Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, the SVU universe, or much of anything else, actually. I do own this plot line that keeps me awake at night. Dick Wolf owns the L&O:SVU world.
Chapter Four: Ruminating on the Past
Hamilton Hall, Lecture A
Elliot Stabler was in his element, passing on his hard-earned knowledge of law enforcement, rules, regulations, policies, procedures, interrogation tactics, etc. He never thought that he would enjoy this—being out of action, teaching college kids. He had been coming out of a very bad place when the opportunity arose and his therapist encouraged him to go for it, reasoning that slipping back into law enforcement tangentially, without all the attendant stresses—shootings, stabbings, standing over crime scenes over and over and over again, keeping crazy hours, etc., —would help the demons eating him from the inside out, ever since he shot Jenna Fox.
He'd had a breakdown: an actual, physical, mental, emotional breakdown. He had to be hospitalized in a locked psychiatric ward, something only his family, attorney, and Captain Tucker from I.A.B knew. And each of them were bound, either by love and loyalty, or ethics and confidentiality, to not reveal that information to anyone without Elliot's express permission. And he refused to allow his squad to know. Ashamed of his self-perceived weakness, avoiding the looks of pity, angry at the whole world—none of this did he want to share with his colleagues—his friends. Hell, they were more than that; they were his second family—one that he spent more time with than his actual family.
And then, of course, there was her. Olivia. His longtime partner. His best friend. The frequent star of both his dreams and his nightmares. The woman for whom he has long held more than a professional or platonic affection, marriage be damned. In those first few days after the shooting, every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Saw her shot, taking the place of Sister Peg on the floor, her life's blood spilling out, taking with it her beloved soul and a chunk of his heart.
It got so that he didn't sleep. He couldn't eat, either, because it would all come retching back up when he shut his eyes and saw the nightmare that could've been. The only thing he could do was drink. And drink he did, to numb himself, distance himself as much as possible from the pain.
Prolonged sleep deprivation, emotionally devastating hallucinations, lack of food, and an excess of alcohol combined to break him. He lashed out at Kathy, at his kids, even his priest when he went seeking the answer as to why God allow these things to happen.
It culminated with him physically assaulting Captain Tucker when the veteran IAB investigator had come to question him again. It took just one snide comment from Tucker and Elliot lost it. He jumped over the table and began to pummel the older man. Mercifully, for Tucker's health and his own legal situation, he was much weaker than usual from the lack of sleep and sustenance, and the older man was easily able to overcome him and restrain him. It was Tucker who called the ambulance to take him to the hospital when the man realized that Elliot was not just lacking anger management skills, self-restraint, or discipline. He saw the blank stare in those blue eyes, the tears streaming that the detective didn't seem to notice, the incoherent muttering spilling nonstop from his mouth, the whole body tremors. He knew Detective Stabler was in the midst of a psychotic break. In a rare moment of compassion for the younger man, Tucker did not include anything more than Elliot's initial statement of events in his report. There would be no record of what had happened. The record would only indicate that Detective Stabler had become acutely ill, necessitating an ambulance to be dispatched and that was it.
Upon admittance to the hospital, Elliot was stripped of his phone, his belt, his tie, even his shoelaces—anything that could be used to harm himself or someone else. He was given some scrubs to wear until Kathy could bring him some clothing.
Those first few days in the psych ward passed in a blur. He actually had very little recollection of what went on during those days. He knew from talking to his therapist and with Kathy that he was very heavily medicated to break him out of the psychotic state. He was kept isolated in a padded room, coming out only for his therapy sessions and to shower. About a week after his admittance, marking three weeks since the shooting, he was finally deemed stable enough to move to a regular patient room on the ward. Even that, though, had extensive safety measures.
The furniture was a sturdy plastic, similar to the Little Tykes sandbox he had once bought for Eli. It was all bolted to the floor—nightstand, bed, bookcase, the works. There were no electrical sockets, no bedside lamp, no alarm clock, no wall decor. There wasn't even a light switch. The lights were controlled from outside the room. The only windows were the small wire-grated window in the door, designed more for staff observation than the patient's view, and a similarly grated window high on the wall across from the bed. There was no furniture on that wall to prevent anybody from accessing the window.
The room had its own ensuite, but there was no door separating the room from the bathroom. The shower had no curtain, the water temperature was regulated between cold and tepid with a timer on how long the water could run. The toilet was tankless, similar to the kind seen in solitary confinement prison cells. At shower time, a staff member would stand just outside the door frame to make sure the patient didn't self-harm. The same staff member would observe the patient closely when shaving, having dispensed to him a disposable razor that would then be collected after shaving. There were no spare towels or bed linens—anything and everything that could be fashioned into a weapon was strictly forbidden. Elliot considered it like being in jail but with slightly better decor and nicer guards without weapons.
About a week after his admittance, after he had been settled into a regular room, he was permitted to use the patient phone to call home. The hospital had already notified Kathy that he was there, and Captain Tucker had explained to her what had happened since Elliot was in no condition at that time to do so himself, but this was the first time that Elliot had actually spoken with anyone outside of the hospital.
After the to-be-expected somewhat tearful greeting and inquiries on both sides about health and well-being, Kathy tentatively asked a question.
"Elliot, I have your cell phone, along with the rest of the stuff you had on you when you were admitted. When the hospital called me that afternoon, I came and got your stuff and Captain Tucker was there and he filled me in while you were being admitted. You were so out of it that you probably don't even remember seeing me there. At any rate, Olivia has tried calling you and texting you multiple times. She's even tried calling our home phone and left several voicemails. I haven't answered because I'm not sure what to say. What do you want me to tell her?"
"Tell her nothing. I don't want her to know. Just let my phone battery die so it doesn't keep ringing. Don't answer when she calls the home phone."
Kathy protested, "But Elliot, she's your partner, your friend..." the woman that you love, Kathy said the last bit quietly in her head.
"No, Kathy, damn it. I don't want her or any of them to know. I wont be able to bear it when I go back if they all know," Elliot said firmly.
"Okay, Elliot, if that's what you want. I don't want to argue with you about this of all things. I'll come visit in a few days, bring the kids to see you, and is there anything we can bring you? They gave me a list of permitted items, and I'd be happy to bring anything you're allowed."
"Yeah, Kath, that'd be great," Elliot said as he rubbed his hand down his face in weariness. "Bring me some clothes, some socks, slippers, a blank notebook or journal and a pen or pencil, and some books— in my locker at the precinct I've got several from the seminar at Quantico that I haven't gotten around to reading. Oh, and I need basic toiletries—soap, deodorant, shampoo, toothpaste, shaving cream, stuff like that."
"Sure, Elliot, but how am I supposed to get those books from your locker in your squad room without your co-workers, without Olivia seeing me and asking what's going on? Phone calls I can dodge, but I won't look these people in the eyes and lie to them," Kathy said with both weariness and exasperation in her tone. Elliot caught the undertone of jealousy and resentment when she emphasized Olivia's name. He was tired of dealing with that after so many arguments when he would reassure her that nothing had ever happened between the two of them.
"Contact Captain Tucker at I.A.B. He knows what's going on, of course and will keep it confidential. If he is seen retrieving stuff from my locker, it will just look like he's gathering potential evidence for his investigation."
"Alright, Elliot. I'll see what I can do. The kids are all in the other room. They know that I'm talking to you," she said as she stood in the doorway smiling at them as they looked at her eagerly, wanting to know how their father was and tell him they love him. "Do you want to speak with them now? We can put you on speakerphone."
"No, you know what, Kathy? I'd love to talk to them, but I don't think I'm quite in the place right now to talk to them. Not while I'm just barely out of the padded room. It's bad enough that they know I'm crazy. I'm supposed to be strong, be the protector, be their hero, and right now, I'm none of those things," he said sadly.
"That's bullshit, Elliot, and you know it."
Elliot was taken aback by her words and the venom that has crept into them. Up to that point, she had been practically tiptoeing around him.
Kathy removed herself from the doorway to the den, seeing that the kids were listening intently to her side of the conversation, and she didn't want to upset them anymore. She went to their bedroom and shut the door.
"These are your children, Elliot! They love you. You will always be their hero. Are you telling me that if you had been shot in the line of duty and were in the hospital, that you would be any less their hero? That they would think you're weak? Give our children a little more credit than that.
"You know what, Elliot? You are not the only one hurting right now. Your kids are hurting—do you think it was easy on them those first few days where you drank yourself into a stupor? Do you think it was easy for them that the only times you acknowledged any of us were to yell at us? Eli was actually, legitimately scared of you that night before your 'incident'. He had nightmares that night and the next. You turned into a monster in his dreams.
"After the 'incident', I was able to gather them all together and explain to them that Daddy was sick and that he didn't mean to hurt us, that he still loves us. The older kids, especially Kathleen, understood, but Eli doesn't, not really. He asked if we could bring you come chicken noodle soup to help you feel better. He wanted to know if you needed a band-aid and some cuddles. He wants to talk to you, to give you a hug and a kiss.
"I can tell him that we can't see you right now or give you hugs yet, but how am I supposed to explain to him that his Daddy doesn't want to talk to him? How is that supposed to make him feel like you love him and that you haven't actually turned into the monster in his dreams?
"Damn it, Elliot, I'm not asking you to have a long conversation. I'm not even asking you to talk to them individually. Are you really so wrapped up in yourself and your feelings that you can't consider those of your kids just long enough to say, 'Hi, I love you guys and I'm working hard to get better so I can come home'?"
Elliot just listened, all of Kathy's words, instead of reassuring him, actually reaffirmed his belief that he wasn't worthy of his family; not like this.
"Kathy," he said as he once again scrubbed his hand over his face, his voice weary and broken, "this isn't the same as being shot. Cops' kids always know that getting shot by a bad guy could happen when their dad or mom is at work. They can kinda brace themselves for that phone call, that kind of hospital visit.
"This is not that. I wasn't shot by a bad guy. If anything, I was the bad guy. I did the shooting of a teenage girl. I essentially hulked out and assaulted a fellow officer just for an off-hand comment. It's not an equivalent analogy.
"Is it unfair to them? Absolutely, and I feel that guilt already, on top of everything else I feel. But you, you don't get to serve me a second, steaming portion of guilt. That, too, isn't fair. For once, I need to put myself first— over my senses of duty and responsibility, my love for my kids. If I don't prioritize myself now, at this point in my recovery, I won't be in any shape to be there for them later."
It didn't escape Kathy's notice that he didn't say anything about his love for her. Just some lip service about duty and responsibility. That's when she realized that's what their marriage had become to him; what it probably had been for a very long time. He only came back home because of Eli. It was his duty, his responsibility that brought him back, that kept him there. And, she realized, if she was truly honest with herself, she didn't feel connected to him and their marriage anymore. She wasn't happy, even before the events of the past several weeks. When she processed this, she felt a twinge of the sadness one would expect to feel at such a revelation, but what surprised her was the overwhelming sense of relief she felt. She was brought back to the conversation at hand by Elliot's voice increasing in volume.
"Kathy? Kathy are you still there?"
"Yes, I, um, uh yes, I'm still here, " she stumbled over her words with her revelatory thoughts still running in a corner of her mind.
"Do you understand where I am coming from, now," asked Elliot.
"You know, El," the nickname tasting bittersweet as it fell from her lips, "I do and I don't. I think if it was me in that situation, I'd move heaven and hell to see, to talk to my kids. But, I'm not you. And that's okay. I think...," she trailed off as she gathered her nerve to say the next part.
"I think when I bring your stuff to you that I should leave the kids at home. You and I need to talk, the kind of conversation we can't have over the phone or in front of the children."
"Okay, Kathy. That's probably better for everyone," he said almost in a whisper, feeling that he knew what that conversation would entail.
"Alright, Elliot. Get some rest; keep up the work you're doing with your therapist. I'll pass along your love to the kids and your regrets that you couldn't tell them yourself," Kathy offered as a conciliatory gesture because she knew she had been somewhat unfair by flooding him with all that anger, guilt, and disappointment when he was already struggling.
"Thanks, Kathy. I appreciate that. Take care of yourself and them. I'll see you in a few days." Elliot hung up and went back to his room to weep.
A commotion in the back of the lecture hall snapped Elliot's focus back into the here and now. He shook his head to clear it of his ruminations and cleared his throat to get the students' attention and so he could ask what the problem was.
Before he could open his mouth, however, the problem walked down one of the aisles.
"Professor Stabler! NYPD," Fin said loudly, even though you could hear a pin drop in the room. As he was speaking, Fin and Munch flashed their badges, despite Elliot knowing full well who they were. "We need to speak with you urgently."
Elliot raised an eyebrow at the formality of his long-time former colleagues. But he supposed he deserved it, considering how he left.
"Detectives, can it wait? As you can see, I'm in the middle of a class," Elliot gestured to the students raptly taking in the exchange.
"I'm sorry, Professor. It cannot wait. President Williams has authorized you to dismiss your class and come with us," Munch replied seriously.
At that, Elliot raised both eyebrows. What had happened that he needed to go with two detectives from the Special Victims Unit. Immediately, his thoughts ran to his kids. Had something happened?
"Um, of course," his voice initially shaking before he drew on all his strength to level it out.
"Class is dismissed. Follow your syllabus regarding the discussion group activity and don't forget to submit your papers on the pros and cons of a 'stop and frisk' policy. They're still due and need to be uploaded to Blackboard by midnight tomorrow night."
The class slowly and reluctantly began to pack up, wanting to watch whatever was going to go down.
Elliot, on the other hand, couldn't pack up his stuff quickly enough, shoving papers into his briefcase, and shutting off the computer and overhead projector, all while panicking that something had happened to one of his kids.
"Fin, Munch, tell me," he begged. "Is it Eli? Or one of the girls? What has happened?" Elliot omitted Dickie from his inquiries because he knew that his son was safe at Camp Lejeune, NC, and if something had happened to him, it would be an official with the United States Marine Corps coming to see him, not two detectives from the Manhattan Special Victims unit.
Fin answered him, somewhat gently, mindful of Elliot's obvious distress over his children, but also with a hint of anger at the man who has just left without a word. The man who had abandoned his partner of twelve years. Olivia had always held a special place in Fin's heart and her wounded spirit had hurt him, too.
"It's not the kids, or Kathy. It's Olivia."
A/N: Now, that's what I call a chapter! Sorry (not sorry) about the cliffhanger but this was a natural stopping point for this chapter. Never fear, we will get back to poor Olivia soon!
Now, I've updated everything I have written to this point, so updates will now come a little slower than they have been. I'm setting a personal goal to update at least once every three days. If I get more than that, yay! Also, I apologize for any typos in the first three chapters. I typed them using the touchscreen on my iPad Pro and it wasn't as easy as you might think, hahaha. With this massive chapter, it would've taken me forever to type it up by tapping the screen, so this time, I wised up and grabbed the Magic Keyboard to my iMac and synced it to the iPad and it was so much easier and quicker.
Please review! Reviews fuel the mind, much as 2 AA batteries fuel this keyboard.
-xoxoxo, Kim
