"Law and Order: SVU" belongs to Dick Wolf and Universal Television. No profit is being made from this story.
February 2012
Elliot sat down at a vacant cubicle in the central district U.S. Marshals office and picked up the desk phone. He punched in the number and absently chewed on the top of a pen as he waited.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Baby," he said.
He heard her gasp slightly.
"Elliot!"
The delight in his wife's voice at the unexpected call warmed him all the way to his toes. He could see her pretty smile in his mind's eye as she spoke.
"It's so good to hear from you, Babe," Kathy said. "I was getting a little nervous. I know you said you probably wouldn't be able to call very much, but still...I worry. I can't help it."
"I know, Kath," he said. "I'm sorry. The chief deputy wants all calls I make to be done on a secure office line so that they can't be traced or tapped by anyone. I can't make it in here very often."
He was trying not to sound as exhausted as he felt. It had been a long few weeks, spent looking for their "targets" during the day, because they had seemed to suddenly disappear and no one in the agency could track any of them down, and chasing dead end leads every night. He didn't think he had slept more than six hours total in the last three days.
But Kathy picked up on it immediately. She had learned early on, practically from when he joined the Marines at barely more than a kid, that any anxieties plaguing him always manifested by disturbing his dreams or keeping him too tense to rest.
"You sound tired, El," she said in concern. "Are you able to get any sleep?"
"Not much," he admitted. "But I'll be ok. I won't be out here much longer, it's sounding like. We're really close to getting an arrest."
He paused and she heard a tell-tale crinkling on his end of the line.
"Don't drink too many of those," she said matter-of-factly. "They'll going to end up giving you a heart attack."
Elliot swallowed a gulp of the Redline Xtreme energy drink he was holding and couldn't suppress a grin. She hated when he drank them.
"No promises," he said. "I have to go, Kath. I love you."
"I love you, too," she said. "Be careful."
She said it every time they talked. Neither knew it at the time, but it would be the last time they would speak for over eight years.
Because a little over a month later, when their "targets" decided to leave Los Angeles...they would take Elliot with them.
January 2020
Officer McLaughlin radioed dispatch to advise them of his location and walked briskly into Brookdale University Hospital and Medical Center. He showed his badge to the nurse at the front desk.
"Officer Kevin McLaughlin, 61 precinct," he said. "Can you tell me if you've admitted any 'John Does' that were brought in for a drug overdose? I'm looking for a man maybe in his 50's, dark brown or greying hair, approximately six feet, wearing no shirt or shoes."
The woman peered through tortoise-shell glasses at the computer as she typed in an inquiry.
"There's one with those specifications currently admitted," she replied. She looked at McLaughlin. "You know I can't give you any specifics without a court order, right?"
"Yes," he said, nodding. "I'm just trying to find out who he is. I think we arrested him a few days ago, but he didn't have any ID on him then."
He looked at her hesitantly.
"Can I ask you something?" he asked. "I guess...hypothetically, maybe?"
She raised an eyebrow. He blushed slightly.
"I just-I mean...if someone were to ask me about him, maybe want to know if he's alright," he stammered. "Could I tell them...I mean, what could I-"
The nurse leaned forward slightly.
"Officer," she interrupted softly. She gazed at him. "How long have you been on the job?"
She could see he was young. Maybe a bit older than her own son, but not by much.
He looked surprised at her question. The fact that he even answered was all the proof she needed.
"Two years, Ma'am, " he said.
She nodded.
"I've been here twenty," she said. "I have seen all manner of rude, condescending cops trying to bully information out of doctors and lawyers threatening to sue over illegal access to patients."
She looked at him seriously.
"Now, young man," she went on. "I want you to tell me-hypothetically, maybe-will I have to deal with either of those scenarios tonight?"
It took him a moment to understand.
"No Ma'am," he said, shaking his head.
She looked almost amused and then glanced over her shoulder.
"Now, I can't answer any specific questions since you don't have his information," she said. "But you could make your way down the hall, through the emergency department, and past the last room on the right, and glance inside."
Her eyes flickered.
"Only because you're looking for the south elevator, of course," she added.
McLaughlin looked at her, first in surprise, then in comprehension. He cleared his throat and made sure he spoke loudly enough to be overheard.
"Ok, thank you," he said. "And could you point me toward the south elevator, please, Ma'am? "
The nurse smiled. She spoke louder, too.
"Certainly," she said. "It's down the hall past the emergency department. You can't miss it."
April 2012
Elliot stepped out of the cab and walked up the stairs to the apartment that the marshals had secured for him to use in Long Beach while he worked with them. It was a hell of a lot nicer than the one in Los Angeles that "Jack Donaldson" used.
There was a beautiful view of the ocean from the lobby, but in all honesty, he was itching to just go home. He missed Kathy, his kids, and his normal life more than he thought he would.
It was just getting frustrating. Every time one of the Hernandez brothers contacted "Jack" asking if he wanted to look through their newest online "selections" to see if he was interested in a trade, he would arrange to meet them, but then no one would show up. This had happened three times in the last two months.
The marshals had started to think that they were starting to lose interest and had been talking about possibly bringing in a real, live child for "Jack" to use as bait to catch their attention again.
He really wasn't on board with that idea. He had told Deputy Marshal Woodhouse straight up that he wouldn't do it, job be damned.
Cragen was pissed when Woodhouse told him that. He had called Elliot at the marshals office and told him that if he really did refuse to cooperate, he would fire him. Elliot had retorted back to the captain that he didn't give a rat's ass if he was fired because he was supposed to be retired anyway.
The captain had hung up on him.
Elliot felt guilty and had decided on the cab ride to the apartment that he would call Cragen the next day and apologize. He didn't really want to leave the job unfinished. He was just tired, stressed, and surprisingly lonely.
He trudged to the elevator and leaned tiredly against the wall of the car as it took him up. He was hoping for a few hours of shut-eye before meeting back at the office that night.
He unlocked the door, went inside, and slipped off his shoes. He carefully removed the revolver from the holster on his ankle and set the gun inside the small safe in the hall closet. Then he padded into the bathroom in his socks.
He turned on the light and froze where he stood.
Raul Hernandez was standing in his bathroom, aiming a gun at his head.
"Hello, Detective Stabler," he said lowly. "Stand still and show me your hands."
Swallowing, Elliot slowly held them out away from his body.
Hernandez made a point to walk far enough away so that he couldn't be reached, as if expecting Elliot to make a sudden move to disarm him, keeping his gun aimed.
"Turn around," he ordered.
A sudden jolt of terror shot through Elliot as he thought that Hernandez might be getting ready to shoot him in the back.
He turned slowly and immediately felt the gun press into his spine. Sweat began sliding down his shirt.
"Get on your knees," Hernandez said. "Put your wrists behind your back and cross your ankles."
A second person came in, ripping electrical tape from a large roll. The gun remained in place while Marco Hernandez stepped over to where his brother stood and hog-tied Elliot's wrists and ankles together.
A moment later, something hit Elliot hard on the back of the head. He fell forward, stunned. His vision blurred dizzily and blackened.
Marco Hernandez crouched down and pulled a strip of tape tightly over his mouth, followed by another across his eyes. Raul dragged in a large wheeled suitcase.
They shoved him inside, crumpling his arms and legs painfully until there was enough room to zip it back up, and then rode the elevator down with Raul Hernandez pulling the suitcase casually behind him.
January 2020
Olivia pulled her car up in front of the Stabler house and for a moment, just sat staring up at it. It had been close to ten years since she had last been there.
It had been for Maureen's bridal shower at the end of 2009. It had meant so much to Elliot that she was included. He had told her that he wanted her there as part of his family. How could she have said "no" to that?
During the wedding ceremony, Olivia had surprised even herself by having to hold back tears as she watched Elliot walking his daughter down the aisle. She could see him trying not to cry and it had made her heart ache unexpectedly to see such tender emotion from him.
Maureen looked stunning, the ceremony was beautiful, and afterward, Elliot had been so proud as he introduced Olivia around to the other guests during the reception. He had been positively beaming.
It had brought the biggest smile to her face seeing how much he resembled the younger, more animated version of himself that she had missed over the years. She had even gotten him to agree to dance with her once the bride and groom had left.
She remembered thinking how much she wished she could freeze him exactly how he had been in that moment.
Olivia slipped her sunglasses up onto her head and stepped out of the car. She went up to the porch and rang the doorbell. There was no answer.
She rang the bell again, waited, and then knocked when no one came to the door.
"Can I help you?"
A male voice came unexpectedly from behind her. She turned around and was shocked when she saw who was getting out of a pickup truck that had appeared in the driveway.
"Dick?" she said, remembering the name he preferred.
She descended the porch steps and walked over to him.
Elliot's oldest son looked at her suspiciously. He appeared more muscular, now a man instead of the teenager she remembered. With his "high-and-tight" haircut, he was the spitting image of his father. He resembled Elliot so much that she almost gaped at him.
He recognized her once she got closer and looked surprised himself.
"Olivia?"
"God, look at you," she said, unable to help it. "I hardly recognized you. You could pass for your dad, almost."
Dick Stabler nodded, but didn't smile.
"I'm actually looking for him," she went on. "Is he here?"
The young man gave her a strange look. Instead of answering, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
"You mind if I smoke?" he asked, sticking one into his mouth.
Olivia was surprised, but nonetheless indicated that she didn't. He took a deep drag before expelling it back out. Then he looked at her a bit sheepishly.
"I picked it up after boot camp," he explained. "Mom hates it. I always try to do it when she's not around." He furrowed his brow. "Why are you looking for my dad? I thought you went with him."
She looked at him, confused.
"Went with him where?" she asked.
"The undercover job," Dick answered. "My mom went crazy when Captain Cragen told us how long he would be gone after he had already left. I'm assuming he's back now, since you're here."
Olivia was so shocked by his words that she couldn't speak. She finally shook her head.
"I haven't seen Elliot in eight years," she said.
Dick looked at her sadly.
"Me, either," he replied
Her phone rang. Dick puffed and blew smoke in the opposite direction while she answered it. It was Fin, calling from the precinct.
"Rollins just called and said there's a cop from Brooklyn looking for you," he said. "He says it's urgent that he talk to you. He's there right now and apparently won't take no for an answer. You want me to handle it?"
She exhaled. "No," she said, rubbing her brow anxiously. "I'm on my way back now."
She looked at Dick after she hung up.
"When will your mom be back?" she asked. " I think I should talk to her."
He considered.
"She picks up Eliza and Eli up from the YMCA on her way home from work," he said. "So probably in about an hour or so."
Olivia looked at him. "Eliza?"
"Maureen's daughter," he explained. "Mom took temporary custody of her after Maureen died. Mike isn't handling things very well."
It felt like her heart skipped a beat. He correctly interpreted her expression and looked at her ruefully.
"I'm guessing you didn't know about that either," he said. "All three of my sisters died last year. The police think they were murdered." His face turned stony. "They also said it might have had something to do with my dad's undercover job. No one ever found out."
"Holy shit," Olivia said, unable to help herself. It was a lot to process. She didn't what to say. "I'm sorry, Dick."
The young man nodded slightly. He ground the cigarette butt under his shoe.
"I'll tell Mom you need to talk to her," he said. "I try to come by a few times a week to make sure she's doing alright."
She took the opportunity to gaze fully at the tall young man whom she had first met two decades earlier as a mischievous, grinning little boy.
"And you?" she asked. "Are you doing alright, Dickie?"
She intentionally used his childhood nickname, reminding him that she had practically watched him grow up and still cared for him.
Dick gave her a sad half-smile as he got back into his truck.
"No," he said honestly. "None of us are."
June 2019
Elliot was lunging upright, blood dripping down from cuts on his wrists as he pulled against the zip ties. He was crying and shouting around the tape so hard that it hurt his throat.
It could barely be heard and just sounded like moaning.
In front of him, Raul Hernandez had lined his daughters up. As Elliot watched, he stood behind them and pulled back the hammer on the gun he held.
Kathleen and Elizabeth had been chained up with the children for two days, unwitting spectators to their father being consistantly abused. Their captors never touched them. The horror at seeing how they treated him was worse than anything they could have physically been subjected to.
The Hernandez brothers were wagering that they could force him to do literally anything if they threatened his daughters.
And they were right.
Elliot was horrified, ashamed, and humiliated by what his girls saw. But he held on as hard as he could, trying to be strong for them.
He longed to hold them, to touch them, even just speak to them...but he couldn't. It felt like he was dying inside more with each passing day.
And then it all came to a horrific head. When Raul Hernandez came in again two days later, he had brought Maureen with him, too.
His oldest daughter was pale and surely terrified. But she stood tall, refusing to let the man hold her bound arms, and looked Elliot right in the eyes. Her face started to shake with tears at the sight of him.
Hernandez forced the other two girls up and made them stand beside Maureen. Elliot was struggling wildly, jerking his hands hard enough to shake the steel heater that he was tethered to.
"No one crosses us and lives," Raul Hernandez growled. "No one."
Then he shot Kathleen in the back of the head. Blood splattered the wall as she fell straight down.
Elliot yelled in agony.
Elizabeth was so terrified that she urinated on herself. She looked at her father with wide eyes, frozen in fear, and then Hernandez executed her. She collapsed on top of Kathleen.
Maureen was shaking, tears running down her face. But incredibly, she looked at her father and smiled brightly as Hernandez stepped up behind her.
"You're a Grandpa, Daddy," she choked out. "Mike and I had a baby girl two weeks ago. Her name is Eliza."
Elliot sobbed so hard that he started to retch. His muffled pleas were ignored.
Maureen closed her eyes.
"I love you-" she whispered.
Hernandez aimed, fired, and killed her before she finished speaking.
Elliot screamed so wildly that a blood vessel burst in his eye.
Raul Hernandez stepped over their bodies as the smoke from the gun barrel lingered in the air. He got down at eye level with Elliot as he yelled and sobbed uncontrollably.
"This is only the beginning," Hernandez said coldly. "You're going to watch us kill your wife, your sons...even your old partner, Detective Benson. We'll get every one of them before we kill you. You can bet on that."
He left, leaving Elliot to his grief and anguish.
No one moved the bodies. Unless he closed his eyes, he had to look at them every minute he remained there.
January 2020
It felt surreal to him almost. But after Olivia left, Fin, feeling guilty and not sure how to make it right, decided to go with his gut and hit the streets in search of homeless encampments. He took along the most recent photo of Elliot he could find.
Part of him was hoping he would find the man. The other part was wondering just what the hell he could possibly say to Elliot if he actually did.
He approached a small "tent city" along 3rd Avenue and 25th Street.
"Hey," he said, pulling back the closest tarp. He held out the photo. "Anyone seen this guy around here?"
The person inside appeared either asleep or unconscious. He moved on to the next one.
Two women inside jumped at the sight of him. He showed them his badge.
"I'm just looking for this guy," he said. " You ladies ever see him around here before?"
He went around for almost two hours until unexpectedly finding a lead at the 53rd Street Men's Shelter.
The woman in the front office looked curiously at the photo.
"You know," she said. "There was a guy who only stayed one night a few months ago. Could have been him. I remember because usually, men who come here stay longer or at least come back. I don't think that guy ever did."
She leaned out the door and spoke to a man walking past, carrying a stack of blankets.
"Hey, Jeff," she said. " Come here a minute."
Jeff set the blankets down on a table and came over. She showed him the photo.
"Oh, yeah," he said, when his coworker reminded him. "I think that was the 'screamer guy,' wasn't it?"
Fin raised a brow slightly. "'Screamer guy?'"
Jeff took the photo and nodded, staring at it.
"There was one guy that almost got a fight started in the middle of the night, " he said. "He was screaming in his sleep and the other men staying here weren't happy about it. "
He shrugged and handed Fin the photo back.
"Might've been him," he said. "I never saw him before then and I know pretty much everyone here. He didn't come back after that. "
Officer McLaughlin waited nervously outside the 16 precinct for Captain Olivia Benson to arrive. He had told dispatch that he was taking lunch nearby so that they would know where he was and hoped he wouldn't get in trouble. He had only been able to stay a minute at the hospital.
Thirty minutes passed. He was about to leave when a woman came out of the elevator.
She looked right at him suspiciously and he had a feeling it was who he was waiting for. He stood up.
"Captain Benson?" he asked.
"My sergeant said someone was insisting to see me and wouldn't take no for an answer," she said. She sounded annoyed and he flushed. "Was that you?"
"Yes, Ma'am," he replied.
"Well, what's so important then?" she said, raising her eyebrow.
Instead of answering, McLaughlin took a photo out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was one taken from the man he arrested- the one with her in it.
The color drained from her face when she looked at it.
"Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice slightly unsteady.
"From a guy I arrested a few days ago," he replied. "We need to talk, Captain. There's some things I think you should hear."
September 2019
U.S. Marshal Evan Fogerty peered into the hospital room at the man laying in the bed.
He was hooked up to multiple IV's. His face was bruised and puffy, his lip was busted, and a nurse was wrapping his wrist in an ACE bandage.
Deputy Director U.S. Marshal Allan Denny came out of the room across the hall and came to stand next to him.
"He say anything yet?" Denny asked.
Fogerty shook his head.
"He couldn't even tell me his name," he said. "When I asked, he looked like he couldn't remember it. With the amount of drugs in him, I'm not really surprised."
He looked disturbed. "The doctor said his tox screen showed at least six different kinds of mind-altering substances in his system, maybe more."
He looked at the deputy director.
"How about any of the kids?" he asked. "Do they know who he is?"
"Most of them aren't saying anything at all," Denny said. "Only one girl seemed to know anything about him. She said he was already there when she came and never spoke because his mouth was always taped shut."
The deputy director looked at the marshal grimly.
"Apparently, she told one of the marshals at the scene that she thinks his name is 'Daddy' because she heard a woman calling him that," he went on. "She also thinks she heard the woman being shot and killed right after that but she couldn't see anyone. "
Evan blew out an audible breath.
"You know," he said quietly. "I thought I would be celebrating the day we finally nailed those Hernandez fuckers. But...Jesus. It doesn't really sink in until it stares you in the face, does it? How many kids are still out there that we don't even know about?"
Deputy Director Denny had on his trademark pensive expression as he gazed at the man in the bed.
"One thing I'd sure like to know," he said, "is how this guy ended up the only adult victim inside a sex trading ring exclusively using kids for the last twelve years."
He shook his head. "Poor bastard."
He shrugged and then half-turned away.
"The FBI is going to take it from here," he said. "A couple agents from New Haven are already on the way."
He quirked his lip slightly, the closest thing to a smile that the marshals could expect from their boss.
"I'll wait for them," Denny went on. "Go home. Janine hasn't seen your ugly mug in too long."
Evan gave a slight smirk and tipped his fingers in a wave of acknowledgement as the deputy director walked away.
He stood where he was for a minute longer, staring at the unknown man in the room. He shook his head regretfully.
"Poor bastard," he murmured in agreement.
He turned in the opposite direction and left.
October 2019
Shaken from his encounter with his wife, Elliot wasn't sure where to go next. He had the VISA prepaid card in his pocket, but didn't want to get a taxi.
He ended up back on the bus. Thankfully, that time it didn't make many stops, so he was left pretty much alone. When he passed the lower east side of Manhattan, he got off on auto-pilot, not even thinking about it.
He wasn't sure how he was operating at that point. He felt like he was about to collapse.
He just wanted to be with his family. There was still one more chance.
Much like his unexplained ability to recall his address, hers was also easy to remember at that moment. He finally made it to her building and pressed the fifth button.
"Hello?"
Relief at hearing her answer the bell made him so lightheaded that he had to lean against the building.
"Liv," he said gratefully. "Liv, it's...it's me."
There was a long pause.
"Who is this?" the female voice asked, sounding confused.
He furrowed his brow uncertainly.
"It's me," he repeated. He couldn't believe she didn't recognize his voice. "Elliot. "
Another pause.
"I...think you have the wrong apartment," the woman finally said.
The intercom went silent.
His heart sank to his feet.
January 2020
Olivia unlocked her office and gestured him inside.
"Have a seat, Officer...?"
"Kevin McLaughlin," he supplied. He sat down in front of the desk. She went behind it, sitting down uneasily. "I'm awfully sorry to take up your time, Captain Benson. I tried leaving you a few messages."
Startled, Olivia looked at her desk phone and saw it blinking with unheard messages. She had set it to "Do Not Disturb" before leaving on New Year's Eve and then had forgotten.
She looked at Officer McLaughlin.
"Tell me how you got this," she said seriously.
"We got a call about three days ago about a trespasser seen around a church in Brooklyn," he began. " We found him sleeping there. My sergeant was kind of...unnecessarily cruel, to tell the truth."
"What does that mean?" Olivia cut in immediately.
He didn't like the look on her face just then. She suddenly looked...aggressive.
"Kicked him around, shone a light in his face," he said uncomfortably. "I think it spooked him. He kicked my sergeant's feet out from under him and ran."
"Then what?" she pressed.
"My sergeant tackled him and cuffed him," he replied. "He told me to run him in for assaulting an officer."
"So you're saying he's in jail right now?" Olivia asked.
He shook his head.
"No," he said. "I let him go the next morning, against my sergeant's advice. I just couldn't bear to keep him there. He was a wreck, Captain."
She seemed disturbed to hear that.
"How so?" she asked.
McLaughlin grimaced slightly.
"When we arrested him, he seemed afraid of being cuffed. He was more upset than I've ever seen anyone act before, " he recalled. "In the lockup, he told us he used to be a cop and asked us to call you or his captain. He said someone kidnapped him and killed his daughters."
Olivia lost her breath.
"Do you know where he went after you released him?" she managed to say.
" No," McLaughlin said. "But I know where he is now, Captain Benson. He's at Brookdale University Hospital and Medical Center in Brooklyn. He overdosed last night."
Her stomach lurched at his words.
"Ok, Melissa," Detective Tamin said. She set a sheet of paper with eight photos on it in front of the young girl. "Can you tell me if you recognize any of these faces?"
Their victim had been in the care of the Department of Child and Family Services since finishing the medical exam three days earlier. They were still trying to locate her family but having no success.
Rollins and Tamin had asked a social worker to bring her back to the precinct to see if she possibly could identify the person whose DNA had been found on her shirt. They had the man's picture included in the photo array.
Melissa studied each one. Her eyes zeroed in on the third one and she pointed to it.
It was the photo of the cop.
"I recognize him," she said. "Except he has a beard now."
The detectives glanced at each other. The medical exam had shown evidence of sexual abuse.
"Did he hurt you?" Rollins asked gently. "Is that how you recognize him?"
Melissa shook her head. They were surprised by her words.
"No," she said. "He was on the bed next to mine in the basement. "
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
It was the very first thing that came into Elliot's mind when he opened his eyes and saw where he was.
He was still alive.
After all that...he was still alive. It was like a cosmic, cruel joke.
Right then, he immediately began to feel the after effects of what he had done. His throat was on fire, his stomach ached, and it felt like he had bruised his entire backside.
He began coughing and couldn't stop. A nurse walked into the room.
"Your throat is going to be irritated for a while," she said, pouring him a cup of water. He whooped in a breath, drinking it in one long gulp. "We had to intubate you before we could pump your stomach."
She looked at him with a raised eyebrow as he caught his breath.
"You're lucky to be alive," she said bluntly. "You had enough meth in you to kill anyone else your size. The paramedics also said you would have taken a dive off the Brooklyn bridge if you had collapsed forward instead of backward."
Elliot's gaze was averted.
A male doctor walked in then.
"Hello," he said pleasantly. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes. I'm Doctor Coleman, one of the resident psychologists. "
He didn't reply. The doctor sat down in a chair near the bed as the nurse left.
"There's going to be a report from the paramedics and police," Dr. Coleman said, his expression and words non-confrontational. "But I'd rather just ask you, if that's alright." He gazed at Elliot kindly. "Did you purposely overdose last night?"
Elliot looked at the blanket covering him without saying anything. Past the point of caring, he shrugged without meeting the man's eyes.
"Yeah," he finally said huskily.
"Why would you want to do that?" the doctor went on carefully.
He swallowed hard, eyes burning.
"What does it matter?" he said. His voice was raspy. "No one would believe me, anyway."
A female voice came softly from the doorway just then.
"I would."
Elliot's heart skipped and his eyes widened.
Olivia stood still in the doorway, unable to believe her eyes.
The person sitting up in the hospital bed looked nothing like she remembered. He was thinner than she had ever seen him, his hair had greyed considerably, and an unkempt beard covered most of his face.
Swallowing, she walked further inside. He wouldn't look at her as she crossed in front of the bed, his face tipped resolutely down.
"Can you give us a minute?" she asked the doctor quietly.
Dr. Coleman considered.
"Sure," he said finally. "I'll just wait outside."
She nodded dismissively, not even really hearing him.
His hands were clenching the blanket hard enough for his fingertips to turn white as she came up beside him. She stared at the side of his head, watching his back shuddering as he breathed.
There was so much she wanted to say, to ask, hell...to scream after all this time. She was still so hurt, confused, and angry, even after eight years and what seemed like an entire new life.
Olivia blew out a breath.
"Elliot," she finally said, nervously.
A tense silence hung in the air.
He braced himself, unable to bear even looking at her. He missed her so much. But he knew that seeing her look at him with the disgust he feared would be too much, so he didn't dare try to glance up.
Then he jumped in surprise, feeling her gently grip his hand.
His lips began to quiver as he tried to hold back the tears. That's when she reached out, placed her fingers softly under his chin, and tipped his face up to make him look at her.
She swallowed hard, finally seeing his eyes, and then smiled.
"Hi," she whispered.
A sob ripped through him and then he broke. He slumped forward, weeping uncontrollably in anguish.
Olivia blinked tearfully and sat down quickly on the bed.
She leaned forward, wrapping Elliot in a tight embrace, and let the last eight years of pain make its way silently down her face as she held him.