This chapter comes with a TW for a medical emergency involving a child.

November 17, 2015

"You look like shit, Stabler."

She meant it to sound…well, maybe not friendly, but she wanted him to know that she cared about him, was worried about him, that he could talk to her, if he wanted to, about whatever was on his mind. That's what partners did, after all, wasn't it? Looked after one another, confided in one another. Their partnership had gotten off to a rocky start, the two of them locked in a Cold War style detente, their mutually assured destruction the one thing that bound them together, but she wanted better for them than that. Wanted to be friends, if such a thing were possible.

If the bastard would just talk to her.

Jackie made the overture but in response Stabler only grunted, staring moodily out the window as she drove them to their next assignment, a witness who'd turned state's evidence against a drug lord in Miami and had been nothing but a thorn in Jackie's side since. The guy kept running out of money but he wouldn't tell them where it was going; Jackie suspected illegal gambling. Can't make a zebra change his stripes, she thought; these guys who'd spent their lives up to their pits in drugs and cards and girls were rarely any good at settling down and following the straight and narrow.

Stabler didn't look to be changing any time soon, either.

"How'd it go this weekend?" she asked, mostly to fill the silence in the car. "The big party."

The youngest had just a birthday, Jackie knew, and last week Stabler had seemed pretty optimistic about having all his children in one place again. Monday rolled around and he didn't have anything to say about it, and now it was Tuesday and he still hadn't mentioned it, and maybe, Jackie thought, maybe that was why he looked so haggard. Maybe something had gone wrong over the weekend; maybe one of the kids had come up pregnant or gotten into some trouble or started a fight with their mom and Stabler was still brooding about it.

"It was fine," he said shortly.

At least he'd finally found his voice.

"The kid enjoyed himself?"

"Yeah."

"Must be nice for you and the missus, having all the kids in one place."

"Yeah."

It was like pulling teeth trying to talk to this man. She felt as if she were trying to talk to a fifteen year old who couldn't be bothered to look up from his phone.

"How's she coping? Since the accident."

It must've been hard on his poor wife, Jackie thought. The way he talked about Kathy it sounded like she was a regular Suzy Homemaker, and she probably hated being laid up with a busted leg. Then again, maybe she appreciated the break from washing his dirty undies and cooking him dinner.

"She's fine," he said.

But you're not, Jackie thought. Ordinarily Stabler was a pretty chatty fella; he didn't like to talk about his personal life, his wife and his kids and whatever happened back in New York and Olivia and everything, but usually he talked. Talked about the weather, talked about baseball, always had some smart ass comment to make. This bullish refusal to engage coupled with the frown he'd been wearing non stop the last two days and the dark circles under his eyes seemed to be an omen of doom. Something was bothering him, eating away at him, keeping him up at night, and she'd like to help him with that, if she could, but how was she supposed to help when he wouldn't fucking talk to her?

"You think you might be able to string together more than three words at a time?"

"What the fuck do you want from me, Jackie?" he snapped, suddenly, inexplicably furious. Sure, she'd been bugging him, but she didn't think anything she'd said merited that kind of ire from him.

"I wanna know what the fuck is wrong with you," she fired back. "Because you're my partner, and I care about you, you asshole."

His shoulders slumped, immediately cowed by her rebuke.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning his head to stare at her from the passenger's seat. "Jackie, I'm sorry."

"What's going on, man? Seriously, whatever it is-"

"It's nothing," he said. "I'm just tired, I'm not getting much sleep. It's fine. Everything is gonna be fine."

Bullshit, she thought. Whatever was wrong with him seemed like it was a hell of a lot bigger than him being a few nights short on sleep, but she decided not to push it.

For now.

For now she'd bite her tongue. Let him try to get whatever it was out of his system. If he wasn't right by the end of the week, she'd try again. One way or another, she was determined to get to the bottom of his strange behavior.

"Thank you," Olivia said earnestly. "I think this was the best meal I've had since I got here."

"You're not much of a cook, are you?" Paul asked, grinning.

"No," she admitted. "Before Gabe I pretty much survived on takeout. I'm trying to learn for him, though. I don't want him to grow up eating nothing but Captain Crunch."

It had been, on the whole, a really nice day. Olivia woke up, took Noah to daycare, went to work, picked him up, came home, walked next door and sat at Paul's kitchen table while he cooked her dinner and asked about her work, while the boys played together in the living room, still within their parents' line of sight thanks to Paul's open floor plan. It had been a normal day, after so many days of not normal. The mark Elliot had left on her neck was fading, currently covered by the artful fall of her hair, and she was beginning to feel a little more like herself. A little more in control of herself.

What happened on Saturday was a mistake, and it would not, could not be repeated. She kinda thought Elliot agreed, because he hadn't tried to contact her again. It wasn't like she'd called him, either; they had each other's numbers now but the phones remained silent, neither of them willing to reach for the other and risk further calamity.

She knew she'd made a mistake. Knew she'd hurt Kathy, hurt Paul, hell, hurt herself and Elliot, too, by making them the villains in a story they never wanted to write. She'd made a mistake, betrayed every promise she'd ever made to herself, to Elliot. It was a mistake, and she regretted it. It was a mistake, and she'd make it again if Elliot reached for her. She regretted it, and there was a part of her that desperately wanted to do it again. To feel the furious blazing heat of his desire, to feel the strength of his hands, clutching at her, claiming her, to feel the sense of belonging, of righteousness, of freedom he brought to her. For one too-brief night she learned what it meant to be whole, and she would yearn for it, and mourn for it, all the rest of her days.

She would miss him, always. But she had learned already how to do that, how to miss him, and keep breathing.

This can work, she thought, looking at Paul. If she and Elliot could just keep their distance from one another, maybe they'd all be ok. The proximity of him was intoxicating, made it all but impossible to resist the longing she felt for him, but if they didn't come near each other they'd be spared the agony of fighting it. Surely, she thought, that was the right thing to do, to stay away from him, not tempt him to forget his vows a second - a third - time, not tempt herself with the sweet promise of a love she was not allowed to claim. If he just stayed gone, maybe one day it wouldn't hurt so much.

Wouldn't hurt the way it hurt right now. Right now, this moment, when she was otherwise content, when all her needs were met and her son was safe and a nice man was smiling at her over the remains of the dinner he'd cooked for her, she hurt. It was the dull, throbbing ache of a broken bone poorly set; she'd been shattered, on Saturday, and she wasn't healing yet, not really. She still wanted to scream every time she thought of Elliot, wanted to curse him, to kiss him, wanted to weep. The words she wanted to say to him, the accusations and the questions rocketed around her brain in every quiet moment. She thought about calling him approximately every three minutes, and every time she did her hands began to shake.

But she didn't give in. She didn't call him, tore her thoughts away from him again, and again, and again. Maybe one day the habit would be so deeply ingrained she wouldn't have to think about it any more. Maybe one day the missing him would be so familiar she wouldn't even recognize its presence. That's what happened the first time he left her. It could happen again.

And she had Paul. Paul who had, for reasons she still didn't fully understand, forgiven her for her indiscretion. Paul who seemed to genuinely care for her, who was so kind to her, and to Noah. There was no future with Elliot, no happy ending waiting for them, but maybe she could make one with Paul. Maybe this was what normal people did.

"I want to kiss you," Paul said suddenly, and Olivia startled, caught off guard by his earnest sincerity, by the sweet simplicity of it. Elliot had never been so open with her; Elliot had never asked. He just took what he wanted, and Christ, that turned her on. She liked that better, really, liked Elliot taking charge more than Paul's shy approach, but that made her wonder. Is there something wrong with me? Shouldn't she like the nice man more?

"You can, you know," she told him. She wished he would. Wished he'd just get up, and come to her, and take what he wanted. She wished someone else would just tell her what to do, for once, instead of the choice always resting in her hands. She was tired of choosing.

"I don't think I can," he said. "Not yet. Not while I can still see…" his gaze drifted down, and her heart sank as she realized what he meant.

Not while he could still see the hickey Elliot had left on her neck. Not while there was still a visible reminder of another man's mouth on her body. What a mess.

"I understand," she said, because she did.

There were other things she wanted to say, apologies she wanted to make, but before she got the chance Riley came rushing into the room, little legs moving as fast as they would go.

"Daddy, daddy," he said urgently. "Something wrong."

The boy was pointing to the living room, and Paul and Olivia both vaulted to their feet as they looked and saw Noah lying on the floor unmoving.

"Oh my god," she gasped, already running, racing across the kitchen and crashing to her knees at her son's side.

He didn't appear to be hurt; there was no blood, no bumps or bruises. But his breathing was labored, coming in short, gasping wheezes, and his little lips were turning blue, and he did not open his eyes when his mother touched him.

"He can't breathe!" she cried, lowering her face close to his, checking his pulse with her fingertips. It was fast, too fast, and the world began to spin madly beneath her, making her dizzy with fear.

"I'll call an ambulance," Paul said. She looked up sharply, just to make sure he was actually calling - he was - and then she returned her attention to her son.

"Look at me, baby," she begged, carefully rearranging Noah so that he was sitting upright, his back against her chest. "It's ok, sweet boy, you're going to be ok."

He had to be ok. If he wasn't…that boy was her whole world, and if she lost him, she'd lose everything.