Elliot cradled Olivia in his arms, her body alarmingly light and unnaturally cold. His coat barely covered her disheveled form, the evidence of her ordeal obvious each time he ventured to look. When his gaze landed on an obvious bite mark on the top of one of her breasts—over one of her scars from Lewis—he let out an anguished sob. Around him, the squad moved in subdued coordination, clearing the path ahead and lingering close, their concern unspoken but palpable.
Cragen's gaze flicked between the trail ahead and Olivia's limp form, his protective instincts warring with the cold knot of helplessness in his chest. A pang of grief cut through his chest. She was the best of them—tough, compassionate, unrelenting in her pursuit of justice for the special victims of New York City. The thought of losing her, of this being the way her story might end, was undoing him. His only solace was the sight of Elliot refusing to let her go. Please God, he prayed silently. She's the very best of us.
Olivia's head lolled against Elliot's chest, and he felt the faint, uneven puff of her breath against his neck. It was a fragile reassurance that she was still with him. Elliot tightened his hold, careful not to jostle her, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He couldn't bring himself to look at her face, not yet. The weight of her suffering was too much, the sight of her too broken.
"She's freezing," he muttered hoarsely, more to himself than to anyone else. The words caught in his throat like a confession.
Fin jogged ahead, signalling to the paramedics waiting at the tree line. "They're coming!" he called back, his voice urgent.
The ambulance lights cast a surreal glow over the snow as they broke through the woods. Elliot quickened his pace, his legs burning with the effort but his grip never faltering. As the paramedics approached with a stretcher, he shook his head sharply.
"I've got her," he said, his voice brooking no argument.
The paramedics hesitated but then stepped aside, guiding him to the open ambulance. He climbed in carefully, laying Olivia on the gurney as gently as if she were made of glass. Her body shivered involuntarily, and he reached to tuck the edges of his coat more securely around her.
"Stay with me, Liv," he murmured, crouching beside her as the paramedics began their work. "You're safe now. We've got you."
At first, his eyes were drawn to Olivia's right ankle, twisted at an unnatural angle. The skin around it was grotesquely swollen and mottled with deep shades of purple and black. The jagged contours of bone protruded visibly beneath the surface, a cruel confirmation of the damage.
One of the medics murmured something about a likely compound fracture. His touch elicited a faint, guttural moan from Olivia, her pain breaking through even her semiconscious state. "Her ankle's shattered," the medic said, his tone grim but steady. "We'll keep it immobilized until we get her to the ER."
Elliot tightened his grip on Olivia's hand, his voice thick with emotion as he whispered to her, "Hold on, Liv. Just a little longer. We're going to fix this. You're going to be okay." Though she didn't respond, the faintest twitch in her hand reassured him that she was still fighting.
The medic reached for scissors, quickly snipping through her tattered blouse and pants to make way for the thermal blankets they were wrapping around her. As the fabric fell away, Elliot felt the hot sting of tears welling in his eyes. He tried to blink them back, but they slipped free, tracking silently down his face. He pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, willing himself to stay composed, but the sight of her in this battered state broke something inside him.
There was blood everywhere, a grotesque map of her suffering etched across her skin and clothes. Her inner thighs bore the stark evidence of her assault. Dark, dried streaks clung there, the colour dull and crusted from hours exposed to the cold. Fresh blood oozed sluggishly over the older stains. An ongoing injury. Oh, this is bad.
In fact, was so much worse than Elliot could have ever imagined. The paramedics continued to work quickly, murmuring to each other in clipped tones. One of them began to snip away at Olivia's underwear and she stirred weakly, her body flinching instinctively. Her lips parted in a soft, panicked sound as her eyes fluttered open, glassy and wide with terror.
"No, no—" she mumbled, her voice faint. Her breathing quickened, and she weakly struggled against the hands that were trying to help her.
Pushing the medic's hands away, Elliot turned his focus to his partner. "Liv, it's okay," he said, his voice breaking as he leaned closer, brushing her matted hair back from her forehead. "It's me. It's Elliot. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you. I promise."
Her eyes darted around the ambulance, wild and unfocused, before landing on him. For a moment, the terror didn't fade, and his heart ached at the fear in her gaze. But then recognition flickered through her expression, softening her features ever so slightly.
"El," she whispered, the word barely audible, her voice thin and fragile.
"I'm here," he replied, gripping her hand firmly, though careful not to squeeze too hard. "I've got you, Liv. You're going to be okay. Just stay with me, okay?"
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, mingling with the dirt and dried blood on her face. Her lips trembled as if she wanted to say more, but exhaustion overtook her, and her eyelids drooped shut again.
Elliot wiped his face with the back of his hand, forcing himself to focus. The paramedics were still working, monitoring her vitals and keeping her stable, but the image of her broken body was seared into his mind.