The doctor left a chilling, terrible silence in his wake. While in the room he'd irritated her with his chipper demeanor, the tooth-achingly cheerful way he'd told her she might never walk again, but the moment he left she wished he'd just come back, if only to dispel the cloud of fear that had fallen over her.
It happens all the time, she told herself, fiddling with the rough seam at the edge of the thin blanket they'd covered her with. At least her hands still worked. All the time, she told herself, people found their lives changed in an instant like this all the time. People still led full lives without the use of their legs; walking was not an entry requirement to living, and she knew it. She had comforted people in this very situation herself, held their hands and promised them that everything was going to be ok, and believed it. You're still here. You're still breathing. You're still you.
Just a different version of herself, maybe. A version of herself she hadn't met yet, because all her life she had been defined by the things she did. The way she ran down a perp, the way she strutted through a crowd in stilettos, her fierce independence and challenging physicality had always been part of her, the foundation of her understanding of her self, and she wasn't sure what would be left over, when all of that was washed away. Something would be left, surely, and new pieces of herself might soon be discovered, but in the immediate aftermath of the doctor's terrifying news it was hard to look to the future with anything other than dread. One day, maybe, when the dust had settled and she'd had time to process - Jesus, she hated that word, process, hated having to process anything - then she might feel something like hope. It was too soon to hope, though, her heart still too raw, and all she could do was sit and think about all the things she'd never do again.
There were just so many questions, and so few answers. How long would they keep her in the rehab; how long until she returned to her home? What would happen to Noah while his mother was locked away, learning to walk again - if she was lucky? Elliot said he'd look after Noah, him and Lizzie - and Olivia didn't know what that was about, didn't know why it was Lizzie's name that fell from his lips and not his other daughters', either of whom would have been a much more likely candidate for the position of babysitter - said they'd take care of her boy but she was a little pissed at him for making that decision on his own. Noah was her son and it was her job to make arrangements for him and who the fuck did Elliot think he was, telling her that he was going to take her son home?
The fact that he was the only one she'd want to take Noah anyway didn't seem to lessen her anger. That anger was powerful, and righteous, and it felt so much better than fear, and so she gave in to it, let the anger fill her up. Really, who the fuck was Elliot, to take her son, to order her to go to the rehab with no thought as to her own feelings on the matter? Not her partner, anymore, damn sure not her boyfriend, just an arrogant son of a bitch with an easy surety she envied. Just the man she loved, trying to look after her, the way she always wished someone would.
Where did he go, anyway? She wondered. She'd kicked him out and he'd said he'd call Maria, promised to get Noah here, but she had no idea what he'd done with himself. If he'd made the call, if he was standing outside her room even now. Maybe he'd gone to get himself a cup of coffee, or home for a much needed shower - when he sat at her bedside she'd seen dust in the creases of his neck, his clothes still tattered like he'd come straight here from the building site and refused to move until she opened her eyes. Which, she figured, he probably had.
Bet he's still outside, she thought. She could picture it, Elliot sitting on one of the hard plastic benches in the corridor just outside her room, guarding her door, keeping vigil while he waited for her to forgive him. When she closed her eyes she could almost see him, and for a moment she sat in the darkness behind her eyelids and imagined she could feel him, too. The warmth of him, the solid bulk of him, the weight of his presence heavy on her shoulders. She always knew when he was near; there was something about Elliot, beyond the physical impressiveness of his body, something about his heart that called to hers, that seemed to announce itself before he entered any room.
He's still there, she thought, and then, no, that's just the drugs talking. She didn't know where he'd gone, even if she wanted to believe she did. She was far too practical to give in to that kind of wishful thinking.
There was no sense of time in that room; that place seemed to exist outside of the concepts of time and space, a world unto itself, all the familiar mile markers of life removed and the road looming on in an endless, repetitious darkness. Ten minutes, thirty, she wasn't sure how long she lay there alone and worrying, but eventually the door opened, and when it did she sat up a little straighter.
"Mom!" she heard Noah's voice cry, and then he was running to her, a little blur in a blue hoodie, throwing himself across her chest. It hurt like hell when he hit her but she didn't make a sound, just tried to will her lungs to work and wrapped her arms around him as best she could.
"It's ok, sweet boy," she murmured into his hair, closing her eyes and breathing in deep of the smell of him. "I'm ok. Everything is ok."
Everything was not ok, but Noah was her son, and she was his mother, and Elliot might have been a son of a bitch but he'd been right about one thing; she needed Noah to see her strong. She needed her son to believe she was capable of anything. She couldn't let him see her fall apart.
"I said a prayer for you, Olivia," Maria said softly from the other side of the room, and Olivia looked up then, and found Noah's nanny standing a few feet away, Elliot close behind her.
Elliot, with his hands caught behind his back, still holding himself like a Marine at ease even decades after he'd left the service. His shoulders were broad and straight and the cross was hanging around his neck, and he just looked so goddamn solid, a brick fucking wall, utterly unscathed by the same horrific accident that had left her paralyzed - maybe - and she hated him for that, too. Hated him for being so sure, hated him for being so sexy, hated him for being good to her, hated him for being ok, hated him because she wanted, so badly, to feel him wrap those solid arms around her. Maybe it wasn't fair, hating him for the way he made her want him, but she did, just the same. It was easier to hate him than to face the weakness of her wanting him.
"Thank you, Maria," she said, her eyes darting away from Elliot and back to the nanny.
"Elliot says you're going to be here for a while," Noah piped up, slipping out of Olivia's embrace and jumping easily to rest on the edge of her bed. He was almost too big for it; growing like a weed, a tangle of arms and legs that always seemed so graceful when he was dancing, while at home he was forever knocking cups off the counter and bouncing off the doorways. Growing every day, and she'd miss it all while she languished in a hospital bed.
"What else did Elliot tell you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at Elliot over her son's head.
"Just that," Elliot answered for Noah. "I told him you're ok, and that you're going to be here for a while."
"Elliot says I can stay with him." It was remarkable, really, the ease with which a child could throw a grown man under the bus; Elliot looked down, shamefaced at having been caught in half a lie, and Olviia frowned. That man; he'd placed her in an impossible position. Just rushed ahead, the way he always did, and told Noah that Elliot was going to take charge of him without ever discussing it with Olivia herself. She'd wanted to talk it through with Elliot before saying anything to Noah, but Elliot had overridden her. And now she was stuck; she wanted to say no, if for nothing else than out of spite, to show Elliot that he didn't get to unilaterally make decisions for her and her child, but the plan he'd presented was the one she would've wanted, anyway, and there was no real point in fighting him.
"Is that ok?" she asked Noah. "If you'd rather stay with Aunt Amanda-"
Noah scrunched his nose up tight in disgust and shook his head. "I don't wanna sleep on the couch," he said. "And she's going to have a baby soon. I'd rather stay with Elliot. It'll be quieter there. He says I can have my own room."
Across the room Elliot cleared his throat, and took a step forward, and Maria was still just standing there, watching it all unfold with a curious expression on her face.
"He can have Eli's room," Elliot said. "Lizzie's staying in the guest room. She's not working right now, so she can keep an eye on him when I'm not there."
And save Olivia a fortune and spare her a lot of headaches in the process. Of all the Stabler children Olivia knew Lizzie the least; Lizzie had stayed out of trouble unlike Dickie and Kathleen, but she was younger than Maureen, who probably remembered Olivia best, and older than Eli, who Olivia had held in her arms seconds after his birth. Lizzie was something of a question mark, but she was a Stabler, and that meant she was family.
"I can't ask you to-"
"You're not asking," Elliot said gruffly. "If Noah's ok with it, I want him to stay with us."
"It'll be fun," Noah said in that way he had, carefully cheerful, reassuring her, and not the other way around. It made her wonder, sometimes, how much he saw. If he knew the sorrow that plagued his mother, if he was seeking to banish it himself. She'd tried so hard, so fucking hard, to give him a good life, a happy life, to shield him from the grim reality of her world, but in moments like this she found herself afraid, terrified that she'd failed in that regard.
"Tell you what," she said to Noah, catching his eye and holding his gaze while she spoke, trying to will him to understand how important this was. "We'll try it out. You go home with Elliot tonight, and see how it goes. You have your phone, you call me if you want to go somewhere else."
Just please, God, don't ask to go to Woodstock. That might break her, if Noah decided he'd rather be with the McCanns. A part of her worried that if she sent him up there for more than a weekend she'd never get him back. Worried he'd be happier there, safer there, better off there. Worried she'd never been any good for him at all.
"No pressure," Elliot said to Noah then. "We all want you to be happy, ok? So if you decide you want to leave you can. You won't hurt my feelings."
Liar, Olivia thought. It'd kill Elliot if her kid decided he didn't like him.
"Ok," Noah said. "So…what do we do now?"
And that, Olivia thought, was the million dollar question.
What the fuck do we do now?