As Olivia awakens on the floor of the tiny, dimly-lit room, the first thing she notices is a small window near the ceiling, through which a sliver of sunlight penetrates. The room is about two hundred square feet and totally bare, save for a single cot with a mangy-looking mattress on it. Across the room is an alcove; from her angle on the floor she can see a toilet and the bottom of what looks to be a sink. It feels like a cell, except that instead of bars, a heavy steel door encloses them.
Thank goodness they have a toilet, she thinks, because she's awfully nauseous. She wonders if she has a concussion or if this is just garden-variety morning sickness. At least there's a silver lining: if she starts to vomit, Elliot won't suspect a thing.
She has the presence of mind to know that Elliot's finding out about her pregnancy ought to be the least of her concerns, that it shouldn't even be on her radar of concerns right now. But it is, and she tells herself that it's because she's in shock. But she knows she's not; she knows that she's still preoccupied by her pregnancy and its implications for her relationship with her partner. She wonders what this says about her mental state that this is what she's focused on.
She looks over to Elliot, who is slumped next to her against the wall, still unconscious. "El?" she says quietly, touching his shoulder.
"Mmm…" he moans, slowly coming to. He opens his eyes, takes several seconds to acclimate and then promptly looks at her in alarm. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she assures him.
"He didn't hurt you?"
"Aside from the goose egg on my head? No."
"Okay," he says, eyeing her with concern.
She appreciates how his mind immediately goes to her. It's the first time she's ever been grateful that his knee-jerk instinct is to protect her. She takes a moment to analyze this. A part of her fiercely protests that her condition should dictate any change whatsoever in her perception of her own ability to take care of herself. Still, she recognizes how dangerous this situation is; now is no time to assert her independence or play heroine. She knows this, intellectually, but what troubles her is that she also feels it, this gratitude for his presence.
She chalks it up to hormones.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
They've been in this hell hole three days and Elliot can't be sure, but Olivia's starting to look weak. He noticed it this morning, when she only ate a bite of the vending-machine Snickers bar that has become their three-meal a day staple, giving the rest to him. Never in ten years of knowing her has she forgone chocolate on purpose. Moreover, she strikes him as listless and he wonders if she's coming down with something. On their first day of captivity she threw her guts up the whole afternoon, and he was concerned about a concussion. But it's been three days now and the vomiting has continued intermittently. Now he thinks she might really be getting sick.
That would be terrible, because he believes that if they're ever going to get out of here alive, it's going to be through their own ingenuity. They're going to have to escape, and based on the complete lack of noise outside, there isn't a lot of civilization in the vicinity. They might have quite a trek ahead of them.
He's thankful, though, for one thing: so far their kidnappers have not shown undue interest in his partner. They've been rough with her, manhandled her a bit, but they haven't raped her.
Which doesn't mean they won't. The younger one, the one who abducted them from the alley, seems tempted. Elliot hasn't liked the way he's eyed her from the beginning. And so the only reason he hasn't, Elliot figures, is because the older one, the leader, has instructed against it. For what reason, Elliot hasn't a clue. It would help if he understood what the hell his captors want with him and Olivia. So far, neither has said a word; three times a day one of them shows up sporting a very impressive Glock – Olivia's, he realized on the first day – and throws two candy bars at them. Between that and the faucet, he and his partner have managed to stay alive.
Meantime, there's nothing stopping the younger one from taking her out and assaulting her anyway, and this is what keeps Elliot up at night. Because instructions or no instructions, he doubts the leader would step in to stop it. Elliot's unsure of the extent to which she appreciates the danger she's in; she has not seemed nearly as paranoid as he feels. After what happened at Sealview, he speculates that perhaps such denial is a self-preservation technique. Regardless, he's hyper-vigilant.
Not that there's much he'd be able to do to protect her.
x-x-x-xx-x-x-x-x-x
She had hoped that the first trimester symptoms would've waned by now, but evidently her body isn't aware it's pushing eleven weeks. She's so dead-tired she can hardly think straight. Also, she's feeling weak and lethargic. She's also concerned because she hasn't taken her pre-natal vitamins in days and her diet has consisted of candy bars. She knows that given her situation, this should be the least of her worries. Since the dawn of time women have had babies who've managed to survive without folic acid supplements and Whole Foods-style organic food and omega-whatever fish oil. Still, she can't help but feel protective of her baby. She believes that her child might have a strike against it by inheriting her lousy genes and so she's been determined to do everything in her power to mitigate this. Because if this is Elliot's child – if – he will have five other perfect children against whom to compare this baby and she doesn't want to let him down.
She wonders whether it's a girl or a boy. If not for Eli, she would be strongly in favor of a boy, because she knows Elliot always secretly wanted another boy. But damn it if Kathy's accidentally-on-purpose last pregnancy didn't rob her of this one potential advantage too.
If not for her perception of Elliot's slight preference, which she believes he would probably still have in spite of Eli, Olivia would want a girl. Because then she'd never have to worry, or at least she'd worry less. About the genes a certain maternal grandfather might pass on.
She hates it that she's starting to bond with the idea of Elliot as the father. There's a running picture in her mind of him with her child, being a father to it, loving and protecting it as he has his other children. Every time he looks at her now, the concern and worry for her welfare so evident in his eyes, she pretends he's looking at her as the mother of the child he so adores rather than as the partner he accidentally fucked against a wall.
"How's Eli?" she now asks him, because the little boy is on her mind and because focusing on his other children is the only way she's able to stop focusing on hers. "Must be getting big."
She hears his sharp intake of breath and wonders why the question isn't a no-brainer for him to answer. He usually loves to gush about his kids. "He's doing well." He pauses. "From what I hear."
"Oh Elliot, Kathy giving you a hard time again? When is she going to learn that if not for all your long hours there wouldn't be food on the ta–"
"She left, Liv. She took Eli and the twins and went to Rochester."
She's genuinely surprised. "Oh, El…. I'm so… when did this happen?"
"The day before you and I…" he pauses awkwardly.
Suddenly it all makes sense. She's been feeling guilty for nothing.
And then it dawns on her, he didn't tell her.
All this time, he's kept this to himself.
And so she doesn't feel so badly, now, that she hasn't managed to tell him her secret either.
And then she wonders why this should be a competition, why there should be any quid-pro-quo when it comes to their telling each other things.
They are partners, best friends. They had sex with each other once. He had his reasons not to tell her and she knows they have nothing to do with her, that she shouldn't take it personally. Just as she has her own reasons for not telling him about the pregnancy, and those reasons have nothing to do with her trust in him.
None of which is any excuse not to tell him, of course.
But it is an excuse to delay the news.
She sees how worried he is about her already. They're in a gravely dangerous situation, after all. This is no time to tell him she's in less than peak form and that there's yet another life in the room that he will undoubtedly feel obligated to protect with his own.
"But damn, Liv, you know I really miss him?" he continues, and Olivia is somewhat taken aback; he doesn't usually confide things like this.
"I'll bet," she says sympathetically.
"No, I mean, really. I just…. I can't adjust to not seeing him all the time. When he was born, you know, I had all these doubts. I thought… you know, I just… wasn't sure."
"That he was yours?" she confirms.
"Yeah."
"And now?"
"Now, I think if I found out he wasn't…" his voice trails off.
"You'd be devastated," she finishes for him.
"No. No, I was going to say the opposite. It wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change a thing."
Eleven Weeks
"You know," he starts to tell her, on what he believes to be day six of their captivity, "it seems to me that window's big enough to fit through."
"It's ten feet off the floor," she says, staring up at it.
"Yeah, but I'm thinking if we lift up the bed and lean it against the wall, we could climb up the bed."
"Elliot, that bed's way too heavy for you to lift."
"You could help me," he suggests. "I'm sure the two of us together could lift it."
There's no way in hell she's helping Elliot lift a thousand-pound bed, let alone climbing it and then shimmying her way through a window that will likely have jagged shards of glass hanging from it. She appreciates it that he doesn't consider her too dainty to help him with the task, but damn it if his timing in suddenly embracing her hardiness doesn't totally stink.
She tries to think of a reason to shoot his plan down. "We don't know where we are. It's freezing outside. We have no winter clothes. We could die of exposure if it turns out we're in the middle of nowhere. We shouldn't do this until it's clear we're out of options."
"Okay," he concedes. "You're right. I think I'm just getting antsy, sitting in this room twenty-four seven."
Phew, she thinks.
And then she sees how irrational she's being, nixing a possibly viable escape plan because of the risks of a miscarriage, when every day that she stays in this place the mortal threat to her own life, the ultimate keeper of that of her child, grows ever more dire.
But even in the face of such logical reasoning, she's a hostage to a lifetime of conditioning that has taught her to value other people's lives above her own, no matter what the consequences.
And it is during moments of insight like these, when she recognizes her own pathology for what it is, that she is scared to death of becoming a mother.
x-x-x-xx-x-x-x-x-x
They've been playing every word game they can come up with, and Elliot's tired and bored and cranky. He wishes he could have a real conversation with his partner; that is, one about them. He's not used to initiating such conversations, however. That's usually her domain. But if he waits for her, they might be rescued by the time she brings it up. And he figures while they're here and he's dying of boredom, he might as well get something off his chest.
"So, uh…. I was gonna ask you, uh…" he stammers. Damn. It all sounded a lot more eloquent in his head. "Should we talk about it?" he finally manages.
"About what?"
"You know what."
"Oh Elliot," she sighs. "It was weeks ago. It just… happened."
"Did you… want it to happen?" he asks tentatively.
"Are you asking if you did it against my will?" she asks, taken aback.
He's struck by how her mind instantly interprets the question. No wonder most people get out of SVU after two years, he thinks.
"No! No, of course not," he says. "I just… wanted to know if you had any regrets."
She wonders if he can read her mind. For a second, she's not sure how to respond. But then she realizes he's looking at her expectantly, taking her silence to mean she's thinking of a gentle way to tell him that yes, she regrets it. "I have no regrets," she says earnestly. "Except maybe for the venue," she adds lightly.
He nods. "Yeah, me too. I'm sorry… I'm sorry I was a little rough," he adds sheepishly.
She's glad at this moment they're sitting side-by-side against the wall so that he can't see the blush she's sure has just metastasized across her face. She doesn't want to tell him that it was the hottest sex she's had in years. Hell, ever. "It's okay. You should know, I wanted you too. I had for a while."
He's utterly relieved. "It was good sex," he agrees, turning to face her and raising a knowing eyebrow.
She almost laughs as it occurs to her that that would be a great way to pass the time right now. No need for protection, she thinks ruefully. Not that he knows that.
Shit, she thinks. She still hasn't told him. What does she think, this is some sort of game? She and Elliot are at the mercy of ruthless kidnappers and she's pregnant and both of their lives are in danger and she's busy imagining how it would be to be pushed up against the wall of this room and –
"Olivia." His voice cracks through her reverie, hitting her cold.
"Yeah?"
"Everything okay?" he asks gently.
She detects how loaded the question is and tries to deflect. "You mean besides being held captive?"
"Yes, besides that," he says seriously. She loves it and hates it at the same time that he can read her so well.
She almost tells him. Almost.
And then she doesn't.
Because the second he expresses his thoughts on being made a father again, she won't be able to lie to him. And then she'll have to face him, his anger, his disappointment, all his emotions, with no possibility of turning away, of letting him cool down, of retreat.
"I'm fine," she says reassuringly. "Just… tired."
"Can I ask you a serious question then, and promise to tell me the truth?"
She freezes. She hesitates, then sees she has no choice but to answer him. "Okay…"
"Are you feeling okay?"
She blinks. "What?"
"You… you, uh, haven't looked that well. Do you think you've come down with something?"
"I… I uh…" Her instinct is to deny it, but she recalls she promised to tell him the truth, and she also realizes that admitting to this might throw him off her scent about the bigger secret she's keeping. "Actually, yeah, I think so. I feel kind of under the weather."
"Shit," he breathes. "That's not good."
She almost laughs out loud.
If only you knew the half of it.
But the somewhat comical image of his state of blissful ignorance is abruptly overshadowed by a foreboding sense of dread as she recognizes just how devastated she'll be if Elliot turns out not to be the father.
And then she nearly loses it altogether as it suddenly occurs to her that none of it will matter at all if they don't get out of here alive.