DISCLAIMER: Olivia & Elliot aren't mine. Though I wish they were.

A/N: So sorry for the delay in updating! The fiance and I are all settled in the new apartment and things should be calming down soon. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

It was late. The sun had long since disappeared behind the Chicago skyline. And Elliot knew he should be sleeping. But he didn't want to close his eyes. He was afraid this was all a dream… that the past twelve hours hadn't happened at all, that he wasn't really here, that Olivia wasn't really here.

But she was here, resting in his arms. Finally. The swell of her belly was actually a result of their perfect night together. She actually did love him. They were actually a family, just as they always should have been.

He looked down at her sleeping form and smiled. She was curled up against his chest, her arm thrown across his stomach, a pillow between her knees. He felt happy, lighter somehow. There was still a lot to figure out. But he had Olivia. And he had their child. And right now, that was all that mattered.

He felt her stir slightly beside him and his fingers automatically reached up and stroked her hair. This was good. Life was good. Finally. Finally.

Olivia stirred again and moaned slightly. Then suddenly, she gasped and bolted upright. "El," she said breathlessly. She was clutching her belly.

Then, Elliot felt something warm and wet against his leg. He moved the blanket that was draped over Olivia and saw the pillow, soaked in blood.

"Jesus," Elliot breathed and looked up into Olivia's eyes. She was pale, her face was twisted in pain. "Liv." He took her face in his hands.

"Hospital," was the only word she could manage.

Elliot didn't know what to do. He wasn't sure they could wait for an ambulance, but he didn't know the way to the hospital. He looked to the nightstand and snatched her cell phone up, dialing 911. He heard a voice on the other end and, while he thought it would bring him some relief, there was nothing. He spoke frantically.

"My partner, she's seven months pregnant and she's bleeding. Badly. I need a bus. Now."

Partner... that word had so many connotations now...

"Are you law enforcement, sir?" It took him a second to figure out why the hell she was asking him that. This was an emergency, after all. Then he realized, he'd said "bus." Jargon, a term used by cops everywhere.

"I'm a detective from New York City," he tried to keep his cool. Olivia was dying next to him, growing more pale by the second. "Please, I need an ambulance."

He gave the dispatcher Olivia's address and followed her instructions, checking between Olivia's legs to see if she was still bleeding.

"Yes," he said. "Oh God, she's still bleeding." He looked up at Olivia, who was lying there, as limp as a rag doll. He grabbed the blanket from her bed and placed it between her legs, as if it were a wound and applying pressure would stop it. He didn't think it worked that way, in this case, but it was the only thing he could think to do.

"Is she conscious?"

Elliot wiped his bloody hands on his jeans and quickly made his way around the bed. He took Olivia's face gently in his hands. "Barely," he whispered, checking her heartbeat in her neck. "Her pulse is thready, but there."

"Okay." The dispatched could hear the desperation in his voice. "You're okay, sir. You're doing fine. Help is on the way."

Elliot looked down at Olivia's ashen face and stroked his thumb across her cheek, leaving a bloody smear in its wake. "Olivia," he whispered. "Stay with me, Olivia. Don't do this to me now."

Olivia's eyes fluttered open then, just barely. "El," her voice could hardly be heard over the pounding of his heart. "Our baby…"

"You're going to be just fine," Elliot reassured both her and himself. He wasn't about to lose her now… as he'd told her once before, he couldn't take it.

There was a moment then of calm, of peace. And in that moment, Elliot heard the sirens. "They're here," he said, jumping up and going to the window. Elliot ran to the front door and buzzed them in to Olivia's building. He wasn't about to leave her to go get them. Within moments, three men rushed into the apartment and Elliot directed them back toward Olivia's bedroom.

"Her name is Detective Olivia Benson, I'm her partner from New York City," Elliot gave them the back story as they quickly made their way down the hallway. "She's about 29 weeks along and was recently put on bed rest to alleviate pre-term labor." He surprised himself at his composure; inside, with every passing second, he was losing control. "She was sleeping and was suddenly woken by intense pain and bleeding. She barely has a pulse and the bleeding is steady."

"Okay," one of the paramedics put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We'll take it from here, thank you."

"Wait," Elliot said, grabbing the EMT's arm. "I… I'm also the baby's father."

"I understand," he responded. "We'll take care of both of them. But you have to let me do my job now."

It was clear to Elliot that this man dealt with frantic people like him all the time. He was slightly placating, but Elliot couldn't care at that point. All he cared about was that Olivia and their child were both in danger… and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Olivia had the vague sensation of rocking… she heard voices but the seemed so far away. She wanted to tell them to be quiet; she was trying to rest, just like the doctor ordered her to do. She had to take care of her child… of Elliot's child.

A memory suddenly flashed over her… she remembered gasping and saying his name, she remembered the warm, sticky feeling between her legs, she remembered the pain.

The peaceful feeling vanished. Oh God… what was happening to her? She fought against the foggy feeling in her head; she knew it was sleep, pressing down on her, keeping her under its control. She had to wake up, she had to get back to where Elliot was, she had to know that they were going to be okay.

She knew then that she had been foolish to think that things would work out for her so easily. She should have known better. Olivia didn't get fairy tale endings. Ever.

Fuck this, she thought. She forced her way back to consciousness and said his name.

"Elliot…" the whisper was so soft he barely heard it over the noise of the monitors, the paramedics, the ambulance. But he looked down and there she was, her coffee-colored eyes looking up at him, half-lidded and full of pain.

"Olivia," he whispered back and took her hand.

They said no more, just held each other that way, with their hands, with their eyes. Elliot found solace there, just as he always did. Olivia kept him balanced, she always would. He would make damn sure of it.

He heard a paramedic get on the radio and alert the nearest hospital of their impending arrival. As the man spoke, Elliot heard the words "placental abruption" and knew he should ask what they meant, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Olivia. He couldn't let her go.

She was so pale, so cold. He couldn't think of her that way; he forced himself to remember her warmth, both bodily and in spirit. He remembered her smile and how he always felt it in his toes; he remembered her comforting hands on his back; he remembered how warm she was in her core, how perfect she felt wrapped around him, how perfect he fit there.

He felt the ambulance slow and then halt altogether.

It was time.

The gentle rocking sensation was gone… as was Elliot. Olivia felt jostled, uneasy. "Elliot…" she said with as much strength as she could muster. And there he was, hovering over her, clutching her hand again.

"I'm here, Liv," she heard him say. "I'm here."

"What's… going on?" she was starting to feel sleepy again, but fought against it. She would fight anything that came her way, just to have another moment with him.

"You're at the hospital," he told her. "They're going to take care of you. And the baby."

"Our baby…" she whispered to him.

"I love you, Olivia," he said. She smiled.

And he was gone.

Elliot watched them wheel Olivia away from him, into a room where he couldn't go. A hand on his arm suggested to him that he should stay out of the way, let the doctor's do their job.

The pain in his chest swelled, filled his lungs, spilled from his eyes. He buried his head in his hands, crashed down into a chair and began to sob.