The doctor arrived later that afternoon with Olivia's test results. Elliot stood as the physician entered, his jaw tightening at the grim look on her face.
"She has an infection," the doctor confirmed, glancing between the two of them. "It's significant. Based on the symptoms and bloodwork, it's most likely originating from the internal injuries rather than the ankle. We'll be adjusting her antibiotics to a broader spectrum and increasing the dosage. We'll also monitor closely to ensure the fever begins to come down."
"What happens if it doesn't?" Elliot asked sharply, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"If it doesn't respond within the next twelve hours, we may need to explore surgical options to drain any abscess or address further complications," the doctor explained calmly. "But let's see how she responds to the medication adjustments first."
Olivia, lying pale and feverish against the hospital bed, struggled to process the words. They floated around her like disjointed puzzle pieces, not fully connecting. Her head throbbed, and the fever made the room feel both stiflingly hot and oddly distant.
"More surgery," she murmured faintly. "Great. That's just...great."
Elliot moved closer to her, his brow furrowed with worry. "Hey, Liv. It's just a precaution. They're doing everything they can."
She blinked up at him, her glassy eyes searching his face for reassurance. "You need to go home," she said suddenly, her voice weak but insistent. "You're running yourself into the ground. Go home, El. Get some rest. Take care of yourself."
He frowned, shaking his head. "Not a chance."
"I mean it," she pressed, her fever-bright gaze unsteady. "You don't...don't need to sit here babysitting me. I'll be fine."
Her words faltered, and despite her efforts to sound firm, there was a pleading note underneath. Elliot could see it clearly—the fear she tried so hard to hide, the way her hand twitched toward his as if seeking reassurance.
"You don't want me to leave," he said softly, crouching so they were eye level.
Olivia hesitated, her lips pressing together as if trying to deny it, but her silence spoke volumes.
"I'm not going anywhere," Elliot said firmly. "And don't even think about trying to guilt me into it. You're the one who always says I'm too stubborn to listen."
A faint smile tugged at her lips, though it faded quickly. "Still...always thinking about someone else. It's just who you are," he added, his voice thick with emotion.
Olivia's eyes fluttered shut briefly, her breathing uneven. "Force of habit," she mumbled, and Elliot felt a pang in his chest at the way she always put others before herself, even now.
The nurse entered moments later with the adjusted IV medication. Elliot watched as they hooked it up, his hand never leaving Olivia's. When the nurse finished and left the room, Olivia was already starting to drift off, though her sleep remained fitful.
The squad was grinding through every lead they could find. Fin sat hunched over a map of the city, marking Victor Larson's known haunts and associates. Munch sifted through surveillance footage, his eyes bloodshot but determined.
"This guy's like a ghost," Munch muttered, tapping a pen against the table. "We've got footprints leading up to Olivia's rescue but nothing after. It's like he wanted to disappear."
"Or like he wanted us chasing our tails," Fin countered. "This whole thing—letting her live, making sure she'd be found—it's all a game to him."
Cragen appeared in the doorway, his expression grim. "Anything?"
"Not yet," Munch said. "But if he wanted us to find him, he would've left a trail. My guess? He's holed up somewhere, waiting to make his next move."
"Then we keep digging," Cragen said firmly. "We don't let up until we've got something."
Elliot returned to Olivia's room after stepping out briefly to grab a cup of coffee from the vending machine in the hallway. He was exhausted, the kind of bone-deep weariness that no amount of caffeine could fix, but he refused to leave her alone for more than a few minutes.
Inside, the room was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of the machines monitoring her vital signs. Olivia was still asleep, her face pale and glistening with sweat. Her brow furrowed even in rest, her body restless beneath the thin hospital blanket. Elliot approached quietly, his heart aching at the sight of her struggling against some fever-fuelled nightmare.
He set his coffee down on the small table by her bed and eased into the chair at her side. Gently, he reached out to brush a damp strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers grazing her feverish skin. She was burning up.
"Liv," he said softly, his voice laced with concern.
Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and disoriented. She blinked at him, her lips moving as if to speak, but no sound came out.
"Hey, I'm here," Elliot reassured her, leaning closer. "You're okay."
Her gaze darted around the room, unfocused, before landing on him. "El?" she murmured, her voice barely audible.
"I'm here," he repeated, taking her hand in his. "You're safe, Liv. Just breathe."
She shifted weakly, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. "Feels...wrong," she whispered, her free hand fluttering toward her abdomen.
Elliot's chest tightened. He reached for the call button and pressed it, summoning a nurse. "You've got a fever," he explained gently. "The doctor's adjusting your meds. They're going to figure this out."
Her lips parted as if to respond, but instead, a pained expression crossed her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing shallow and uneven.
"Liv, look at me," Elliot urged, his voice steady but firm. "Stay with me."
The door opened, and a nurse hurried in, her expression professional but concerned. "What's going on?" she asked, immediately moving to check Olivia's IV and vitals.
"Her fever's spiked again," Elliot said, stepping back to give the nurse room.
The nurse worked quickly, adjusting the flow of the IV and taking a temperature reading. "It's high," she confirmed, her tone brisk. "We'll page the doctor and get some ice packs to help bring it down."
As the nurse left to gather supplies, Olivia's eyes opened again, hazy and glassy. She looked at Elliot, her gaze tinged with fear. "I don't want to...don't want to be alone," she murmured.
"You won't be," Elliot promised, his voice thick with emotion. He sank back into the chair and took her hand again, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. "I'm not going anywhere, Liv. I'm right here."
Her breathing began to even out slightly, though the fever clearly still had its grip on her. "You need...need to rest," she said faintly. "Take care of yourself."
Elliot let out a humourless chuckle, shaking his head. "You're burning up with a fever, and you're still worried about me. That's classic you."
Her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, though it faded quickly as exhaustion overtook her again. "You can't...keep doing this," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "You need to be okay, too."
"I'll be fine," Elliot said firmly. "You focus on getting better. That's all I care about right now."
She didn't respond, her eyes drifting shut again as sleep overtook her. Elliot sat back, his own exhaustion pulling at him, but he refused to let it win. His hand stayed wrapped around hers, a silent promise that he wasn't leaving her side.
When the nurse returned with ice packs and began applying them to Olivia's wrists and forehead, Elliot watched every movement intently, as though his focus alone could will her fever to break.
"Detective Stabler," the nurse said gently, "you've been here a long time. Maybe you should take a break. Get some rest yourself."
He shook his head without hesitation. "I'm staying," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The nurse nodded, a flicker of understanding in her expression, and continued her work. As the minutes ticked by, Elliot leaned forward, his elbows resting on the edge of the bed, and watched Olivia's face for any sign of improvement.
Even in her fevered state, her presence filled the room. God, she was so strong. And so, so beautiful. And as he sat there, keeping vigil, Elliot marvelled again at how she could be so selfless, so focused on others even when she was at her weakest.
Elliot realized suddenly that his admiration for her hovered dangerously close to…something bigger…but he was afraid to look at it too closely, as if acknowledging it might make it impossible to pull back. A flicker of shame curled in his gut; how could he let himself feel anything like that when she was broken and he was supposed to be the one helping her heal? Besides, she'd never wanted or needed affirmation—especially from a man, and especially after something so devastating—and he told himself firmly that whatever was starting to stir inside him needed to be shut down, fast.