot feels a chill go up his spine. "You could … smell it?"
Cragen's face is grim. "It was the first thing we noticed going into the apartment." He shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose. "Pan was still on the stove. Her hair, blood, skin – " He stops midsentence. "Needless to say, I should've made the connection when I put the bacon on my plate."
"She's okay," Elliot reassures quickly. Is she? he wonders. And he comes back to what he told her this morning: What does 'okay' even mean?
"Yeah …" Cragen's voice is wistful. "But anyway, I'm not referring to these … reactions. I mean, general observation, she looks pale, subdued. I have to strain to hear what she's saying. More than that. She looks … frail to me."
Elliot hesitates. "There were a lot of injuries."
"There were," Cragen agrees.
"Maybe more than we know about."
Cragen takes a long breath. "It's possible. We're not confident she remembers everything about the first two days. Or the third."
"No?"
"Not really," Cragen says. "She was pretty cogent in her statement, but she also spent a lot of those hours either barely conscious or not at all. And when she was conscious, she was in a state of … perpetual psychological distress."
"Maybe it's better," Elliot says. "I'm not sure she can take many more … revelations about what happened to her."
Cragen considers the statement. "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Yeah."
Cragen leans in, as if to ask something in confidence. "Elliot, is she … taking care of herself?"
He considers his answer. "Depends what you mean by that."
"Please, don't be cryptic. I'm not here to judge. God knows I spent a hell of a lot my career not taking care of myself, and I had no excuse. So just know, however you answer the question, it won't go on any record, or affect her place in the squad, if that's what you're worried about. But I do need an answer, because she's entitled to as much help as she needs."
"Well, good news is she seems to hate alcohol now."
"Guess that's a good thing," he muses. "And the bad news?"
He hesitates, debating how much to divulge. "She hasn't been eating."
Cragen glances at her plate, completely untouched. "At all?"
"At all."
"Has she made an appointment to see a therapist?"
"It's only Monday morning," Elliot says. "She'll do it, Don."
"Okay, but if she doesn't do it by the end of the day, I'm going to make the appointment for her."
"Don." Elliot puts up a hand in warning: Back off. "She knows. She'll do it."
Cragen clears his throat. "Look, you know I gotta ask. What's with the cut on her face?"
"Minor accident."
"Yeah?" Cragen looks skeptical.
Elliot waits a beat before answering. "Yeah." Distracted, he looks towards the lobby. "I should really go see – "
"Wait."
Elliot takes a breath, tries to focus on his former boss. The man has aged in the last two years; the lines in his forehead have hardened, and his skin has taken on a more ragged quality. Then again, maybe all of this change has taken place over the last two weeks. For the first time, Elliot wonders if Cragen has fallen off the wagon.
"I've been struck by … how close you two are," Cragen begins. "Not just this morning, but Saturday in the precinct too."
"We've always been close," Elliot says evenly.
"Not this close."
Elliot glares. "She didn't cheat on Cassidy, if that's what you're insinuating."
Cragen puts up a hand. "Not at all what I was thinking. And frankly I don't care a whit if she did. I'm just glad she has someone she trusts, because it was obvious that she didn't trust Brian."
"But?" Elliot demands.
Cragen seems surprised. "But nothing."
"You disapprove?"
"On the contrary," Cragen retorts. "You're not partners anymore. The only thing I care about is that she has support. And for the record, whatever your faults, I always thought the world of you, Elliot. If there's anyone I would trust to help her through this, it's you."
"I guess …. thank you? But Don, where are you going with this?"
"It just took me by surprise to see how fast you two reconnected, to the point where you're sleeping in the same hotel room, the same day she ended the first serious relationship she's had in years."
Elliot squares his jaw. "Don, with all due respect, that's between me and her."
Cragen puts up a hand. "I know. Your sleeping arrangements are none of my business. Like I said, all I care about is that she's with someone she trusts."
"She does trust me. You can trust me."
"I do." He takes a breath, leans in and again lowers his voice, though Olivia is nowhere in sight. "I need you to understand something here. For all the kindness she shows others, she's known so little of it in her own life that I think she genuinely doesn't expect it from people, even the people she's close to. Her mother didn't take care of her at all, and I mean that in the most literal sense."
"How do you know – "
Cragen puts up a hand. "Let me finish."
"Sorry."'
"She hides it well, pretends it's because she's an adult and doesn't like to be fussed over, sort of the way you might've rejected Kathy's help if she fussed over you too much after an injury, let's say. But at least you knew what you were rejecting, because once upon a time, your mother fussed over you. And I doubt you would've been suspicious of Kathy's motives, because you get that that's a normal thing that humans who love you want to do for you."
"That's true."
"But Olivia's different. She would lie down in traffic for you, but try to do anything for her, and she's genuinely flummoxed by the gesture. I don't think she even understands the concept of having another person take care of her, that anyone – even the people she's close to – might care about her enough to want to take care of her, and that she's allowed to … let them. That doing so isn't some sort of moral failure."
"I see that."
Cragen continues. "But here's the thing. This is the first time it's really mattered. For fifteen years, she's encountered the worst of humanity and borne more than her share of the brunt of it, but I've never worried that she couldn't handle something by herself. Even after Sealview, there was an incredible strength, a resilience there. She was really shaken up by it, but I never doubted that she'd overcome it. I never doubted that she had the will to overcome it."
"And now you do?"
Cragen pauses, and Elliot's shocked to see that it's to swallow back a wave of emotion. "If anyone can, it's her. But let me tell you something. This was nothing like Sealview. This was a whole different level of depravity, of viciousness. Harris was a violent rapist too, but he was an opportunist. But this guy, Lewis, was not just a sadist, but he also had a savant-like ability to read people. And he'd studied Olivia. He did things to her that were targeted at her, at what he perceived to be her vulnerabilities. And I have no doubt that he did and said all sorts of things to her that were designed to crush her spirit. I like to think that most of it didn't stick, but – "
" – some of it probably did," Elliot finishes. He swallows a lump.
"Exactly." Cragen continues. "Olivia's instinct is always to try to handle things by herself, to not let anyone else in. Now maybe that's because she was completely neglected as a child, and maybe it's because she's in a profession full of men and is afraid that if anyone finds out she needs help, they'll conclude she's not up to being a cop. But I don't think she has a choice this time. Even with counselling, I don't think she can do this alone. And so when I watch you two together, it's a relief to me to see that she's not pushing you away."
"Because I won't let her."
Cragen laughs. "Do you really think you have that much power over her?"
"What do you mean?"
"If she wanted to push you away, there'd be nothing you could do about it."
He hadn't thought about it that way, but he knows Cragen is right.
"Anyway," Cragen continues. "It's more than that. She tolerates contact from you, Elliot. Physical contact."
Not on her head, he thinks. "What are you implying?"
Again, Cragen puts up his hands. "Just that a lot of rape victims can't stand to be touched." He cocks his head. "You seem to brace yourself for every remark to be an attack on your character."
"I guess I'm just wondering where you're going with all these … observations."
Cragen looks at him curiously, sizing him up. "Well, you've got six inches and I-don't-know-how-many pounds on Olivia, a history of anger management problems, you bench press three-fifty and you could beat most men in a street fight with your eyes closed. You could overpower Olivia in a second, and she knows it."
I did overpower her. The connection comes to him without hesitation, though he knows – and he thinks she does too – that the circumstances were comfortably different. But he still has that lingering shame, that guilt, about how little effort it took to subdue her.
"Don, how could you think I would ever use it against her?"
Cragen stops him. "I don't think that. Of course I don't. I'm just pointing out that she didn't see or hear from you for two years. She's watched you lose control, beat up perps, smash things, countless times. So it's not something to take for granted that she lets you touch her, lets you get close to her."
"I know," he admits.
Cragen sighs. "All right, I'll level with you. I'm in an unusual spot here. You're no longer part of the force, you're not on the payroll. I can't order you to do anything. But I'm still sort of depending on you, as a friend, to watch her, to tell me what she needs, because she's sure as hell not going to confide in me, and probably not anyone else in the squad, and definitely not Cassidy, whom I'm gathering is now out of the picture anyway."
"Okay …"
"So that leaves you. And I'm worried about her. That story, Saturday …. even Amaro is voluntarily getting counseling. She cannot be left to deal with this by herself. I already made that mistake once."
"Well, I have no intention of letting that happen."
Cragen pauses. "How are things with your kids?"
Elliot frowns. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"It has everything to do with it. Your youngest child is six. You have obligations."
"Like I told Olivia," he starts, clenching his jaw, "Eli is in Florida with Kathy for the entire week. And I see him all the time, thank you very much."
"Again, I think you misunderstood the nature of the question."
"Did I?"
"I wasn't suggesting you're not equipped to take this on. I was just asking if you … wanted to."
"If I wanted to? How could you ask me that?"
"Well, pardon my bluntness, but you do have a history of disappearing on Olivia."
Disarmed, Elliot takes a second to respond. "And that's not going to happen again. I gave her my word on that, and I'm giving it to you. The last two years, Don … I didn't abandon her. I left … to punish myself."
"I believe you. But from her perspective, it's a distinction without a difference." He sighs. "Look, Elliot, if you say you've worked through your demons, I'll take that on faith. I just need to make it clear, when you were part of the force, it was understood that your family and your kids and your personal life came before your partner. Everyone's does. But as much as I like you, my responsibility now is to her, and only her. So if you tell me that you can be here with her, twenty-four-seven as you say, then I need to be able to depend on that."
"You can depend on that. Things are different for me now. I give you my word."
"Okay then. Because between the story we heard on Saturday, and the trial and public fascination with the story, a lot of shit's going to go down in the next few weeks, and I need to know that she's got round-the-clock support. A therapist can cover only so many hours."
"Well, I'm not leaving her."
Cragen nods. "I also don't have to tell you that trials … don't always end up how you want or expect them to."
"You think he's going be acquitted?" Elliot asks, horrified.
Cragen puts up a hand. "No, I don't. But you have enough experience to know that deals get made, juries get snowed. He'll be found guilty of something, to be sure, but it doesn't mean he'll go away for the rest of his life. And this guy is a master of manipulation, and also has a history of being lucky. I mean, supremely lucky."
"Jeez."
Cragen leans in, lowers his voice. "I wouldn't say this to her, but I'm saying it to you. We have to be prepared for whatever curveballs come on that front."
"Well, I'm not leaving her," he repeats.
"Good. The Department has committed whatever resources she needs. But she's much less likely to tell me what those needs are than you are. Capish?"
"Yeah."
"And make sure she knows she can stay in this hotel as long as she likes, to not worry about that."
"Seriously? How'd you swing that with the Department?" He gestures towards the lobby. "I mean, this place is pretty swanky."
"Yeah, well. I laid out the cost-benefit analysis for them."
"Meaning?"
Cragen smiles. "The Department, more than anything else, cares about its public image. The letters of support keep pouring in from different victims. Every time Amanda sweeps Olivia's desk, more gifts and cards and letters arrive, all of them showing support, wishing her a speedy recovery. Chief of D's came in the other day, and I gave him a little tour. Takes a lot to impress him. And then I reminded him that with the level of press scrutiny this story has attracted – and it's not just local, it's national and even international – that it's in their best interest for Olivia to recover, to come back to work, a newly promoted sergeant. That's a story they want to tell. Showcase to the world how enlightened, pro-woman the biggest police department in the country is. And then I reminded him what happens if an intrepid reporter who's itching to write a story about how the Department is still an old boy's club finds out Olivia's being made to stay at some rathole motel because the NYPD would rather spend money on an anti-terrorism gadget than on giving a hero female detective the resources she needs to recover from one of the most savage attacks in recent public memory. It took a bit of pushing, but they eventually saw the wisdom of it."
"Well, I'm glad they agreed with your … angle, but I don't think the quality of the hotel will determine whether she recovers."
Cragen clucks his tongue. "I realize that. So do they. But the only thing that matters is that it's the angle a hungry reporter would take. The extra cost is a rounding error in their budget, and immaterial compared to the risk of a PR disaster."
Elliot grins. "You always did know how to play the politics."
"Yeah, well. One PP can be surprisingly rational if you make the right case."
"Good for you. But I wouldn't necessarily share with Olivia that the reason the Department is going the extra mile is because they're using her as a public image prop."
"Elliot, let's get real. Every decision is political. And the way I see it, the politics have worked against the women in the Department for decades. And so if things are going to cut the other way one time, let it be for her."
Elliot puts up two hands. "Hey, no arguments here. Whatever gets the right result."
"Good."
Elliot gets to his feet. "I'm going to go see where she went."
But Cragen stops him again. "Okay, please tell me the truth. How is she coping? Really."
For some reason he can't quite articulate, the question pisses him off. "How do you think?" he snaps.
Cragen considers his response. "Well, judging from your body language, you apparently think she can't be alone in a hotel lobby for more than ten minutes. Either that, or you're itching to get away from me."
"You think this is a joke?"
Cragen purses his lips. "I won't dignify that with a response. But as traumatized as she was – is – she's still a competent adult. What she went through was terrible, but – "
"It was terrible?" He scoffs. "That's the word you use?"
"What word should I use?"
"Terrible is getting cheated on by a spouse, or being hit by a cab, or being diagnosed with cancer. Lots and lots of people deal with things like that every single day. But this? This? She was stripped of her dignity, of her humanity, for four fucking days, Don, and not a single goddamn person in her life noticed. And now every sick, humiliating detail has been broadcast in front of her coworkers and her boss, the people she respects and counts on to respect her back. And because the media can't get enough of the story, random people right here in this hotel keep recognizing her. So to answer your question, I'd say that things are pretty shitty for her right now. So if you'll please excuse me, I need to go convince my partner to come back to the table and to take a few bites of that piece of toast, because she hasn't eaten in three fucking days and I'm afraid she's going to pass out on the goddamn floor."
Out in the lobby, Elliot searches for Olivia but doesn't see her. He texts her, calls her, but he's not surprised when she doesn't answer. Increasingly worried there'll be a repeat of yesterday's lobby fiasco, his eyes settle on the women's restroom.
He approaches the door, about to press it in, when he abruptly remembers where he is, and who he is: a member of the public. One who is decidedly not entitled to enter the women's restroom no matter how concerned he is about one of its occupants.
Just then, a petite woman in her fifties with a shock of gray hair and a plastic pink sun visor emerges. She looks up at Elliot, who realizes he's hovering in front of the door like one of the perverts he would have arrested once upon a time. He takes a step back, lets her pass.
"Ma'am," he calls.
The woman turns around.
"Was there anyone else in the restroom just now?"
As the woman pauses, sizing him up, he realizes he needs to explain himself. He quickly pulls up a photo of Olivia on his phone. "By any chance, is this woman in the restroom?"
"Is she your wife?"
Elliot hesitates. "Yeah."
Her expression softens. "Poor thing, dry heaving is the worst."
Elliot blanches, but the woman lays a hand on his bicep. "Is this your first?"
"What?"
"It gets better." Elliot continues to stare blankly, and the woman adds, "By the second trimester. The nausea, it subsides. I've had four kids. I know what I'm talking about."
"Oh," Elliot says. "Thank you, yes. So I've heard." He gestures at the door, which the woman is blocking. "May I?"
The woman duly steps aside.
"Elliot?"
He whips around, startled to see that Cragen has sidled up behind him and heard the last bit of his conversation.
"Is she … don't tell me …" Cragen looks horrified by the prospect. Elliot wonders if the possibility had even crossed his mind until this moment.
"No," Elliot says. "She's not. This is … something else."
Cragen nods at the door, stepping back as his phone starts to buzz. "Go. I'll wait out here."
He pushes the door through and walks … straight into Olivia.
"El!"
Instinctively, his hands pull her into a hug; whether to steady her, or himself, he's not sure. Her face is white as a sheet. His hands quickly slide down her arms until they meet her hands, which are ice cold. "Are you okay?"
"I'm …. okay." It's the least convincingly she's ever uttered the words.
"Come," he says gently, pulling her out into the lobby, where fifteen feet away a concerned-looking Cragen is on his phone. "Let's go sit."
Guiding her to the couches, he plunks down next to her and lobs an arm around her, holds her. "You're shaking."
"I'm dizzy," she replies miserably.
"Did you black out?"
She's silent.
He looks at her, panicked. "Shit, Liv! Did you hit your head?"
"No. I was already on my knees when it happened. It was just for a second."
He has the impulse to shake her. "Listen to me. This is the third time in less than a day. You have to eat something."
"I know," she admits. "I want to. But just the thought of it … makes me sick."
"Olivia, are you okay?" Cragen asks from behind, his call concluded, as he seats himself on the armchair perpendicular from where she is on the couch.
"I'm fine, Captain. Just a little dizzy."
"How about a glass of juice or something?"
She thinks about it. "Maybe some orange juice?"
Cragen nods. "You got it." He jumps up again, marches across the lobby back towards the restaurant.
Next to Elliot, Olivia trembles in her seat.
Looking at her in profile, he's not sure how much is physical, how much emotional. He keeps his arm around her, holds her silently. She is breathing heavily, he notices, a little alarmed. In all the drama of the last forty-eight hours, her still-recent lung surgery has slipped to the back of his mind.
Cragen returns to where they're sitting, a glass of orange juice in one hand, a muffin in the other. She takes the juice gratefully. "Thank you, Captain." She starts to sip it slowly.
He places the muffin on the coffee table in front of her, frowning as she droops listlessly into Elliot. "My pleasure."
"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispers suddenly, not specifying if the question's directed at Cragen or Elliot.
"Tell you what?" Cragen asks.
"That Lewis is on suicide watch?"
Cragen is genuinely surprised. "What? Who told you that?"
"The reporter who was just in the bathroom."
"What reporter?" Elliot demands. "The woman who told me you were in there looked like a tourist. And she said it was just you in there."
"Before that. Ten, fifteen minutes ago."
Cragen leans forward, his elbows on his thighs. "Olivia, did a reporter follow you into the bathroom?"
"I don't know. But I think I recognized her from Channel Three, maybe? Cindy something?"
"Merino?" Cragen asks.
"Yeah, her."
Elliot squares his jaw. "I remember her. She's aggressive, but …"
Olivia turns to him. "El, I don't care about her tactics. Just tell me it's not true."
"Liv, we'll find out," Cragen reassures. "I promise."
"He's going to get out," she whispers.
Elliot watches as her chin starts to quiver. "Even if it is true," he says, "how do you go from suicide watch to getting out of prison?"
"You watch. This is the groundwork. He'll manipulate some nurse, or he'll use the suicide watch as some ruse, or pretext, or …. something."
"Look, Liv," Cragen asserts, getting their attention. "Soon as I leave here, I'll make some calls and get to the bottom of this and update you as soon as I know anything. I promise."
"Okay…" She sounds anything but convinced.
"In the meantime, before I go … " Cragen reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a set of keys and places them on the coffee table in front of Olivia.
Elliot winces, recognizing them as the keys to her apartment. And … the horrific burn on her breast.
Olivia's eyes widen in alarm. "What are these?"
Cragen clears his throat. "These are your keys. Or I should say, your new keys. The locks have been changed, of course."
Her hand snakes to the collar of her shirt, pulling it closed. "I thought CSU still needed the place."
"They have what they need. But Olivia, let me emphasize – you don't have to go back there until you're ready. You can stay here as long as you need to, or want to. In fact, I strongly recommend that you don't go back to your apartment for now. I just thought there might be some odds and ends you needed from there, and if there are, I'm hoping somebody else can get them for you. And if you decide that you never want to go back there, I can absolutely arrange to have movers do all the work for you. Kay?"
"Okay. Thank you, Captain." She shifts uncomfortably on the couch, inching herself away from the keys.
As a heavy silence overtakes the trio, Elliot grabs the keys himself and stuffs them into his pocket.
"Olivia, I owe you an apology."
"For what?" Olivia asks her boss, still staring at the now-empty space on the table where her keys were.
"For sending you home without protection."
Startled, she looks up. "What?"
Elliot, too, is surprised by the admission, though he knows how guilty Cragen feels.
"I should never have made you go home for two days without at least checking on you. It was a terrible mistake and I'm so sorry."
"Captain, you … don't …" Her eyes flood as she struggles for words. "You don't … owe me … anything. I was the one who let my guard down. I didn't draw my gun – "
"Liv." Cragen stops her. "You didn't make any mistakes. I let you down."
"You had no more reason to believe he'd broken in than I did."
"That's true, but that's why we cover each other. That's why we check on each other, especially under these circumstances."
"I'm trained to be on alert, and I – "
"No, no." He puts up a hand. "I need you to hear this. To understand this. It was my screwup, not yours. No matter how much training, no matter how good your reflexes – and yours are the best I've ever seen, by the way – nobody can be on alert all the time. It's impossible. You were entitled to have someone check on you, whether you thought you needed it or not. The reason we work in pairs, the reason we have backup and take all these precautions to watch each other's backs, is because we can't possibly anticipate every situation no matter how good our training and reflexes."
She shakes her head. "I walked in and I heard rustling and there was a split second when I had the chance to pull my gun and I just … didn't."
"So what?" Cragen says. "Do you know how many times I haven't reacted to random noises in my house? Because ninety-nine percent of the time, they're nothing."
"Liv," Elliot now interjects. "When I walked into that lab and saw O'Halloran dead on the floor, I had enough time to draw my gun before Stuckey wacked me, but I didn't. I don't know why I didn't. But what I do know is that if you hadn't checked on me, I'd be dead right now."
"Do you want to know what I think?" Cragen asks.
"What?" she whispers.
"You did have the instinct to draw your gun, but you instructed yourself not to, because to let him make you paranoid like that meant you were letting him win."
Olivia laughs bitterly. "I can't get it right, can I?"
Cragen nods. "If Lewis had been a different sort of psycho, with different predilections, he might've gone after Amaro. And if Amaro were walking into his own home with no reason to believe anyone had broken in, he too would've been powerless in the face of a gun to his throat. The same way you've always checked on Amaro, and on Elliot, because they're your partners, that's what you deserved from us. And we failed you. We didn't protect you, and for that, I'm so, so sorry."
"I don't… um… know … what to say."
"But now, I need you to make me a promise."
"Which is?"
"That you're not going to lose your will to recover."
"Captain – "
"Because I need you back at the squad, okay? You're too important. I can't lose you, Olivia."
Her eyes brim with tears, which she tries – and fails – to keep from falling. "I don't know if I can," she whispers.
Cragen leans in on his elbows. "Promise me, Olivia, that you're not going to let this destroy you."
She meets his gaze. "I promise."
"Okay." He pats her wrist. "And in that spirit, I have a request."
"A request?"
"A request, as opposed to an order."
"Okay …"
"I can't begin to imagine how rough the last few days have been for you."
"Captain – "
"Please, hear me out."
"Okay."
"He could have gone after any one of us – or a member of the public – but he chose you. It was a failure of the system that he was let back onto the streets, and you paid a horrific price for that. And so the least we owe you, the least the Department owes you, the city owes you, is the resources and support you need to recover. Okay?"
"I appreciate that, but – "
"And so for the next few weeks, Olivia, I want someone to be with you, all the time."
"Wait, did Elliot – ?" She looks at him accusingly.
"No. This is coming from me. It can be anyone you choose, or Elliot, or any friend, or a rookie uni if you're more comfortable with that. But I can't let you face this alone."