The only thing Olivia was capable of hearing was the deafening throb of her own heart reverberating in her ears. Her mouth was dry, breath quick, and a feeling of anguish seemed to consume her, almost like metastatic cancer.
She knew she was outdoors because, from time to time, she could hear the lonely howl of the wind that sent shivers down her skin. Her eyes, despite struggling to find even the faintest sign of light, failed. Benson couldn't see anything beyond at least three feet away.
Then, partially blind and stumbling, she raised her arms in front of her, afraid of bumping into any objects; to her surprise, she felt plants rising, perhaps two or three meters above her. She realized then that she was trapped in what seemed to be a maze of green walls.
Swallowing hard, she had never been one familiar with gardening. Of course, she remembered her childhood, in its better times when her mother pretended to be the perfect housewife and went out in the morning to water the garden plants. In the backyard of the house, there were walls like those, of different dimensions, of course. Her bare feet sank into the rough, cold earth, making her feel small, just like when she was a child.
Driven by a need that even Olivia couldn't explain, she touched the foliage, feeling it to guide herself in the darkness. There was an overwhelming sense of oppression hanging in the air, enveloping her body and penetrating her pores. Even though she was scared, frightened, she continued on, her cautious steps breaking the silence with each new movement.
Soft, almost imperceptible whispers floated like ethereal murmurs. Benson struggled to decipher the indistinct words echoing around her. They sounded distant, trying to reach her and invade her vulnerable mind. But Liv tried not to pay attention, continuing her slow walk towards what she hoped to be an exit. Her hands were sweaty, and her legs trembled. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so terrified by something she couldn't even name, but that feeling seemed to grow stronger as she advanced through the maze.
The voices, once distant, turned into a sinister symphony with threatening tones, saturated with malevolence. They were like invisible presences, haunted creatures creeping through the darkness. Their nefarious whispers clung to her like icy claws, corroding her courage. Benson swallowed hard as she quickened her steps, desperately longing for an escape from that nightmare. The voices pursued her without mercy, hammering at the fragile barriers of her mind. Their cruel laughter and perverse taunts echoing through the darkness, haunting her.
Two invisible presences seemed to draw near. Their nasty dominion palpable, suffocating, as if their sinister intentions pressed against her skin, threatening to consume her. Her legs gave in, and she collapsed to the ground, closing her eyes in a desperate attempt to block out the nightmare that surrounded her.
For a moment, Liv believed that if she remained still like a wounded animal, she would be left alone. Then she resisted. Her jaw clenched, so tightly it could break at any moment, while her body, resting on her legs, trembled, anticipating the worst. For what felt like an eternity, she listened and waited, the voices drawing nearer and becoming clearer, until it seemed there was someone with her.
Perhaps there was, and this person seemed to know her past better than she did.
Benson could feel the air itself moving around her, yielding to the kinesthesia of opaque bodies. It wasn't a physical threat, no, it was different. Despite her reason insisting that there was nothing, that there was no one, she could feel it. Her skin tingled, sensitive; knots formed in her throat, mixed with the feeling that something very bad was about to happen. As if her life were seriously in danger.
She closed her eyes tightly again, placing her hand over her head, trying to defend herself from a physical assault that never came. But what the voices did seemed even worse:
"Open your eyes, little doll!" The man whispered in her ear.
That was the breaking point.
With a primal scream, Olivia released all the terror and anguish that had been building inside her. Her voice echoed through the maze, raw and penetrating, a lament born from the depths of her fragile soul. As her scream tore through the darkness, something miraculous happened. The tormenting voices fragmented like fragile glass, dissipating into the void, vanishing like a breath.
Silence fell again upon the place, violated only by Olivia's trembling breaths and the echo of her fading scream. Her body trembled, covered in sweat and tears, as the remnants of the nightmare slowly died away.
When she opened her eyes again, after a while sitting on the damp ground, the surroundings didn't seem so dark anymore. A few feet ahead, she could see the cold spotlight on a finely crafted silver piece. It looked like an antique mirror, straight out of the 17th century, made by a skilled artist. Even from a distance, she could see her own reflection.
It was her, she knew that, but it was also another girl. Melanie Montez, or what should have been her ten-year-old self in a flowery blue dress, sitting on the ground, completely psychologically devastated.
Benson sank deeper into the comfort of the couch, her shoulders hunched as if carrying an unbearable weight. Her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, reflecting the exhaustion that only sleepless nights could bring.
The serene expression of the psychologist, leaning back in his armchair, conveyed understanding and patience. He knew this was a crucial moment in Olivia's therapy, a moment when she needed to confront her own anxieties. When he was sure that nothing more would be added to her account, he clicked the pen, ready to receive the words that would reveal the hidden layers of Benson's mind.
"What do you think this nightmare means, Olivia?" he asked.
She lifted her eyes and looked at the psychologist's calm face, her eyebrows furrowing in a scowl she didn't even attempt to control. The deep sense of peace in the office contrasted with the turmoil unfolding within her mind. It felt as if she were trapped in a cage, and the doctor was about to throw her to the lions.
"I thought you were going to tell me that, after all, you are the psychologist here."
The man's perceptive gaze hovered over Benson almost imperceptibly. After so many years of practice, it was easy for him to observe more than others let transpire. For Lindstrom, it was clear that she was uncomfortable addressing such issues, yet Liv still did, because as much as she disliked it, she knew that feeling pain was sometimes necessary for healing.
"Fair enough," he said, clicking the pen again. "I didn't ask because I don't know what it means, but because I want you to tell me what you think."
A sigh escaped from Olivia's lips, her hands clasped in her lap, a gesture of restlessness. Her voice came out laden with emotion as she replied, "What do I think? This nightmare has been recurring for years, and I think I'll never be able to get rid of it."
The doctor nodded sympathetically as his fingers gently traced the pen. Benson's inner journey was a constant battle, an unrelenting search for peace of mind.
"Well, but you're making progress, don't you think?" he suggested, his voice floating in the air like a note of hope. "For a long time, you used to wake up screaming. Then the mirror appeared, but you couldn't see yourself, and now-"
"Now, I'm haunted by the spirit of a little girl I should have saved. Wow, such progress!" Her words contained a bitter mixture of irony and pain.
He nodded, understanding the intensity of the burden she carried in her heart.
"And do you not save her? In your dream?" he inquired, his gaze unwavering.
"But it's just a dream. I couldn't make it a reality... And maybe I'll never forgive myself for that," she whispered, the words escaping her lips with palpable fragility.
Silence settled in the room, only the distant echo of painful memories filling the void. Dr. Lindstrom knew that deep scars resided there, intertwined roots of traumas.
"You did your best, Olivia. You did what was within your reach to find the girl..."
"But it wasn't enough."
The psychologist kept silent for a few seconds, trying to process the mental chess that unfolded before him. Humans were complex in their various aspects, and Olivia, in particular, exhibited a resistance in her sessions that he had seen only a few times in his career.
"Olivia, you were a child too," he began, aware that both in that room knew that it wasn't just about the Montez case, and that Olivia's nightmares stemmed from her own childhood traumas. "Just like Melanie."
"I know."
"That doesn't mean you're the same person, or that you went through the same things, just because someone made a video where the suspect uses the same nickname they used with you when you were a child."
Olivia felt a tightness in her chest, a knot of suffocating emotions. This was definitely not a subject she was willing to discuss. The recent events in her life had already affected her more than she would have liked, delving into a past she could never change certainly wouldn't help.
The mere possibility of reliving her traumas within that office was terrifying enough to let desperation take hold of her. Even during those years of therapy, she had never been able to truly disclose to the professional what had happened between her, her mother, and her stepfather. Throughout her accounts, some clues emerged, giving the psychologist an idea of the events. But whenever questioned, Olivia claimed she wasn't ready to talk about it yet.
Perhaps she never would be.
"I think our time is up, doctor."
Dr. Lindstrom nodded as he saw her getting up from the couch she had previously occupied. The clock behind the patient – strategically positioned so that only he could observe it – contradicted her words. At the same time, the psychologist knew that pressing her further at that moment wouldn't be beneficial. So he nodded, allowing the defense mechanism to kick in as she grabbed her coat and headed for the door without bothering to say goodbye.
Olivia allowed herself to lower her guard, letting the warmth of the hot water envelop her hand and relax her slightly tense muscles. Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the pleasant sensation gradually filling her chest. It was a Thursday night, and contrary to what one might expect, she was not lounging on her own couch at home; earlier, she and Bryan had gotten into a small argument, which she lost. As a result, Benson found herself in Amanda Rollings' apartment kitchen, washing a stack of glasses that wouldn't fit in the dishwasher.
"Do you need any help?" Cassidy asked, taking a place just behind her. One of his hands rested on Olivia's hip while the other moved her hair away from her neck, making room for him to nuzzle the sensitive skin.
"Nah, I'm almost done," she murmured, unfazed. Despite the argument, she wasn't angry with him; on the contrary, sometimes Bryan seemed to know what she needed without her having to say anything.
Cassidy savored the moment, gently sliding the tip of his tongue along her neck, calmly inhaling her scent. With firm fingers, he squeezed her hip, merging their bodies and erasing any distance that could exist between them.
"Bryan!" she warned, trying to contain her smile.
"There's no one here, Liv."
"Rollings and Amaro are in the living room!"
But he either didn't hear or pretended not to. His head was buried in the sea of Benson's skin and hair, intoxicated by the smell and warmth of her.
Olivia turned to face her boyfriend, allowing him to steal a kiss as soon as her mouth became reachable. She nibbled on his lip while she felt his fingers vaguely invade her clothes, tracing the unexplored path of her waistline.
"Cough, cough," a forced cough filled the room, forcing the couple to separate. Slightly embarrassed, Olivia turned back to the sink, while Cassidy widened his smile and turned to face Benson's ex-partner.
"Don't worry, detective. There's no crime to report here."
"Yeah, but we still use the sink to prepare things like, you know, meals."
It was no secret that Nicolas and Bryan weren't the best of friends, but they did a good job tolerating each other for the sake of their relationship with Olivia. However, that didn't prevent the guys from occasionally finding absolutely no plausible reason to bicker and start a senseless argument, just like the one unfolding.
"Even if we had sex on all the dishes in this house, it would still be better than eating at that dump you guys frequent near the precinct."
Royal Joe, known as a landmark for police officers looking for a quick meal or decent coffee, carried a peculiar reputation. Despite constant cleaning efforts, the diner's tables stubbornly remained greasy, as if they resisted any attempt to restore their shine. Moreover, a sense of apprehension lingered in the air when it came to the cooks. The idea that they might haphazardly sprinkle your food with an unpleasant spit became a concern in customers' minds.
Benson, on the other hand, knew the owner. And while she also recognized that the establishment carried a questionable aura, Joe Brudny had personally assured her that nothing would happen to her food or any of her friends'.
"Alright, guys. Is the testosterone spill over now?" Olivia asked, closing the tap and turning around to pay attention to the two men. "Where's Amanda?"
"She's talking to Captain Conrad in the bedroom," Nicolas replied.
"Captain Conrad?" Olivia found it strange. Although they had worked with the man in question before, it wasn't common for detectives to contact captains from other units. "Did something happen?"
"Yes, didn't she tell you? Amanda has been temporarily transferred to cybercrime. They're running a major operation against sex trafficking and child pornography. Conrad wanted someone from SVU inside."
"Thanks for keeping us informed, Nick," Rollings thanked him with some irony, stepping into the kitchen ready to take her place in the discussion. "The cap said that if I do well, I could be promoted."
"Yeah, suddenly everyone's going to be promoted. First Cassidy," Amaro bit his tongue almost immediately after blurting out the name, remembering that it was supposed to be a secret. However, even though he was inwardly chastising himself, his mouth continued to spill words, as if he could make the revelation seem like a minor detail. "Then Amanda. Did you know I took the lieutenant's exam?"
But Olivia wasn't paying much attention to what her friend was saying. Instead, she noticed her boyfriend's clenched jaw, as Bryan hoped that Amaro's tactic would work.
"You got promoted?" Olivia arched an eyebrow, her eyes fixed on Bryan's tense face.
She could feel the tension building in the air. The muscles in his neck visibly contracted, revealing his anxiety. Cassidy cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact for a moment before finally answering, his voice slightly lower:
"Well, actually, I did."
Her lips curved slightly. Her hand reached out to his arm, offering a light, affectionate squeeze.
"Bryan, why didn't you tell me before? I know how much you wanted this promotion!" Her tone was gentle and happy. "Congratulations."
Amaro and Rollings exchanged silent glances, not allowing themselves to be noticed by the other two.
"I was waiting for the right moment to tell you," he replied, a bit louder, a bit more timid. "But apparently, Nicolas can't contain the gossip spirit living inside him."
"Sorry," the other man was sincere.
"Well, anyway, my-" Cassidy interrupted his sentence upon hearing the sudden sound of his phone. The characteristic ringtone already revealed the subject to be addressed. He quickly retrieved the device from his pocket and brought it to his ear. "Cassidy." He identified himself and waited a few seconds, listening to the person on the other end of the line. "Which room?" Olivia knew at that moment that their night together had come to an end. "Right, I'm on my way."
"Duty calls?" Amanda inquired, curious.
"Yeah, they want me to profile a criminal," Cassidy admitted, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Do you want a ride home, Liv?"
She just nodded, letting her eyes fall on the visibly frustrated man.
The black SUV glided smoothly through the wet streets of the city, propelled by Cassidy's movements behind the wheel. The light drizzle outside seemed to weave a delicate blanket over the reflective asphalt, giving it a glistening shine. The cold air invaded the night, but the interior of the vehicle was a cozy refuge, warmed by comfortable seats and the soft hum of the heating system. Olivia sat beside Bryan in the passenger seat, calm and pensive.
As the vehicle came to a gentle stop in front of Benson's house, she broke the silence with a question:
"Is there really no chance of you staying?"
Bryan quickly averted his gaze, his eyes, once full of life, now seemed distant and burdened with profound weariness.
"I wish there were, Liv," he replied, his voice tinged with resignation, "but they are already waiting for me."
Since the apartment, each pause in Bryan's words was filled with an intense silence, permeated by thoughts swirling around him like mist. Olivia, attentive to the small details, noticed the absence of his usual eloquence, his eyes barely met hers, and he wore a mask of confusion. She knew him well enough to sense that something was wrong.
Benson had already opened the car door, a movement so natural that she hadn't even realized she had done it. Hesitant upon her realization, she instinctively recoiled, closing the car door again, settling more comfortably into the passenger seat. Something seemed amiss, and Liv didn't want Cassidy to shut her out.
"Bryan, what's going on?" she asked, the palpable tone of concern in her voice.
He furrowed his brow, attempting to feign a false confusion that Benson knew was an act. Eventually, he softened his expression, accepting defeat, while searching for the right point and words to start that conversation.
"Okay... Sometimes, it's annoying how well you can read people," he said. Olivia kept her gaze steady, patiently waiting. Cassidy cleared his throat and once again looked away from her. "I got promoted."
"I already know that," she murmured softly, sinking back against the seat because somehow she knew this conversation would be more dense than she expected. "What's the problem?"
"The problem, Liv, is that there are no positions for my new rank here in New York."
It took a few seconds for her to comprehend what that truly meant. While the words made sense in her head, the implications of being promoted to a position not available in the city only mentally processed when she wondered where he would go then. Immediately, disappointment crossed her chest.
Olivia's mouth opened, ready to give him a rational and well-crafted response, but all that escaped her lips was a simple, "Oh..."
"That's why I didn't tell you earlier," he confessed, finally summoning the courage to look at her. "I'm going to have to move."
"And where are you going?" she asked, perhaps because somewhere inside her still held a glimmer of hope that this might be an easily solvable problem and not an impending catastrophe.
"To D.C. for a while, and then... wherever they need me."
"Maybe you could end up back in New York," she suggested, the hint of hope in her voice somehow squeezing Bryan's heart, making this conversation even harder.
Her big brown eyes stared at him relentlessly, waiting for an answer, a solution to the concern that had been unfolding for a few days now. Cassidy had spent sleepless nights trying to figure it out, suffering in advance for something that had no solution.
A sad smile appeared on his lips, and he had to take a slightly heavier breath to muster the courage to speak:
"I don't think so..."
It was her turn to look away, refocusing on the wet concrete of the street. The turbulent silence returned, enveloping both of them, occasionally disrupted by a slightly louder, somewhat shaky exhalation.
Benson felt the urge to ask him to give up, to ask him to stay in the city and let things remain as they had always been, but it didn't seem fair. It didn't seem like something she would do, even though she wanted to.
She swallowed the knots forming in her throat, refusing to show how much it affected her. Olivia was afraid that the minute she did, Bryan would change his mind. She didn't want to be an anchor, dragging him down when she knew he had the potential to reach for the stars.
Benson had already ruined her own career; she wouldn't ruin his either.
"So, is this some kind of breakup?" her voice was low.
Cassidy noticed how her fingers intertwined on her lap, anxious. The tone of her voice, a bit deeper than usual, was enough for him to know that he had surprised her, and she was trying to put her world back together.
"You can come with me," he suggested, watching the brown orbs return to her face, widened in surprise. "There's nothing tying you here, Liv. We could live together, move, and... wait until the dust settles from the Montez case."
She remained motionless, staring at him. Her heart pounded, so loud that she wondered if Cassidy could hear it. And for a few milliseconds, which felt like hours to her, Olivia considered the proposal.
It would be a lie to say that she had never considered leaving New York. In fact, since the Montez case, the idea had crossed her mind hundreds of times.
Deep down, Bryan was right. There was nothing truly tying her to the city. She had no job or family, and the few friends she had would certainly be the first to support her if she said she wanted to move.
Despite that, starting anew with Bryan, heading to a new life, carried a normalcy she wasn't sure she was ready to embrace. Liv wasn't certain she wanted to start a cycle in another city, where she would have to completely abandon Police Officer Olivia Benson and -potentially – settle into becoming a housewife with only her television for entertainment.
Because the truth was that, despite hating the situation her life was in, despite hating being away from her work and occasionally dealing with the media's attention, this complicated moment she was going through was still a tenuous thread connecting her to her old reality, to the person she wanted to be again. It reminded her that she wasn't completely exiled.
And she wasn't ready to give that up.
"Bryan..."
He didn't need much time looking into her pupils to draw his own conclusions. Cassidy tilted his head towards the car pedals as a sad smile returned to his lips.
"But you're not ready,"
"I'm sorry"
"Don't be sorry, I already knew," he confessed, his lips forming a thin line, and his breath becoming deeper. "That's why I didn't say anything; I wanted to have a chance to enjoy these last days by your side. Chasing after me across the country doesn't seem like you, anyway..."
Knowing that this would probably be their last conversation on that matter, that the decision had already been made, and that their destinies would take different paths in a few days, Olivia approached the man.
Her hand gently touched his shoulder just to get his attention. And then, very slowly, she moved closer, planting a chaste and lingering kiss on his familiar lips. There were no tongues or any suggestive touches; the goal was not to satisfy their desires. It was simply a farewell kiss.
"I really have to go, Liv," Cassidy reminded, pulling away from the woman's lips. "They're waiting for me."
With her eyes still closed, Benson nodded. Her body went on autopilot, and her movements were carried out while her mind continued to be lost in her thoughts. When her boots met the wet concrete of the sidewalk, and the car door closed, she waved a brief goodbye. Bryan smiled minimally before driving the SUV away.
Liv remained there for a while, standing on the sidewalk as she watched the car slowly fade away, disappearing around a corner further ahead. The drizzle spread through her hair and heavy clothes, making her feel damp. The emptiness that she refused to acknowledge, gradually gained ground, spreading in her chest painfully.
It was only when the tips of her fingers found the metal of her keys, carefully deposited in her coat pocket, that she realized she needed to get inside. Her steps were slow as she approached the wooden door, and as she turned the doorknob, she couldn't help but think how pathetic it seemed to enter that house knowing that no one was waiting for her.
Not that things were different before that night, but now Olivia had to face the fact that another pillar of her life had just crumbled. She felt foolish, once again having to adapt to a world she wasn't prepared to face.
The silence of the house enveloped her senses as she closed the front door. The light from the deliberately left-on lamp cast shadows throughout the liveroom, giving a comforting ambiance. Liv stared at the armchair placed near the window, facing the television. She definitely deserved to sit there, perhaps with a silly movie and an overly large glass of wine.
So, she walked towards the kitchen, determined to follow her newly devised plan. The glass, her companion during tough times, was placed on the counter as Benson searched the refrigerator for the wine she had opened a few days before. Her search halted when her well-trained ears caught a subtle sound coming from the upper floor.
This set off an alert throughout her body, and she instinctively stood straight, closing the fridge and holding her breath to make sure she wasn't mistaken or imagining things. Her ears tuned in to the ambient noises—the passing cars, the now slightly heavier drizzle against the kitchen windows, and a shuffling of feet on the wooden floor, followed by a faint creak.
The kind of sound that would only exist if someone walked down the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Instinctively, her hand reached for her waist, searching for the holster she hadn't used in a long time. Olivia swallowed hard when she realized that the gun she kept at home was now safely locked in her closet upstairs.
One option available was to leave the house and call the police, but that didn't feel right. She used to be a cop, knew the procedures, and knew how to handle situations like this. Besides, leaving the residence wouldn't guarantee the intruder's capture, and he might return, and she might not be fortunate enough to be outside the house next time.
The second option, though undoubtedly more foolish, was to bravely confront whoever had invaded her home. With a bit of luck, she might secure a capture and find out who had been dumb enough to disturb her in her place of rest.
So she made a decision, her hand reaching for her phone inside her coat, and she quickly typed a message to her former partner:
' There is somebody in my house.
Checking it out.'
Then, she made sure to hide the phone in the inner pocket of her clothing. If something happened, with a bit of luck, they would be able to track her before the criminal found her phone.
Finally, Olivia pulled a knife from the cutlery set, determined to use it for protection. Adrenaline started to course through her body, and a sense of heightened alertness took over her mind. She knew she couldn't ignore this situation, so cautiously, she climbed the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible.
At the top, Benson saw a partially open door in the hallway. A sliver of light squeezed through the gap, indicating that someone was inside. Her heart raced even faster as she silently approached the door, her mind preparing for any eventuality.
That's when she saw him.
Elliot was sitting at the edge of her bed, his gaze fixed on the laptop, while Olivia stood facing the door. A look of concern took over her face, turning her mouth into a thin line. Internally, she berated herself for being so bad with passwords and not following Amanda's advice about her electronic devices' security.
However, there was a silver lining to the situation: the unlimited access to the files of old cases, which she kept stored in the device's memory, seemed to distract the man enough not to notice her spying through the crack in the door.
Olivia needed to think quickly. From her angle, there was no chance of sneaking up on him and impulsively entering the room with a knife. The bed was too far from the door, giving the intruder enough time to draw his weapon.
She needed him close but still unprepared. Her best chance was to lure him out of the room and attempt to surprise him. And that's exactly what she did.
Silently and cautiously, Liv unscrewed one of the bulbs from the sconces that illuminated the hallway. Holding the object firmly, she calculated the right distance and angle to create a significant noise—one that couldn't be ignored. Firmly holding the knife, she threw the object, watching it shatter on the wooden floor. The transparent shards slid across the ground as a fine cloud of dust rose a few inches above it.
Olivia was strategically positioned next to the door, completely out of the intruder's sight, ready to act as soon as it was feasible. She held her breath in the moments following the impact. The deafening silence that followed lasted only a few seconds.
Her trained ears picked up the creaking of the bed as he got up, his slow steps muffled by the carpet she insisted on keeping in the room. Benson's throat was dry, and she had to take a deep breath, closing her eyes for a brief second to focus.
The moment was crucial; she knew she had to appear at the right time, or it would all be over. It was only when she heard the beginning of the creak of the hinge that a rush of adrenaline seemed to hit her. In less than half a second, Olivia stood in front of the man, who looked surprised, his eyebrows raised. The hand holding the knife pressed the object against his belly, while the other moved towards his neck, squeezing and pushing him with enough force to pin him against the nearest wall.
Their gazes met for a brief second, and as she stared into his blue orbs, she couldn't help but realize the obvious. The man in front of her was bigger, taller, and undoubtedly stronger than her. His shadow loomed over hers, making her feel small, and the knife in her hand trembled slightly, a testament to the palpable tension in the air. The detective's instincts screamed in her ear, and she knew that lowering her guard would be her downfall.
That's why she made the decision to raise the blade, pressing it against Elliot's throat, intensifying the menacing atmosphere surrounding them. He swallowed hard, his eyes reflecting the growing fear that gripped him. Olivia was an ex-agent, skilled and highly trained. Stabler attempted to hold her arm, seeking some control, but she responded with even firmer pressure on his jugular.
"Don't even think about it. Lower your hands," Benson's voice echoed through the bedroom, full of authority, before threatening, "Just give me a reason..."
Stabler's slightly labored breath interrupted the words he tried to articulate. The anguish was palpable, and his jawline tightened. Amidst the discomfort expressed on his face, he tried to convey his promise that he meant no harm.
"Please, lower the knife."
However, Olivia didn't paid attention. Her focus was elsewhere, with a fixed and restless gaze. Fear infiltrated her very core, relentless concern gnawing at her. She hadn't planned this part; she hadn't anticipated the additional risks. The possibility of someone else being in the house haunted her, and now that she had him at her mercy, she wasn't sure how to immobilize him. Liv was without handcuffs, without a firearm to secure a safe distance, and completely screwed.
"Who else is here?"
"It's just me," he assured, convincing her for the first time that night.
With her free hand, she searched Stabler's body, looking for any sign of imminent danger. Each touch was meticulous, revealing her latent suspicion. She patted every place she could, never letting go of her offensive posture.
"Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my house?"
Elliot took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the words on his shoulders. He knew that each of his answers could change the outcome of that night.
"My name is Elliot Stabler," he said, his voice tinged with unexpressed emotions, "And believe it or not, we've met before."
His words echoed in her head, provoking a wave of discomfort and uncertainty. Liv strained to find any clue or trace of connection with the stranger, searching the corners of her memory for any criminal Stabler. But she failed.
"Are you a journalist?" The question was genuinely curious. There were so many reporters that she couldn't remember all the names or faces.
"No, I'm not," he replied, his voice sounding sincere, even though his words hid a lie. His profession seemed irrelevant at that moment.
But there was something there, something she couldn't explain. Some might call it a gut feeling, an instinct, or anything else. But it was something that screamed "liar" inside her chest.
A look of suspicion crossed Benson's face. Her irritation surged, fueled by his insistent voice and the sudden invasion of her home.
"You know what I think? That you're lying!" Olivia started, echoing sarcasm, "I would remember meeting someone dumb enough to break into a cop's house."
Her cutting response filled the air. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of disbelief and a hint of suppressed anger. She dominated the game that was unfolding in that room and possessed an innate talent for spotting flaws in others' speeches.
"Detective, I didn't mean to..." he confessed.
Olivia once again sought those blue eyes, looking for any vestige of falsehood, any sign of danger. But she found nothing. He kept his gaze locked on hers for a few seconds. The silence in the room and their breaths were the only sounds they could hear.
How was it possible that she didn't remember him?
The doubt and suspicion consuming her were temporarily forgotten, replaced by a desperate search for any hint of falsehood in his eyes. Her inquisitive analysis weighed every detail, examining him, trying to read him.
But she failed again. There was absolutely nothing she could discern about the man, and that intrigued her. She hoped to have at least a guess, a trace of something: anger, fear, anything, but those blue eyes seemed like an empty, lifeless expanse. Deep as they were, as if they had witnessed countless stories, they remained opaque, reminding her of herself, as if they only reflected the echo of a memory of what her soul once was.
In a moment of vulnerability, her guard lowered, allowing Elliot to seize the opportunity to free himself from the grip of the knife pressed against his throat. He needed just a fraction of a second to act. With surprising dexterity, his fingers squeezed Olivia's arm muscles, pulling them down, causing a lingering pain.
She groaned in pain as her muscles were squeezed and pressed by the man's fingers. The hand that held the knife weakened, while the other struggled to push him away by pulling his wrist.
But she didn't succeed. The muscles gave up any effort that wasn't for self-preservation. The blade fell to the carpet as tears welled up in the corner of her eyes.
Only when he found himself out of danger did Elliot loosen his grip, not wanting to hurt her since she was no longer a threat.
To his misfortune, however, Olivia considered him the greatest threat, and that's what motivated her. Using her right foot as support, she slightly turned her body and landed a punch with her left hand on the man's jaw.
Stabler lost his balance, leaning against the wall, somewhat dazed by the unexpected blow. His hand went to his chin, evaluating the impact, afraid he had dislocated his jaw.
Benson, on the other hand, felt her fist going numb. The man's bone structure was broad and hard, and she was forced to open and close her fingers quickly, wondering internally if she had broken any bones. Her body, driven by survival instinct, crouched down trying to reach for the knife again, but Stabler realized her intentions and, even dazed, kicked it away to the other side of the room.
It was when Olivia stood up again, their eyes meeting like the last time. She set her guard, ready to hit him again, even if it meant breaking every bone in her hand. But she didn't get a chance.
Elliot saw her ready to fight, and a half smile crossed his lips. And as if she were made of cloth, Stabler grabbed her biceps, pulling her close to his chest and spinning on his own axis, pinning her against him and the wall. His hands climbed up her muscles until they spread across her shoulders, exerting enough force to keep her in place. Their legs pressed against each other to prevent any movement below. Avoiding kicks, boots, or sweeps.
Even though she knew she was trapped, Olivia didn't stop trying to fight. Her arms had a distance of just over four inches to move between her and the man's chest. Liv used the space to launch repetitive slaps and punches that had little effect; Elliot remained solid and unyielding in front of her.
"Stop!" he demanded when he felt Olivia's nails digging into the skin of his wrist. The sharp pain struck him uncomfortably, "Stop, Benson. I won't hurt you. I didn't come here for that."
The labored breath of both met in the short space between their bodies. Olivia loosened the grip she had on his skin because she knew it was futile. She was defenseless in the situation she had put herself in, and fighting might irritate him even more. Whoever the man was in front of her, Benson intended to survive, as she had done in the past.
"What do you want from me?" she asked in a barely audible voice. "Let me go."
It was then that he noticed her trembling body, her labored breathing, and the sweat on the hands that now rested on his wrists—in a silent plea for him to release her. Olivia had done such a good job of hiding her fear until then that he almost didn't notice.
Almost.
He felt like an idiot for putting her in that situation. He should have known what would go through the mind of a detective from the Special Victims Unit upon finding an – almost – stranger in her bedroom in the middle of the night.
Damn it, he had done everything wrong.
"Olivia, I won't hurt you," he reaffirmed, his eyes making a point to meet her brown irises, hoping to convince her this time. "I'm going to let you go," he announced before making any move. "But I'm telling you, Benson, I'm not a psycho. You're in control here; just please... please don't run away from me."
She swallowed, taking a moment before nodding slightly. What choice did she have other than to trust his words?
Very slowly, Elliot loosened his grip, giving her room to move, stepping back a few paces until he was near the bed. His hands went to his pants' pocket just because he didn't know what to do with them, not wanting to appear threatening.
Liv remained against the wall for a few seconds more, allowing herself to stroke the wrists he had squeezed, checking if her ligaments were intact.
"Sorry about your arm," he whispered, embarrassed.
In his head, Stabler had planned that night differently. His initial intention was to wait for her to leave the house, then sneak in and leave the documentation of his daughter's case open on her computer to pique the detective's curiosity.
He would contact her the next day, just to introduce himself and say that he was the one who handed her the documentation. He hadn't planned to tell her how he had done it, as impressing her in some way might make her more inclined to help.
"My arm is fine," she lied, raising her gaze to him. "What do you want with me?"
The editor sighed heavily, shifting his weight from foot to foot, feeling uncomfortable.
"I didn't want things to come to this point, Olivia," he said with a deep voice
echoing like a dissonant note in the tense melody permeating the room. "But you need to understand... I need your help."
"With what?" Olivia asked.
"A case."
And it was as if a bolt of memory tore through the cloudy sky of her forgetfulness. Suddenly, Olivia remembered the day of Melanie Montez's funeral. She recalled her captain's request to stop her private investigations, and she remembered being intercepted on the front lawn of her house by a man named Elliot Stabler.
The puzzle pieces started falling into place in her mind, and gradually, she became less frightened, her fear giving way to curiosity.
"So, that's what it's about? A case?" She almost laughed in disbelief. "Ever heard of email?"
"It's not just a case," he defended himself in a loud, almost rude tone. "It's about my daughter."
She stood still for a brief moment, seconds dragging on as if they were eternal. Her gaze penetrated the man's features, capturing every shade of expression. Benson used to think her home was a safe space, a place meticulously built, where nothing could ever reach her.
That night, however, seemed unusual in every way it could be. The woman's heart still pounded against her chest, fueling the rush of adrenaline flowing through her veins. Her mind was entangled in confused and reckless thoughts, resisting calming down.
But that wasn't her. It couldn't be.
Elliot still stood at a safe distance, his intense and hostile aura enveloping the room. Yet, Olivia's years of training gave her the ability to see through it.
Liv let out a low sigh as she noticed the shadow of regret crossing the man's eyes, and she vividly remembered the day she met him. She recalled his choked voice and the distress in his eyes. Now, here he was, showing vulnerability, even if unintentionally, even as he tried to conceal his feelings in the darkness of the room.
The woman's eyes closed for a brief moment as she tried to sort out the emotions the man seemed intent on stirring up. She internally scolded herself for appearing so insensitive to his pain, no matter how angry she was, it didn't seem right to act that way.
But Olivia never had a chance to express herself, as her phone vibrated in the inner pocket of her coat.
She knew it was Nicolas calling, and she also knew that if she didn't answer, half of the NYPD would be at her doorstep in ten minutes. Considering that Stabler was no longer a threat, she took the phone out of her pocket, watching the blue-eyed man let out an almost incredulous laugh.
"Nick," she said softly, trying to keep the conversation private.
"I'm coming to your place," he announced from the other end of the line. The rustling of fabric assured Olivia that he was putting on his coat.
"You don't have to, everything's fine. The situation is under control," she said, using her best tone of voice to convince him. "I don't want you to come here. It's late. You don't need to bother."
The line went silent, and he waited for a few seconds. Nicolas knew Olivia's mannerisms, knew how she reacted in dangerous situations, but he also knew her stubbornness in not asking for help when she needed it.
"You've always been stubborn, Liv. I know you can handle yourself, but that doesn't mean you can't ask for help," he argued, his muscles relaxing as he realized the scene didn't seem as urgent as he had imagined. "I can come over just to make sure everything's okay, if you want."
"I appreciate your offer, Nick, but I'm fine," she reassured, looking up at the man in front of her. "I've dealt with the situation, and I'm safe now. I don't want you to go through the trouble, seriously. I appreciate your concern, but it's better if you stay home."
Nicolas sighed. He knew Olivia wouldn't easily give in; she was always so inflexible.
"Okay, if that's what you want... But please, if you need anything, don't hesitate to call me, alright?"
Olivia gestured, even though he couldn't see her doing so.
"Thank you, Nick. I promise I'll let you know if I need anything. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Liv. Take care."
Benson hung up the phone and put it back in her pocket, trying to suppress the tumultuous thoughts that consumed her. She took a deep breath and, as she turned back to the room, her gaze met Elliot Stabler. He had his back to her, gazing out of the window, lost in deep thoughts.
With hesitant steps, Olivia approached him until she was by his side, still keeping a certain distance. The tension in the room was still palpable.
"I remember giving you a card of another detective," she began, diverting her gaze from his to focus on the nighttime landscape outside.
"He doesn't want the case," Elliot replied, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness.
"Of course not, he's a deserter," she retorted firmly. "I should have known."
Elliot's eyes met hers as he turned to face her. He noticed Olivia's defensive posture, her arms crossed, and the distant look in her eyes. Despite the physical closeness between them, it felt impersonal. She was making it impersonal. Maybe because that's how she acted, maybe because she needed to...
God, he certainly couldn't blame her. After everything that happened with the Montez case, after all the press coverage, all the harassment, he too would try to distance himself from anything that represented a similar threat.
"He said I need you," Elliot confessed, his voice softer, trying to convey his vulnerability. "That only you can help me."
"I can't."
"Please, Benson. What more do you want me to do? Beg?" Frustration was starting to manifest in Elliot's voice, but he still maintained a careful tone.
Olivia's response wavered for a moment, but she knew she couldn't avoid the sincerity that Elliot was seeking.
"No," she tried to start. "You don't understand..."
"Six months ago, I lost my daughter," the words painfully left his lips, and he thought that maybe if he explained, if he was honest about what he felt for the first time since it happened, maybe there would be a solution. "Not to illness, not to an accident. Someone took her life. She was missing for almost four days. Can you imagine what it's like for a father not to hear from his youngest for four days?" The words came out almost spit from his mouth. He had never had the chance to express himself the way he did at that moment. "And all that time, I never lost hope of finding her. But then... she was on that morgue table, and the police were questioning me. They had the case of my daughter for six months, and they found absolutely nothing. No evidence, no DNA, no witnesses... What was I supposed to do? Accept that it's the end? Accept that the bastard who took Elizabeth away from me goes unpunished?"
A sigh escaped the woman's lips. The man's actions finally made sense as they entered perspective. And she wanted to say that she couldn't help him. Wanted to say that there were already too many things going on in her own life, and she didn't know if she could handle that too. But she couldn't, because the tenuous thread that still connected that Olivia to the detective she used to be, although strained, had not been broken. And she knew that this man deserved justice for his daughter, and Benson would be incapable of denying that to him.
"No. You shouldn't."
"Then help me," he whispered. "Help me breathe again."