Weightlessness.
It does not last long. Eddie "Ashes" Wagner is shed like skin, the only remnants: the clothes on his back and the beard on his face. The persona of Ashes is stuffed in a crisp manilla file folder and tossed in his boss' drawer. Neat, simple, effortless.
As if this operation didn't cost him nearly everything.
His sergeant asks him if he'll be alright. He nods vaguely and turns to leave. She watches him go, eyebrow raised. Sighs, picks up her phone to make a call.
He exits the building and gets one deep breath of the fresh, cool, autumn air before the reality of Elliot Stabler's weight crashes over him. Like the evening sky above, the darkness is overwhelming. He needs to seek out light.
Elliot instinctively pushes the first source of light out of his mind, turning instead toward an old church he knows is a few blocks away.
Heavy wooden doors guard the sanctuary; the large metal handle clicks and echoes into the church as he enters. Gently, he shuts the massive door behind him and takes in his surroundings.
In the chilly evening, the sanctuary stands dim, lit only by spotlights on the statues of the Holy Family, the saints, and large candles lining the pews and the altar. Designated plots of small, red, prayer candles flicker on the cold, stone walls, giving very little light. The cloth that hangs over the white on the marble slab is purple, signifying Advent. He takes it in for a moment: it's almost Christmas.
As his eyes adjust to the darkened church, he realizes he is not alone. A few parishioners are scattered throughout: some sitting, some kneeling, a few with rosaries, gently moving their hands along the holy beads with mediations, prayers.
His footsteps softly echo along the stone walls and high ceiling as he walks down the center aisle. Elliot chooses a seat near the front, to the right. He genuflects, makes the sign of the cross, and notices the old, large, wooden crucifix hanging above the altar. As Jesus' seemingly real eyes pierce his, he drops his head and slides halfway down the pew.
The old polished wood beneath him feels like home. The grooves and knots of the pew, reflections of his life every single time he has entered a church. Elliot cannot remember a single time life was easy. There was always something. And even when he had moments of joy, they were fleeting. Short bursts of happiness. Lately, life has been a formidable pile of shit he has had to wade through.
He lifts his eyes to God. You and I both know it.
Sighing, Elliot pulls the kneeler out. It squeaks loudly in the quiet church. When his knees come to rest, he bends and pushes his lower half back against the pew behind him, exhausted and relieved. His elbows resting on the wood, he places the palms of his hands over his eyes and inhales deeply. The moment he lets out the breath of relaxation, he hears his father's voice: "Sit up, damnit. You're in front of God." His back straightens immediately and his fingers interlace, hanging over the pew in front of him to form a perfect posture of prayer.
His eyes close as he once again makes the sign of the cross.
In the name of the Father,
and of the Son,
and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen.
The lingering, sweet smell of incense from the altar tickles his nose and he is immediately reminded of smoke and ash, of fire and bombs...of his dead wife.
He tastes the bile in his throat as he begins what has become his least favorite prayer:
Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord,
and may perpetual light shine upon her.
May her soul and the souls of the faithful departed,
through the mercy of God, rest in peace.
Amen.
Elliot thinks about his late wife - how she did not deserve him, how nobody does. She may have made some questionable choices, borne out of strong emotions and being a devoted, faithful mother and wife, but she did not deserve nonexistence.
He thinks back to what he was taught about the dead, about purgatory and heaven and hell. He wonders where she is, if she made it, if those places even exist. And if those places do exist, he knows where he will end up. God knows he tried to do everything right, by the book, but-
Someone coughs nearby and he is snapped from his wandering train of thought. Probably for the best, he thinks. He takes another deep breath and refocuses.
Why her? Why not me? he asks.
Silence.
It's deafening.
What else is new? He has not heard God's voice - felt that little nudge that encourages or deters - in so long.
I just feel so lost.
Elliot breathes and again puts his palms over his eyes. This time the tears fall, rain down.
He thinks of his son Eli, who has had to live without his parents during the most difficult time in his life. The loss of his mother, moving across the globe, changing apartments, navigating new friends, a new school - all without a father's presence - have probably left Eli simply burned.
And it's his fault.
All of it is his fault.
Elliot wipes his nose on the cuff of his shirt, shakes his head, and rests his hands over the edge of the pew, interlacing his fingers. Back straight, damnit.
He thinks of his mother, who has needed him, and he in turn has needed her more than he thought possible. He never gave her credit, could never see through the illness that has plagued his family.
During one of the last conversations they had before he went back undercover she said, "You know what this is called. Life."
Elliot kneels there, holding onto those words of wisdom from his mother.
Why does life have to be so hard, though?
More silence.
He sighs, gives up for a minute, stops to listen to the quiet.
Shuffling. Rosary beads hitting the back of a pew. Throats clearing, pages turning, whispered prayers.
He hears footsteps behind him, somewhere off in the church. Heels. He hears them walk into a pew and stop, another person coming to pray. He wonders what their sins are, how much guilt they bear, what led them here tonight.
But he cannot process anyone else's guilt. His debts alone are too many.
He scans the sanctuary, eyes the Blessed Mother. Stoic, simple, virtuous. She radiates beauty and piety. Mary is veiled in blue garments, open yet inaccessible. She holds flowers. An offering?
He shakes his head and begins:
Hail Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
He sighs.
At the hour of death.
The time came.
And he didn't call upon the Holy Mother.
Maybe tonight it was better that he came here, called upon her instead. He can't even face praying directly to God anymore, so with one swift motion, he slides back onto the bench, bends to fold the kneeler back in place, and rests his back against the solid wood of the pew, giving up.
Years ago, he would come to church alone at night after work, praying for his sins, his thoughts, the victims he could not save. He used to walk out feeling lighter.
Now? Everything just feels so heavy.
He sits there for a few minutes, still taking in the statue of the Virgin Mary.
Deciding it's a lost cause, he exits the pew and genuflects toward the altar, still very much aware that Jesus' piercing eyes are watching him from the crucifix above. He picks his head up as he heads down the aisle and stops mid-stride. His stomach drops and his chest tightens.
Olivia.
She's sitting there, watching him. Waiting.
Always waiting.
In his thoughts, heart, head. She is his conscience. She replaced Jesus' voice a long time ago, he realizes.
He resumes walking as she stands to meet him outside her pew.
Her brown eyes glow in the dim light, and she looks at him expectantly. Elliot notices her eyes appear watery. She's looking at him with relief.
She cocks her head to the side, gesturing toward the door. It's a question.
"Can we just stay for a little while longer?" he whispers.
"You looked like you were ready…" she begins, her voice hushed, deep.
"Changed my mind."
Olivia looks surprised, but slides back into the pew, making room for him to sit next to her.
He genuflects, makes the sign of the cross for the third time this evening and joins her.
They both get settled, shoulders touching.
He grabs her hand, lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in.
No kneeler this time.
His church is to his right.