Waiting For Superman Chapter 3:
A/N: I know this story isn't very sappy or anything (YET! :P) but I have big plans for this story and don't want to rush into anything unnatural. Olivia (as she was in the episode) wouldn't want to break down or cuddle or anything (again, yet) she'd want to try to prove her strength/that she's not a victim. I've completed the story outline—looks like it's going to be about 20-some chapters with maybe a sequel. R&R +Follow if you're in it for the long haul
~ A streak of lightning…no, bright light, blinding. She squeezed her eyes shut, rolled onto her side and winced at the sudden rush of pain. An extended hand pressed her back flat onto the hard, firm surface. At this sudden touch, Olivia jerked into conscious awareness, suddenly feeling her heart start to pound very quickly against her chest.
-"Don't touch me," she hissed, before she realized it was a very stung-looking Brian Cassidy staring back at her. "Br…Bri?"
-"Right here, baby. It's okay. You're okay. It's over." He moved forward as though to extend a hand again, but Olivia felt herself shrink back.
-"What do you mean? Everything's fine. I'm fine. I'd like to go home," she replied.
-"You're in the hospital, Liv. You're gonna have to stay here for another day or two, just so they can make sure you're alright." She hated the way he was looking at her—with pity, like she was helpless, like she didn't know her own best interests, like she was a…a victim. She knew they were coming—the questions, and she wished he'd just ask them. He was walking on eggshells and acting like she didn't know what was going on and this frustrated her immensely.
-"Bri, I want to go home now," she said firmly. He frowned.
-"It's not my decision, Olivia." She opened her mouth to snap at him, but instantly thought better of it and instead, softened her gaze. After all, he hadn't done anything wrong—he was only doing what came naturally, what they'd all been trained to do.
-"I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated."
-"It's okay. You have every right to be." She'd known that was coming, but really she'd opened that door herself. But who was he to know what to say and not to say? This complimenting, sappy Cassidy was the issue here, she reasoned. It was strange…unfamiliar, and not in a good way. Why couldn't he just be himself? Because he'd come in here today with a plan in place for the job he'd told himself he had to do—crawl in bed with her and hold her and kiss her and tell her it was going to be okay, as if the whole thing was just a bad dream a little no-holdbacks affection might be able to take away.
Because this was what people did to those they thought of as victims—they called upon their own victimizations and caved to their own needs, their guilt that whatever happened was somehow their fault because it didn't happen to them, while simultaneously feeling relieved that it didn't. Then, they'd treat it like a skinned knee—a kiss, a bandaid over the wounds, the scars, and then they wouldn't have to see them anymore. They can't understand, so all they can do is try to get things back to normal as soon as possible, which, actually, makes sense given that in many cases, that's all the 'victims' want, too. Human instinct, just executed poorly. And really, who was she to fault Brian for that?
-"Hey you, c'mere." She shifted over to the other side of the bed and gestured for him to fill the now open space beside her. Cassidy looked at her a bit questioningly for a minute in a way that made her uncomfortable to see—she hated hat he was afraid or on edge about being with her now. Like she was some monster he was afraid of setting off, like he didn't know how to be with her anymore. Nothing was different, but everything was. Thankfully, he must have cast aside his doubts, because he threw on a smile and climbed into the little bed, wrapping her in his arms and resting his head against her shoulder.
Olivia ran her fingers through his dark hair and kissed the top of his head.
-"I'll admit, you scared me, Liv. I was afraid we'd never do this again."
-"For a while there, so was I," she replied softly.
-"It was like…I'd go to bed at night, but I couldn't sleep. You were consuming me whole. I'd try to take a couple drinks just to catch an hour or two…but the nightmares…"he trailed off.
-"Sshh…"Olivia whispered and kissed his forehead again. "It's okay, babe. It's over. I'm right here. I'm okay…" And after a short while, he fell asleep against her like that and she kept a hand in the center of his back to feel his smooth, even breathing.
I'm doing this for him…Olivia kept intoning to herself, but she couldn't pretend it didn't feel good to have him right there, holding on to her as he was—the silent resolve: 'you're safe now. You're safe and no one will hurt you again.' ~
~ -"You can go see her now if you want, Stabler. I'm gonna bring up some sandwiches. She's already had her fill of hospital food," Cassidy gestured to the ICU door with his car keys.
Elliot nodded, though kept his line of vision rooted firmly to the floor. He knew he wanted to be gone by the time the other detectives returned at the end of the work day—so far, only Cassidy knew he was here at all. Kathy had already called three time bugging him to be home by dinner because Dickie had a science project—but he allowed himself ten minutes. He pressed the red buzzer and the ICU's doors spread open before him and then just as quickly, snapped shut behind him, as though willing him forward.
…There's no turning back now…
His walk seemed to take an eon, perhaps because no matter his walking pace, he couldn't escape the sound of the machines—EKGs, respirators—vital life support that after so many years on the force, so many victims, brought with it the sound of the death, of that strange in-between line between death and life.
Elliot vaguely remembered coming to a hospital ICU to visit his grandmother when he was about seven or eight years old and she lay dying of ovarian cancer. All these years later, and he still remembered the smell of the fresh bleach.
-"They have to clean the rooms after they take somebody out to get them ready for the next people." At eight, he'd assumed his aunt had meant after the people occupying the rooms got better and went home.
But his dad had quickly set him straight: "No one leaves her standing, boy. Once you get here, it's the end of the line."
And he remembered what the nurse had said not minutes after he'd said goodbye to his grandmother—"I need housekeeping up here. The patient has expired." Expired…like gone bad? Expired…like sour milk?
He shook his head of the thought. This was different. Olivia was going to be okay; she was going to walk out of here.
When he reached her room, he paused for a moment to study the cold, metal-plated number fastened to the door—307, then swallowed a sharp intake of breath and pushed it open.
It wasn't as bad as he'd expected. He'd seen Olivia in the hospital before, so the immediate shock factor wasn't there as it'd been at her apartment. She actually looked quite peaceful—she was sleeping, presumably from all the medicine they'd put her on (mainly for shock). They'd wanted her to rest so that her body, and her spirit, would begin to heal. Her legs were folded to one side and her head was curled into her hands.
He approached her quietly and sat down on the edge of the bed as not to wake her. Very gently, he brushed a few strands of long brown hair out of her face, letting them fall to her shoulders.
It was comforting to see her like this, but it was a twisted comfort, knowing the long road she had ahead of her. Her rape kit had been positive for fluids and this, he knew, would linger in her mind far longer than even the kidnap and torture, and would leave scars deeper than any of the cuts or burns.
But she had a team of support behind her to help her, to bring her back up. She had Fin and Munch, she had the Captain, she had Detective Rollins, she had her new partner, who hadn't left her, and as much as it pained him to say it, she had Cassidy. All were people who would be there as they had been in his absence.
There was nothing he could give or offer her that she didn't already have. In fact, he'd probably hurt her recovery by opening old wounds. Old, because that's what they were, because that's what he was.
Old (adj.)—stale, no longer needed
It was simple. He no longer had a place here, to stand by them all in her eyes, not after what he'd done. He shouldn't have come here, he reasoned. And with that resolve fresh in his head, Elliot traced the outline of her jaw once with the side pad of his thumb, and then left her to her peaceful sleep, maybe her last for a long while.
He slipped out the rear exit of the hospital and into the waiting taxi cab without attracting anyone's attention. ~
~ Sometime in the middle of the night, Olivia woke up, disoriented and shaking. Her movement triggered the light above her to click on, beaming the room—with its white walls, white floor tiles, white tables, white chairs—in streaks of white light, the sterility of solitude.
Olivia had never liked hospitals, and here, in the bright openness of this white room, she felt vulnerable and exposed. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide when he came back, and he would come back…she thrashed wildly until she managed to free herself from the IV and the wires of the heart monitor, but she couldn't get out, she couldn't get out of the bed.
-"No…," she whispered, suddenly realizing where she actually was—in a hospital bed in a white room, tangled in a bundle of white sheets. It was okay. No one was there. Lewis was gone, gone to rot in prison.
As she caught her breath, a new trickle of fear shook Olivia—what if she was like this forever? What if she'd never be her old self again?
And just like that, trapped in that sea of unending white, where no one could see her, yet everyone could, Olivia Benson broke down and cried.