Disclaimer: Recognizable dialogue Dick Wolf's and NBC's. Starred quote paraphrase of Robert Louis Stevenson. Bracketed passage indicate quotes from William Lewis.
A very grateful shout out to cheertennis12 and lucythespencer without whose input this story would not be possible.
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Chapter 5: The Heavy Knuckled Man
When I looked at him, I saw a thousand empty rooms and, in each one, there he was, strangling a ghost.
I would be lying if I said I didn't find this beautiful.
Nothing is quite as stunning as the heavy knuckled hand of a man who has spent his life beating demons into the ground.
- Unknown
"Why didn't you at least call?" You whisper, rocked by the things he's telling you. He's never been one to really open up and it drove you fucking insane. "I called you so many times. So many." It still hurts as you remember all those times you kept looking at your phone, kept it glued to your hip, waiting for the return call that never came.
"Liv, I couldn't." His eyes are troubled and sad as he looks off to a point in the distance.
"Something wrong with your vocal chords?" You bite off.
"I knew if I called you, we would talk about it, and then it would be real." He says simply.
This you understand.
If you keep quiet, you can pretend that it's not real. That it never really happened.
That it doesn't exist.
But you forget about the scars, the wounds. Those never disappear. They are a silent testimony to that which you pretend doesn't exist.
"And you know I've never been good at talking." He grins a little at you. But you're sad to see it's not a full smile. His eyes are still so sad, dusty and clouded over with memories.
"That's putting it mildly." You retort, but gentling your voice to take the sting out of your words. "I'm your partner, El." You say softly. "For better or worse."
"And the best one I ever had." He tells you, looking at you intently, a smile playing around his lips. He remembers when he told you that, so many years ago, when you were still finding your way.
But, again, it's a sad smile. The realization of how much time you both have lost and that the people you both were….well, neither of you will be those people again. So today is about the beginning of discovering who you both are now and learning each other all over again.
"I was just so tired, Liv. Twelve years. I had nothing left to give, even before...that shooting. I was losing myself in the job, losing my family..." he stares ahead blankly, "...although I lost them anyway." He finishes softly, a shimmer of what might have been tears glimmering in his eyes. But it's quickly gone so perhaps it was a trick of the light.
"Sit down, Liv." He says, "Enough about me. How are you?"
That's a loaded question. And, really, knowing what he now knows…how can he even ask you that?
How do you even begin to respond?
So you go with your first response, the one that comes so naturally to you these days. You've gotten quite adroit with bullshit.
"I'm fine."
"Liv, I might be damaged, bent a little, but I'm not stupid."
Of course he sees through you. He always has. One of the few people you could never lie to because he would call you out. But how do you even begin to really answer his question in such a way that he doesn't do something insanely stupid and go out and finish the job you started?
My old partner, he would have known what to do.
Edging closer to you on the couch, he looks at you with those blue eyes that see so much.
The eyes you used to see so many nights in your dreams until Lewis took their place. They're nothing but Lewis now.
"Liv, I am so sorry." He says and, although there are no tears in his eyes, there are tears in his voice. "I should have been there."
There's nothing you can say to that. The pain of his leaving is still so fresh, so raw, that you're not going to absolve him by excusing him. So you just stay silent, looking out into the New York night. Where the stars still shine brightly above the light of the street lamps. As they always do.
The world continues moving even as you stand still. That's just the way of it.
"I don't know if I can forgive you, El." It comes out as a pained whisper, your words steeped in the two years of hurt and anger. "You left me behind and never came back. Without one word." You turn to him and poke his chest with your finger.
"I know." He says. "I'm sorry."
No elaboration. Just a simple apology.
And it undoes you. He always knew how to do that. So easily.
You hear the sounds of gut-wrenching weeping and wonder where it's coming from.
And as you look out on the New York streets, you feel strong arms around you. It's then you realize that tears are running down your face and the one weeping is you.
{He'll never come back for you, you know. That old partner of yours. The one you want to fuck. You know what's sad? That you still talk about him. Nothing more pathetic than a bitch that can't move on.}
"You didn't tell them the whole story, did you?" Elliot asks you quietly in the wake of what he's told you.
"What are you talking about?" You shoot back sharply but you already know.
Come on, his look tells you, you know better. We're past this, you and I, despite the last couple of years.
"I can't talk about it."
"Because you might have to testify."
"Because I can't." You turn your back to him, concentrating on just counting the stars through the window panes.
"Because if you do it becomes real." He throws your own words back at you.
"You have no right to interrogate me." You said heatedly. "You barge in here expecting things to be all the same, expecting us to be us again. Well, you can't do that, Elliot! YOU left. YOU."
"And you have every right to be angry at me." Elliot says quietly. "You deserved better."
"That's right, I did!" You're shouting now but you don't care. You've held this in for so long. Held so many things in. Things you haven't dared tell anyone.
"And you didn't deserve to be raped."
It's like a gunshot and you freeze like you feel the bullet hit your heart.
"Liv." He turns you around, his hands gentle on your shoulders. "I was in Special Victims for twelve years. I know the signs. The glassy stare, the recoil, the hyperawareness."
You shrug yourself out of his grip.
"I think you've lost your edge, Stabler." You snap.
He just looks at you with a little bit of pity. And you realize that the more you protest, the more you're confirming his suspicions.
"It wasn't your fault."
"Oh, is this the special talk you give all the victims?" You don't know where all this, this meanness is coming from. He hasn't raised his voice to you at all, hasn't acted like a know-it-all, has apologized, opened up and you're ripping his head off.
"You're a victim now?" He asks, no judgment, no sarcasm in his voice. Completely non-confrontational. This is a new side of El, one you've not seen very often, if at all.
He's so gentle.
"No. No. That's not what I'm saying, Elliot. Why do you have to twist everything?"
You're being hateful and you know it but you can't stop.
"He raped you." He repeats.
"Go to hell." But there's no force behind your response, you're just too tired.
"I know you, Liv. I still remember your face after Sealview." And the pity, the sorrow in his eyes breaks you.
"I couldn't protect myself. What kind of cop does that make me?" A tear rolls down your face.
"It makes you human, Liv."
"I couldn't...I couldn't stop him..." And the words that you've shoved down inside yourself, deep down into the valleys and shadows, finally start coming out.
"Did you know I can't even look at my service revolver?" You say dispassionately, picking at your sleeve. "Did you know that I had to be given a new one because the other one is being held as evidence of sexual assault?"
Don't make me tell you what he did. Please don't make me tell.
El's fist flexes and his knuckles whiten.
"Did you know that it was covered with blood and vaginal fluid?" Your voice raises, choked with tears, with anger and rage.
"Four fucking days, EL. It took me four fucking days to get away from him."
William Lewis couldn't break you but the rage and the pain in your former partner's eyes undoes you. He's hurting for you. Hurting that he couldn't be there.
Hurting that he couldn't have killed William Lewis for you. To spare you from going you to that dark place.
And you cry. You cry for the loss of the person you used to be, you cry for Lewis' other victims, you cry for two years of wasted time, all the things that you missed, and you cry because you can't see your revolver without remembering what Lewis did to you.
What used to be a symbol of pride to you just now reminds you of your complete degradation.
How far the mighty have fallen.
El doesn't say anything, he just pulls you into his arms and you start hitting him, beating him with your fists. He just takes it, takes your tears of rage and humiliation into himself. Trying to shoulder your pain.
I will not suffer you to go your own dark way. *
"Lay it on me, Liv." He whispers, stroking your hair.
Why weren't you there for me? Punch.
Why the fuck did you leave? Punch
Why weren't you there? Punch
Fuck you, William Lewis. Punch.
He doesn't try to say anything else. Just holds you, his lips against your hair.
What can he say? What is there to say?
He knows you were raped.
With your own service revolver.
The ultimate humiliation.
"I would have fucking put a bullet in his brain." He says against your hair. "I still might. "
To your surprise, you let out a watery chuckle, "God, El, don't do that. I'd rather not have to visit you in prison."
I need you. I've always needed you.
"What happens when people open their hearts?"
"They get better." ~ Haruki Marukami