Disclaimer: Olivia, Elliot and the gang do not belong to me; I can only take credit for the bad guys and the story/situation you are reading. Thank you, Dick Wolfe and company, for your wonderful programming.

Rated "M" for naughty language, because real cops have filthy mouths. Icky situations and possible sexual stuff in later chapters. It's coming, just be patient…

Reviews: Please. This is my first fan fic. Thank you for all of the reviews – keep them coming, they help me write (faster).

Chapter Three

The Intensive Care Unit was kept cooler than the ER. The lack of windows and overall lighting arrangement only added to the chilly air. Olivia's arms reflectively crossed over her chest, goose bumps prickling her bare flesh. Of course, she couldn't fool herself that it was the temperature alone that almost had her teeth chattering. A sudden nervousness danced like frigid fingers down her spine; ignoring the fear of seeing Elliot in this state wasn't possible now.

"I can only let you stay 15 minutes," Doctor Carroll told them quietly, his voice apologetic. "The ICU has strict limitations on visitors. When Elliot is released into his own room, there will be more freedom on visiting hours. I estimate we can probably move him in a day or two to a private suite."

They came to a stop in the middle of the dim hallway. There was a large observation window next to an open door to their right. Olivia's breath caught in her throat.

There were three surgical beds in the dimly lit room, only the middle one occupied. Doctor Carroll's previous warning had been accurate; the man sleeping under crisp white sheets was bandaged and pale, his muscular frame seemingly diminished surrounded as he was by medical equipment. A lone nurse was in the room with him, changing out the IV bag.

"Elliot," his name was a whisper on her lips, the hand loosely holding the rosary reaching out to touch the glass. She was shocked by his appearance. His head was bandage, the cloth thicker on his temple above his right ear, the mass of gauze covering his stitches. An oxygen tube was taped in place under his nostrils. Olivia could make out parts of the drainage hose coming out from his left side under the blanket. The machine responsible for this process made a distinctive sound she could hear from out in the hallway. It split through the musical ballad of the other instruments tracking Elliot's numerous vitals.

The IV was connected to his body in the soft flesh of his right inner elbow. A wide piece of clear tape kept the tube inserted underneath his skin.

"He will probably stay unconscious through the night. The anesthetic used during the surgery is still present in his bloodstream. He was also injected with pain killers to help him sleep. If he does wake up, it will only be intermittent, and he probably won't make any sense because of the drug saturation," Doctor Carroll explained.

"Do you think he won't remember what happened?" The thought just occurred to Olivia; she assumed his memories would survive unscathed from the shooting. She was torn with what she wished for him. To not remember would give him peace from the horrid flashbacks of being shot, of lying on the concrete unable to assist his partner. But the things he had said, how close she felt to him at that moment…

"It's always a possibility. His brain wasn't damage; the abrasion on his temple is a superficial injury. But the trauma associated with the punctured lung and then invasive surgery…," Doctor Carroll's voice trailed off. He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses again. "At this point, though, there is nothing to indicate that he won't remember. If he has any sort of memory loss, it should be temporary and is probably a side effect of the anesthetic."

"Thank you, Doc," Cragen answered him. Olivia remained quiet next to the window.

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything. Anything at all, just let me know. I need to check on several other patients, and then I'll return to take you back to the waiting room."

Olivia nodded wordlessly as Doctor Carroll walked away. She felt Cragen's presence as he came up next to her. She could tell without looking that he was staring down at her instead of through the window.

"Olivia."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Olivia," he repeated. This time she glanced up at him, hating the fact that she felt tears in her eyes. She couldn't stop it. Emotion spilled through her veins like ice water. Elliot appeared so helpless, and there was nothing she could do except stand here in a dark hallway with her captain and stare at Elliot's motionless body.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting off alternating nausea and a migraine. "I'll talk to Huang, Cap. I'll make an appointment. I promise."

His hand was on her shoulder, squeezing her gently in the same manner Olivia couldn't help but recognize from when he had consoled Kathy earlier. They stared at each other for a minute, both of them thinking so much but neither speaking. Cragen broke the silence with a sigh.

"Olivia, I care about you. You're one of my best detectives, if not the best. More than anything else, you're a friend. I don't want you thinking that you have to do this on your own. We're here for you." He paused, his eyes kind, his voice soft. "I'm here for you. You're not alone."

She closed her eyes briefly, taking the moment to control her tears. When she thought it was safe, she focused her attention through the window at Elliot. "We should go see him before the doctor comes back."

"You go in, Olivia. There's no point in both of us crowding the room if Elliot's supposed to stay asleep. I'll call Munch and give him an update."

Cragen gave her shoulder one last squeeze and then turned around, pulling his cell from his coat pocket as he walked to the lighter area of the hallway. Olivia took a deep breath and entered Elliot's room.

The nurse acknowledged her with a smile. "I was just finishing," she spoke quietly. She picked up the empty IV bag and made her way to the door. "Let me know if you need anything. There is a button next to his bed," she gestured. Olivia glanced over at it, and then nodded, letting the nurse know silently that she understood. The other woman left the room, leaving Olivia alone with Elliot.

Olivia walked slowly over to the bed, taking in the vision of her partner resting under the white sheets, surrounded by medical equipment. He looked peaceful, even with all of the machines hooked up to his body. Not as frail close up as he had appeared through the observation glass.

She had caught him a time or two asleep in the crib, but this was different. Olivia imagined that this was how Kathy had seen him when they were married; the stresses of the job, all the horrors he had witnessed, the violent, truly evil people he had to interact with to bring forth justice – all of these things seemed to be washed away from him in his sleep.

He really was a beautiful man. Dark, close-cropped hair and thick eyebrows, a perfectly masculine nose, reminiscent of the Etruscan and Roman period sculpture she had studied in a required art history class in college. His jaw was strong, covered sometimes by a sexy shadow of stubble, but today shaved clean. Wide mouth, but thin lips. Perfect for his face. All and all, she had never met a more attractive man.

She shook her head, pushing the slow appraisal of her partner out of her head as she felt her face redden with her thoughts. There had been more than one time over the past several years that she had viewed his appearance in such a way to bring heat into her belly. But she had never been able to stare openly as she was now, to really absorb all of his features. Now definitely was not the time…

Olivia forced her eyes from Elliot to survey the room. She spotted the lone chair by the far wall and walked quietly across the linoleum to retrieve it. She set it down gently next to the right side of Elliot's bed, making herself as comfortable as she could in the wooden, straight back chair.

She hesitantly reached for his right hand. It had been lying motionless again his side and she took it now in hers, ignoring the dead-weight feel of it. She glanced up at his face, her fingers curling gently against his, her finger tips rubbing warmth into his cool flesh.

Olivia's other hand clenched the forgotten rosary tighter. She looked at the beads now, trying to remember the story behind them. Elliot had told her one night when they had been into the fifth hour of an undercover operation. They had discussed everything with each other – it was natural between them. Religion was one of those few topics on which they disagreed. Elliot was a practicing Catholic. Olivia had no faith – she wondered where God had been when her mother was raped, when she became an alcoholic. Where was God when children were tortured and killed?

Olivia sighed. She held his left hand in her right, her other hand tighted around the rosary. She rested her elbow on the bed, her forehead on the beads. She closed her eyes, thinking of Elliot. If there was a God, then maybe today he or she would listen. Olivia didn't know how to pray, but let her thoughts run free, all her hopes and dreams flowing through her head in a stream.

The light pressure against her fingers brought her head up sharply. She was too stunned to say anything; those ice blue eyes stared back at her, the color vivid against his paled skin. The look he was giving her was drowsy, but at the same time, it had a certain intensity as his gaze shifted from her eyes, to her mouth, taking in her face.

"Angel?" His voice was barely audible, raspier than she had ever heard it. "Heaven?"

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking. It took even longer for her to find her voice.

"No. No, El, this isn't heaven. You're still alive. You came through surgery fine."

His eyes drifted down from her face, focusing on her tank top. "Blood? Hurt?"

"No. I'm fine. It's…it's your blood, Elliot." She swallowed, wondering how much to tell him now. "It all worked out, El. I'm fine, you're going to pull through, and Clarkson is dead. No worries."

The smile was just a diminutive movement of his dry lips, really just a ghost of the smile he usually teased her with. His eyelids fluttered closed and she sighed, her head dropping slightly, feeling heavy as the emotion of the moment became too much.

"I was in a fairytale."

Olivia's head came back up; once again she was focused on Elliot.

His smile was back, his voice still a whisper. "You were a bullet with butterfly wings."

"Elliot?"

The smile faded again and he yawned, his eyes closing. As his fingers loosened their grip on her hand, she realized he had slipped back into unconsciousness.

She continued to stare. It was the strangest thing her partner had ever said to her, but at the same time, his description of her released the hold on her tears. Nothing had ever touched her so deeply, tugged so violently at her heart.

He was in a fairytale. And she was the strength, the bullet, but he still saw her beauty, her butterfly wings.

Olivia let the feeling fuel her tears, releasing the control she had on her emotions since that morning. Since she had seen her partner, the most important person in her life, shot in front of her.

Things had definitely changed.