Olivia is gone for about an hour, to the best of Elliot's estimates; he's not wearing a watch.
It's the longest, most grueling hour of his life as he sits on the concrete floor, his forehead pressed to his knees, praying the hardest he's ever prayed that they won't hurt her.
He knows that they will. Because why else would they take her, and not him?
He's grateful he's not being forced to watch, because he doesn't think he could handle seeing it. And he's guilty, too, that he feels this way. Because he believes that whatever additional humiliation she would suffer as a result of knowing he'd watched would be outweighed by the moral support he could lend her during such a terrible experience.
When the steel door finally opens again, she's shoved back into the room and the door is slammed closed behind her.
Immediately, he's at her side. "Are you okay?"
It's a rather stupid question, he realizes, because of course she's not okay.
"I'm fine," she responds, her voice shaky. She doesn't look at him and instead heads straight for the mattress and lies down on her side, curling into herself.
He doesn't know what to say. Until she admits it's happened, he's not about to start comforting her, telling her all the things he tells other victims – that it'll be okay, that it wasn't her fault.
He desperately wants to go sit with her on the bed, but he doesn't want to freak her out; if she'd wanted to be near him, she wouldn't have chosen the farthest possible spot away from him in the room.
He studies her carefully. Her hair is sopping wet and she's shivering a little. He notices she's also wearing a different shirt, an oversized sweatshirt that looks like it was picked up from a souvenir shop. But otherwise, she actually looks okay. Her eyes aren't puffy, like they might be if she had been crying, and there are no noticeable bruises on her arms, as he would expect if she'd been held down.
These things give him little comfort, however, because a gun to one's head can be awfully persuasive.
x-x-x-x-x-x
She's feeling increasingly achy and worn and so she stays on the mattress, not wanting to move a muscle. She sees Elliot eyeing her from across the room and abruptly realizes what he's thinking. "They didn't rape me," she tells him.
Never in his life has he felt such a gush of relief. "Okay," he manages, nearly choking with emotion. He goes to the bed and sits down on the mattress next to her. "So, uh, what… what did they do then?"
"Nothing," she answers. "They gave me a real meal – as in, chicken and mashed potatoes and salad and dessert – I think they must've gotten takeout from a restaurant somewhere – and then they let me take a real shower and gave me this change of clothes."
"Really?" he asks. And did they watch you take that shower?
She reads his mind. "And to answer your question, they gave me privacy in the shower. But yeah, I was just as surprised by the whole thing. I was honestly expecting… " She stops, closes her mouth, and drops her gaze to the mattress.
He nods, not needing to say it aloud. "I know."
He doesn't tell her that this development is nearly as disturbing to him as would be the news that she had been assaulted. After all, why her and not him? He assumes there's a reason they want her clean and fresh and well-fed. Rapists have their own idiosyncrasies when it comes to sex, just like everybody else.
But he's not about to voice this thought. His partner is smart; she doesn't need him to remind her of the sort of danger she's in. And if, for whatever reason, she has convinced herself such a prospect is no longer likely, who is he to take such peace of mind away from her now?
He looks down at her, still lying on her side. She's trembling a little, and he lays a palm on her shoulder, as if to provide comfort.
But really he just wants to touch her, to reassure himself she's really back with him, unharmed.
Because he knows that next time this happens she might not be so lucky.
x-x-x-x-x-x
The news that Olivia is pregnant has rattled them all, but Porter seems especially affected, and Cragen is now suspicious that he is the father. He is upset by this on a number of levels, but in the ways that matter at the moment, he couldn't be more thankful: this will ensure Porter's commitment to getting her out safely. Unlike at the airport, when he calculated that being a hero was more important than the risks to her life. Nearly three months later, Cragen still seethes when he remembers that day.
It takes several days for them to come up with a new plan.
The revised plan involves the same group of people, but this time they will use expensive, infrared technology – courtesy once again of the FBI – to determine where in the high school building Olivia and Elliot are being held. Then they will surround the place and wait for the kidnappers to congregate in a different part of the building, where they will release a less potent gas, which will be kept as localized as possible.
x-x-x-x-x-x
Twelve Weeks
"I think we're in a prison," Olivia tells him from her spot next to him on the floor, after having returned from her third full-course meal and shower in as many days. They both agree it's bizarre that the kidnappers are doing this for her, but Elliot's glad she's getting more than Snickers, even though his own stomach growls every time she describes her feast. She's tried to sneak him a little food, but the kidnappers watch her every move and he has made her swear on his children's lives that she will not risk her life just to get him food.
"No kidding," he replies.
"No, I mean, literally. When they took me upstairs this time, I was in some sort of mess hall. One of the chairs had a faded logo on it. The print looked like it formed the word Corrections. I think this place is a penitentiary that's not in use."
"Really?" he scratches his head, mulling this over. "So what does this mean?"
"I honestly don't know," she says. "The kidnappers don't seem…. I don't know, they don't seem very professional, you know? And yet, they're obviously following a specific plan, a specific script."
"I know. Not a very friendly pair either, are they? I suppose that's a good thing."
"I guess we don't have to worry about developing Stockholm Syndrome," she jokes.
"Yeah… " he lets his voice trail off. They both know what this means. They have seen both kidnappers' faces. Unless the men make it clear they're seeking ransom or otherwise share their motives, the most likely scenario is that they intend to eventually kill Elliot and Olivia. Which begs the question: what are they waiting for?
She swallows nervously, reading his mind. She reaches for his hand, and pulls it on to her lap, careful to avoid the tiny bump. For the last three days, ever since they started taking her away, she and Elliot have been more physically demonstrative with each other. She is smart enough to know that there is something very off about the meals and good treatment and that every day they take her away could be the day they finally do something to her that will destroy her. And so she and Elliot consider it a blessing each time she is returned, unharmed, and she sees that he is still there, unharmed as well. Professional ethics have gone out the window; they're all the other has right now during this hellish situation.
He squeezes her hand and covers it with his other one. "At least we're still in the country," he volunteers. He's trying to lighten the tension that has just permeated the room by focusing on something inconsequential.
Because thus far neither of them has had the courage to address out loud what both of them know in their guts: they're not getting out of here alive. Elliot can't contemplate never seeing his children again, never again seeing his little son. Olivia can't cope with the idea that her baby is going to die right here with her. And so they both do the only thing they know how to do: they flat-out deny the reality.
She gives him a funny look.
"Corrections," he clarifies. "It's English. So we're not in Mexico or something."
"I could've told you that when it started snowing," she laughs, pointing up at the window, which is caked in snowflakes.
"True," he concedes, feeling like an idiot. "I guess it could be Canada, though."
"I doubt we're in Canada, Elliot."
"Why?"
"I don't think we were out long enough to get up to the border. My guess is we're upstate somewhere."
"Makes sense," he mumbles, as he further mulls the new information. He's exceptionally grateful the Silent Pair hasn't hurt Olivia, but he's also extremely troubled. If she's right and they are, in fact, in a prison, this changes his entire conception of his captors. Kidnappers with the wherewithal to dump them in a government facility are no amateurs. They have got to have done their homework and would know that the NYPD won't pay out ransom and that neither of them has family who would shell out a dime for them.
And so if they don't want money, and they aren't interested in assaulting Olivia, what in the world do they want?