Elliot stood outside of the hospital, staring up at the brick building for the first time since he had left. Back again, he thought grimly to himself as the noise of the city rushed around him. Today, he would see his doctor. Today, he would learn whether or not he was in any real medical danger. God, he just wanted to get on with his life.
"You okay?" He looked over and realized Olivia was watching him.
"Yeah," he nodded, taking a breath. "Fine." He was fine, he told himself, but he was having serious trouble getting himself to take that first step. He rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to galvanize himself into motion, but everything in him screamed a resounding no at walking back into that building. This place...It was where his nightmares lived.
"Hey," Olivia slipped her hand into his. He startled momentarily, but was having difficulty tearing his eyes away from the building that was suddenly seeming all too real. "Hey, look at me." He managed to unfreeze himself and turn to her. The intense clarity of her brown gaze made him falter. She could see him, him and everything he tried to hide. A second later, she had moved close enough for him to feel her warmth and stood on tiptoe to reach his ear.
"The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can have some fun." She pulled back and winked at him, eyes dancing with a smile. Before he could process what she had just said, she was pulling her stunned partner behind her at a breakneck pace through the building. Wait–what? He found himself suddenly smiling, but the new light inside him faded as he began to notice his surroundings. As fast as Olivia pulled him, it wasn't fast enough to stop the memories from assaulting him at every turn. Here, he had collapsed when his legs had given out under him. Here, he had vomited from the pain. Here, he had been forced to crawl back from the bathroom when he made the mistake of trying to go on his own. Elliot was drowning in it. He became dimly aware that Olivia's last comment had probably been made for his benefit, to help distract him from that pain that lurked in these halls. He was grateful for it, but by the time they finally entered Dr. McAllister's waiting room, he felt like he might collapse in relief. His eyes desperately took in the beige walls and potted plants, forcing himself to notice every tiny difference in an effort to convince himself that he was really safe here. That his coma, his illness, couldn't touch him here. You're safe, he reminded himself forcefully, tightening his hold on Olivia's hand and letting his eyes drift close. You're safe. When he opened his eyes again, he felt stronger. Not exactly well, but he had enough of a grip on himself to get on with what needed to be done. He unfroze his legs and moved forward to check in.
"Hi," he said to the receptionist, fishing for his wallet before realizing that he didn't have one anymore. He let his hand fall awkwardly to his side. "Uh, Elliot Stabler. I'm here to see Dr. McAllister."
The woman's eyes widened slightly for a moment before she turned and started tapping on her computer. "12 o'clock?" He nodded. "Fill out these forms while you wait." She pushed a clipboard over the desk, and he took it, going across the room to sit next to Olivia and a shiny potted palm.
He skimmed over the questions, tapping the pen nervously against the paper. He filled in his name, birthday, and height, but left a lot of answers blank. He had no idea how much he weighed, couldn't remember the names of all his medications, and wasn't entirely sure how to answer questions about his quality of life. He did the best he could, but by the time the nurse came to get him, he hadn't even finished a third of the questionnaire.
"Stabler?" Elliot looked up and saw a nurse at the door. He shared an anxious glance with Olivia, who stood with him, and together they followed the nurse into the darker back hallways. She had him stand on a scale, and he nearly fell over from shock. He hadn't weighed so little since–he actually couldn't remember. Surely he had been a child. He made a solemn promise to himself that he would build up his strength again. He would hit the gym and drink disgusting protein shakes, if that's what it took. All he wanted was for things to be normal again, and even something as small as looking like himself was important to him. A moment later, they were shepherded into a little room in the back to wait for the doctor. To wait for the man who would tell him whether the fragmented, confused way he felt was a normal part of recovering from a coma or if something was actually wrong. Elliot had never actually met the man before; when he had woken up, Dr. McAllister had been away for a family emergency. Instead it had been the nurses who helped him through rehabilitation, along with a revolving door of doctors and physical therapists who never stayed long enough for him to remember any individual names.
"El?" He looked up. Olivia was looking at him with pursed lips, the magazine in her lap forgotten. "What do you know about this guy?"
He shrugged. "Not much. He never–" He broke off as the door opened, revealing a middle-aged Indian man with a stern expression and a stethoscope swung around his neck. He smiled in a cursory manner, quickly moving to shake their hands.
"Nice to meet you," he said, settling down onto the stool across from him. He stared hard at Elliot, and he thought how strange this must be for the doctor, who had only ever known him as a near-corpse. "Well, Elliot, it's good to see you up and about. How is your recovery going?"
He glanced at Olivia, and wondered what the doctor would think of his past five days involving a rat-infested donut shop, an attempt on their lives, and learning about his partner's eventful past four years and the life she had made for herself in his absence. Then he remembered that the doctor didn't care about his personal life, and was asking about the details of his health. "Um...Well, walking is...a challenge," understatement of the century, "But I think I'm getting stronger."
Dr. McAllister nodded, and scribbled something in his notes before waiting expectantly for him to continue.
"Uh, my memory isn't perfect. It's...I don't know, like there are pieces missing or something, I don't really know." He shook his head, not knowing how to better explain himself.
"Well, it must be bothering you, or you wouldn't mention it," the man stated matter-of-factly. "Tell me more."
He hesitated. "I mean, I don't know what's normal–it's not like I've ever been in a coma before–" He shook his head, getting his head together. "I don't feel exactly like myself. There are gaps where my memories should be. I forget things more easily."
Dr. McAllister nodded. "How are your emotions? Are they normal, intense, subdued–?"
He had to think about it, and came to an unhappy conclusion. "Kind of volatile, I guess."
"I'm going to ask you a series of questions," he said. "Elliot, what year is it?"
He started to answer that it was 2011, but quickly caught himself. "2015."
Dr. McAllister gave him a sequence of words to remember, asked him to count backwards from 100 by 7's, and quizzed him on random details from his life. His responses were adequate, he hoped, if imperfect. When asked to recall the words, he gave four but blanked on two. The doctor had him stand to check his balance, had him touch his fingers to his nose with his eyes closed, and chucked a random rubber ball at him to test his reflexes. He was asked again what year it was, what the words had been, and then to identify various animals and people. He kept up as best he could, but the process was exhausting. All he wanted was to be told that he was normal, that he had nothing to worry about, and that time would restore him to the strongest version of himself. Eventually, Dr. McAllister told him that they would run some tests, but that this was probably the result of some problem in his temporal lobe.
"It's responsible for memory, emotion, and speech, among other things." He looked closely at Elliot. "Your speech seems intact, which I'll take as a good sign. From your previous brain scans I can tell you that most of the damage was done to the occipital lobe, but that blow may have caused some general inflammation that could account for your problems in memory."
Elliot frowned. "You're telling me that my brain is swollen?"
Dr. McAllister shrugged good-naturedly. "The truth is, Elliot, you left so fast I didn't have a chance to check you out or prescribe the usual regimen of testing and anti-inflammatories. I have to warn you that there's a chance we'll have to re-admit you to finish our typical follow-up procedures, but we really won't know until after your MRI."
He stared blankly, missing a beat. "Re-admit me?" The breath was stuck in his chest. No. He couldn't go back here. He couldn't.
Dr. McAllister seemed to notice his less-than-eager reaction and was quick to reassure him. "Oh, now, don't worry, Elliot. We'll take good care of you. Let's start with a blood test, huh?" He went to get the nurse, and Elliot looked over at Olivia, trying to hide the panic that was struggling inside him. She met his gaze with more strength than he felt.
"It's not the same, El," she promised in a whisper. There was a flicker in her eyes, a chink in her armor, that made him realize exactly how worried she was. "You're awake, we have to keep you that way."
He nodded, wanting to be strong for her. He had thought this would all be over. Olivia didn't need this, they didn't need this, not now. Not when they were so close to getting their lives back. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, fighting the hatefully bitter and overwhelming feeling of unfairness that was crashing down on him in tidal waves.
Dr. McAllister reappeared with the nurse, and he gestured to Olivia. "Could you step out for a minute? Our medical assistant has some questions for you...I'm assuming you're his emergency contact?"
She nodded, but looked back at Elliot, not wanting to leave him.
"It's okay, Liv," he said, voice hoarse, and mustered a confident smile. "It's just for a minute."
Olivia hesitated a second longer, but finally dragged her eyes away from him and agreed to follow the assistant out. He took deep breaths, getting himself together as the nurse started scrubbing his arm vigorously with an alcohol swab. She tied a red band around his arm, and the doctor sat down, observing them.
"Do you normally schedule appointments on Saturdays?" He asked, suddenly confused about the day. The needle slid into his arm, and he felt something strange enter his veins. He furrowed his brow in confusion. "I thought you were drawing blood?"
His vision swam suddenly, and he grabbed onto his chair, struggling to get air. "What are you–" His voice fell away as he looked at the man.
Dr. McAllister's cold eyes smiled at him through the blur. "Relax, Elliot. Just rela-a-a-x."
He opened his mouth in panic, but his mind fled him in that moment, green searing into his vision.
END OF PART ONE
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