a/n: hello lovely readers :) WOW we are officially on chapter 30 of this fic! that's crazy to me, especially considering how many times I've been stuck, wholeheartedly convinced that I'd never write another word. I originally thought there would be about 30 chapters total in this story, but that is obviously not going to be the case lol. I don't have an exact number in mind now, but while I do have a fairly structured timeline planned out, the finish line is not yet in sight. I appreciate the continued love and support more than I can ever express in words.
trigger warnings continue for discussion of sexual assault and general dark content. thank you so much to my amazing beta, LivEinziger!
Chapter Thirty | Indivisible
Olivia's new nurse was named Abigail.
She had left Aubrey behind in New Jersey, along with Dr. Logan, Marissa, and Christine. According to all of those healthcare professionals, this was a massive step in the right direction. Olivia was stable enough to be transferred to New York, to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, which was a much higher-ranked facility than Saint Michael's. Due to the press that was still lingering with their cameras, Olivia had been flown to Columbia via helicopter, the opioids keeping her blissfully unaware.
By the time that Elliot arrived indoors with Cragen, his partner was settled into her new quarters, room number 512 in the Intensive Care Unit. Her Get Well cards were arranged appropriately, and a sunshine yellow blanket covered Olivia's legs. Abigail was measuring her patient's vital signs, scrawling notes on a legal pad for the attending, Dr. David Kemp.
"Great news, Mr. Stabler," Abigail reported. "Based off the numbers I have from Dr. Logan at Saint Michael's, Olivia's vital signs are growing significantly stronger."
"That's great," Elliot said, but tentatively. It sounded as if there was more to come from Abigail, a second portion to her statement. Elliot cleared his throat. "Does that mean we'll be able to take out the vent soon? Get Liv talking and eating?"
"Hopefully," said Abigail. "First, though, I believe Dr. Kemp wanted to get her back into surgery, see what can be done about that wrist."
Surgery.
Olivia's wrist.
Somehow, these details had slipped Elliot's mind. He had been focused solely on the bullet hole in her lung, but of course, there were multiple injuries that were ailing Liv. The bone protruding from her wrist needed attention and that would require general anesthesia.
But it was too soon. Elliot was not ready for Olivia to disappear again, into the dramatic theatre that was the operating room. He remembered the torture that was waiting for her during trauma surgery, not knowing whether Olivia would emerge alive.
"I—already? Didn't Olivia just barely make it through her last surgery?" Elliot challenged.
"Yes, but like I said, her vitals are improving and the sooner we set Detective Benson's bones, the better chance she'll have at making a full recovery." Abigail had moved on from her stance near the heart rate monitor. She was now pricking Olivia's vein, collecting a sample of her still-depleted blood. "Due to the…unique circumstances of her injury, the fact that she didn't receive immediate medical care, there's already a possibility of permanent nerve damage."
Permanent damage.
Elliot knew that Olivia's psyche would never be the same, that her body would forever bear the scars of her trauma, but if she couldn't even use her limbs properly?
"Um…okay. Okay, and what kind of surgery would you be doing? Who'd be doing it, this Dr. Kemp fellow?"
"No," Abigail said. "Dr. Kemp is assigned specifically to the ICU. We are extremely lucky to have some of the most talented orthopedic surgeons in the country here, though, and Dr. Todd Nelson is available this morning. I can page him, if you'd like to talk over everything."
Elliot nodded. He obviously wanted to speak with Dr. Nelson, to confirm that the physician understood what he was doing. In the meantime, Elliot did some research of his own, checking Nelson's credentials on the internet. He'd attended college at Princeton University, and then gone on to medical school at Harvard. Nelson was double-certified in orthopedic and trauma surgery and regularly lectured at Ivy League institutions.
The question remained if he was qualified to treat Olivia Benson.
Maureen pranced into Room 512 at ten o'clock, carrying three helium balloons, two of which were red and shaped like hearts. The other one was pink and read in loopy, purple cursive, Happy Valentine's Day!
"Don't worry, I checked with the nurse. She said balloons won't hurt her," Maureen announced, as if that was the reasoning behind Elliot's bewildered face. She pushed the strings into her father's hands. "Here…I got them for you to give to Olivia."
In hindsight, Elliot's response could have been better. "Is today Valentine's Day?"
"Well, duh. It's February fourteenth, isn't it?" giggled Maureen.
Elliot shrugged. Ever since he'd realized that Olivia had been taken, the days had all blended together. It was funny, though. If Maureen was right and today was the fourteenth—and that is what Elliot's phone claimed—then a full week had passed since Olivia's birthday dinner. The night that Elliot had been introduced to Seth. The night that Elliot had moronically thought would end in him accompanying Olivia home…
He wasn't so foolish as to expect to climb in bed with her. No, even if Olivia had consented to that step, it went against Elliot's every Catholic moral. But he had wondered if they might share a kiss. If maybe they'd acknowledge that their relationship—whatever it was—had progressed past the point of a strictly professional one.
Instead, the evening had concluded horrifically. Olivia had run into her apartment crying and Elliot was left speculating whether he had hurt her.
Nope, it wasn't you, Elliot told himself now. Olivia had just realized that she'd been drugged by her own brother. Drugged and…
He wouldn't let himself formulate the actual words. Not even in his head.
Elliot just pushed a feeble smile on his lips and concentrated back on Maureen. "Well, thanks, pumpkin. But why don't you give the balloons to Olivia? You bought them."
"I know, but I think they'd be better coming from you," Maureen said.
So Elliot tied them onto Olivia's adjacent side table. He whispered, "Happy Valentine's Day, Liv," and was somewhat relieved when she did not immediately awaken.
He glanced up to see Maureen observing him with a smirk.
"What?" Elliot prompted.
"Nothing. She's getting better, isn't she?"
"A little bit, yeah."
Elliot's voice, he noticed, was not especially convincing. He knew he should be happy that Olivia was getting better, but something inside was staunching his enthusiasm. It was like his conscience wouldn't allow himself to fully go there. Perhaps that was because Olivia didn't look better. She was still unconscious a majority of the time, and had awakened the night prior only to cough or fidget.
As a result, Elliot had recorded minimal sleep. He'd slumbered intermittently, his head drooped on the edge of Olivia's mattress—but regardless of his four nights of insomnia, adrenaline would not permit him to truly rest. Not until Olivia was safely out of the woods. Not until she was awake, alert, and talking.
And as of right now, Olivia was none of those things. As soon as Elliot signed Dr. Nelson's papers, Olivia would be on her way to surgery.
Elliot was torn on whether he should tell her. Doing so would increase Olivia's anxiety which could morph into heightened blood pressure. A recipe for disaster in the OR. But the situation was akin to that of the rape kit, just on a thankfully lesser scale. What if Olivia woke up and learned that Elliot again had signed away her body? Given strangers permission to sedate and alter her?
It had to be done, one way or another, in order to fix what Pfitzinger had broken, so when Dr. Nelson brought the documents to Room 512, Elliot ultimately consented to the operation. Olivia was still sedated from her transfer. Keeping her asleep for a few hours longer would hopefully only spare her suffering.
Or that was what Dr. Nelson had said, anyway, whom Elliot had questioned thoroughly about the surgery. Most of the medical lingo was confusing, but Elliot had grasped the basic principles. The doctors were going in to stabilize Olivia's wrist. Pins and screws would likely be involved in order to keep the bone fragments intact.
Compared to the thoracotomy that Olivia had endured on Sunday, this procedure was supposedly a simple one. Still, that did not stop Elliot from warning Nelson as the surgeon departed Room 512: "Don't mess up."
-DUN DUN-
Waiting—it was excruciating.
Elliot had known that in advance; he'd predicted torture from the moment that Olivia was out of sight. Nothing could have prepared him for the terror, though, the paranoia that washed over him like a tidal wave at sea.
Olivia was in surgery. Somewhere in the building, a stranger was digging their scalpel into her, cutting open Olivia Benson's flesh. Or maybe that was not exactly the truth—Olivia's skin was already badly lacerated. But Nelson and his soldiers were prodding about, removing damaged tissue and inserting pins and screws.
Cragen and Maureen stayed with Elliot for a while, and then they invited him to the cafeteria, doubtlessly hoping to distract his anxious brain. But their endeavor was futile. Elliot knew better than to try and consume anything, so he loitered in Room 512, waiting…and waiting…and waiting…and waiting…
Someone had promised to give Elliot updates. A scrub nurse was supposed to relay information so that Elliot would not lose his mind completely. So far, there were no signs of that promise being kept. That meant one of two things. Either Dr. Nelson had forgotten his vow, which was not a selling point to Elliot, or the operation had taken a drastic nosedive. No one, not a single scrub nurse could be afforded to ensure that Elliot stayed in the loop.
Cragen reappeared roughly fifteen minutes later, yet there was no Maureen at his side.
"She had to go to school for a test," Cragen said and the guilt that spread through Elliot was like a shot of heroin. Heavy. All-encompassing. Of course, Maureen had to go to school. She had been skipping classes for two days, in order to spend time at the hospital with her father. It was more than unnecessary. It was flat-out humiliating that Maureen believed Elliot to be so unstable that she was sacrificing her education for him. It was no longer tolerable.
"Tell her she can stay there," Elliot instructed, his mouth suddenly feeling dry and hollow. "I've…appreciated all the support, but Maureen shouldn't be missing school for me."
"You're her family. Her father. If not you, then who should she be missing school for, might I ask?"
Cragen was smiling wryly at Elliot, likely attempting to cheer the latter up. But it wasn't working. The detective sighed.
"No one. She shouldn't be missing school for anyone, but especially not me. I'm—I'm not the one on the operating table."
"Well, as I understand it, Maureen is missing school for herself as much as she is, you," Cragen admitted. "She can't go anywhere on campus without people asking questions. People seem to know that she's related to Detective Stabler, the cop who killed a rapist to save his beloved partner."
It took a few beats for those words to register, for Elliot to comprehend what Cragen was implying. The cop who killed a rapist to save his beloved partner. Is that how the entire country knew them?
Before Elliot could ask for clarification, Cragen was chuckling, affectionately. "Son, with all due respect, you did tell CNN that Olivia's smile was the most beautiful thing in the world. You shot Bryce Pfitzinger eleven times in a row."
"So? The bastard deserved it."
"And I don't think there's a person in New York who doubts that. This is a story that captures public interest, though…and I don't think that interest will be dying down anytime soon."
There wasn't amusement in Cragen's tone now. He had dealt with the media on high-profile cases previously. Elliot and Olivia had guarded victims from the photographers, told hungry journalists to get their headlines elsewhere.
But this was different. This was Olivia, and Elliot cringed as he thought of the swarm of vultures outside, preying on his partner's darkest era. They were disgusting, despicable human beings that were unfortunately just doing their jobs.
And this? This was bigger than any case that Elliot had worked as a detective. Bigger than Hailey Rubbo's miraculous rescue, which had led Olivia and Elliot to San Francisco in the first place. This was unheard of, breaking news across the nation—an NYPD detective, abducted in plain sight.
"How are John and Fin handling everything?" Elliot said, more to change the subject than anything.
"They're alright. We've obviously had to bring a few fillers into SVU, although no one's going to replace you or Liv. John and Fin understandably want to see Olivia, but they also know that might take a few more days."
In Elliot's opinion, it would take more than a few days. Olivia had been awake for possibly ten minutes since her pulse had stopped in that basement. Too many visitors—friends or otherwise, could easily send her into a tailspin.
But Cragen's remark concerning SVU sparked a new dilemma for Elliot. The captain had said, No one's going to replace you and Liv.
Was that legitimately true? In the depths of his soul, Elliot knew that the odds of Olivia returning to the force were slim. Even if she somehow managed to pass a psychological evaluation, Olivia was missing half of her left lung, and her wrist was being pinned together as they spoke.
There was no question that her life was the priority. But unless Olivia was the one sitting parallel to him, Elliot would not be continuing at the one-six either. Not without his partner, the other half to what some called the dynamic duo. They were inseparable. Indivisible. Elliot refused to show someone else the ropes, when no one would be able to fill Olivia's enormous shoes.
"What about you, Elliot?"
Cragen's timbre jolted him back to Earth, and Elliot struggled to recall what precisely they'd discussed. "Uh…what about what?"
"How are you doing? How are you handling everything?"
It was Elliot's turn to chuckle. There was, however, no humor in his laugh. "Oh, you know, Captain…I'm alive. Olivia's alive so…so I'm alive."
"Olivia's alive because of you, Elliot. Because of you and your flawless CPR."
Elliot shook his head. He didn't want to think about his CPR, about feeling Olivia's sternum crack beneath his hands. He couldn't think about it, not when Olivia was in surgery.
"You know, Captain, I…I can't…" Elliot's breaths were quickening, accelerating, and Cragen placed a tender hand on his bicep.
Elliot flinched.
"Easy…I know. I wasn't saying you have to talk about it now," Cragen said. "But you do have to remember that while Olivia's been through a major trauma, you have, too. You have to take care of yourself or else you'll be no use to Olivia."
"And what do you want me to do?" Elliot asked. "Go home, take a bubble bath while Liv's having surgery?"
The concept was so ridiculous that Elliot snorted. His nerves were humming like high-voltage power lines; he couldn't sit still another second. He jumped to his feet, leaving Cragen behind. He paced into the ICU's corridor, listening to the occasional alarm sound from a patient's suite.
Other patients were dying. A ninety year-old man in 518 had been escorted from his room in a body bag. Elliot closed his eyes, knowing he should pray, but those prayers only landed on Olivia.
Olivia, unconscious in surgery, a tube breathing for her while doctors fused her bones…
It wasn't fair. Elliot would swap locations with her in an instant. He would lie down on the table, let the surgeons dissect him, if it meant that Olivia would be transported up here, healthy.
That wasn't how the world worked, though. If it was, Elliot would have taken all her pain away. He would have sheltered every one of his children from the universe and put that damn bullet in his lung instead.
Elliot was back inside of Room 512, and Cragen had gone to pick up Maureen from Hudson when Dr. Nelson pushed ajar the door.
There was no transitional period. Elliot's figure acted of its own accord; he was abruptly vertical and rushing towards the surgeon, his heart beating like the most frenzied drummer.
"What happened?! Are you done?!"
"Detective Benson is in recovery," Nelson reported and Elliot's legs were suddenly made of jelly. They would barely hold him; he wobbled back to his chair.
He didn't know what he'd been anticipating. A wrist surgery was nothing, nothing compared to lung trauma. But Nelson had sworn to keep Elliot informed.
"W-What happened to sending a nurse with updates?" he accused.
"To be honest, there wasn't a whole lot to report," Nelson grinned, far too jovial for Elliot's liking. "Detective Benson did great in there," he added, and when this did not meet Elliot's standards, "Haven't you ever heard the phrase that no news is good news?"
"So she's fixed? You fixed her wrist?"
Nelson's beam faltered slightly.
"Well, we fixed what was fixable at this time. Detective Benson's wrist has essentially been reconstructed with a total of four pins, eight screws, and a plate keeping it intact. It appears as though she may have some additional nerve damage, though, so we'll need to keep an eye on her mobility and likely go back in a few weeks from now."
More surgery.
By then, Olivia would, God-willing, be alert. If the stars aligned, she might not remember everything, but chances were decent that some flashbacks would occur. What kind of impact would surgery have on Olivia? Being drugged, her body opened up, when Seth and Bryce had performed their own procedures?
"I—okay. Okay," Elliot said. There was not much else to articulate. "The pins and screws and shit—will those be able to come out after a while?"
"That's something we'll have to play by ear, but it's unlikely. Unless the hardware is causing major problems—and by problems, I mean pain, not difficulty going through airport security—that would just be extra trauma for Detective Benson."
Elliot nodded. Reluctantly, he conceded his grilling of Dr. Nelson, so the physician escaped from Room 512. Olivia returned not twenty minutes later, seemingly unchanged from the last time Elliot saw her. The only difference was the bandaging on her right arm, which was thicker and included a sling.
It didn't look like the type of material that could be signed, not that Elliot would mark Olivia without consent. He hesitated before even stroking her left hand, but figured it was the swiftest way to ease her back to consciousness.
"Liv. Hey, Liv," Elliot murmured, just as Maureen and Cragen drifted through the doorway.
The former skipped to her father's side. "Is she awake?!"
"Not yet. She just got back from surgery five minutes ago."
"Well, she better wake up soon. She needs to see her Valentine's Day presents."
Elliot's scoff was concealed by converting it into a cough.
He agreed that the sooner Olivia woke, the better, but he highly doubted that she would care about pink balloons. In fact, he sort of hoped that she wouldn't spot them and assume that Elliot had selected them.
But Maureen bounced over to Olivia's plush doughnut which had been resting on a chair in her absence. Maureen positioned it back onto Olivia's lap and mentioned something about the doughnut having healing powers. Elliot ignored her. He didn't want to kill his daughter's joy, but if that doughnut awakened Olivia, if it urged her to start breathing independently, then he would worship it for the rest of his days.
Thirty minutes dragged by in slow motion, and then another thirty after that. Elliot took notice of the blood caked in Olivia's nails as he interlaced his fingers with hers. It could have gotten caught there when blood was pouring from her chest, but something told Elliot that it had been there earlier. That Olivia had fought tooth and nail for her life. It made Elliot feel as though someone had punched him in the stomach.
Olivia was strong, there was no denying it, but her strength never should have been necessary. She should have been protected by her partner.
"Dad."
Maureen was standing not two feet to Elliot's left.
"Yeah? I'm sorry, pumpkin, what did you say?"
"I said that Captain Cragen and I are heading down to the cafeteria. What do you want? Nothing's not an option; Cragen says you have to eat something."
On this occasion, Elliot's scoff was unavoidable. He rolled his eyes, and scowled at his commanding officer. "Well, what if I told Captain Cragen here that anything I ate would probably come back up?"
"Well, then I guess he'd know that your answer is chicken noodle soup," Cragen said and he was exchanging banter with Maureen as they strolled away.
Their exit resembled a pre-rehearsed cue. As soon as they were gone and Elliot was alone with her, Olivia blinked several times in succession. She fingered the plush doughnut that resided on her lap.
That damn magic doughnut.
"Hey. Good morning, sunshine," Elliot smiled. Or he tried to, anyway. He tried to grin at Olivia's befuddled expression, the way that her eyebrows pinched together in confusion. "It's okay. That's from Maureen—you, uh, you remember who Maureen is, don't you?"
There were no indications that Olivia had heard Elliot. His spine began tingling, his palms perspiring with the knowledge that a billion and one things could still go wrong.
"She's my daughter. My oldest daughter, Maureen, she's in school at Hudson…you know Maureen," Elliot said, persuading himself as much as he was Olivia. "She's been up here visiting but ran down to the cafeteria with Cragen. Er—Captain Donald Cragen. Do you remember him?"
Olivia blinked once, which translated to yes. Elliot released an exhale of relief.
"Okay, good. Good, uh…listen, Liv…you're at Columbia Presbyterian now. We had you transferred over here this morning."
Elliot watched as Olivia's pupils grew big, as she gazed at her surroundings and absorbed the change of scenery. Room 512 really wasn't that different from Room 302. If anything, it was a bit larger, with an oddly thin sofa situated near the windows. That sofa would likely serve as Elliot's bed for the upcoming weeks. Outside the panes was a view of the classic Manhattan skyscrapers. They towered over Columbia like faithful giants, prohibiting the city's evil from infiltrating those in crisis.
To Olivia, though, everything was overwhelming. Elliot could sense the fear in her chocolate irises, the realization that life was going on around her. Potentially without her explicit permission.
"Shh," Elliot soothed. Mindful of her still-concussed brain, he gently stroked what he could gather of Olivia's soiled hair. "It's alright. It's alright, you're safe, Livia. I'm right here with you, okay?"
Olivia's demeanor seemed to calm, marginally. Her heart rate monitor, which had begun to beep more briskly, was sinking back down to a somewhat normal rhythm.
"That's it," Elliot encouraged. "You're doing really well, Liv. You're getting better, that's why we moved you. Hopefully, we'll be able to take some of these tubes out soon…get you standing, maybe get some actual food in your system; how does that sound?"
She had to be hungry. Olivia's basic nutritional needs had been fulfilled intravenously since Sunday, but it was unlikely that Pfitzinger had fed her anything. She probably had not eaten for close to a week, and Elliot promised himself that that would change as soon as possible. If he had to hand-feed her strawberry Jell-O, he would do it.
But Olivia was dozing off again, and Elliot wasn't about to push her for his own benefit. He could only imagine how frustrating it was for her, for someone as stubborn and witty as Olivia, to have her communication methods reduced to blinks and shrugs.
As he examined his partner, whose muscles appeared to be shrinking by the hour, it was difficult for Elliot to imagine her walking, talking, or eating. But if anyone could defy the odds and function regularly, Elliot knew that it would be his Liv.
Olivia had once gone for a run in Central Park in an effort to get out of her head. Due to the storm brewing in her mind, she'd not paid attention to her mileage. Distracted by the freedom in her stride, Olivia had unintentionally recorded over twenty miles. Simply attempting to evade herself.
Despite what he'd told her outside her condo years ago, Elliot considered Olivia Benson a superhero. And superheroes didn't lose their ability to fly. Not permanently. Superheroes always came back in the end. Superheroes could do anything.
-DUN DUN-
Olivia was confused—so confused, at why she was in an unfamiliar room and why her arm was encased in plaster and why there was a plush doughnut on her lap.
She had received a basic summary, that she'd been shot in the line of duty, but Olivia felt that she was only getting half the story. Who had put the bullet in her lung? Was the perpetrator in jail or had a member of her squad killed him at the scene? Olivia could not remember being in the field—she couldn't recollect much of anything, besides that Elliot was her partner and that she was employed at SVU.
That was likely a side effect from her head injury because according to Elliot, Olivia was also concussed and had sustained a badly fractured wrist. It just didn't make sense. Those injuries typically did not coincide, unless Olivia had collapsed strategically when she was shot. Had she fallen down a flight of stairs?
A particular subway station swam into her intellect…the steep, concrete staircase at 110th Street and Broadway. Olivia could not pinpoint the association, but she was convinced that that was where she'd tumbled.
She could not spare it too much thought. Whatever drugs the doctors were dispensing, they kept Olivia in a constant cloud. She had surfaced long enough to learn she'd transferred hospitals, and for Elliot to ask a couple questions. Olivia prayed he was telling the truth when he said that certain tubes would be evicted in the near future.
Then, she could be discharged. She could make it to court and testify against her gunman, go home and eat a pint of strawberry ice cream, and be back in the squadroom by Monday. Cragen would probably stick her on desk duty for a while, but based on the state of her wrist, that wasn't a decision that Olivia planned on fighting. She'd had to figure out how to write legibly with her left hand. Practice her signature for legal documents…
This was suddenly an utmost priority. Olivia was too weak to sit up independently, but she inclined her head forward a bit. She stretched her good arm desperately towards Elliot, who startled at his partner's movement.
"Liv—what's wrong?"
She gestured at the dry erase board, which was sitting on her bedside table. It must have made the trip with Olivia to Manhattan.
"You wanna write something?"
Blink. Another damn blink. Olivia was getting so sick of blinking.
"Okay, hold on," Elliot said. He scooped up the board, and a purple marker, which he conveyed hastily to Olivia.
She gripped the utensil with all of her strength and spelled out her name in sloppy, childish cursive. Elliot was watching her, carefully.
"Yeah, that's your name. Good job, Liv."
It wasn't a good job. Olivia erased the board with her yellow blanket, tattooing a purple smudge into the fabric. Both detectives ignored the altercation and Olivia focused again on the task at hand.
She printed this time, in vast, uneven letters: I fell down stairs.
"You fell down stairs?" Elliot asked, and Olivia blinked, sure that praise would follow. Praise from Elliot for deducing what had occurred. "I—okay. Okay, when did that happen?"
It was obvious, wasn't it? Olivia thought so, but maybe Elliot was prompting her intentionally. Maybe he needed an official statement.
She went to inhale deeply, forgetting that that was impossible. The ventilator was doing all of Olivia's breathing for her and while it had been helpful at first, now the service was getting annoying. Olivia wanted to breathe on her own schedule. She didn't want a machine to do it for her.
What exactly had Elliot been inquiring?
It couldn't have been that important. Olivia dozed off again, and woke to a number of individuals in her corner. Elliot was there, but so was Cragen, and a familiar young woman with wavy, blonde hair. All of them were listening as another woman talked, presumably one of Olivia's nurses. The group was unaware that their patient was conscious.
"…I understand, Mr. Stabler," the professional was saying. From what Olivia could see, she had auburn hair and was dressed in tailored, navy scrubs. It wasn't fair to assume she was a nurse, though. The medical field was rapidly expanding and this woman could very well be a physician.
No matter her title, Elliot was arguing with her. His arms were crossed and his disposition was weary. Exasperated.
"No, you know, I don't think you do," he said. "She doesn't remember my daughter. She doesn't remember anything that happened and sooner or later, I'm gonna have to tell her cause there's a hundred reporters outside. How the fuck am I supposed to do that?!"
"We will cross that bridge when we come to it," said the woman in scrubs. "Right now, all we need to focus on is Olivia's healing. She's been through extensive trauma, both physical and mental, and some memory loss is to be expected."
There was a pause, and then the woman continued, "Truthfully, with how long her brain was without oxygen, I'm surprised she knows her own name. I'm surprised she knows who you are, that she remembers how to read and write."
Olivia closed her eyes, as if this would block out the conversation's audibility. She was right. There was something that Elliot wasn't telling her. Something had happened, something other than a random perpetrator shooting her.
Olivia had been through extensive trauma. That was what the woman had said. Extensive trauma, and yet Olivia couldn't remember any of it. Her brain had apparently been without oxygen and slowly, gradually, she pieced together what that meant. Olivia must have died. Her heart must have stopped.
The revelation had the opposite effect now. Olivia could feel her heart pick up like a racecar; jolts of pain pulsed through her thorax. Something was beeping, beeping, beeping, and then Elliot was sprinting to her side.
"Liv. Liv, are you awake?"
Part of Olivia wanted to deny it. But curiosity—and pain—got the best of her. She opened her eyes, and no white boards were necessary. She knew that Elliot understood her message as she scrutinized his frantic pupils.
"Oh, shit."
The words were hardly loud enough for Olivia to hear, but she knew why Elliot was cursing. He had established that his rant had had an audience.
An audience—why was that term anxiety-inducing?
"Liv, I—I'm sorry. I didn't—you're doing great…"
"Mr. Stabler, don't stress about it."
Both Olivia and Elliot looked up. The nurse—it turned out she was a nurse—had joined them in a lopsided triangle. She was wearing a badge that read Katelyn, along with a smirk, as if laughing at her own joke. "Really," she said. "She probably won't even remember in five minutes."
Tell me, sweetheart. Are you gonna be my audience…or are you gonna be my star?
"The hell did you just say?!"
Elliot had whirled around. He was chasing Katelyn from the room, yelling at her to send in her superior. Cragen and Maureen—that was her name, Maureen—they were both huddled around Olivia, and it was Cragen's paternal voice that stood out to her. A flickering candle flame in an otherwise black night.
"It's alright, Olivia. Don't worry, everything's fine. You're safe, alright? Try and calm down."
But Olivia wasn't safe. Safety did not exist. Cragen, Maureen, and Elliot were miles away from her; Olivia was in hell, fire consuming her chest.
"SHE NEEDS MEDS!" Elliot screamed. Olivia knew it was Elliot. She knew his pitch, which was borderline delirious. "I DON'T CARE THAT IT'S NOT TIME, SHE'S IN PAIN! SHE NEEDS FUCKING PAIN MEDS! NOW! DO YOU WANT HER TO STROKE OUT?!"
Stroking out, disappearing, would be preferable to Olivia. Her body was shaking as the pain intensified; each muscle twitch was a knife in her ribs. As the agony reached its peak, she was blinded by a brazen light, and Olivia was grateful when the darkness finally conquered her…
It did not last forever, as she would have liked.
What seemed like only minutes later, Olivia was cognizant of something wet and cool being pressed against her forehead. She squinted through her lids, cautiously, in case the blinding light was waiting to ambush her.
She merely found Elliot, seated a foot away, his complexion pale and visibly concerned. He was tenderly patting Olivia's hairline with a dampened washcloth, their unspoken boundaries discarded.
Olivia opened her mouth but to no avail. She could not speak. Not only was the breathing tube in place, but Olivia's throat was raw, something suppressing her larynx. Her entire being was heavy. Weighed down. The ache in her midsection was prominent, but not unbearable.
She'd undoubtedly been drugged again.
"Shh, don't try to talk, Liv," Elliot cautioned. "Don't worry, you're alright. Everything's alright."
Alright? This was alright? Olivia was sick. Dizzy. Drained and lethargic, yet simultaneously filled to the brim with anxiety. She stared relentlessly at Elliot, pleading silently for an explanation.
"You, uh…passed out," he said, quietly. "It's okay, not for long…and you're in bed so you didn't fall or anything. Your heart was going really fast, though, and I think the pain must've gotten bad, so we—the nurse, I mean—she gave you some medicine to…"
Elliot trailed off. His voice had been growing rather shaky and moisture was gathering in his eyes like condensation. He swiped at them, an unconvincing smile forced upon his face.
"…To help you feel better," he finished and then wavered. "D-Did it work? I mean, how—how are you feeling?"
Olivia was becoming less than fond of this question. Depending on the length of her recovery, this was likely only the beginning, but the excessive worry was becoming stale. Olivia wished that she could hide under her comforter, which was a mustard shade of yellow. She saw few alternatives to responding, though, so shrugged to the best of her ability. A cramp instantly materialized near her armpit, which Olivia neglected for Elliot's sake.
Elliot, whose demeanor was brightening at the prospect of Olivia not suffering.
"A little better?"
Blink.
"Great. You know, Captain's here and…and so is Maureen. You feel up to saying hi to them?"
Olivia had just seen Cragen. He had spoken to her, sought to comfort her, just before Olivia had passed out. Right? She thought she remembered that much correctly, although she couldn't recall why she'd been so panicked. Maybe she'd imagined the whole thing.
Actually, she hoped that was the case. Elliot witnessing Olivia in such a state—with a tube woven down her esophagus—that was mortifying in itself. She didn't need additional spectators.
And it was not her commanding officer that Olivia desired. She wanted to get out of bed. She wanted to shower, to go home, to discover what exactly had transpired. She wanted to find out why she was in the ICU, incapable of walking, talking, or eating. It did not look promising that Elliot would tell her. He was overprotective, to a fault, and clearly hiding something astronomical from her.
She'd been shot in the lung. What could be worse than getting shot in the lung?
One answer gleamed in the back of Olivia's mind but she refused to allow herself to go there. No. Besides, one didn't get shot and raped. There wouldn't have been time for that, mid-shootout.
Perhaps Olivia had said something embarrassing in her sleep. Perhaps she had confessed her secret love for Elliot, and that's why he was acting so peculiar. It was hurting Olivia's brain to contemplate the subject. She closed her eyes to cope with the latest onslaught of dizziness, and when she opened them, Elliot had not moved. He was waiting on her, expectantly.
Olivia lifted one brow up, as if to ask, What?
"I—nothing, Liv. Nothing at all. Get some rest, alright?"
-DUN DUN-
Elliot was fuming.
He was fuming, furious at Nurse Katelyn and the universe, but most of all, Elliot was angry at himself. For being stupid enough to start that conversation, for mentioning the media in the presence of Olivia. What had he been thinking, that she was oblivious? Too brain-damaged to take in the sounds around her?
Nurse Katelyn had said that Olivia would forget quickly but Elliot wasn't so certain about that. She had passed out and slept a bit thanks to the opioids, but when she woke, it was like something had shifted within Olivia. She had remembered something. Elliot knew it, in his gut. He had seen the haunting in victims precedently.
Cragen had claimed that it was for the best. He said that while the timing was not ideal, considering it had raised her blood pressure to stroke-level, Olivia was bound to decode the truth eventually. Her abduction was cemented into the NYPD history books. When she was discharged from the hospital, whether that be in a week or a year, Olivia might be called to testify against her brother. Better to break the news to her now than for her to find out accidentally on television.
But Elliot disagreed. Olivia was fresh out of surgery, and while the odds of her surviving were gratefully increasing, her blood pressure spike was proof of her fragility. It was well-known in the world of trauma that mind and body were connected. What if Olivia remembered her assaults, remembered something that Bryce or Seth had done to her, and as a result, decided to stop trying? To stop healing?
Elliot would never forgive himself.
He was barely staying afloat as things were, remaining at Olivia's side every second of the day. She woke up infrequently, stared at the wall or ceiling, but never was keen on interacting. It scared Elliot. It scared him to think of what she might be internalizing.
A nurse stopped by around eight o'clock—a different nurse than the one that had poked fun at her patient. That nurse would no longer be working with Olivia; Elliot had confirmed that with Dr. Kemp. This new nurse obtained a set of vitals from Olivia, and informed Maureen and Cragen that visiting hours were over.
"But he's staying," Maureen said, pointing at Elliot, who was slumped over in his chair.
He was thinking about treating himself to the thin, nylon couch tonight. He didn't deserve it—a treat of any kind, but Elliot's back was unbelievably stiff. The sofa would be comparable to heaven.
"Usually we permit one family member to stay with ICU patients that are deemed…critical," the nurse said in response to Maureen. She glanced at Elliot, in synchrony with his daughter.
Before either woman could suggest it, though, Elliot shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You know, Dad, Olivia's getting better. It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to take a shower," Maureen said.
"I can take a shower here," Elliot insisted, disregarding what had been implied. "They have soap, shampoo, and stuff. Just bring me some new clothes. I'm not leaving Liv."
"There's nothing you can do for her right now, son—" Cragen began, but Elliot interrupted, his tone low and desperate. Begging.
"I can be here with her. I need to be here with her."
Elliot would never forget the way that Olivia's limbs had convulsed in pain earlier, how her crossed eyes had rolled back into her head. If it hadn't been for him bellowing at the nursing staff, she could have stroked out before medication was administered.
"Elliot," Cragen repeated, more softly this time. "You haven't eaten anything in close to five days. Olivia's not going to recognize you soon if you don't shave that scruff off your face."
But all of their arguments amounted to nothing. Elliot just scooted closer to Olivia, who in sleep, appeared tranquil for the moment. Peaceful, underneath the bruises and lacerations, the centipede of stitches across the right portion of her forehead.
He'd meant it when he'd told her Semper Fi.
a/n: recovery is a marathon, not a sprint. and yes, I chose that quote because I officially ran my FIRST MARATHON last month! and I just had to brag about that for a second. but in all seriousness, I'm sorry not sorry if anyone thinks my slow, slow burn has even gotten slower. as I'm sure I've mentioned before, one of my biggest pet peeves on the canon shows is that they often skip over the "hard parts" of recovery. I am going to have a slight time jump in the beginning of the next chapter but it's very important to me to otherwise portray every hard, slow, and painful moment of the recovery process.
thank you so much for reading and I'll try to get 31 up as soon as possible. xoxo