A/N: Life is slowly getting busier and I might've been a little ambitious when I said new chapters every other day. But I'm still here, and I hope you are, too?
To the person asking about future Rolivia fics: Yes! I am already thinking about a sequel to "Never Let Me Go" and I'm working on a platonic Rolivia fic ("Chosen Family") that will consist of multiple one shots following their friendship throughout S23 and different scenarios I'd like to see happen, that the show won't give us (sobs in Rolivia).
For now, let's go back to Rome.
TW: PTSD/flashbacks
Joy Oladokun – Blink Twice (Please, either while reading or any time really, give this masterpiece a listen)
CHAPTER 4 – BLINK TWICE
"God, I'm so sorry."
And that's when her walls go up. By the sound of his voice. By the sound of those exact words, she feels herself shutting down completely.
She can't do this. Not now. Not with him. Not here.
So Olivia looks away, lifts her head, desperate for her eyes to find someone who can help, someone to take over. Because she can't be the one to save him, not when he never came for her."Medic!" She shouts out, briefly forgetting that she's in Italy and not at some crime scene in the middle of Manhattan.
Nonetheless, it does the trick. Because suddenly she's ushered away by uniformed strangers taking over.
"Liv." He mumbles, nearly groans, while she takes a few unsteady steps backwards, her legs colliding with a chair on the ground, broken glass crunching under her shoes.
I can't.
She keeps backing up, stumbling. And with a distant look on her face, she watch as Elliot is lifted over on a gurney and transported into one of the many ambulances that are now spread around on the piazza.
A short moment is all she grants herself to stay in her state of shock until her instincts kicks in and takes over. And all of a sudden she's desperate for something to do, something to keep her hands, and more importantly her mind, busy. But everything is so hectic, chaotic, and she isn't on the job in New York right now. There is no obvious place for her to be, no obvious thing for her to do.
And for some reason her eyes keeps moving back to the spot where she was just kneeling.
It was really him. He's here.
She stares at the ground, and tries to process what just happened, quickly going back to wishing that all of this is just a bad dream, that she will wake up any second. That she never saw him, and that her hands aren't painted red by his blood.
The chaos around her stills momentarily when she closes her eyes, willing herself back to the safety of her hotel room, or just back to thirty minutes ago, before she noticed him and before this happened.
Whatever this is.
Still, her effort is completely pointless, and she's quickly pulled back to the present. Not by the howling sirens, or people yelling, but by the sound of a phone vibrating against a table.
Without knowing why, she moves towards it and stares down at the device. The text he just received is in Italian, from someone saved as L.E. "Where are you? Are you safe?" But it's not the text that keeps her eyes locked to the screen. It's the picture.
Eli.
Goddamnit.
Memories from a completely different lifetime floods her brain then. She still remembers the panic she felt in that car with Kathy. And the feeling of having Eli against her chest while his mother lay unconscious in front of her in the ambulance.
But most of all, she remembers how her heart ached in that hospital, with his arms wrapped tightly around her. When everyone was finally safe. When everything was supposed to be ok.
Goddamnit, Elliot. Godfuckingdamnit.
That ache in her chest is back now, and she hates herself for it. She hates him for it. And still, with Eli smiling up at her, it takes her less than a couple of seconds to make up her mind.
"Fermati!" A heavily armed police officer suddenly has his hand on her shoulder and the unexpected touch makes her recoil instantly. "Sei ferita, signorina?"
"No… No." She shakes her head. "I'm fine, I… I'm fine. But I- I need to get to- to the hospital and my purse is still inside."
The officer eyes her, clearly on alert and clearly struggling to make sense of her English, or maybe it was the way she hastily stumbled over her words.
She lets out a frustrated puff of air, suddenly overtaken by impatience, all while forcing her brain to assemble the words needed to explain what she needs. "Devo… Devo prendere la mia borsa e andare in ospedale."
"No inside." He holds up a hand when she gestures towards the open door behind him.
"Per favore, my pa-" Olivia stops herself, realizing what she was just about to say. "I know the man who was hurt." She points towards the ground where Elliot's bleeding body had been just a moment prior.
"You know signore Elliot?" The man who had introduced himself as Andrea the owner is suddenly standing behind the armed man. His shirt covered in someone's blood.
"You… You were the one who pulled me down."
"Si, si. Are you hurt?"
"No, but Elliot is." She says, out of breath now from the way her heart is still racing. "I need my purse so I can get to the hospital."
"Wait here, signora."
With her purse in one hand and Elliot's phone in the other, she's just about to turn around when the stern officer stops her. "San Giovanni." He says, like that is somehow going to make any sense to her. "San Giovanni Addolorata." He repeats. "Ospedale."
And only then does Olivia realize that she was just about to jump in a cab with no idea where to go.
I really am losing my mind here.
"Grazie."
When she walks through the doors of the hospital, the cab ride is already a total blur and instantly she starts questioning her decision to come here.
Logically, she should be looking for a doctor, a nurse, a receptionist, anyone to tell her that Elliot is ok, that someone is taking care of him. Instead, her eyes are currently desperately searching for a sign that can tell her where to find the nearest restroom. Because she is pretty sure she will throw up if she is forced to have his blood on her hands and arms one minute longer.
With her skin finally washed clean, after scrubbing at it violently for five long minutes, she stares at herself in the mirror. Having absolutely no idea where to go from here.
Elliot is here, somewhere in this hospital. In Rome.
He had somehow infiltrated what was supposed to be her escape, her impromptu safe haven.
Or had she infiltrated his?
And how the fuck did we end up here?
Before she can really start to process all of this and decide what to do next, she's interrupted by a phone vibrating inside of her purse. While silently praying for it to be hers and not his, she fumbles around to find it.
"Liv? I just saw the news, Jesus, are you ok?"
"I…"
No.
"Liv? Are you ok?" Amanda repeats impatiently.
"I'm not hurt. But-"
"But what?"
"I was there."
It's like she can hear the detective clench her jaw on the other end of the call. "You were there? When it happened?"
"Honestly I don't know what happened. It was just… Out of nowhere."
"Three."
"Hm?" Olivia asks, looking away from the mirror because the haunted look on her own face is making her sick.
"Three shooters. Or terrorists. All dead. That's what they're saying on the news."
"Do they know how many were killed?"
"Two, but they just reported that four are in critical condition."
And one of them might be Elliot. Or? It was just a shoulder wound, right? Did I even see where all that blood came from?
"Liv, you still with me?"
"Huh? Yeah… Yeah, I'm still here."
"Please come home."
Without noticing, her legs have moved her out of the restrooms and suddenly she finds herself in the middle of a busy corridor, feeling completely disoriented. "I- I'm ok, Amanda."
"You were just in the middle of a goddamn terror attack, how can you even say that?"
Amanda's words sound distant and muffled now and the only thing that keeps running through her mind is how she needs to find a place to sit down. "I'll call you later."
"No, Li-"
It's too much.
She was already at her breaking point, and this…
It's too much.
Is this how it feels when you go insane?
When your reality becomes so surreal and bizarre that you can't tell what's real and what's just in your head? Is this how it feels when the worlds comes crashing down and you are left with absolutely no direction or obvious way out?
She isn't quite sure how or when, but she's sitting now, her head leaned against the wall behind her as she tries to control and stop the panic attack that is building. Building in her arms, her legs, her stomach and her chest.
Five things I can see.
Five things I can see.
Him.
I see him. Fuck.
Five things you can see, damnit.
The ceiling. I can see the ceiling.
Four more.
Lights.
Three more.
No… No, I can't. I can't. I can't.
She squeezes her eyes shut as distorted memories, memories that feel so foreign and confusing, fills her head. Coming like flashes. Like gunshots.
She's screaming while holding an iron rod in her hands, but Elliot is on the floor in front of her. She's walking out of that beach house, but Lewis and not Nick is wrapping his arm around her. She's tied to a table, but it's not in an abandoned factory, it's in the middle of the squad room.
"Stop." She whispers as her head falls forward, supported only by her own hands that are now covering her face. "Stop, make it stop."
The cry starts low in the pit of her stomach, rumbling up until it spills out of her like the red wine she threw up after her last nightmare.
The fact that she's sitting in the middle of a foreign hospital, in a foreign country with people bustling around her doesn't matter. Because this is a kind of crying she has absolutely no chance to control. It overpowers her, physically and emotionally, until she's screaming into her hands, hunched over on the chair.
"Signora?"
There's a voice somewhere, and it sounds like it's directed at her but she still can't stop.
"Signora, sta… sta bene?"
Suddenly a careful hand touches her shoulder, but instead of flinching, it makes her cry harder, sob louder, shake more.
The hand on her shoulder disappears, only to be replaced by two hands gently tugging at her own, carefully pulling her away from the unforgiving images in her head. "Signora, guardami." She blinks, but her eyes are unable to focus on the blurry face in front of her.
"Respira, respira e basta."
Breathe. I need to breathe.
Air in my lungs. I can do that. I think.
As the stranger's face comes into view, she takes several deep, slightly trembling breaths.
"Bene… Bene." The stranger smiles.
I'm doing good?
"Puoi dirmi cosa c'è che non va?"
Her brain feels like scrambled eggs at this point and she doesn't have the energy to translate her words into Italian. "Inglese, per favore."
"Si, English is fine." The woman in front of her says, as her eyes suddenly seem to notice the blood on Olivia's clothes. "You were there? Yesterday?"
Yesterday?
Didn't she arrive at the hospital no more than an hour ago?
"What times is it?"
"It's almost 6… Mattina, morning."
"Oh."
How did that happen?
She blinks again and looks around, tries to understand where she is and how she got here. It looks like a waiting area, but she's the only one here.
"So, you were there?"
"Yeah… Yeah, I was there."
"Someone you know hurt?"
Someone I know? I don't know him anymore.
"Yes." Olivia says, followed by a resigned sigh. "Yes, someone I know was hurt."
"Tell me the name. I can find out if-" The stranger stops herself, apparently struggling to find the right words. "Find out if they're ok?"
Without thinking, she blurts his name out. "Elliot Stabler. He's my-"
Partner. Ex-partner. Friend. Family. The love of my life. The person who hurt me more than anyone else. Stranger.
"Elliot Stabler." She repeats. "That's his name."
"Give me a couple of minutes."
Seven minutes later, she's standing outside his room with her hand on the door handle. She keeps putting slight pressure on it, almost pushing it down to open the door, before stopping herself, again and again.
And again.
It's not that she's nervous to see him. In the span of a few minutes she has actually gone from what felt like a complete mental breakdown, to feeling more clearheaded than she has in a long time.
As soon as the nameless nurse returned and told her that yes, Elliot Stabler was here, and yes, he was going to be completely fine, Olivia knew exactly what she wanted to do.
Gone are the mental images of her throwing herself into his arms, forgiving it all in an instance, no questions asked. Gone is the idea of her just wanting him back in her life, no matter what.
Now, knowing that he's not on some operating table in critical condition, or worse, she wants to rip his fucking head off. Scream at him, let him know exactly how it felt when he walked away like he did. Making her feel like what they had meant absolutely nothing to him. Forcing her to question everything about their partnership, about every single minute spent together. Convincing her that it had all been in her head.
But more than anything she wants to leave him there. He saw her. He must remember that part, before the shooting started. So that's what she wants, she tells herself. To walk away. To do to him what he did to her.
Except, here she is. Clinging to his phone.
The phone she could've just handed to the nurse or left behind in the reception. The phone that is surely filled with worried messages and missed calls. The phone that she hasn't been able to look at after grabbing it from that table. Just because that damn picture of Eli had been enough to make her fall right back into her old ways.
And she doesn't want that anymore. She can't.
So her plan now is as simple as it is gut-wrenching; Return his phone. Walk away.
That's all you gotta do. You don't even have to look at him.
Just walk away.
It becomes a mantra that plays on repeat in her head as she finally pushes the door handle down, enough for it to crack open. Enough for her to peer inside to see that he's sleeping. Thank god, she thinks, all while ignoring the part of her that wants him to wake up just so she can stare into his eyes one last time.
Carefully and quietly, she moves towards his bed, keeping her eyes lowered and trained on the floor before placing the phone on the bedside table.
It's maddening and magnetic the way she lifts her head to look at him. But the mantra is still going strong, so after a short moment of weakness she turns around to leave.
Just walk away.
Suddenly, a mumble fills the quiet room. "Liv."
Fuck.
"Liv… You're here." With her back turned, she halts, unable to move a single muscle.
Walk away.
Walk away, goddamnit.
"Liv, please look at me."
She wants to, and she doesn't want to. She has the possibility to scream at him now, but she also has the possibility to leave.
But it's him. So of course she does neither.
Of course she turns around and looks at him.
Because it's him. And it's magnetic and maddening and beyond her fucking control.
"What are you doing here?"
"Me?" She says, nearly scoffs. "What are you doing here?"
"I… I live here."
"How long?"
"On and off since…" He stops himself.
Since you disappeared?
Since you walked away?
Since you broke my heart?
Since you broke me.
"On and off since I left NYPD."
He can't even say it. He can't even own up to it.
She wants to correct him. "You mean since you left me?"
But instead, she clenches her jaw and looks down between them so he won't notice her tears.
"Why are you here?" He asks when she stays silent, and her stomach nearly turns from how there's a hint of accusation in his voice. Like she's his stalker or something.
"I…" I escaped New York and my job because I was tortured, almost raped and killed twice. I'm lost. "Vacation."
"You? Vacation?" He chuckles, actually chuckles, and it sends a jolt of anger through every single cell in her body.
Walk away.
"I have to go."
"Liv-"
"Don't." She lifts her head then and glares at him. Hoping her eyes will be enough to tell him exactly how she feels, because this is the moment she realizes just how exhausted she really is. How close she is to breaking down again. And he does not deserve to see it.
"Oli-"
"Goodbye, Elliot."
Olivia doesn't hear him calling out for her. Not that it would've mattered anyway, because the only thing she's capable of thinking about is getting back to her hotel.
So it makes no sense to her, absolutely no sense whatsoever, when she stops dead in her tracks ten feet away from the exit and turns around.
What are you doing?
When she reaches the large reception desk, she pulls the unused travel book from her purse and fumbles around for a pen. And then she tears out a random page.
What the fuck are you doing?
Hastily and with an unsteady hand, she scribbles her number on the torn piece of paper before she moves towards the receptionist.
"Can you please give this to the man in room 308?"
Before the young man gets a chance to respond, she is already on her way out.
She spends the entire cab ride back to her hotel contemplating whether to ask the driver to turn around, sprint into his room and grab the number that she just knows he's staring at right now. Tell him not to use it, even though he has surely memorized it by now.
But she doesn't.
Because more than anything she wants him to call.
Fuck, she wants him to call.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
A/N: Fuck indeed. If this felt all over the place, it's because Olivia is clearly all over the place.