Prompt #55: The SVU and OC squads work a spooky case on Halloween


The Ghosts We Carry

~oOo~

"Listen up," Olivia announces, her voice projecting loudly within the precinct. Elliot watches as the entire room falls silent, all eyes turning to the front where she now stands, hands on hips as she surveys the gathered units.

There are multiple teams here, not only his own and SVU, but Narcotics, ESU — several high-ranking officials and even Olivia's own Chief are lurking at the back of the room. He isn't entirely sure who is supposed to be leading the operations, but on paper, it is most likely not supposed to be the Captain of SVU, whose team was only brought on towards the end of the intelligence gathering thanks to the rescue of three women.

Still, that fact is clearly not a deterrent for Olivia, nor does anyone else seem to be stepping forward to yell out instructions themselves, and so Elliot is content to stand at her back, glaring around the room to ensure no one is stupid enough to interrupt her. His arms are crossed, his brow furrowed in contemplation, enjoying witnessing her take command as if she's done it all her life. Some days it feels foreign to him, that she is Captain and running the entire unit herself, his memories caught up in an era gone by where they shared a desk and terrible coffee, with a bad habit of being yelled at by Cragen for their slightly unorthodox approaches to certain cases. But other days, he feels nothing but overwhelming pride at the fact she's come so far in her career, a perfect fit for her position.

And maybe with his hovering as her silent bodyguard, he's currently being overprotective towards a Captain who has carried out her duties for many years without him. He can't help it though — it's only been two weeks since Olivia had sat him down and disclosed what she had faced against a monster called Lewis, and Elliot is still fighting off the nightmares his mind has conjured up from her descriptions.

So, if he's feeling slightly more protective towards her, he's not about to apologize or even feel guilty.

"...These girls are now in the hospital," Olivia is continuing to explain. "Once the overall gang had finished having 'fun' with them, they were drugged, in order to remain docile and compliant, but also as test subjects. Whatever they were given is now causing them some serious health problems."

She picks up a surveillance photo, and Elliot suddenly realizes why she made sure she was the one to deliver this message.

"Sergei Antonov, otherwise known as Doctor Death. Komorov's pet scientist, who is allowed to run experiments in return for providing goods to sell. We believe he's responsible for developing not only the drug they've used on the women, but also for the chemical weapon Komorov is aiming to sell overseas. Please, do not be trigger-happy if you see him."

She pauses for a minute, staring around at the crowd of law enforcement officers in front of her, and Elliot straightens, pushing off the wall so he can stand on guard directly behind her, showing his support wordlessly. Her shoulders twitch slightly, dropping down an inch, and he'd like to believe his presence is helping her to relax.

"We need to get intelligence from Antonov, and so we need him alive," she reiterates. "We know there are at least twenty more women being forced to 'work' for the gang, and it will greatly help the hospital to provide them with the best care if we know exactly what concoction he's been injecting into them."

"We also need to confirm the potential buyers of his chemical weapon," Ayanna steps into the conversation, and Olivia gives her a nod of understanding as they seamlessly exchange roles. "He's a key actor in the supply chain. Our intelligence indicates Komorov himself will be at the location tonight, although as you've been briefed before, it's challenging to determine identities when faced with his men, since they have a custom of wearing these."

She holds up a photo of a grimacing clown mask, and Elliot feels a slight sense of consternation ripple around the room. It makes him smirk, to know that these seasoned officers are more scared of facing clowns than the gang members behind the masks.

"What's so amusing?" Olivia asks quietly, shifting to stand beside him. The Narcotics captain is now joining the conversation, allowing them to have an opportunity to fade into the background as everyone's attention is focused elsewhere.

"Clown masks," he murmurs. "On Halloween, of all days. Seems fitting."

She lets out a heavy sigh next to him, the back of her thumb coming up to rub against her forehead in a gesture he's seen hundreds of times over the years.

"Yeah, Halloween and yet again I can't take Noah out for trick-or-treating," she says sadly. "I was hoping it would be different this year."

There's nothing comforting he can say, knowing all too well the disappointment and guilt of missing key moments with his children. Instead, he lifts his hand surreptitiously, out of sight from everyone else, to brush against her back in a gesture of solidarity. She keeps her eyes trained forwards, but he can feel her sink into the touch slightly before she stands up straight once more.

"Let's go arrest Komorov and this Doctor Death, then we can save the girls and get you back home to your son," he murmurs instead, trying to be optimistic. Even if they do manage to arrest the whole gang, there will be hours of paperwork and interrogations ahead of them — she knows this, he knows this, but she sends him a small smile anyway.

"Let's go," she agrees, and then she's stepping forward once more to lead the way.

~oOo~

'Holy shit,' one of the young ESU officers breathes as they pull up to the alleged location of Komorov's hide-out. It's a large abandoned hospital, half-consumed by nature growing up around its walls and through its dilapidated doorways, an eerie shell of a building that is hiding dangers they are here to hunt down.

They've all parked far away from the main block, which surveillance suggests the core of the gang is using for their day-to-day operations, and so now they have to traipse through an overgrown cemetery, where headstones lie at odd angles, too worn away from the elements for the names to be readable. Even Elliot can admit the whole atmosphere feels slightly creepy, both from the location and the fact that everyone can recall what the date is, and he can spot several officers peering around over their shoulders in concern.

Ayanna points in the direction they need to aim, and the crowd splits off wordlessly, each person following their predetermined team. ESU will be spearheading the raid at each entry point, covered by their shields and guns that will protect them a lot more if Komorov's men come out fighting. But amongst the units, Ayanna is moving swiftly around the back of the building, accompanied by Reyes and Whelan. Elliot knows she wants to keep her two newest members close, make sure they handle themselves well in such a stressful operation, but he's also confident that both men will have her back if need be. Fin meanwhile spares a quick nod for Olivia, before he is heading around to the right of the building, taking Amanda and Velasco with him.

Much like Ayanna with Reyes and Whelan, Olivia had wanted to keep her newest detective — a Grace Muncy, if Elliot is remembering correctly — close to her, and so she gestures to the young woman as they aim directly for the main entrance, following five large and heavily armored men.

There was never any discussion where Elliot would be. He slips behind Olivia silently, vest strapped on tightly, gun in hand so he's ready at the first sign of trouble. No matter how long he's been back in New York, and no matter how often OCCB works alongside SVU, he will never be able to release the sense of relief he has when she's in his sights while they're on the job. There's nothing more reassuring than him knowing he can have her back and protect her, just as he knows she will do the same for him.

ESU have each other on radio, and it's with perfect synchronization that they burst into the hospital at precisely the same moment on all sides, creating as much confusion and chaos against their perpetrators as possible. Angry shouts fill the air, a few shots ringing out from various places in the building as Komorov's men fight back, but for the first few minutes, the operation appears to be going by the book.

There's multiple floors and vast corridors to search through, and it isn't long before Olivia jerks her chin at a long staircase going up to the next floor. Elliot points to himself, and her eyes narrow at his meaning. Still, she holds back for a second, hand on the shoulder of her detective, allowing him to go up first, scouring every shadow as he slowly takes the stairs one step at a time. There are several rooms at the top, their doors in various stages of broken decay, and he moves immediately to clear one of them, hearing Olivia doing the same on the other side of the corridor. Several of the rooms have internally connecting doors, and his heart sinks when he realizes just how challenging sweeping the floor will be, even for three of them.

When it happens, it happens suddenly, and he doesn't even see it coming.

He's just exited a room, Olivia emerging from the opposite side, when there is a gasp of surprise from behind, followed by the sound of a struggle. He whirls around, Olivia mirroring his actions, and they see a dark figure wrestling with Detective Muncy. Elliot attempts immediately to get a clear shot, but the risk of shooting her accidentally is too high.

"FREEZE!" he and Olivia yell at the same time, their voices echoing down the corridor. The figure ignores them, managing to get its foot and hip behind Muncy's, flipping her backward. She slams into the banister, tumbling across as her hands scrabble to gain purchase.

For one second, she hangs off the side, fingers gripping tightly, her face looking startlingly young as she stares up at them in fear.

"Capt—" she begins to say, and Olivia is sprinting towards her, instinctively knowing Elliot has her back as she tries to reach for Muncy.

And then the detective is falling with a high-pitch scream, Olivia skidding to a halt and hitting the side of the banister a split second too late. Elliot is a few paces behind her, wanting to help Muncy and also watching their target, but the attacker slips away into the shadows of an open doorway once more, too swift to be caught.

Olivia is already pounding down the stairs and her injured team member, who is lying prone at the bottom. Elliot freezes in indecision, torn between staying as close as possible to Olivia, protecting her back as she tends to Muncy, and going after their attacker.

Olivia makes the decision for him, even as he moves towards the stairs and her.

"Go, El," she orders. "I've got this."

He still doesn't want to leave, hesitating until an ESU officer comes into view.

"Stay with her!" he yells, finally jumping into action now she isn't left unprotected, and then he's turning around, running back towards the last room he saw the attacker enter.

It's clear, as is the next, and the next. His instinct is pressing him onwards however, determined to find the person, moving systematically yet swiftly down the corridor.

He reaches one of the last remaining rooms to the left, tucked away in a dim corner of the building, its door cracked open slightly. As he peers within, he feels the back of his neck tingle slightly, but there's nothing but darkness.

A few seconds pass, as he waits for his eyes to adjust, and then he slips into the room, gun steady in his hand as he sweeps it from right to left. There are odd stacks of furniture against the wall, but the rest of it remains empty.

He's just about to turn and leave, to continue on his way, when the slightest movement from the shadows near to the door makes him lunge forward automatically. His hand makes contact with a sleeve, and then there is a flash of a clown mask as a figure leans into his view, tugged forwards by his strength.

"You're under arr—" Elliot starts to say, stumbling over the words as he feels a sharp sting in his neck. He grunts in surprise, slapping a palm over the skin.

"Under…arr…" he tries to finish, but his vision is flickering, his head filling with a numbing pain. He staggers back, one step, two steps, before his knees give out, and he's crashing to the ground.

~oOo~

When he awakens, it is to darkness and silence. He groans, feeling his cheek pressed against a cold tiled floor, and attempts to use his arms to lever himself upright. His muscles are uncoordinated and sluggish, and he's barely able to push himself into a sitting position, his stomach lurching uncomfortably as soon as he moves. A haze of fog permeates his mind, causing any clear thoughts to slip away from his grasp when he tries to focus.

"Olivia?" he croaks out, peering through the shadows. "Liv?"

He assumes there's a radio attached to him, and his fingers scrabble against his vest for a moment, trying to decipher where.

There's a slight sound to his right, and he shifts on the floor to face in the same direction, uncomfortable having his back exposed when he has no idea where he is or who is in the room with him. He's weaponless, his holster and his hands empty, his gun either lost or taken from him. There's a vague sense that he'd been chasing someone, but he couldn't say who or why, only that he now feels vulnerable, hunted.

"Elliot?" a voice whispers, and his breath catches in his throat. He knows that voice - it is deeply familiar yet not one he had been expecting to hear.

Why?

He wishes he could remember.

"Olivia?" he says again. Any attempt to stand right now is futile, but he crawls forward slightly, perturbed by how much effort he has to use in order to make his body do as he commands. He can't feel any sort of injury or pain, but there must be a reason why he's struggling to function.

His eyes are finally adjusting to the darkness, and as he stares in front of him, he can vaguely make out a human-shaped figure off in the corner of the room, causing a shock of adrenaline to hit his system. He needs a weapon, needs to be able to stand up and defend himself.

"Who are you?" he says, his voice growling deeper as a way to mask his growing concern. "What do you want?"

The figure shifts forwards.

"Don't you know your own wife?" it coos, and then within one blink, she is crouched before him, her hand hovering over his cheek. She doesn't make contact with his skin, but a chill settles over him nonetheless, a shiver running down his spine as he takes in the horrifying vision in front of him.

Her face is semi-burnt away, the skin raw and blistered, her hair matted on one side of her head where the injuries spread along her scalp. Her lips are cracked and bleeding, and when she begins to speak again, a trickle of blood runs down the corner of her mouth.

"Elliot," she whispers, her blue eyes nothing more than blank mirrors, no longer windows to the soul. "It's me, don't you remember me? Don't you love me? I died for you, Elliot."

She brings her face closer to his, and he rears back, scrabbling to move further away from whatever apparition his mind has conjured up.

She can't be real, he's sure of it. Some twisted figment of his nightmares is trying to come to life before his eyes.

"That's not how you looked when you died," he tells her through numbed lips, watching in horror as she extends her hand once more towards him, the skin on her arm beginning to peel away as she moves, uncovering a mess of blood and bones beneath. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes as he tries to shut off the world around him.

"I'm hallucinating you. That isn't what the bomb caused…it's a nightmare, not reality."

There is a rattling gasp for breath, and against his better judgment, his eyes fly open again.

Kathy is lying before him, her skin pristine, her injuries miraculously gone, except for the fact she is struggling for air, fear etched onto her face.

He moves closer to her instinctively, unable to think about anything besides wanting to help, but as soon as his fingers close around her arm, flames spring up from the floor, bright and hot. There's a burning sensation spreading through his body, and he can't help but whimper as he collapses backward, overwhelmed by the pain.

"Is…is this more how it was?" he can hear Kathy's voice, but it's taunting and hard in tone, nothing like what he'd expect to hear from his wife.

A memory of a clown mask trickles into his mind, along with an echo needle prick.

This can't be real.

He heaves himself to his feet, swaying alarmingly as he stands, and paces away a few steps, eyes still transfixed on the vision before him.

"You're not Kathy," he says, shaking his head slowly in a vain attempt to clear his mind. "I…was drugged. You're a hallucination, a remnant of a nightmare to torture me."

He blinks, and she's gone, the room silent and empty once more.

He needs help.

He was…he…something had happened to him. He can remember that much, but his thoughts slip away again.

Why is he here?

He's tired, his legs shaking with the effort to stay upright, and it seems only sensible that he sinks to the floor to rest. His subconscious is warning him to be wary, the darkness around him hiding a multitude of dangers, but everything is hazy, and he can't recall how he got here or why. He'd been with Olivia. Was that seconds ago? Hours ago?

"Olivia?" he croaks, to see if she's nearby. If she can hear him, he knows she'll come running. She's always there for him, even if he's failed to return the favor over the last decade.

Olivia…Olivia alone. His brain lingers on that thought, throws up the faint memory of nightmares he's recently endured. Olivia had been alone and gotten hurt, because he wasn't there to protect her.

It wasn't recent though. Or was it? He doesn't know for sure, everything in his head seems disjointed, and his temple is beginning to throb with a severe headache.

Maybe he should have a nap, sleep it away.

He tilts down so he can rest his forehead on the tiles, enjoying the way they feel cool against his skin. He's starting to feel overly warm, a burning through his veins as if flames are passing through his whole body, and his bulletproof vest is a heavy weight on his chest, restricting his breath. His fingers tug briefly at the straps in a pathetic attempt to remove it, wanting to feel less suffocated, less as if he's about to disintegrate into ash.

He's so distracted that it takes him a moment to realize that there is a quiet trickling of water echoing around the room; a soft, peaceful sound that calms his nerves even as he raises his head to look around. Water is pooling around him, dampening his clothes, and he embraces the soothing sensation it brings to his skin, inhaling deeply as he banishes the flames from his thoughts.

Then the trickle becomes a roar, a wave breaking over his waist before he notices just how rapidly the levels are rising around him, chasing away the feeling of peace.

The roar becomes a ringing in his ears, and through it, he hears a voice call his name.

"Detective Stabler?" someone begs, followed by a stuttered gasp. Whoever they are, they sound distressed, prompting him to wade through the water, his hands skimming back and forth across the surface in an attempt to find them.

"He's going to kill me," the voice begs. "Elliot, save me."

With that plea, a figure rises from the depths, staggering towards him. Her eyes are wide and beseeching, her cheeks blue and puffy, reminiscent of bodies he's witnessed being pulled out of the river.

Her mouth opens, water pouring past her lips as her gaze turns accusing.

"I'm drowning," she whispers. "It's all your fault."

Elliot sways, his body buffeted by the raging water rising higher and higher, her indictment cutting deeply.

"Angela?" he croaks, his voice sticking in his throat. "Who…What happened?"

He knows her name, knows her face, but how she came to be drowning is a missing piece of a puzzle, hidden away in his thoughts. He tries to think, tries to remember, because if she is saying it was all his fault, then surely it must be etched into his mind.

"It's cold," she says, floating closer. "I'm cold."

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. There's a blanket of guilt wrapped around his shoulders when he looks at her face, but he can't place anything more than that — not quite sure of the relevance she has in his life.

Angela is not appeased by his words, a scream filling the air between them as she surges forwards, anger painted across her entire face. It makes him flinch back, but she's knocked off her feet before she even reaches him, a wave striking her chest and dragging her underneath in an instant.

He dives down without thinking, one deep breath to sustain him as he plunges below the surface of the water, reaching out in an effort to find her and pull her back up. But his fingers grasp at nothing, and no matter how frantically he moves his arms around, there's no one. His lungs are beginning to burn, but he continues searching as the last bit of oxygen bubbles out of his chest, forced from his lips as he keeps moving.

Then his knees are slapping down hard onto the tiled floor. The room is quiet, empty, and instead of pushing his arms through water, he's simply waving them through air.

His clothes are dry.

Everything is dry except for his hands, which feel damp and sticky. Bringing them closer to his face, he gazes shortsightedly through the darkness, convinced that he can see a stain on his palms.

There's a faint gurgling sound from behind him. He's confused, tired, and he dreads to turn around, his muscles shifting him unwillingly towards the source.

It's a young girl, lying on the floor. Her face is so pale it practically shines in the dim lighting, and she's choking from a blood-filled mouth as she clutches onto her side.

No matter how much he's been struggling to think at this moment, there are some things he will never forget as long as he lives.

"Jenna," he says, and the name comes out as more of a sigh than a word. She's haunted his dreams for over a decade, and it doesn't stop hurting no matter how many times this scene plays out before him.

He sits down next to her, pulling her small body into his arms, his hand going automatically on top of her gunshot wounds. His palms are already stained with her blood, but more continues to seep through his fingers, pooling onto the ground around them.

She doesn't speak — can't speak — but she doesn't need to, because he already knows exactly how this is his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, closing his eyes and tightening his grasp on her. In his mind, he's no longer in this strange room, but back in the precinct, kneeling on the ground and watching a child bleed to death in front of him. A young girl had died, and it had been by his hand.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle suddenly, as if there's someone standing behind him. When he twists his head to see however, it's just the same room, hiding its secrets in the shadows.

He's reluctant to let Jenna go, yet his instincts are screaming at him that there's another danger somewhere close, something he can't dismiss. She's stopped gasping now, lying so still in his arms that he isn't sure she's even alive anymore, and it takes almost all of his willpower to place her gently onto the floor, his fingers gripping at her wound before he forces them away.

"Who's there?" he demands, turning to investigate the room further. He's trying to remember why he's here. There is a pounding in his temple, a headache which only grows in pain the more he tries to think, to see, and his muscles become more lethargic as he moves.

How did he get here?

Olivia. He remembers being with Olivia.

"Olivia?" he calls softly, his gaze still hunting around the room for any sign of an attacker. He waits, listens, but there is no response.

"Liv?" he repeats, and this time, he spies a door — freedom from this room, from this nightmare.

"El?"

Finally, a response. He'd know that voice anywhere, and a sense of relief sweeps over his body. Olivia is there, and she'll know what is wrong with him. She can help.

"Liv, where are you?" he calls into the emptiness. "I have Jenn—"

He turns back to where he left Jenna, but the floor is empty besides a large smear of blood, which trails away into the darkness as if a body had been dragged, and his heart sinks.

"Liv?" he checks again, following the blood trail closely, wondering if it had been her moving Jenna. There's a shape in the corner of the room, and as he comes closer, he realizes it's the shape of a body.

"Olivia, I found her!" he calls, hurrying the last few steps.

But then he stops, frozen.

"El," Olivia says weakly as she lies on the floor, one hand thrown out towards him, the other clutching her stomach. Her plea shakes him out of his inaction, and he throws himself down next to her, his hands hovering over her body as he tries to see where she's injured.

"No no no," he says, his voice rising in panic as he notices all the blood. "Help! Someone, I need help!"

Olivia groans as he lifts her gently onto his lap, one arm wrapped under her shoulders whilst his other hand presses down onto her side, where he can see the most blood. It's in a strangely similar location to Jenna's wound, and he wonders if this is some karmic retribution.

"I've got you," he promises. "I've got you. SOMEONE, I NEED HELP!"

He can feel her shaking, either from the pain or shock, but all he can do is draw her closer, resting his lips on her temple as he waits in vain for someone to come to their aid. If his muscles had been more cooperative, perhaps he could carry her out to safety, wherever that may be. He's locked into place though, his feet the weight of lead, and there is a chill covering his entire body as he sinks further into despair.

"Why did you leave me?" Olivia whispers, her dark eyes staring up at him with anguish. "I needed you."

"I'm here," he tries to tell her. "And I'm not going to leave."

"But what good is that promise?" a cruel question arises in his mind.

When she had told him what had happened in the years he had been gone — the kidnapping, the torture, her fight against Lewis not once but twice — he had been haunted by the thought that if he had still been around, still been her partner, he would have prevented it from ever happening in the first place.

It had been an arrogant assumption however, because he's supposed to have her back now, and yet here she is, bleeding out in his embrace, and he's unable to help.

"You abandoned me, when I needed you the most," Olivia accuses him, voicing his fears out loud. It hurts even more when coming from her, each word a stab in his heart.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the apology seems hollow, inadequate. He feels sick, pressing down more firmly on her side as her warm blood trickles down his wrist; the wound is bleeding too heavily, and every second is ticking down towards a point of no return.

"I'm going to get you help," he promises, trying to judge whether he can lift and carry her out, or if it's better to run and find someone. They surely can't be the only two people in this entire building.

Olivia blinks slowly, then raises a hand towards his face. Her fingers are red, and he can feel the tacky smear of blood against his cheek as she touches him gently.

"Don't leave me," she begs. Her eyes close, and don't open again, her hand falling abruptly away from him onto the floor.

"Liv?" he asks, searching her face for any sign of movement. "Olivia?"

She doesn't respond; her lips are parted slightly, but there's no rise and fall to her chest.

"Olivia?" he's now yelling, shaking her shoulders slightly in an attempt to wake her, his hand desperately feeling around for a pulse. He can't find anything, any sign of life.

There's a noise behind him, a loud bang as if a door has been flung open, and more light enters the room, illuminating Olivia's pale, blank face. Someone's calling his name, but he can't look at anything besides her, unable to breathe as the reality that she's gone crashes over him.

A strong arm wraps around his shoulder, tugging him backward, and the movement kickstarts his muscles into action.

"No," he snaps, half-yelling as he fights against the grip. He refuses to leave Olivia, is ready to fight anyone who wants to take him away from her now.

The person stops trying to move him, the arm settling on his shoulder instead, one hand resting on his chest.

"Elliot?"

It's Olivia's voice, but her lips don't move. He must be hallucinating, imagining he can hear her.

"Oh my god, you're burning up," Olivia continues to say. "Please, El. Can you hear me?"

He blinks, and her face swims into view. There's a flush to her cheeks, a worried furrow of her brows, and the most important thing is that her eyes are staring directly back at him, full of concern.

"...Liv?" he whispers. Is she here? Is his mind playing tricks on him? Has he gone mad from grief and merely dreaming she's before him?

"I'm here," she promises, echoing his own words. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

He looks around, dazed. Olivia is crouching in front of him, and there's no sign of injury or blood, just an empty room beside the two of them.

"You…were hurt," he mumbles. "You died. I saw it."

His hand raises on its own accord, coming to rest against her bulletproof vest — something she hadn't been wearing when she had been dying in his arms. He can't feel her heartbeat through the layers, something she seems to realize also, since she quickly covers his own hand with hers, shifting until his fingertips rest against the pulse point on her neck. He rests his forehead against hers, and together they take a moment to breathe.

"I'm fine," she says. "But I don't think you are. Can you remember what happened?"

Kathy, Angela, Jenna…Olivia.

But before then, a flash of a clown's mask, a prick of a needle.

"I think I was drugged," he says.

Then he's collapsing backward, lying on the floor as he truly registers the pain running through his head, the hot and cold sensation plaguing his muscles. Olivia's worried face peers down at him.

"10-13, I have an officer down," she calls frantically into her radio. "Call for a bus."

His eyes close even as she continues to yell out more orders, until all he can sense is her voice, fading into the background.

~oOo~

The first thing he's aware of is the repetitive beep of a machine.

He knows he's in a hospital even before he opens his eyes, a sterile scent hitting his nostrils as he inhales deeply, trying to gather enough energy to awaken properly. The heart monitor, the scratchy blanket against his skin — things that are unfortunately too familiar for him.

There's a weight pressing down on one arm, and as he cracks open one eye, he can see a mass of dark hair splayed against his white blanket.

"Hey," he says, his voice raspy from disuse. He twitches his fingers slightly, and that is enough to have Olivia sitting bolt upright, her expression shifting from confused to bright in an instant when she realizes he's awake.

"Hey," she repeats back to him. Her smile is full of relief, and from the shadows under her eyes, he can guess he's been in this hospital bed for a while.

"You're ok?" he checks, just to be sure.

"Am I ok?" she says, with an unamused chuckle. "I'm fine, El. I wasn't the one dosed with an unknown drug."

So that's what it had been.

"Detective Muncy?" he continues stubbornly. He needs to know everything else had gone to plan.

Olivia stands up from her chair, lifting his arm so she can settle on the bed next to his hip instead, and resting their hands in her lap, fingers tangled together.

"Grace is fine," she reassures him. "We found the women too — some of them are also here in this hospital. Turns out you were injected with the same thing they were, some new drug Antonov was testing out before aiming to sell it as a weapon. Luckily Ayanna managed to find his workshop and all the base ingredients, and Fin managed to get more details through interrogation. You're all going to make full recoveries."

He nods, taking on board everything she's telling him. All the horrors he had witnessed, just simple hallucinations from the drug.

Olivia dips her head slightly, catching his gaze.

"What happened, El?" she asks. "You were…saying some things when I found you."

He knows he should tell her eventually — knows that he should probably tell a professional about it eventually too, because the amount of guilt and responsibility he's carrying over some of the tragedies in his life can sometimes be overwhelming.

But there's something far more important he needs to ask her first.

"You know I'm not going to leave again, right?" he says, tightening his grip on her hand. It has no relation to what they've been talking about, but Olivia doesn't seem confused by his non-sequitur, perhaps hearing the seriousness of his tone. Instead, she simply falls silent as she considers his words.

"I think I do now, yes," she says carefully. "Although it took me a while for me to believe what my instincts were saying."

He nods in relief, sagging back onto the pillows. Olivia's safe, everyone else is fine, and now he knows Olivia trusts him to stay, he can rest easy.

"The doctor says you can hopefully be out of here in a few days," Olivia tells him, her thumb now brushing gently against his wrist. "Which is good, because it means you should be home for next Saturday."

"Oh?" he croaks, lifting an eyebrow in response to the soft smile she sends his way. "What's on Saturday?"

This is his favorite way of seeing her. Her hair may be untidy, her shirt a wrinkled mess, and her face shows a tiredness that only a long-term lack of sleep could have caused. But her eyes are sparkling, and there's an infectious sense of happiness in her mood as she looks at him that he hasn't seen in her for a long time. She's shining brightly, a beacon for him to follow.

"Well, I missed Halloween with Noah," she tells him, biting her lip slightly. "So, we're having a party to have our own celebration."

By the way she says 'we', he knows he's included.

"Well then, I better get out of this hospital bed," he says, nodding along to her words.

"You can start by always following what the doctor tells you to do," she informs him, both a joke and a warning. He wrinkles his nose in response.

"Not one of my strengths," he admits.

"But for Noah?" she prompts.

"But for Noah and for you, I'm happy to do so," he promises.

He knows it's her way of extending an olive branch, some proof to highlight the fact that she does trust him, and wants him in her life.

"I'll be there," he adds, and he means Saturday, but also the rest of their lives. There's one nightmare he'll ensure will never become reality, because he'll be there beside her.


Note: The author of this SVU: Fall in Love story will be revealed in November