Zero Hour, cont'd
The background noise faded away as he crossed the space to her side. He sank down to his knees, finding the catch on the ring easily and carefully lowering her arms to rest in her lap. Her hands felt cold to the touch, the skin pale. He wondered how long she'd been trapped like that, if any permanent damage had been done to her arms in that time. He shoved the thought from his mind, deciding that she'd been able to ring the buzzer to get their attention, realizing that it didn't really matter in the long run, not if she was safe in his arms.
The thought made him realize that she was there and she was alive and he finally had the chance to wrap his arms around her. He shifted off his knees, sitting down next to her, allowing his arms and legs to fold around her. It seemed almost surreal to be holding her, to feel her body warm and full of life against his. He felt as though they were coming full circle, with his body curling around hers, much the same way he had that fateful evening in the crib.
Sounds suddenly seemed to intrude on him, the voices of the other cops, the sounds of them searching for the door to the room for easier access. He was happy to have her with him in any condition, but as his hands and arms encircled her body, he knew she didn't want all those people, especially the ones she knew, looking at her exposed skin. Letting go of her long enough to take off his jacket felt like an eternity and he was glad once the coat was spread over her legs so that he could fold her back into his embrace.
It struck him that he should say something, anything, that might soothe her. As far as he could tell, she hadn't opened her eyes at all. He rationalized that she'd heard his voice when he was trying to get to her, that she knew his touch, his presence, from that of Howie. She hadn't said a word either, but she'd responded to him, burrowing her face into his neck, her hot tears falling against his skin. He'd never felt so alive, so moved, by anything.
His eyes darted around the dark room, taking in what he could as the rest of the officers worked to demolish a good chunk of the wall. He saw the toilet against the wall across from him, the shining plumbing a testament to Howie's home-improvement reading. The other thing that caught his eye was the banner hanging on the wall in the other direction, the gaudy, shiny letters spelling out a welcome message for Howie's long-dead sister.
His attention was drawn back to the hole in the wall, to the figures of the medics and Cragen entering the private space. Elliot looked up, knowing they were going to want access to Olivia. His arms tightened around her involuntarily. He knew she needed to be looked at. He knew he couldn't simply sit there with her forever. He knew she desperately wanted out of that miserable basement. But he wasn't ready to give her up yet. He wasn't sure he could make himself let go.
Cragen nodded at him, his eyes drifting over Olivia's body as though to assure himself that she was relatively all right or at least in one piece. He cleared his throat, pulling Elliot's nervous stare from the pair of medics. "Elliot, they're not able to get a stretcher down here. They need to examine her and see if she's capable of walking upstairs."
Elliot thought about it, turning the words over in his mind slowly, giving him more time to hold onto her. He was about to ask if it were possible for them to examine her while she was in his lap, but he wasn't sure stating the painfully obvious in front of Cragen was a good idea.
Before he got the chance to come up with an excuse, the medics crowded in. "Sir, we need to take a look at her."
Reluctantly, Elliot pulled away, shifting Olivia's weight back to the ground. His chin started to tremble as he climbed to his feet, only able to force himself back a few feet. In the interest of pride, he kept his face stubbornly turned away from Cragen. Not that it did any good. Having her back, seeing her, being close to her – it was all too new to give up so soon. Some part of him still believed it was a dream, like so many he'd had, and he just wanted to enjoy the sensation of having her in his arms while he could.
He kept a close watch over the shoulders of the medics as they went about poking her and asking her questions. She didn't answer them. She didn't even open her eyes. Tears continued to stream down her face, matched in their intensity by his own. But as the medics prodded at her, she started to tense, to shift away from their movements. And then she started to moan, her tortured voice croaking around the gag. He knew he should wait; he'd seen the torn skin from victims who'd had it ripped off by well-meaning Samaritans. But he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't listen to the way she was crying and not respond.
He reached out, trying his best to stay out of the way of the medics, and carefully worked the tape free from her mouth. She was already bleeding, her lips raw from the repeated abuse. He had to promise himself that she'd prefer the ability to speak to waiting for more care in removing the tape. He yanked the washcloth free from her mouth, watching the way she instinctively worked her jaw. She lifted her hands and he thought she might be attempting to soothe the hurt he'd caused by pulling off the tape.
But rather than curving toward her mouth, her hands moved out as she lifted them. Clearly using all of her strength, she was reaching out, her hands searching the air in front of her. For a moment, Elliot hesitated, thinking that perhaps she thought she was being assaulted again, that maybe keeping her eyes closed was causing her to be disoriented.
And then her crying increased in intensity, her sobs more pronounced without something stuffed in her mouth. She worked her jaw again, one single word escaping. "El!"
His heart broke in two. She wasn't disoriented. She knew exactly what was going on. She knew he was there. At least, she knew he had been. She knew he'd been holding her and then she knew he'd stopped.
Unable to resist her, despite the complaints of the medics and Cragen, Elliot shoved the men aside, sitting close beside her again, pulling her into his lap, holding her against his chest. "Everything's ok, Liv. You're fine." He cleared his throat as he choked up. His face turned down, pressing into her ear. "I won't leave you, baby."
She didn't say anything else, but her hands communicated for her. Although her arms were more or less limp in her lap again, her hands clawed at his shirt, clinging so tightly to the fabric that it seemed she was trying to poke holes in it with her nails. His arms stayed around her, trying to pull her close enough that she wouldn't fear he was leaving her again. But as he fought to keep her close, he felt her body moving, twisting, writhing. He shushed her, trying to comfort her as best he could while feeling completely unprepared for it. He felt the way she tried to force herself still, the way her muscles shook with the effort of fighting something that her body obviously wanted to do.
Her voice came back, starting as a low moan, a vibration he felt before he heard. But the sound quickly changed into loud sobs and screams. Her whole body was shaking, jerking against his and his arms worked to keep her still. He looked up at the medics, seeking an explanation for her unexpected response, her obvious pain, but they weren't looking.
"You're safe, Liv. I won't hurt you." He didn't know what else to do. He didn't know what to say, but he wanted to keep trying. He hoped his voice would provide her with some sort of comfort. "It's all over, Liv. I'll make it better, I promise." He felt his eyes filling with tears and he wanted to wipe them away. He didn't dare loosen his hold. He'd given up his dignity in the hopes of finding her several days earlier and he saw no point in trying to build it back up. He sniffled as he pressed his face into her hair. "I'd take it away if I could. You don't have to hurt anymore."
And then her voice, loud and clear and painfully revealing, filled the small room. "Please, El, please! Stop!" She sobbed and bucked against him as his arms fell limp. "Please, god, stop, El, please!"
With his whole body shaking, he realized what was going on, understood what no one else present could possibly know. She wasn't in hysterics because of her captivity and what Howie had done to her.
She was reliving the way he'd attacked her. She was reliving the violent way he'd raped her. She was begging for mercy in the way he hadn't been aware enough to even hear when he'd been hurting her.
His stomach heaved as he backed up, finding the wall behind him more capable of supporting his weight than his own legs. The medics moved in quickly, pulling up the sleeve of her shirt to stick a needle into her arm. Elliot watched, sickened by the thought that he'd really hurt her so badly that she was having flashbacks. He hated himself for it. He hated Howie for compounding what had obviously been a terribly traumatic experience for her.
But even as the medics sedated her, her hands moved weakly, stretching out toward where Elliot had stood the last time she'd reached for him. He wasn't sure what to do, not when she appeared to both want him and not want him near her at the same time.
The taller of the two medics looked at him. "Her shoulder is severely dislocated, sir. With it being positioned above her head for so long, the muscles have probably gone into spasm. That was probably why she was screaming."
Elliot barely had a chance to take in the idea before the other medic spoke, angling his head toward the main part of the basement. "There's no way to get a stretcher down here. We're going to have to carry her upstairs."
"I'll carry her." As aware as he was of the fact that Olivia would undoubtedly object to being carried anywhere by Elliot, he suspected the sentiment would be doubly so if the task were left to anyone else. One of the medics retrieved a sheet to make a more effective cover for her body. Elliot cast aside his jacket, not quite able to care if someone picked it up or not.
It took bit of finagling to get the sheet wrapped around her since he was handicapped with his hand splinted, but he wasn't about to ask for any help. Olivia didn't need anyone else to see her in her exposed condition. She'd already been violated too much by too many people. So he struggled at first, but he was able to recover, making sure her body was wrapped demurely before he lifted her into his arms.
She was lighter than he expected and he had no trouble maneuvering her through the maze of a basement and up the steps to the main house. The stretcher was there in the kitchen, a few feet shy of the door, ready to alleviate him of the job. But Elliot hesitated, reveling in the feeling of her weight, her body, safe in his arms. Under Cragen's watchful stare, he grudgingly set her down, gently lowering her legs before he guided her head onto the thin pillow.
He realized he didn't really care about Cragen's approval anymore and so reached for her hand. With her last conscious thought, she'd been trying to touch him. Elliot intended to be there when she woke up just so she would know he hadn't let her down.
