A/N: Sorry it's been a few days. I went out of town and now I have a terrible cold, which seems to be getting worse. I really want Elliot and Olivia to get together, but it's got to be the right way and at the right time. I hope you enjoy this next chapter—it's got a bit of E/O…
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Turning his attention to Elliot, who walked in at the tail end of Munch's good news, Cragen motioned for him to come into his office.
Shutting the door behind him, Elliot faced Cragen, who was sitting on the corner of his desk. Opening a plastic tub of Red Vines licorice and pulling out two ropes for himself, Don then silently offered some to Elliot, who shook his head in polite refusal.
"You left Bellevue pretty quickly after Blackner gave his statement. Did you go back to St. Vincent's?" Don asked.
Elliot merely nodded his affirmation, recalling his vulnerable breakdown at Olivia's bedside.
"How's she doing?" Don asked.
"As good as she can be. Still bruised up and I think it's still very painful for her to use her lungs, with that rib and all, but for the most part she's a trooper."
"Yeah, she's a tough one. Did she say if they were talking of releasing her soon?"
"The nurse came in while I was there. 'Said that if Olivia promised to rest, they'd release her tomorrow morning."
"Well, that's less than twenty-four hours from now, but even at that I can imagine Olivia is chomping at the bit to get out of there. Does she have any idea where she'll go? Her apartment's still considered a crime scene."
Concerned, Elliot hadn't considered her apartment being unavailable. "We didn't really talk about it." After quietly thinking, Elliot assumed, "I guess maybe Simon's? She did mention to the nurse that her brother could pick her up."
Cragen nodded and then looked down, suddenly interested in the chipped edge of the desk underneath him. Standing and placing a fatherly hand upon Elliot's shoulder, he did his best to comfort Elliot.
"You know, there was nothing any of us could have done. No way we could have known."
Elliot couldn't look at Don, feeling lost in his anguish over Olivia's pain. "We've been together longer than any other detectives in this unit. We know each other better than anyone else could. If anyone should have been there for her, it should have been me."
"Olivia told me you'd tried to take her home. You did the best you could. You can't be everything to everyone, Elliot. You can't be everywhere at once—there for your family, there for your partner, at the same time. At some point, something has to give."
Slumping in the brown leather chair at the corner of the room, Elliot leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I know you're right. Logically, I know you're right. But I wish…"
After a moment, it was obvious Elliot was never going to finish his sentence, so Cragen changed the subject.
"Go home, Elliot. I'm guessing you haven't slept in almost two days. Go home and see your family. Kathy's probably upset you missed attending Mass this morning with the family. You didn't really get a weekend so take a few days off. Andrea's murder is closed and so is Olivia's attack. Try to spend a couple days without thinking about work. About Olivia." Hesitating only a second as Elliot nodded and got up out of the chair, Cragen added, "How's the baby? The kids?"
Elliot reached for the doorknob. "The kids are good. Parent teacher conference gave a good report. They're excited to have a new baby sister."
"Seems girls are your specialty, Detective." Cragen teased. Gently guiding Elliot through the doorway, his captain gave his goodbyes for the night. "Now head on home. Let your family remember what you look like these days."
"Yeah, I will. Maybe if I'm lucky enough I'll make it home for a nice Sunday dinner. One I don't have to reheat."
"See you on Wednesday, then."
"Yeah, see ya."
The next two weeks seemed to bring things back into the normal routine. Olivia left the hospital, and just like Elliot had predicted, spent the first week of her recovery with Simon and Lucy. Elliot was grateful that she had family now that she could lean on. Or more importantly, the kind of family that wouldn't take "no" for an answer and would make her lean on them.
Lucy had taken the first few days of the week off to help Olivia, as it was still difficult for her to get around, but by the end of the week Olivia had insisted Lucy return to her job—that she'd be fine by herself during the day. Shortly after, she and her apartment were ready to be reunited. The first night, Cragen had dropped by with Chinese just to check on her. He'd stayed for about half an hour after finishing their meal, until he felt confident she was settled in and able to do all the things she needed to do for herself.
Another week of heavy rest and healing had passed before Olivia could take no more and had begged Cragen to come back to work, even if it was desk duty. He spoke with her doctor, who was nervous about her moving around "too much too soon". So instead the Captain met her halfway and let her do some work at home. He asked Elliot to drop off the files at Olivia's apartment on his way home.
Arriving at her doorstep, he noticed the bright sheen of a new lock installed on the white paneled door. Knowing Olivia would never admit to another person that she was afraid, he was relieved that at least she wasn't too proud to admit it to herself and to take the appropriate actions to alleviate that fear.
Tapping his hand twice on the door, he was just beginning to wonder if he should knock again when he heard the locks turning. She had been expecting him, but it took her longer than she'd liked for her to get off the couch into a standing position and walk to the door. As she opened the door, the recognizable smell of fresh paint hit his nostrils and he made a face.
She chuckled at his expression. "That first week, Lucy came back to help clean up my apartment and was having so much trouble getting the blood stains off the wall and table, Simon repainted them for me before I came back," she explained.
He was relieved in seeing her short sleeves that most of the bruising on her arms and face had either completely disappeared or had colored to faint yellow marks, on the verge of extinction. By the way that she moved, he could tell that her rib was still bothering her, but at least she was up, moving around. "He replace your lock for you, too?"
"Yeah. I didn't ask him too, but he did it anyway."
"Pretty thoughtful guy to have around. Must feel good to have someone like that in your life."
Olivia cocked her head and smiled at him softly. What she said next was so quiet Elliot almost missed it. "He's not the first man in my life to be like that."
Not knowing what to say next, he decided the best thing would be to give her what had brought him there in the first place.
"Cap sent you a get-well present."
Almost eagerly, her smile widened as she took the case files and paperwork from his hands. "I'm just grateful for something to do—anything! Did you know there is nothing on television during the day? It had gotten so bad that I'd even begun working on empty photo-albums I'd postponed time and time again."
"I never pegged you for a scrapbooker," he mocked her with a raised eyebrow.
"Don't get carried away…I finally decided to just take a box of loose photos and put them in an album. Nothing fancy." She motioned to an album that sat on her kitchen counter.
"Hmmm…," he mumbled suspiciously. Walking over to the album, he picked it up and asked, "May I?"
"Sure, but don't get your hopes up. Its just old pictures. Not very interesting."
Casually flipping through the first black pages checked with photographs, most were people and events he didn't recognize. A few photos had Olivia in them and judging by the length of her hair and clothing, he assumed it was during college. The further he went, however, the more people he knew. Some she'd attended the academy with, some were friends that had come to visit her at the station over the years. As he came to the last half of the album, an unfastened newspaper clipping fell out and onto the floor.
"I'm sorry," he said as he bent down.
She tried to pick it up before he could, saying "Don't worry about it—here, I got it." But her back and abdomen were still sore and stiff, limiting her speed and flexibility.
As he picked it up and turned it over, she seemed agitated. Extending her hand and gesturing her impatience, she tried to sound relaxed when she was anything but, "Here, give it to me. It must have just fallen out." Her demands only peaked Elliot's interest.
Seeing it was an article written about a case they'd worked nearly two years ago, just before Gitano. He remembered reading it himself when it had come out in the Post. He eyed the heading: "Manhattan's Best Beat Serial Rapist At Own Game". Olivia had assumed her undercover identity as Rachel and portrayed herself as a prostitute to help catch a John that was beating and raping hookers. The victims were beaten and raped in different ways & locations, but the one thing they had to tie their attacks together was what Daryl Bates had whispered in their ears just before he'd become violent: "Don't worry—I'll be the best you'll ever have." Elliot had fought tooth and nail to catch Bates a different way—any way but this. Anything to avoid using his partner as bait. But in the end, even he'd agreed this was the only way. So, they'd hidden a wired mic behind the headboard and Olivia had expertly drawn Bates onto the bed so his voice would be clearly heard. Though uncomfortable, her commitment to bringing him down had given her the strength not to push him away when he'd guided her to lie against the bedspread and began kissing her neck. Just as he'd lifted her up so he could unzip her tight dress, he'd done what the surveillance team in the unmarked van across the street from the dumpy motel had been waiting for. Those ten magic words: "Don't worry, Rachel—I'll be the best you'll ever have." Before he could say or do anything else, police had kicked down the door and forced him onto the floor as they cuffed him. It had been a media-circus with the case from the start, considering the fact that the first prostitute to be attacked was shockingly the Governor's niece. As soon as television crews and newspaper reporters had caught wind of the sting-operation, they'd arrived at the motel in record time. Olivia had been so busy assisting with Bates' arrest and then giving her statement that she'd completely forgotten the clothes she was wearing, as well as the fact that her dress was still one-third of the way unzipped. As Olivia left the hotel, holding one of Daryl's arms tightly in her grasp, it finally occurred to her how immodest she appeared when the flashes from the photographers began to sting her eyes. Instinctively, Elliot had removed his suit jacket and wrapped it around his partner's shoulders in an effort to shield her from the scrutinizing camera lenses.
Between the title and the article was a picture that had captured the moment. The protective gesture had been forever emblazoned on film and printed on paper. This was certainly not the first article or photograph that included the mention of Manhattan SVU, specifically Olivia or Elliot, but it was the first one that Olivia had bothered cutting out to save. It had been one of the first times Elliot's touch had caused the goosebump reaction in her body and Olivia had remembered the way she'd had to force herself to not look into his eyes, else he'd see the way her breathing had become erratic and shallow. When she'd gotten the morning paper the next day and seen the look his face had born as he'd considered her his first priority, there was no way she could have read the article and then tossed it aside as she'd always done the others. So she'd carefully trimmed around the typed words and for several nights afterwards she'd fall asleep looking at the picture as it sat propped against her clock radio on her nightstand. After a while, she began to feel foolish and almost obsessed, so she'd thrown it into the shoebox with all her other homeless photographs. When she'd seen the old shoebox sitting on her counter after Lucy and Simon had tidied up from the attack, she'd blatantly refused to watch any more pointless television and do something productive. Pulling from the bookshelf the empty album she'd bought a year ago with good intentions, she began lovingly placing each picture on the pages. When she'd reached the newspaper clipping mixed up in the pile of memories, she'd put a halt to her fruitful work and resumed her position on the couch, content to stare at the picture, the same way she had in the days following Bates' arrest. She'd looked at Elliot's face in the picture and realized it was the same expression he'd worn in the elevator two weeks ago as he'd tried to talk her into a ride home. Protective. Defensive. Possessive.
The same look he was using now as he remembered the photograph himself.
Stop looking at it, Olivia pleaded with Elliot within herself. Please stop thinking about it. I can think about it, but if I know that you do, too, I'll crumble inside. I won't be able to take it.
When he had seemingly read her mind and mercifully looked away from the picture, he then did something worse.
He looked at her.