I hate hospitals. Can't stand them. How the hell did I get here? I was supposed to watch her back. And I let this happen.
She was trying to be strong. I could see it in her face. She wasn't going to let me see just how much pain she was in. But her white-knuckle grip on my hand kind of gave it away.
She went limp on me, just before the paramedics got to us. Closed her eyes and gave in. She had me panicking, until I saw she was still breathing. The medics rushed in and took over, placing an oxygen mask on her and starting IVs, talking to each other so fast that I couldn't even understand what they were saying.
They let me ride with her. And then, I found myself, here, in the hall. Waiting. It can't be that bad. It can't be. She's a fighter. I know she is. I'm not gonna lose her.
Munch and Fin got here first, and Cragen showed up about two minutes after, coming out of some meeting downtown.
The boss steps over and I look up. "What?"
"Go get cleaned up," Cragen tells me. I glance at my hands. One's clean. Completely untouched. But the palm and fingers of the other are covered in her blood.
She should've been wearing a vest. But we didn't think he'd have a gun. Here was a guy who'd never committed a violent crime in his life. A few burglaries, a couple of convictions for car theft and fraud, and a couple of DUIs. He had a sheet as long as my arm, but he'd never been violent, until he started to rape. But, even then, he didn't carry a weapon.
One of the nurses shows me where I can clean up. She tried to tell me something. I saw her lips move, but she couldn't get the sound out. If I lose her, that bastard's gonna regret the day he was born.
I watch, as the combination of soap suds and blood swirls around the white basin of the sink and goes down the drain. She won't like that. Doing something out of revenge. If some son of a bitch who couldn't stand up and take the consequences for what he'd done takes her from me, he's gonna pay, one way or the other.
"Uniforms found Andrews, on the next block. Still had the gun on him," Don informs me, when I resume my seat in the hall. "John and Fin went for a cup of coffee - you want anything?"
I shake my head. "Little bastard should rot somewhere," I growl, staring at the tile in front of me. She told me once that she doesn't have much luck, when it comes to being happy. In some twisted way, you could call this proof. We're happy, together, and this happens.
"She's a fighter," Cragen comments, quietly. "She'll pull through. You know she is. She wouldn't have made it this far, if she wasn't."
He's right. She likes life too much just to give up and die. She'll put up a fight. That's how she does things. If she wasn't a fighter, she would have given up long before this, with the kind of crap she's lived through.
A white-coated doctor comes into the hall, pulling a mask down from his face. I get up, hoping he's bringing good news. His face is pretty much expressionless, but that's a regular thing for doctors.
I shove my hands in my pockets, trying to keep some kind of control. I can't talk. I won't be able to get a word out.
Don moves from where he's leaning against the wall and joins me. "Doc, is she okay?"
"Yes. She's lucky," The middle-aged doctor sighs. "The bullet entered and bounced off a rib - it exited out her back. She's got a broken rib or two, but she's fine. If it had lodged somewhere inside, we'd have a problem. She's a lucky woman."
"Can I see her?" I have to see her. Touch her. See her breathing. See that she's okay, for myself.
The man rubs his face, tiredly. "Detective, we normally limit it to family. Next of kin."
"There is no next of kin," I sigh. "She's my girlfriend." I feel awkward, saying that in front of the boss, because we kept it a secret for so long.
He nods, understanding. "She's groggy, but you can see her. Just try to keep her calm, if you can. Second room on your left. One person at a time would probably be better."
"Thanks," I reply, reaching for a handshake. The doctor gives me a firm one, and walks off.
"You go first." Don nods, as I sigh in relief. She's okay.
I step into the room, shutting the door behind me, as quietly as I can. I see her, lying on the bed, a clean white sheet and a blanket tucked under her arms.
Her head's lying limply against the pillow. Her beautiful dark hair is spread out around her face. She looks so pale, so fragile. I've never seen her like this. When she walks into a room, she gives off this impression of strength. She looks so weak, now, it's a little scary.
A thin, dark wire snakes under the material of the hospital gown that covers her chest. Heart monitor, I realize, noticing the machine that's beside her bed, beeping continuously. There's an IV running into her left arm, but that's it. She's not as bad as I thought she might be.
I find a chair in the room and pull it over, to sit beside her. "Hi, sweetheart." I feel compelled to talk to her. Even though she looks like she's still asleep.
Her eyes flicker, when I speak. She opens them, fully, and looks at me, groggily. "El?" Her voice is a thin whisper.
"Yeah. I'm here, sunshine." I reach up and gently stroke her hair, brushing it out of her face. She hates that name. Or she pretends to. I never know, with her.
"Mmph," she makes the sound, closing her eyes.
"What? Is there something wrong? Want me to get the doctor?"
She reaches with her right hand and grabs mine, with surprising strength. I didn't think she'd have that much left. "No. Just - I feel like I've been stepped on."
I rub my fingers over the back of her hand. She's alive. Breathing and talking and alive. When she faded into unconsciousness in that alley, she had me terrified. Who knew what kind of damage that bullet could have caused?
"Yeah. You should feel like that. You remember what happened?"
She nods, weakly. "Son of a bitch shot me."
She remembers it. She knows what happened. But there's still a haze in those beautiful, intelligent eyes. It's probably the painkillers and God-knows-what else they've got her doped up on.
"You're probably tired. I should let you get some rest," I tell her. She does look exhausted. I don't want to keep her talking very long. The doctor said to keep her calm.
"Mm-hm. Stay," she murmurs, drowsily, reaching for my hand, again.
"Liv, the boss and the guys are out there. They wanna see you," I protest, quietly.
"Don't care," she replies.
She's out of it. But she wants me here. "Okay. I'll be right back - I just gotta go talk to Don for a second, huh? Let him know you're okay."
She nods, slowly. She's with it enough to understand me, at least. I lean down and kiss her on the forehead, heading for the door.
I step out, quietly shutting the door. I feel a pair of sharp eyes on me, as I turn to face Cragen. "How is she?" The boss questions, hands shoved in his pockets.
"She looks like hell," I sigh. "But she's okay."
Don walks into the room, to see her and I find myself in the hall, again. But this time, I'm alone.
Around Christmas, we were just talking, and somehow, we started talking about getting married. She laughed and said she wouldn't want to subject me to being married to her. I don't think she realized I was serious. I'd be happy, married to her. Or maybe she did know that I was serious about it, but she wasn't ready.
I should have asked her. We went out for dinner, a couple of weeks ago, and even though I hadn't bought her a ring, I was going to ask her. It was a spur of the moment thing. But I couldn't work up the nerve to.
I kicked myself for a whole week, after that. I should have asked her. I'm not the type to get nervous, but just the idea of asking her to make a decision like that was enough to make me sweat. I know it would be a huge decision for her.
I could have lost her, today. Thank God that son of a bitch wasn't a better shot. But I don't want to take another chance. I'm not going to let her slip away from me.
When we first started this whole thing, about a year ago, she was scared. She was scared that I was going to hurt her, like every other asshole who'd walked through her life and left a scar on her.
I was able to see it, long before she swallowed her pride and admitted it. She'd been hurt. She'd been burned one too many times. I half-expected that kind of fear and the wariness. Every other time she'd fallen for someone, she'd been hurt. She'd been left behind to pick up the pieces.
I think it's time that I show her that I'm serious about this. That I'm not just going to leave her in the dust. I've told her that. But something inside me just wants to make it official. Give her the stability she's been looking for since she was a kid. It's the least I can do for her.
I owe her that much. How many times has she been there? Chased me, revealing that stubborn side that I love, to make me talk to her. She's refused to let me shut her out. I can give her something solid that she can depend on. Something that she knows is going to be there.
So what am I going to do? Pop the question while she's lying in a hospital bed, recovering from being shot? That'll go over really well. If she's even awake enough to know what I'm asking her.
When Cragen emerges from her room, I move away from the wall and head back toward the door. "She asked me to stay," I reply, to the Captain's questioning look, shrugging, "and you know Liv, if she doesn't get what she wants."
He shakes his head, as I step back inside.
She turns her head, slightly, when I walk into the room. "Don't move," I caution, softly. Knowing her, she'll probably be trying to move around before she's ready to.
She rolls her eyes. "So you wanna baby me too?"
Her voice is stronger. She sounds like herself. And the attitude in her words tells me that she's still with me.
"Baby you? Nah. I wouldn't risk pissing you off. I just didn't want you to hurt yourself," I reply. She's sounding more like herself now.
She sighs and shifts herself, on the bed. "I didn't even see him, El. I didn't even"-
"This wasn't your fault," I cut her off, firmly. This huge guilt complex is the only quality she has that annoys me. She seems to find a way to blame herself for everything. "He was being sneaky. Hiding on you. There wasn't much light in that alley, Liv. How could you have seen him?"
She submits to that reasoning, nodding. I look down and see what I've been clutching in my hand, without even noticing. A nurse brought me a plastic bag with her things in it, while we were waiting. Her badge and gun, her keys and wallet, and her jewelry.
Her hand goes to her throat, unconsciously. She's feeling for the simple necklace she always wears. I questioned her about it, once, and she told me it had been a birthday gift from her mother, the year before Serena died.
To a child who'd had a normal relationship with their parent, it wouldn't have been so important. But, from what she's told me, birthday gifts from her mother were pretty rare. So she treasures the simple chain and pendant.
"Where"- she begins, softly, her fingers feeling along her neck for the chain.
I cut her off. "It's right here, sweetheart. I've got it," I reassure, softly, pulling the chain out from the bag and showing it to her.
She manages a smile. "Any hope of me getting out of here sometime in the near future?"
I shake my head. I should have known she'd ask me that. We share a common dislike for hospitals. "I don't know. Maybe I should just leave you here."
That earns me another eye-roll. "You do and you see what happens to you, when the boss hears about it."
"That's right. I forgot. You're his favorite," I comment.
She sighs. "You know he doesn't play favorites."
"But if he did, you'd be it."
Olivia glances at me. "But he was ready to kick me off the squad, at one time," she replies.
I know what she's getting at. Those first few cases - that entire first year, actually, when Cragen worried about her objectivity. Her ability to handle the kinds of cases we see. "That happens with every rookie, Liv. Everyone's on thin ice, till they learn to handle it. You know, like the rookie beat cop who loses his lunch the first time he sees a dead body? The guys think he's pathetic, then. But, eventually, he gets a grip on things."
She nods, agreeing with that reasoning.
I look down, seeing what else is in the bag I've been carrying around. Her watch and the simple silver rings she wears on her right hand, every day. She seems to be lucid. She's talking to me. Understands what I'm saying.
I pull one of the rings from the bag and get up. She looks at me, confused. "Where are you going?" She questions, as I move around her bed, to her left side.
I kneel beside the bed, the plain silver band clutched in my palm. She glances at me, confusion in her eyes. But, otherwise, they're clear. She's fully awake
I kiss her cheek and reach for her left hand. She blinks, curiously. It's the detective in her. She wants to know what the hell I'm doing and why.
"Liv?"
"Hm?"
"I love you, sweetheart. Will you marry me?"
Her eyes fill with tears and she nods, quivering. So much for keeping her calm. Her hand's shaking, nearly as much as mine is, as I slide the band over the ring finger of her hand.
She smiles at me. I lean down and kiss her on the forehead, brushing away the tears.
"Did you ask Dad's permission first?" She questions, grinning.