all you need is incest, doo doo doodoo dooo.
all you need is incest, doo doo doodoo dooo.
all you need is incest, incest-
incest is all you need.
okay, John Lennon is officially rolling around in his grave right now.
this wasn't technical incest (fourth cousins, I know) but I made a promise to an old friend at the beginning of the story that there would be incest in this work. and now it is done. so whoopeedoo for me.
alright, I think after the angst that was last chapter, you can let me get away with some more Bates-family-drama. sorry to everyone who has kind of forgotten where we were at with this set of characters, but reviewing a few chapters never hurt anyone. just remember…Valerie bitch; Katrina misunderstood bitch; Hannah not well know bitch; and Jonathan dead. also recall Jonathan's schizophrenia, his secretive life between Katrina and the Bates family, and the friend he is trying to help who did something very very bad. I know you read this because it is fanfiction, because the two main characters are this 'partnership elegante', and because it is written by a sexy sexy author (er, I mean…a smart author) you know what I mean…but the fact of the matter is, this story is not going to be driven along by OE antics alone. when I write stories like this, I write like I would any other of my novels (hehehe, aren't I trying to sound all professional-like?) with an intriguing plotline as well as lovable characters. and unlovable characters besides, of course, for who does not love to hate a bitch and therefore read more about them?
so the bottom line is: don't get pissed when I go off on a tangent about Katrina doing Ripley in the garden. when you realize how humongous a role these people are all playing in the story, no matter how totally insignificant they seem now, you will thank me. you will thank me for giving you some legit background and slowly drawing you into the amazement that is:
THE GIGANTIC CLIMACTIC PLOT TWIST OF DOOM!
but more on that later…
and no stupidheads, it is not what it seems now. it is not at all how it seems now.
but that is the whole POINT of the GIGANTIC CLIMACTIC PLOT TWIST OF DOOM!
so here's to your health and a nice dosage of chapter-ness. don't kill me for what I do in this chapter. understand only why I did it.
you'll get that reference later.
…
The precinct was silent but for the soft white noise of the fan to his right, the room dark and dense with the quiet recollections of an exhausted day. They'd told him to come back, to get his things, to recollect where the pain wasn't so constant. But somehow his worries worsened here when he couldn't see her, when he couldn't lie beside her and know everything was still okay. Even if it didn't last…even if minutes later it came to a close, this wonderful peace…even so, at least for this one second more she was alright. At least for one second more they could be together like this. Almost together. Almost a family.
Almost.
This would pass, perhaps. Maybe someday he'd be sitting at this desk again, a dark day falling just as it had today, the same moon rising to greet him with an impassioned smile. And maybe that day there would be a picture on his desk that he'd glance at as he packed away his files, a husband and wife and their child. Maybe he'd smile at their faces and take a moment to remember some foreseen joy, and then go back to his work.
But not tonight. Tonight was reserved for gathering his things, for closing the door on one part of his life while he opened another.
The door beside him opened, a familiar face appearing beside the hinges.
"What are you doing here?" Casey frowned, setting down her briefcase.
"I would ask the same thing of you." He smiled at her, glad to see a friendly face after a day of worried eyes and tense expressions. Casey was probably the closest thing to a friend that Olivia could have imagined So that made her his friend, too, really.
"Well, I happened to leave half my paperwork for the Yeltzer trial on Cragen's desk this afternoon. You however have no excuse. I thought you were assigned to bed rest."
He shrugged. "They let me go. Olivia's still there, though."
"I know." She gave him another small smile, her eyes filled with concern. "I was just there."
"You were?" He stood up, his eyes widening. "How is she?"
"Exhausted." Casey ran a stray hand through her hair, her hair returning to its normal red luster in the darkness of the room. "But she's so glad you've been with her for this. You're very good to her, did you know that?"
He smiled, avoiding her eye. "She'd do the same for me."
"Yes, she would."
They were both silent for a moment, the truth of those spilt seconds sinking in among the rising darkness. He shivered against his will, longing to stand beside her bed once more.
"Do you…do you think I should take her home?"
"What?"
"She asked to go home this afternoon. I just thought…maybe she'd feel better."
"What did the doctors say?"
"They want her there in case anything happens with the…" He paused, biting his lip. "Well, they want to keep her there for one more day."
"Take her back tomorrow." Casey smiled again, picking up her briefcase. "She'll like that. And go home, Elliot." She said over her shoulder as she left, smirking at him. "It's almost midnight and the only thing you need more than seeing Olivia is a good dose of sleep."
"Yeah, I know." He glanced at his watch. It was quarter to twelve. Shit. "Well, I'll pack things up and get home, then. You need a ride?"
"No, I'm fine." She smiled, giving him a small wave. "See you later, then."
"Goodnight, Case."
"G'night, Elliot." She waved goodbye as she pulled the door closed, pausing halfway through the motion. "Elliot?"
"Hmm?" He looked up from the drawer he was locking, frowning.
"Congratulations." She grinned and shut the door behind her.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he stood, feeling his back crack and ache with each familiar and sore turn. Pain was becoming so familiar to his body now, bent and broken as it was. But now he longed for the one thing that could soothe it; the warm form lying beside him, back against his chest as he laid one hand over her shoulder. His mind drifted to a night not so long ago when she'd been in that same position, bare beneath the sheets and sleeping soundly in his arms. He watched her for a few hours, savoring the bliss of the moment, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that nothing like this could last. In the end, all these perfect moments seemed to die, no matter the brilliance of their brief existence.
He sighed, turning off the desk lamp that had so briefly lit his existence. Thankful for its presence on the shadowy night, he retreated ot the car garage, mind on one thing the entire way.
…
THREE DAYS LATER...HUM DEE DUM.
…
They waited, poised like tiny silhouettes awaiting application to the blank page, lighting like drops of black ink dangling expectantly from the tip of the brush, hovering over the arid canvas. The air was silent, heavy. It was damp with the quiet exhales of the two figures lying in bed, the dead emotions lying vacantly above them. One of the figures stirred and turned over, feet cold and deathly pale as they emerged from the sheets, landing squarely on the carpet.
Darkness surrounded her like death. Darkness and death. Death and darkness. They seemed to hold her within their hands and breathe their cold airs on her, sending a chill down her spine.
She'd come home two days ago. It had been…warming. He'd been with her ever since the hospital had released her, holding her arm, sharing her meals. Everything that used to frighten the shit out of her had extinguished for a few days.
And now something had returned.
She'd gotten to her feet for no reason. She'd wanted to walk…something inside had stirred and twisted. And all of a sudden it was screaming. Screaming with pain and hurt and sore and ACHE. God, she just ached.
She was stumbling now, feet taking her down the hall, towards the stairs. No, she didn't want to go down the stairs. She had to stay away from them. So she turned. Her feet weren't working. Her legs were shaking. She found the wall and crouched against it, grateful for its company.
She contemplating calling for him, but a little voice inside her head was telling her he was asleep. Telling her he didn't need her. She didn't need him.
But she did. She wanted. Needed. Longed for.
The pain was coming again, sharper and more violent. It shook her very being, bending her and breaking her at the same time.
Somewhere upstairs or downstairs, outside or inside, a radio was playing. The tinny voice rang in her head, blazing through ears that ached and screamed with each note.
Help, help. She needed help.
Help.
Help.
She couldn't say it. Couldn't feel it.
Something wet was running down her thighs, slick and strong-smelling. She brought a hand down her front, her fingers coming back sticky. No. No.
No. Help. Please. Help.
She needed him. Needed someone. She was losing…losing…
There was blood on her hand, her fingers, her legs. It was pooling at her feet, running in a sticky trail down her calf until it reached the floor. Gravity…gravity hurt.
Help. No. No. No.
No.
It didn't take long for her world to fall to black. She had started to cry, her hands against the wall, her knees in the wetness growing beneath her. And then it had all faded away.
…
The morning seemed cruel to his blurry eyes, sight that stung and tempted him with harsh reality. Elliot rolled onto his side, blinking at the empty pillow beside him. She'd been home for three day. Three days of resting, recuperating. They said the fetus would be fine. They said she'd recovered. They'd said everything would work itself out.
But she wasn't there, and so he forgot what they said. He panicked.
He threw back the sheets, spreading more light onto where she had once lain beside him. Uncomfortable perhaps. Lonely perhaps. But beside him all the same.
Nothing.
He took to his feet, surveying the rest of the room.
"Olivia," He spoke her name, remembering the roll of it on his tongue.
There came no response.
But then he saw it. Saw them.
The bloody footprints at the door.
No.
Not this.
"Olivia," He repeated. Frantic. Searching. Fright. Fear.
Blood on the wall. Handprint on the white paint, and smeared over the doorknob.
No.
Blood…everywhere. All over the floor. Caked black and maroon. Chipping like paint and then smearing in a gooey quality against his heels. He recoiled instantly, calling her name again.
Where…
How?
No.
"Olivia!"
He followed the footprints, leaving his own behind.
Cold.
Alone.
"Olivia!"
Feet. He saw feet, stained black on the soles. They were laying outside the bathroom door at the end of the hall, not moving. Stirring. Not moving at all.
"No." He fell to his knees, found her body to hold against his own. "No!"
Her lower half was stained with blood. Her hands were cold. Her face was pale. She was…she was…
"Olivia," He whispered it now, ever so lightly. Tentatively, really.
Tears fell to wet the bloodstains, causing them to run like black ink on the pale surface of her porcelain arm.
So cold. So pale.
…
"A miscarriage."
They said it so matter-of-factly, so starkly. He looked up from his seat, rubbing his temples.
"So it's…it's…"
"Yes, Mr. Stabler." The nurse gave him a small smile, resting a hand on her shoulder.
"I see." His voice had broken dispassionately.
"Why don't you go in and see her now?"
He nodded, getting to his feet. His hand felt stiff, swollen. His legs seemed too big for his body as he lumbered after the woman, down the familiar hall. It was only a few days since they'd last wandered the halls of this hospital, contemplating a future that had now died amid a sea of ebony.
She was not asleep as she had been the first time he had entered. Her eyes turned to him, weary, vacant eyes that spoke of nothing more than pain. She smiled quietly when she saw him, straining her lips in a tense expression.
"I guess they can't get rid of me." She whispered, managing a small laugh.
"You don't need to worry about that. I'm sure they love having you." He took her hand, rested it to his cheek.
Everything I am…
I am…
we were one for a day.
"Are you…are you alright?"
"I want to go home." Her voice was raw, honest. She gave him a sad look, her eyes deepening. "I want to get out of here."
"You lost a lot of blood, Liv."
"I lost the baby, too."
"I know." He kissed her palm, trying not to let the tears flow as freely as before. "I know."
"I wanted it too, you know. I'm…I'm so sorry."
"Jesus, Liv." He couldn't hold it in much longer. The dry sob exploded from his throat with a tired sigh. Her hand went to his cheek. "Why do you have to be sorry?"
"I know it's no one's fault." She said quietly, drawing back. "I just…I thought we could work things out."
"We have nothing to work out." He whispered, the guilt washing over him. "Everything will be fine."
"I want to go home."
"I know."
"Elliot," She began to cry again, one single, bold tear running down her cheek. "Elliot, I want to go home."
"Christ, I know." He fell onto her chest, letting her hug his head to her breast. He needed contact. Touch. Anything.
She let her mouth fall to his ear, even her breath barely a whisper. "Stay with me."
"I will."
He closed his fingers over her hand, the familiar gesture warming his soul. And then all faded to ebony as he closed his eyes, asleep at last.
Once they had been two.
Now they seemed more than ever to be one.