"Law and Order: SVU" belongs to Dick Wolf and Universal Television. No profit is being made from this story.
This is so hard to wrap up! Apologies.
I promise -this time, there really IS just one last chapter left after this one.
Coming into the bedroom later that night and seeing Elliot taking up the space in the bed that had been empty for so long made Kathy's heart swell.
She put on her pajamas quietly, but instead of going over to the other side of the bed, she just had to stand and stare at him. She couldn't help it.
Emotion rushed up so quickly and unexpectedly that she almost choked on it. She took steadying, silent breaths as she gazed at him.
He was sleeping hard by the look of it, his exhales almost snorts, and she remembered how he had used to only make those kinds of sounds in his sleep when he was overly exhausted.
His face had aged severely. She could see it even in his sleep. There were lines and signs of weathering that hadn't been there before. She had a sinking, frightened feeling that it might not have been caused solely by getting older.
Crawling in next to him was both nerve-wracking and amazing. She really had missed him, even when she had tried her hardest not to. She cuddled up close to him and began letting her eyes close, feeling more secure than she had in years.
He had been dead to the world. But the moment she laid her head on his chest, Elliot jumped awake as if he had been electrocuted. She froze, feeling his heart hammering underneath her ear.
She leaned back and looked into his face as best she could in the dark. His breathing was rapid and strangled, sounding close to hyperventilating, and it scared her.
She laid her hand on his cheek tenderly and was startled when he cried out as if she had frightened him.
"Elliot?" she asked in soft uncertainty.
She heard an unfamiliar sound and her heart sank in horror when she understood what it was.
He was crying.
No, she realized. Worse than crying.
Weeping.
Kathy's mouth dried up. She tried to speak and couldn't.
"Please," he managed to whisper. "Don't touch me. I can 't-" His voice broke miserably. "Just please don't."
She blinked back tears.
"Ok," she said hoarsely.
She didn't know what else to say. She moved over, sliding across the bed to the other pillow and trying unsuccessfully to keep tears in.
"I'm sorry," she heard him whisper in anguish.
Kathy wiped some of the wetness from her cheeks, swallowing hard.
"It's alright," she whispered sadly in reply.
She lay silently in the dark, trying not to make noise while the sound of his agony broke her heart.
After a few moments, she suddenly felt his hand, reaching slowly over on top of hers from the other side. His fingers were trembling.
She didn't understand what had happened, why he seemed so afraid. But even she recognized the intense effort he was putting forth by simply allowing her to take his hand.
She turned her hand over, gripped his fingers gently, and squeezed.
Olivia had a difficult time sleeping that night. When her phone rang early the next morning, the sun was barely rising and it felt like she hadn't rested at all.
"Sorry to wake you," Murphy said as soon as she answered.
She sat up tiredly.
"You didn't," she replied groggily. She knew there had to be a reason he was calling at that hour. "What's going on?"
"Wilkerson wants me down at the correctional center to talk to Woodhouse before the bail hearing today," he said.
He paused. He knew that he didn't even need to continue.
"What time do you take your son to school?" he asked. "If it's early, I can come pick you up."
Kathy woke before dawn. She had to work later in the morning, but liked to start her day with a cup of coffee and bit of quiet before the bustle of getting Eliza and Eli off to daycare and school.
She was surprised when she rolled over and saw the empty place beside her. The bathroom was empty and Elliot wasn't anywhere upstairs that she saw as she headed down.
As she stepped off of the last stair to cross through the living room, she was startled when she heard a choking noise from the kitchen. She hurried over and flipped on the light switch fast.
Elliot was sitting at the kitchen table, unaware of her presence, inhaling the contents of a Chinese food container in a frenzy. It almost looked like he was racing to get each bite in faster than the last and she was horrified when he gagged for a brief second on a mouthful.
He froze when the light came on, dropping the spoon and looking at her guiltily.
"Sorry," he said in a rush. He stood up fast. "I'll replace everything, Kath. I swear." He quickly began trying to take everything off of the table, sounding panicked. "I didn't mean to eat it all."
She swallowed tearfully. He was standing there staring at her with that look on his face, the same awful one she had seen the day before, like he was preparing for her to scold him or worse. She wanted to understand, to make him not look that way anymore, but didn't know how.
The sound of Eliza crying from upstairs caught her attention. Kathy moved to the refrigerator and grabbed the jug of milk.
"El, it's fine," she said finally, reaching for a bottle. "Eat whatever you want. Don't worry about it." She prepared Eliza's milk and gestured. "I'll be right back."
She trailed a hand over his shoulder as she passed by him to go back upstairs. He stood in the empty kitchen and blinked back tears as he slowly began putting what was left of the food back into the refrigerator.
Murphy offered to drop Noah off on their way to the Metropolitan Correctional Center. Once they had pulled away and left the school, Olivia took out the "Operation Rubicon" file that she had brought with her.
Murphy glanced at her and then back at the road.
"You have questions," he said facetiously.
She looked at him, not amused.
"Don't patronize me, Murphy," she said. Olivia tapped the file to emphasize her point. "This can't be all of it."
"I told you," he replied, eyes straight ahead. "It's everything I have."
"There isn't a single arrest report in here," she said. He didn't look at her. "Emails indicating drug distribution, agent testimony about finding victims...for God's sake, there are rape kits that were done four months ago. Why have there been no arrests? There hasn't even been a warrant issued."
She looked incredulous. Murphy looked at her, trying to figure out if she was actually being serious, and then shook his head when he realized she was.
"Is it your first day on the job, Olivia?" he asked. "Come on. You can't really think the amount of drugs and money involved in this operation stopped when there was a rescue, can you?"
She looked at him silently, every fiber of her being not wanting to believe that there were fellow officers who could be part of something so horrible. Murphy twisted the knife further, seeing her thoughts on her face.
"Why don't you talk to the former chief of detectives about why no arrests have been made?" he asked. His voice became angrier with each sentence. "Or the former FBI deputy director? Or any one of the dozens of people who worked on 'Operation Rubicon' and came into contact with Raul Hernandez over the years?"
His hands had clenched around the steering wheel and he didn't even know it.
"The whole thing is a cluster fuck, if you don't mind me saying," he said. "What happened to Elliot should have never even been possible. My squad uncovered so much evidence of corruption inside 'Operation Rubicon' that it should have been shut down years before he was even considered. No one wanted to look at it. Someone high up has been doing everything possible to keep what's been going on tightly sealed since the very beginning."
His expression was surprisingly transparent when he looked over at her.
"I have a bad feeling that the only reason victims were found is because someone got careless," he said grimly. "I think Woodhouse knows exactly who else is involved and he's going to use it to his advantage."
Olivia didn't reply. Unfortunately, she knew he was probably right.
Once they arrived at the correctional center, Murphy turned off the car and faced her.
"I have my marching orders, Captain," he said, deliberately using her title to make his point. "I don't have to remind you that you technically aren't supposed to be here, do I? Keep your cool and let me get what I need, no matter what he says about Elliot, alright?"
She looked at him, her exasperation evident, and began walking ahead toward the building without replying. Murphy followed her, already going over different ways to hopefully keep the discussion on track once Woodhouse figured out who she was.
For all of her strengths, Murphy had come to realize since meeting Elliot Stabler that her former partner seemed to be an incredible weakness for her. She didn't even seem to realize it.
And if he could easily see it, he had no doubt that Brent Woodhouse would, too.
Elliot crept quietly past Eliza's room, hoping Kathy wouldn't see or hear him as he went to the master bedroom.
He was exhausted. He hadn't gone back to sleep after being woken by his wife the night before. He'd tried to, he genuinely had, but feeling her weight on him had sent him into instinctual, blinding panic. He had felt horrible about it, because he knew she hadn't meant to cause it, but he hadn't been able to stop it once it began and he had been too ashamed to tell her.
It had taken all of his self-control to stay in the bed next to her until he was sure she was asleep. Then he had fled downstairs, where the reminder of how many doors and windows were around him sent him back into an abyss of terror.
Even though his mind tried to tell him that he was safe, his reflexes kept him tense and he ended up pacing the downstairs until almost dawn, anxiously watching the entry points.
At his worst moment of fear, Elliot wanted Olivia. He wished he could call her, just hear her voice. He knew she would be able to talk him down from the panic, but he was afraid to be a burden on her after all she had already done for him.
As he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, he was also uncomfortably reminded that he had a hell of a stomachache, too, and it was of his own doing.
For years, he'd been subjected to near-starvation at the whims of his captors, who sometimes withheld nourishment for weeks at a time just because they could, and as a result any feeling of hunger he felt terrified him. It was only made worse being out on the streets, when he sometimes had to physically fight to keep whatever morsel he found to himself. Being back home, finding himself with access to food at anytime, was jarring and he didn't know how to handle it.
He was afraid to eat around people, but once he had gotten to the kitchen in the cloak of darkness that morning, he hadn't been able to control himself. He had kept eating everything he could get his hands on, even after he was too full, and his body was definitely regretting that decision. He was having difficulty standing up straight and hoped he wouldn't end up vomiting it all back up.
He intended to have a shower. But then he looked over at the tub and saw child's toys scattered there beside bottles of baby soap and shampoo. Memories of small voices and pictures from the past invaded his head and he suddenly couldn't move.
Four-year old Maureen giggled shrilly as he piled shampoo bubbles onto her head.
"Do more, Daddy, do more!" she cried.
He grinned at her as he obediently grabbed another handful, trying to avoid splashing it on his patrol uniform, and dabbed it onto her fine hair.
Beside her, sitting up in a baby seat, one-year old Kathleen babbled and splashed with a gummy smile. He smiled tenderly at his youngest daughter and very gently placed some bubbles on her little chest.
"And here comes some for my Katie-girl," he said warmly.
He closed his eyes and savagely gripped his ears, trying to stop the sounds in his head, but they just kept coming.
"Swing me higher, Daddy!" Elizabeth yelled with delight as he stood pushing both of the twins at the same time.
He hugged Kathleen tight, trying not to wrinkle her graduation gown.
"I'm so proud of you, Kat," he said.
She looked radiant when she smiled, so excited to have finished her degree that it was contagious.
Maureen looked at him with tear-filled eyes, her face pale as Raul Hernandez cocked the gun pointed at her head.
"I love you-" she whispered.
The gunshot exploded before she finished.
His own anguished yell brought him back to the present. He opened his eyes and saw his reflection staring back at him.
His eyes traveled across his thin frame. It made him look so weak.
That s what you are now. Weak and pathetic.
His gaze continued of its own volition, down to the part of himself that made him so ashamed that he hadn't taken off his sweatshirt once in three months out on the street.
The part that made him constantly sleep with his arms crossed over himself to make sure it could never be visible to anyone.
The part that could never be ignored, never be erased, never be gone from him as long as he continued to live.
He swallowed as hard as he could, ghosting his fingers over the large initials cut into his stomach, and his vision became blinded with tears.
With a scream of soul-reaching rage, pain, and helplessness, Elliot swept his hand across the bathroom sink. Bottles, tubes, and the soap dispenser flew to the floor, where they smashed and broke. He gripped the sink, shaking it back and forth so hard that the mirror shook, and cried out in anger and heartache until he was out of breath.
Christ, oh, Christ.
He could feel his skin crawling and his throat began closing in a dreadfully familiar way.
He was starting to crave drugs.
He dug his fingernails into his arms as hard as he could and closed his eyes tearfully. He desperately tried to think of something to distract himself.
He thought about the phone number that Declan Murphy had given him. For a moment, he extremely tempted to get it, but he quickly talked himself out of it. He stumbled out of the bathroom, trying to breathe.
He was going to give in. He just knew it. He was going to ruin every bit of his recovery if he didn't find something to calm him down in the next thirty seconds.
He looked around the room in a panic and then his eyes caught sight of a pair of women's athletic shoes peeking out from under the bed.
An idea made his eyebrows jump.
He immediately turned toward the closet and looked hesitantly inside. It had been reorganized in his absence, full of Kathy's things in every space, and he almost gave up in despair as he looked through her shoes. He was foolish to think she would have kept them-
Then he nearly gasped when he pushed aside another pair of shoes near the back of the closet.
There sat his running shoes.
He pulled them out, shut the closet, and then eyed the dresser hopefully. He approached the fourth drawer, but felt so abruptly nervous that he couldn't touch it at first.
He remembered how angry she had been the first day that he had been back in New York again, how she had screamed that she wished he was dead.
Seeing that she had gotten rid of every reminder of him from her life might kill him.
He swallowed, took a breath to brace himself, and opened the drawer that had always been full of his clothes.
It still was.
Nothing had been touched. Everything was still inside, neatly folded and looking undisturbed.
He took out a pair of jogging pants and pulled them on quickly. They no longer fit, so baggy that they fell down his waist, and he tied them into a messy knot, not caring. He pulled a shirt on, ansty to get his shoes on.
He was feeling something that he hadn't in what felt like a lifetime. It was making his adrenaline pump and his heart race, but in a good way for a change.
It was excitement.
The guard who escorted them through the cell block didn't make small talk as he took them past several empty cells. It was easy to see Brent Woodhouse in the last one, but the guard banged obnoxiously against the bars as they approached anyway.
The marshal turned from where he was leaning against the wall inside when he heard them approaching.
"Visitors," the guard said unnecessarily to Woodhouse.
He glanced at Murphy, who had stopped closest to the cell door. "I'll have to handcuff him if you want to go in."
The lieutenant just waved a hand.
"I don't think we'll have any problems," he said.
Olivia was staring at the man inside the cell, slightly behind Murphy, and said nothing. Woodhouse appeared not to pay her attention.
He was looking at Murphy snidely.
"What the hell do you want?" he asked.
The lieutenant turned to the guard as if Woodhouse hadn't spoken.
"We just need a few minutes," he said, nodding.
"You got ten," the guard said brusquely. "Bailiff is coming down to take him to the court room."
"That will be fine," Murphy said easily. He waited for the guard to walk back out before speaking again. "Need to ask you some questions, Woodhouse."
Brent Woodhouse scoffed
"Go fuck yourself," he said crassly, glaring at Murphy. "Just wait until after the hearing. You're going to regret that little stunt you pulled at the airport, asshole."
"Yeah, I'm sure," Murphy said dismissively. "Cut the bullshit, we're on a time crunch here. You need to tell me who else is working 'Operation Rubicon."
'I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Woodhouse said with a shrug. "You're in for a rude awakening once I make bail. Falsely accusing a federal agent is going to be your career suicide."
His smug voice was making Olivia's blood boil. It was extremely hard for her to stand back and let Murphy take the lead.
Every time Woodhouse spoke, she was seeing and hearing Elliot in her memory.
His scared expression as he sat beside her in her car for the first time in ten years, shocking her into speechlessness when he was unable to keep tears from leaking out, too afraid to say a word to her about how he had ended up out on the street.
His terrified screams that first night he had slept in her apartment, the most gut-wrenching thing she thought she'd ever heard, and how she'd had to physically hold him up once he awoke because of how hard he was sobbing.
His trembling hands in hers as she helped him to lift a bottle of Gatorade to his lips, his nerves acting uncontrollably as he struggled through drug withdrawal.
His anguished admission that he had been repeatedly assaulted and the look of shame that had torn her soul to shreds.
She was standing inches away from the man who had taken her best friend from her, the most important person in her world, and destroyed him. Every part of what made Elliot the amazing man that she had known had been ruthlessly broken.
By this man.
On purpose.
Just thinking about it made her fists clench. If it were up to her, Brent Woodhouse wouldn't get a trial or even a cell.
He would get a bullet.
"Are you trying to get a maximum sentence?" Murphy was saying. "Come on. You know where this is headed. You're about to take the brunt of this if you don't give up anyone else."
"Keep dreaming," Woodhouse said. He quirked an eyebrow at Murphy. "The only place this is headed is a public apology and a demotion for you, and that's just to start. Like I said...you don't know who you're messing with."
Olivia couldn't take it any longer. She stepped up closer and stood beside Murphy.
"You don't either," she said coldly.
The marshal looked at her, seeming uninterested in her presence.
Then he narrowed his eyes.
Murphy saw his expression and knew at once. He inwardly cringed.
Here we go, he thought.
A grin spread over the marshal's face. Olivia didn't move, continuing to stare coldly at him.
"Detective Benson?" he asked, sounding surprised.
He suddenly began to laugh. He laughed so hard that he almost doubled over.
Murphy looked at him with disdain and then at Olivia. She didn't return his glance. He noticed her fists were balled as the man was cackling.
"Sorry," Woodhouse gasped, calming down. "Jesus wept. Look at you!" He had tears of mirth in his eyes as he took a breath. "I can't believe it took me so long to recognize you. I've seen your picture enough times."
She looked like she wanted to spit on him.
"Well, since we're on the subject," Murphy asked, "how did you get a picture of Captain Benson, Woodhouse?"
The marshal rolled his eyes at the other man.
"Now who's bullshitting?" he said. "You obviously already know the answer to that. Why else would she be here?"
He looked back at Olivia with a smirk.
"So now you're the captain," he went on wryly. "And you want to try to pin some trumped up shit on me because of Stabler's assignment. Classic."
In almost a millisecond, Olivia was surging forward, gripping the bars between them and nearly touching his nose with hers.
"You son of a bitch," she growled. "You're lucky that's all I'm going to do to you. You're going to pay for what you did to him. I'm going to personally to see to it."
Woodhouse wagged his eyebrows.
"You don't know anything," he asked smugly. "You expect me to believe he told you? The guy who actually cried every time I stepped foot near him?"
His eyes twinkled at the hateful look she was giving him.
"It only took six days," he went on. "You believe that? He was like Pavlov's fucking dog, I swear. One sight of me and he was a blubbering bitch. Every time."
The expression on Olivia's face had Murphy fearing for her self-control.
"Captain," he said, trying to divert her. "You need some air? Maybe take a walk for a minute?"
She was sneering, her lip starting to curl, and didn't realize it.
"No," she said curtly.
Murphy bit back a frustrated sigh. He turned his focus back to Woodhouse.
"You realize everything you're saying right now is going to be documented for our case," he said. "You're only making things worse on yourself, you know that, right?" He raised his eyebrows. "Come on. Just tell us who else is involved. You're already in shit anyway."
The marshal started looking angry as he looked from Olivia to Murphy.
"Jesus, dude," he said. "Do you really not get it?"
Seeing the lieutenant's steely look seemed to amuse him. His voice became less biting.
"It doesn't matter what I say. I could tell you I killed the God damned queen of England right now and it wouldn't make a difference."
He grinned at Olivia, seeming to want to talk more to her.
"You...can't touch me," he said. "There are people out there, with pockets deeper than either of your pathetic salaries could touch, just waiting for the signal to pick up a phone and make this go away. All it will take is calling the right judge. Or the right bailiff. Hell, the right cop. You know how many of them are out there right this minute? What I can give them surpasses anything you could ever do to them."
He waggled his eyebrows.
"You think I'm going anywhere except right out of the courtroom doors in a few minutes?" he went on with a smug smile. "Whatever helps you guys sleep at night. I'll have another buyer before you even get back to the office."
Murphy tried not to sound as frustrated as he felt.
"This isn't over," he said threateningly. "No matter what happens here. We have plenty of other charges that we will make stick. Not everyone is in your pocket."
"Whatever you say, man," Woodhouse said with infuriating coyness.
The sound of the door opening was heard down the hall. They all knew it was the bailiff coming.
"Hey, Captain," the marshal said quickly, as footsteps echoed toward them. "Before you go-"
He wrapped his hands around the bars and stepped as close as he could to Olivia, smiling widely when she stared stonily at him without replying.
"You want to hear about the time I made him eat his own shit?" he asked gleefully. "Or the time they made him suck off a nine-year old?"
Olivia abruptly turned and walked out angrily. Murphy surged forward and grabbed the man between the bars.
"I'll be sending you to hell," he growled, gripping his neck for a moment. "That's a promise, asshole."
He let go as the bailiff stepped inside. The marshal straightened his shirt with an air of offense and the bailiff looked at Murphy suspiciously.
The lieutenant stalked out after Olivia while Woodhouse was being handcuffed, unable to look at the man for another second.
He saw that Olivia was out standing by his car as he got out of the main holding area. He could see her tension all the way across the parking lot.
He approached her carefully, keeping his distance, and stood silently. She stared daggers at him and Murphy squinted.
"You need a cigarette?" he asked finally.
He was only half-kidding. She looked like she was one wrong move away from detonating.
It took her a minute before she could speak.
"I hate this, Murphy," she said, nearly hissing with emotion. "I want to kill him. I want it so bad."
He nodded.
"I know," he said empathetically.
He went quiet, seeing her struggling and not wanting her to feel pitied. She swallowed and looked away for a minute.
"If he's right," she eventually said painfully, "then SVU will have to take over if we want a chance at putting anyone away."
Murphy nodded again. He saw her subtly wipe at her eyes and shake her head again, not looking back at him.
"One thing at a time, Olivia," he replied gently. "Let's just see what happens first. If it does, you'll be able to handle it."
Olivia turned to face him, looking unexpectedly vulnerable.
"How do you know?" she whispered.
He smiled kindly.
"Because you're the reason Elliot didn't give up," he said, as if the answer was simple.
She blinked, seeming surprised. Then she nodded quickly, clearing her throat.
Murphy reached out and squeezed her shoulder.
"Let's get out of here," he said. "Your squad is going to need a leader for this fight. You up for it, Captain?"
Olivia smiled as best she could as he unlocked her car door.