disc. I don't own these characters.

a/n: ngl, I kinda forgot I had finished this chapter and that it hadn't been uploaded. so, surprise! also thank you twitter for helping me pick a middle name for elliot!


It's half past midnight when she starts to pack her bags. She knows that she shouldn't have procrastinated as long as she has and that she probably needs sleep. But her anxiety had kept her from eating all day and she was starting to feel the pain of hunger that she could do nothing about. The longer she laid in bed, rolling pointlessly around, the more time she was wasting.

What exactly she was wasting by letting time pass, she wasn't sure.

She wasn't even sure of what to pack. It wasn't like it was a goddamn vacation. It was a few days in the hospital, followed by God only knows how many more days in the same hospital. Uncomfortable beds and scratchy gowns.

Packing for a trip she might not return from.

Even her washed clothes now smelled like that hospital. She'd tried to wash the scent out a hundred times but no amount of scrubbing could clear away the stench. After the 7th cycle, she'd given up and submitted to the fact that this was now just a given in her life.

Hospital smell. Hospital food. Hospital beds.

When she opened her dresser, the gold badge on the top layer caught a glimmer of light from the lamp. The reflection shined against her eyes, a motion that usually lit her face up and made her heart swell with pride. No longer. The clip hadn't been latched to her belt in a while and all that was left was the reminder of who she once was. Untouchable, unstoppable.

She held the badge in her hand, her thumb carefully and gently tracing over the engraved numbers.

"Liv," he murmured.

She glanced up and saw him leaning against the doorframe. A sad and solemn look on his face. She'd forgotten that he was even there. Carefully tucking the badge back into the drawer, she turned to face him.

"You should be sleeping." he said, no real accusation or disdain in his voice. Maybe disappointment, but mostly emotional exhaustion.

She remained just as emotionless, staring directly into his eyes as if they were magnetically pulled to hers. Oddly, she saw something similar within him that she had seen staring back at her in the mirror. A question or two, lingering and hanging over their heads. How the hell did they get here? How were they gonna get out?

"I couldn't sleep." she answers, her half-assed reply coming along with her turning away from his gaze. "I forgot to pack my bag, I didn't want to wait until morning."

His head slowly bobs and his grip on the doorway releases. Her eyes had fallen to the floor but begun to follow his feet as he toed further into her room. There is no awkwardness, no fear of crossing any unspoken line. They're both far too tired for any of that.

She hears the creaking of the springs in her mattress as he sits on the edge of the bed, her back facing him. She isn't in the mood to have a conversation, big or small. She wants to relish the alone time she still has with the beige walls and carpeted floor before its all teal tiles and sheet vinyl flooring. But there isn't much comfort left in her own home to draw from anymore.

"What's left to pack?"

She's glad that she's facing away from him because she feels a wave run over her, an urge to cry breaking through the walls of numbness. "Uh…" her voice shakes. "They said something comfortable. To pack an extra outfit or two just in case my stay is longer than expected."

God, she didn't want to think of what the hell that was supposed to entail. She was supposed to only spend one night post-op, but again, she was supposed to be healthy too so she couldn't really rely on the doctors' say.

He must've sensed that her mind was spiraling again. "Liv, turn around," he whispered, but still holding enough authority to make her listen. She spun on her heel, staring at him with utter confusion. "Come here," he motioned closer towards where he was seated on the bed.

Her steps were careful going towards him, her eyes scanning his for any hint of what he was about to tell her. She stopped when her knees reached his, her head bowing down to look just past his eyes.

"Give me your hands."

She cocked her head at him, pausing before lifting both of her hands to meet his. In an instant, the warmth of his palms against her skin relaxed the tense muscles throughout her body. She fought back the tears that urged on as he softly looked up at her. "You know you're gonna make it through this, right?"

"Elliot," she exhaled, dragging her eyes away from his.

"No, I mean it." he interrupted, his grip on her hands growing tighter. "I'm not gonna sit here and feed you some bullshit about how amazing your doctors are or that you'll be in good hands. We both know that's not gonna change shit." he chuckled dryly. "But I'll tell you the truth. You're gonna go in, and you'll be scared,"

She felt her eyes close as the first tear fell, listening to the bluntness of his words.

"You'll be scared, and that's okay. But you'll go in, they will wheel you away, you'll fall fast asleep as you count backwards from ten, and then you will wake up. You'll be sore and exhausted, probably covered in bandages and IVs, but you will be alive."

Her eyes had never squeezed so tightly shut. She supposed that this was the best part about who Elliot was. He knew her, he knew what she needed to hear — not what she wanted to hear. He was blunt and truthful, with little sugar coating. She focused on the feeling of his fingerprints against her skin, and the way the calloused ridges brought a soothing blanket of comfort over her.

"So, in the meantime, tell me what you need." he squeezed her hands. "Tell me what you need, I'll make it happen. Okay?" as soon as he asked, the tenseness in her eyes released and she was looking at him with tear-clouded vision. Her head fell forward as she gulped.

"I need a pen and paper… it's in the drawer in the kitchen, the one closest to the sink. Please."

He exhaled, a soft smile appearing on his lips. "Okay," he whispered, giving her hands one last squeeze before he released them and left her alone in the bedroom. She fell against the bed, bracing the edges as she sat down. She glanced around from wall to wall, feeling as if something had changed. She kept looking, but to no avail. The room hadn't crumbled and the walls hadn't fallen from the intensity of what she felt. The earthquake was all within her mind.

There was no earthquake at all.

He promptly returned with the notepad and pen, quietly asking her what it was for. "I just wanna make a quick list of what I need to pack," she lied. "But uh… thanks, El."

He stopped, staring down at her with the distinct look of sadness buried in the deep blue irises. "You've got this, Liv. I'll see you in the morning. Good night."

When he shut the door behind him, a teardrop fell from her cheek and onto the blank piece of paper. A shaky exhale left her lungs, her hand trembling as she hovered the pen over the paper.

'Dear Elliot,'


Instead of an alarm blaring in her ear to bring her back to consciousness, it was the soft shake of Elliot's hand on her shoulder. He whispered her name, jerking her awake into the moment. The darkness of the skyline bled through her bedroom window, each building's lights blinking and glowing into the early sun-less morning.

'Dear Elliot,'

"It's time to head to the hospital, Liv." he whispered once he knew she was partially awake. He held a hand out for her, assisting her in sitting upright as she used her other hand to rub her eyes. If the lights had been on, she would've easily been able to tell that he hadn't slept since the last time she had seen him. Instead, all she saw besides the skyline was the red lights on the alarm clock telling her that it was four in the morning.

She had showered the night before, leaving her clothes out for the morning knowing that she would be far too tired when the time came that she needed to wake up. Elliot had spent the night, using the cover that it would be pointless to drive home just to be back at her apartment by morning. In reality, it was to quell his own fears of leaving her alone for the night.

'A few weeks ago, the day you found out that I was sick, the night had ended with a new scar. An incision under my arm, separating the skin that had covered one half of my ticking time bomb. Bandages, exhaustion, IVs, and soreness. Exactly what you had told me last night.'

Her arms and legs felt incredibly heavy as she slid out of her pajamas and into an NYPD sweatsuit. She tied her hair up in a short ponytail, a few strands falling down to frame her face. Looking in the mirror felt pointless, she knew she looked exactly how she felt.

She wondered what she would look like next time she came across a mirror. Maybe the same, maybe incredibly different. Her mind was too tired to wander further than that. But her nerves remained dull, to her surprise. The thought of Elliot lingering somewhere in her apartment brought her enough solace to keep the anxiety at bay.

Elliot carried her bags to the door, double checking to make sure she had everything she needed as she zipped her coat up. If she were being honest, she would admit that she felt more like a zombie than a human being. Exhaustion ached through every bone in her body, her eyes shutting at their own free will to restore any energy that she had retained.

'I don't know how you knew, maybe you guessed. But there was something you got wrong. I was, or at least at the moment I'm writing this, am not afraid of the surgery. I mean, I am. Obviously, anyone who is about to be cut open is scared. But, I guess my other fears outweighed that. Everyone has fears of death. It's human nature to be scared of going to sleep and never waking up. Who would we be without fear? I guess what I'm trying to say is that, out of all that will happen to me, it's not death that I'm scared of.'

Raindrops dribbled down the windows of the sedan, catching the bright streaks of light that bled through the darkness of the city. Her head rested against the cold glass of the window, her breath leaving a fog of condensation just below her nose.

When his hand met hers for what she counted as the fifth time, it felt more natural than any other. Resting against the cool plastic console, his skin sent warmth into her fingers. There was no capacity to admit how right it felt, at least not today. Today, she reserved her mind for the road that lies ahead of her. Not for the feeling of his fingerprints resting against her skin, or the tight squeeze she would feel from his grip whenever she'd unconsciously sigh.

There are no words, no passing of sweet nothings and comforting affirmations. Simply the fact that she's holding another life in her palm — or rather, he's holding her. That is enough for her, for now. If it were all she would ever get, it would be enough. Maybe even more so. She doesn't need the sad look in his eyes and she isn't offering that in return. The sense of touch is the only sense she needs.

Her eyes draw focus on the reflection of herself in the glass. The red and yellow guiding lights that cover the bridges catch in the depths of her irises. The city that never sleeps, she thinks. She must've flinched at the thought because his hand tightens around hers. It isn't bliss, there's too much on her shoulders for that, but it's as close as she'll probably get for a long time.

She feels herself slipping again, the wave of protection she casts over herself in times like this. Times when nothing feels promised, not even her next breath. She slips away, retreats under her skin. No imaginary cabin or hours spent staring at the wall can fix it. No dumb joke or bandaid with a smile drawn on it.

The darkness, it comes for her.

'It's the darkness. That's what scares me. What is survival if you're not really living? I know I'll probably be okay, eventually. It's what's between now and then that scares me. It's the fear that even though I may survive, I may not ever come out of that darkness. I don't want to change, not anymore than I already have. But I have no choice. I guess I'm afraid of that too; force. But the darkness? Well, it's taking control over the person I thought I was.'

The street lights illuminate the familiar entry sign of Sloan-Kettering and the pit in her stomach grows larger. She feels her pulse begin to speed against his hand, the cold swirl of adrenaline spilling into her stomach.

This is for the best. She's told herself at least a hundred times, but she has yet to believe it with every inch of herself. But it's true. There is nowhere else in the world she should be rather than pulling into the parking garage of Sloan-Kettering. No matter how fast her heart races and no matter how difficult it is to breathe, in her new warped and twisted reality, this is the best.

Somehow, what was best for her seemed to hurt like hell every single time.

The car squeezes through the skinny lanes left between the other parked vehicles. She watches as the toll bars rise, the red and white stripes practically hypnotizing her.

If she thinks about how every car in the lot belongs to someone like her, or someone like him, her mind will shut down. Some are probably long term, some are probably the property of those who will keep him company in the waiting room. Every single one of them belonging to someone whose life is now changed forever.

Because that's what this is. Not a hospital for broken arms and appendicitis.

'I'm still struggling to say the words and have the bluntness to address the situation for what it is. See, there it is again.. 'Situation'. It's not a situation, it's cancer. It's cancer, there is cancer in my body. I guess I should at least face one fear and say it. I have cancer.'

The parking garage elevator illuminates a raw whiteness. Flickering light panels and rickety flooring. She can hear the mechanics of the machine whirring, louder than the elevators at the 1-6. That's where she should be right now. On call, coming in for an early case caught in the middle of the night while a cup of coffee burns her hand. Pressing the same button she always presses.

Despite how disgusting the color of the lightbulbs are in the elevator, they glow perfectly against his skin. Something stirs in her chest as she glances up at him. The tired bags under his eyes aren't hidden, yet he looks like an angel in the light. An exhausted, broken-backed angel. If her bags weren't in his hands, she would reach for him.

There's a moment that his head turns and his eyes meet hers before the elevator doors open. The fluorescents bleed into his eyes in that fraction of a moment, and it's an all new shade of blue that she's never seen. Even in her darkness, he is light.

'I wish, if just for a split second, I could show you inside my head. Not to see the darkness, but the remainder of the light. I would show you how on my first day back to work, all I could think of was when we were fresh on the force, me especially fresh in SVU. I would show you that for five days after you held my hand under the door, I went back to that spot and sat there every single night. I would show you how the first time I smiled after my mother's funeral would be when you made some dumb joke 3 days later. I would show you the light, Elliot, because it is still there.'

She knows her way now, she has for a while. The secretary at the administration desk knows her on a first name basis. She knows the way to the right waiting rooms and which beige hallway will lead her in the right direction. Walking out from her apartment, he had led the way. It's her turn.

This is her turf now.

She leads the way to the surgical wing, tightly gripping the set of paperwork to be handed off. It's quiet in the halls, which feels like a stark change for her since usually the hospital is buzzing with life. The closest thing it reminds her to is an airport at the crack of dawn, where the darkness still fills the windows and only a few people are within reach.

She wishes that this was peaceful, but it's far from. Somehow, she misses the rush between the walls. She misses the white noise distracting her from the truth. Even with him by her side, the emptiness in the hospital at the rise of dawn only makes her feel that much more alone.

When her hands begin to unconsciously fidget and her breathing becomes erratic, she hears his voice and the smile that holds it. Her eyes meet his, and there it is. Just as she suspected, that goddamn grin. It's prideful and strong and he whispers 'You're okay,' and as if his word was gospel, she was. For just a moment, she was okay again.

'I would show you the light because, on some level, the thing I'm most afraid of is the idea that you might not see it. That you may never know about all of those things that meant the most to me. That in itself horrifies me beyond the idea of death; that a cold metal table may be the last thing I ever feel. If I die, I want the last thing I feel to be the warmth of knowing that you know how much of that light came from you.'

It isn't long until the waiting room that only they occupy is empty once again, and her name is called. She's leading again, she always does once her shoes hit the floors of this building. She knows the maze, she knows the layout. Here, he is the visitor. But in the real world, he is the guide.

Her sweatsuit is shed into a familiar scratchy gown with a horrendous pattern covering every inch of the fabric. His fingertips are warm, though they send shivers down her spine as they graze her skin, tying up the strings that hold the gown together. Without being instructed, he carefully unclasps the familiar gold 'fearless' chain from her neck, tucking it into one of the plastic bags meant to store her belongings.

Her body is shutting down, she can feel it. And although they are drenched in the bright lights of the pre-op room, the darkness is creeping back.

Wordlessly, he kneels down at her feet which hang just a few inches off of the ground. He carefully rolls the grey surgical socks up her legs. His eyes flicker up towards hers as he remains at her feet, and the light is fading within them. Not that it was all very present to begin with. Though, he can see the shut-down occurring. Five more minutes, he thinks. Five more minutes of her laughter or her smile, anything he can get.

When he rises from the floor, she doesn't move. Her head remains hung low, her breathing slow and shallow. As he seats himself beside her on the bed, the mattress dips under his weight. Without warning, he grabs one of the hands that lies in her lap, taking it between both of his. Her eyes trail upwards, slowly moving to meet his.

His vision flickers from her lips back to her eyes, his hands gripping hers with nothing but the intention of comfort and calmness. He can't help but to think of how different this time really is. God, last time he wasn't sure he'd ever see her again. The crowd of white coats and scrubs frantically rolling her bed away before disappearing into a closed off hallway. He hadn't even been sure she was still alive at that point. It had happened so fast, there was no time for thinking.

Now, all they had was time to think. The clock ticked loudly throughout the silent room, reminding him that this was supposed to happen. The seconds weren't bleeding away as they had last time. Sometimes he wonders if time ticks faster when he holds his breath, because that day in the ER, he hadn't taken a single breath.

This was supposed to happen. This was not an emergency or a surprise. It made him sick to his stomach, but this was supposed to happen.

His voice interrupts the partial silence, blocking out the ticking in the background. "If you need to cry, you can cry." he whispers, his voice husk with tiredness.

She considers it, but only for a fleeting moment. Her head shakes, her eyelids drooping with mental and physical exhaustion. Instead, she leans into his shoulder. Her head rests against his neck as his arm cradles her back. He can't hold back the urge to squeeze her just a little tighter. The floral scent of her hair fills his nose and her arms wrap around his torso to hold him closer.

She doesn't speak but it's okay because today, now, her actions are louder than any words could ever be. She doesn't cry or even whimper, she just holds him with the same tightness that he holds her with. Soaking in every ounce of comfort he has to spare, because God knows she needs it.

It brings a great deal of surprise to her that somehow, he can still comfort her like this. With the scratchy gown and yet another bracelet that tells the world about her penicillin allergy, that none of it matters. Because when he holds her, the world stops crumbling. Or, at least it just crumbles around them. He is the solid ground when the Earth shakes.

He wasn't sure if he'd held her for five minutes or five hours, but the simple sensation of her breathing against him was interrupted. A knock on the door from a nurse alerting them that it was time to go back. Time for her to go back.

'So, this is my backup plan. I can't let you inside my mind, I can't push a button and display every prickle of light that breaks through the darkness. But I can tell you. I can tell you that I wasn't scared, or that I was learning to make peace with the possibility of my fate. I can tell you that although it wasn't for very long, you spending the night in my apartment was the most comfort I've felt in a while.'

Two nurses roll her bed away from the pre-op room, and his hand finds hers over the railing. Slow and steady steps leading to what feels like doom. Each step, each inch of flooring rolled over by the wheels of her bed, another inch closer to complete lack of control.

Her hand grips his tighter as he walks beside her, following them as they lead down a long hallway. He can feel it thrumming through her skin, the fear and nervousness. He will be her ground for as long as they'll allow, for as far as he can go.

The world around him falls to slow motion, each step lacking a little more gravity each time. He feels the fear now, maybe even more than her. He'd allowed her distractions to work on him too. The IVF, the procrastination, all of it. This is what she had been avoiding, wasn't it? The complete and utter fear of what lies beyond the doors ahead.

"This is as far as we can let you go," one of the nurses says, stopping the bed once they reached the double doors at the end of the hall.

Her eyes meet his just as his meets hers and the grip on his hand grows tighter. He expects her to look scared, but she always was an enigma; surprising him as usual. There is no fear, only readiness. She's waited too long, they both know it. No more running, no more pretending that this isn't reality. She's ready.

Slowly, he leans down over the railing of the bed and presses a long and soft kiss on her forehead. "I'll see you on the other side." he whispers, relishing the few remaining seconds he has with her. She nods against him, her thumb stroking his hand as she absorbs his words and comfort.

When he painfully pulls away, she flashes him a weak smile. There's something telling in her eyes, something he can't quite understand. Not peace, but rather the confidence of knowing there isn't anything left to be said. Though, there's a million things he has left to say, but she seems as if she's somehow already said them.

His feet are heavy against the floor as they push her away, the foot of the bed opening the double doors towards the OR. She's there, and then she's gone. But still, he stands.

'If this letter finds you, don't be angry. Don't be cruel and callous, do not lose your light. Do not bruise your knuckles at the thought of me. Don't fall into the darkness that I had no choice but to be pushed into. And for the love of God, wait at least a month before you get a new partner, Just kidding.'

He wants to fall to his knees right there, right in front of the door that she is somewhere behind. But he can't, and he knows it. He knows that if his feet give out from beneath him, he may never rise again.

This is excruciating.

He is alone.

And this is excruciating.


The waiting room chairs are painful. They always are, it's like a damn rite of passage at this point. If his back wasn't aching, he wouldn't think any of it would be real. Hell, it doesn't feel real anyway. The nurses were nice enough to bring him a cup of coffee, which he forced himself to drink given that he's running on an empty stomach.

An hour and a half has passed and he's almost certain that in some universe out there, it's been lifetimes. The sun had risen over the New York skyline, which he had a direct view of. The stars disintegrated as the sky turned from navy to orange and orange to blue. An hour and a half and he felt fifteen years older.

They were supposed to call with an update from the OR, but he had yet to hear. His ringtone was set to high just in case, but hoping for an update this soon felt silly.

'If this letter finds you, don't destroy yourself, Elliot. Go home, hug your children and do your job. Go to church and say your prayers. And when a song comes on in the squad car that you and I used to listen to, don't change the station. Call your mother and ask her about the paintings she sells on the boardwalk. Tell Kathleen that you're proud of her. Don't miss Eli's birthday party, the case can wait. Live fearlessly, I think I've feared enough for both of our lifetimes, so don't feel guilty if you try to live free.'

He wants to be there with her. Holding her hand, sitting beside her unconscious body because he can't shake the thought that maybe she feels alone. Wherever her mind is, however deep of a sleep she's in, he doesn't want her to feel alone. He doesn't want the only sound she hears to be the sound of beeping monitors and metal against metal.

His eyes draw to the entrance of the waiting room on instinct when he sees movement. He instantly recognizes several figures weaving through the maze of chairs and couches. Casey, Fin, Cragen, and Munch.

He rises to his feet, confusion covering his face. "What are you guys doing here?" he asked, rubbing the exhaustion away from his face.

"You think we're just gonna let you wait alone?" Munch quipped, dramatically flopping down in the seat across from Elliot.

"Yeah, they said only family was allowed but we lied. So, if they ask, Liv's got two old gay dads, a black brother, and a sister in law because that's what got us in here." Fin laughed, getting comfortable in the seat next to Munch. Elliot couldn't help but smile, turning to Cragen and rolling his eyes.

"Why am I an 'old gay dad?' Couldn't I just be an uncle?" Munch sneered, grabbing one of the bags of snacks that Casey had brought along with them.

"Go look in the mirror and ask me again." Fin answered as Elliot began to block out the two partners' banter.

Elliot turned towards Casey who gave him a warm and endearing smile. "You know she won't be out of surgery for a few more hours, right? You didn't have to come here this early, you're probably swamped at work."

"Yeah, like hell are we gonna sit around and leave you alone here. We might not be 'two old gay dads, a black brother, and a sister in law' but we are family, Elliot." she smiled sadly, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. "And… I think she would want us to be here." she pauses, the atmosphere surrounding them beginning to plummet with emotions. "I mean, the old Olivia would. The one who would've laughed and told us to scram if we were all by her bedside."

Elliot's nod was soft and just barely visible to the eye. He knew what she meant, even if she barely knew it herself. The old Olivia who didn't keep her guard as high as could be. The old Olivia that still knew how to laugh. "Haven't seen that Olivia in a long time," he muttered.

Casey's head bowed and he knew that despite her usual cold and hard demeanor, she was fighting back tears. They had shared a waiting room space together far too many times. The uncomfortable blue chairs with the wooden armrests that dug into their skin. They had grieved together. The emergency room waiting area, the church pews, the surgical center, now here.

"God damnit, Casey," his husky voice cracked. "How did we come this close to losing her?" he asked, his breath releasing as if a knife had shot through his lung. He could feel the lids of his eyes burning red, every atom in his body begging him to hold it together.

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and he nearly jerked. Her hand wasn't the hand that he wanted to feel; it didn't harness the comfort and stability that always seemed to come with Olivia's touch. She felt cold when she didn't mean to, she couldn't do what Olivia could.

"I need a minute," he grunted out, shooting up from the chair. He'd promised himself that he would stay in the waiting room for the entire stretch of time, but her support system was there waiting just in case. He was certain that the four of them were staring at him with confusion as he abandoned the room, but not a shred of him cared.

'If this letter finds you, find yourself.'

He charged down the halls, unsure of where his steps would lead towards. He didn't know this hospital like she did. He didn't have the floor patterns mapped out with every escape route marked. This was a labyrinth to him, a mystery in totality.

If he were being honest, he'd say how badly he wants to leave. Not leave her, but to leave the air that smells like gauze and bleach. To leave the pressured atmosphere that seemed to be bearing down on his ear drums. To take her hand and just leave it all behind.

When he stumbles upon the chapel, he feels a wave of familiarity wash over him. This is all getting so damn repetitive in his head, he wants to explode. Yet, he walks into the empty chamber with the oak pews and burning candles. He walks into the place that was supposed to feel like a home away from home.

He slides carefully into the back row, taking in the peace and quiet. The voices in his head ceased their demands when he'd walked into the room, and the pressure lifted. He reached forward, grabbing one of the bibles from the dock it sat on. His thumbs stroked the leather, debating on whether or not it was the right time to dive into this rabbit hole.

'Do what you do best. Find your faith, hold onto it with an ironclad grip. You may not want to, but I'm asking you to. Don't let go of the Bible. I may not believe, but I know that you do. I also know that this situation has tested your faith in ways you didn't think were possible. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. I know you've almost thrown in the towel. Don't do it. Because I know, deep down, no matter what happens, you believe in heaven. Don't sacrifice your ticket there out of anger or spite. Not in my name. So, do what you do best. Light a candle. Say a prayer. Speak to your priest. Don't turn your back on God.'

He wants his phone to ring with an update from the operating room because the silence quickly changed from comforting to deafening. He wants someone, anyone to bust through the doors and pull him away.

Or maybe he wants a reason to walk away.

Faith is exhausting and he feels himself losing the will to bow his head and say a prayer. Talking to God, the easiest thing he's ever known, has become a chore. Ever since the voice from above stopped talking back to him and ever since he felt as if he were wandering directionless. Why pray when God says nothing?

One hand comes away from the bible and he presses the tips of his fingers into his eyelids. The sharp inhale of a breath is all that fills the room as he lets himself cry. It's been a while since he's cried, he's been too busy trying to be the rock she needed. Now it's simply him and the teardrops.

His breath shivers as he quietly cries into his hands, his elbows now resting on top of the bible. He won't pray. Not now, at least. His mind is too busy wandering every corner that was built around this new side of life. Praying would only make him angry. So he silently sobs in the house of God because that's the best he can do right now. It's all he can do.

'The anger isn't worth it, El. It never is. The world will always be a dark place and I know that more than anything, it hurts you to see it, and that hurt turns into anger. So, if this letter finds you, unclench your fists. Relax your jaw. Take a deep breath. Let it go. Just… let it go. For me. '


An hour had passed since they'd transferred her from recovery to her room. She could feel the pain dulled from the drugs that had been pumped into her system, just a reminder that the new scar existed even if she wasn't in debilitating pain yet.

She hadn't seen Elliot yet, the nurses said something along the lines of wanting to wait a bit for her to settle first. She didn't know, she really wasn't paying much attention anyway. Even if she had, she wouldn't have protested. If she could prevent him from seeing her like this for even just a few extra minutes, it would be for the best.

"How are you feeling, Olivia?" one of the nurses asked, standing beside her bed adjusting the IV pump.

She winced as she tried to raise her arm, feeling the urge to rip the nasal cannula right off of her face. "Tired," she rasped, her throat feeling incredibly sore and dry. "My uh— my bag. Could I have my bag? I just need my phone from it." she vaguely pointed in the direction across the room.

The nurse smiled and complied, setting the bag on the tray that hovered over the bed. Using her good arm to fish through it blindly, Olivia's hand grazed over a thin folded piece of paper. Abandoning the search for her phone, she pulled the sheet out and unfolded it.

'If this letter finds you, don't you lose that light, Elliot Patrick Stabler. Don't you dare.'

She stared at the scrawled words at the bottom of the page, blue ink and familiar handwriting. Her eyes closed as she felt the threat of heavy and exhausted tears beginning to form. As her eyes closed, she couldn't help but think of how different she felt from the night before. When the ink hit the paper and the words were brought into the world, she wasn't missing another piece of herself.

Though, it was better than the alternative of him missing her entirely.

Carefully, she refolded the letter and pushed it to the bottom of the bag.

The letter wouldn't find him. Not today.