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Chapter Text

December 8th, 2012 - 1PP - IAB Interview Room B

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The yellowing wall clock in front of Olivia Benson read 11:48pm, its tired hands aptly reflecting her overall state. Her eyes zeroed in on the big hand as it lagged with each second, each tired tick. 

11:49pm. Tick, tick, tock. 

She’d been undercover in a sex trafficking operation with Elliot for 3 brutal days - undercover and stressed, almost killed because their backup arrived two hours late due to “communication issues” between ESU and SVU. A piss poor excuse, if you ask Olivia. 

Someone dropped the ball and it shattered into a million sharp little pieces. 

When the dust finally settled and they were extracted from the UC location, she was separated from her partner and dragged to 1PP for an emergency IAB interview to endure the scrutiny and skepticism of one Lieutenant Ed Tucker, IAB pissant and rat cop extraordinaire. 

Tick, tock. 11:51pm. 

She needed a shower like never before. She was bone tired and her adrenaline had long since faded, leaving her shaky and a little delirious. Stale coffee and fluorescent lights were the only things keeping her awake but her nerves were fried and she knew she needed to get the interview over with so she could go home to feel her feelings. 

3 days undercover can change a person. 3 consequential days undercover with Elliot changed her life forever - the final days of their partnership, she was sure of that.

“Detective Benson, I need you to tell me what happened between you and Detective Stabler in the warehouse.” Tucker repeated his question. The man was being uncharacteristically patient with her and she appreciated him for that. For once. 

She thumbed off her water bottle cap, taking a long swig from the almost empty drink to buy herself just a second more time. 

She was two hours into her IAB interview and she’d managed to dodge that particular question 4 times, instead recounting other parts of the UC assignment when he asked. It’s not as though Olivia planned to lie about any of it. Her and Elliot made a pact. They would be truthful - had to be truthful - because everything was on film. If either of them lied, it could bite them both in the ass. Pensions could be lost, reputations tanked, careers destroyed. Too much at stake to lie. 

So they would tell the truth and the truth would set them free. Or not. 

“Compton led us into the warehouse with three of his men. All armed. The big one, Christopher Bellemont, had his pistol to the back of my head most of the evening. I scoped out the place but there was nowhere to run. Only one exit to the outside and it was heavily guarded. Toward the back of the building was their… movie set. ” 

11:55pm, tick tock. 

“Elaborate.” Tucker instructed, his eyes diverting from her to the sheet of paper in front of him. She suspected he was uncomfortable with the direction the interview was taking, though she knew he was well aware of what happened in the warehouse before he’d even stepped foot into the interview. 

“Porn set. Plain backdrop with a big bed and a bunch of cameras,” she explained, also refusing to look up at the man, “they instructed us to undress.”

“And did you?” Tucker asked. 

“Yes,” Olivia replied, her voice steady but quiet, “Elliot- Detective Stabler told them no at first, said we were leaving. Compton laughed at him and said we’d be leaving in body bags if we didn’t play by his rules.”

“So you complied, got it. What happened next?”

She told him everything. 

–

“Now, you fuck her,” Compton said, gesturing from Elliot to Olivia, “You say you want in, you want to be part of the group. Well, Nathan, we make movies here, we have fun, we like to share. Veronica is a nice piece of ass, we want to see her in action. And this way, we have something of yours, something you want to keep private. Gives you a little skin in the game.” 

Olivia watched the color drain from Elliot’s face. This had gone too far, way too far and their backup was at least an hour behind. They were stuck. 

“I don’t share and I don’t fuck my wife in front of cameras,’ Elliot sneered, pulling Olivia behind him and squaring up to Compton, “That was never part of the deal. We’re here to make money, not make porn for you and your friends.”

Suddenly, Bellemont’s gun was pressed against Olivia's temple, the safety clicked off. She gasped at the contact and Elliot spun around, eyes widening at the sight. 

Nowhere to run. 

“You still think you’re in control here, Nathan?” Compton laughed, “I like your guts, I really do. Tell you what - either you fuck her, or I do. I would be more than happy to take her off your hands for a bit.” He aimed his gun at Elliot as he sauntered over to Olivia, drinking in her naked form with his eyes. The weight of his gaze was nauseating but she refused to look away. 

His gun was gripped in his right hand and aimed directly at Elliot’s face. One of his men stood behind her partner with his glock inches from Elliot’s back. Bellemont’s weapon was still against her temple. 

Nowhere to run. 

Compton brought his left hand up to her cheek and caressed it softly. She flinched just a little and her stomach lurched. Slowly, his hand trailed down her face, neck, chest and settled on her right breast. She shuddered as he pinched her nipple roughly.

“Nathan, please.” She whispered, finally looking over at Elliot. 

His eyes were speaking to her louder than ever. Desperation, rage, panic, sorrow. He knew what he had to do but it would cost him so many pieces of himself, even if it would save their lives. 

The decision was made.

–

12:02am, tick tock. 

There was silence in the interview room. Tucker’s eyes were locked on hers. His usually suspicious gaze was soft, empathetic. It only served to heighten her dissociation. 

It was all wrong. Tucker was supposed to be the bad guy. He was supposed to accuse her of lying, call her a dirty cop and insult Elliot. That was their game. That was familiar.

It was all wrong. His empathy was wearing at her. 

He clicked off the recorder and cleared his throat.

“You and Detective Stabler had sex. At gunpoint.”

Olivia nodded, eyes closing involuntarily against the pain of his words. 

“Detective Benson, you realize what will happen if that-”

“They filmed it,” she sneered, a traitorous tear falling down her cheek, “there’s no deniability here, Tucker. I’m certain ESU has already retrieved the tapes for evidence. Yes, Detective Stabler and I were forced to-” she stopped, grabbing the water bottle and chugging the rest. The words struggled in her throat, “We had sex at gunpoint. Our partnership is fucked. Everything is fucked. Just turn your recorder back on so we can finish this and I can go take a shower. Please , Tucker..” she pleaded with the man. She’d endured countless IAB interviews with him during her time at SVU. During most of them, she was defiant but professional - factual and clear but passionate and unwavering. Strong. A proud cop. Never a crier, she never broke. 

Not until that goddamn UC assignment. 

She covered her face with both hands and a sob ripped from her chest. Raw pain burst forth, no longer contained within the carefully constructed facade of Detective Benson. She was too damned tired and strung out on adrenaline to be embarrassed, too worn out to stop it.

Her and Elliot had been sexually assaulted, they wouldn’t be allowed to be partners anymore, they might both be forced out of SVU as a result. Every good in her life was about to be stolen away because she was assaulted. 

The hits just kept coming. 

“That’s okay, Olivia. I think we have what we need. You can go home.” Tucker responded quietly. He gathered his paperwork quickly into a folder, tucked his recorder into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, wordlessly placing it in her hand as he passed by. 

Tick tock, 12:08am.

Chapter Text

December 9th 2012 - 1PP - 12:15am

Olivia wiped the tears and snot from her face with Tucker’s handkerchief and tried to calm herself before leaving to face whoever waited beyond the interview room. 

She’d learned a long time ago that women who survive in Law Enforcement do so with tough skin and no tears and ‘no bullshit’ attitudes. If a woman let even an iota of vulnerability slip in front of a fellow cop, she risked her respect and damaged her own credibility. 

So Olivia’s motto was ‘tough with cops, gentle with vics’. And that’s how she thrived at SVU. 

She decided it was time to emulate that, at least long enough to get home. 

No more tears, Olivia. 

She rose from the table, straightened the hem of her strapless red dress, zipped up Fin’s jacket to retain a bit of her dignity and allowed the walls of Detective Olivia Benson to rise back into place. 

Showtime. 

Exiting the interview room with her chin up, she was relieved to be greeted by her captain sitting opposite the door, legs splayed out in front of him, tie loosened, looking more stressed than she’d ever seen him. 

“Olivia.” He breathed out her name reverently. He quickly rose from his place on the floor with a slight groan and crackling knees. 

“Cap,” she replied softly, “you didn’t have to wait for me.” 

“I did. Of course I did,” he replied, swallowing the emotion in his voice and offering her a small smile, “Let’s get you home, kid.” 

Walls still high, she nodded and let him lead the way. Her stiletto heels clicked loudly on the tile floor and attracted the attention of the few cops left in the building. She offered tense smiles to each one if they looked at her, her chin jutted out and eyes forward, daring one of them to comment on her current state.

Nobody did. 

Olivia and her captain walked side by side through the winding halls of 1PP, his hand resting protectively between her shoulder blades, guiding her out into the parking garage and away from prying eyes. 

The chill December air whipped around her legs and sent gooseflesh rippling up her body, the skimpy red dress of her UC Alias Veronica Barnes doing very little to protect her from the elements. She wished someone had thought to bring her a change of clothes. 

The cold settled into her almost immediately. Another discomfort added to her growing list. 

Cragen walked briskly ahead of her to open his passenger door. It was a gesture that would have irked her coming from any other cop. But coming from Cragen on this particular night, it felt like a father caring for his daughter after she’d been hurt by one of the world’s evils. That was an experience she’d never had. 

Another errant sob stuck in her throat and she swallowed it down.

No tears, Olivia. Not yet.  

“Olivia,” he sighed, breaking the silence once they both settled into the sedan, “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

She chanced a look at him and saw pure heartbreak in his eyes. Blinking rapidly, she turned her body toward the window and wrapped her arms around herself. 

“I need you to tell me what happened,” she urged quietly, “Why did it take so long to infiltrate the warehouse?”

He sighed tiredly and put the car in reverse. 

 “The ESU CO diverted the team to another job. Some drug smuggling ring in midtown, a last minute request called in by Narcotics. They didn’t bother to let me know so we were waiting outside of the warehouse for hours before we got any reinforcements. Fin and Nick were ready to get themselves killed trying to go in for you and Elliot. The brass knows that the ESU CO and Narcotics CO are old buddies… They’ll be dealt with, Olivia. This was a monumental screw up. Jobs will be lost over this and it won’t be yours. I can promise you that.” he assured her.

“They’ll want to push me out of SVU. They’ll never let me and El work in the same unit after-”

“ Olivia,” he interrupted, putting his right hand on her left and giving a gentle squeeze, “if you want to stay with the unit, I’ll make it happen. You have my word.”

“And Elliot?” she asked, the question leaving a feeling of dread in her stomach. 

He didn’t respond immediately but she saw him tense in her peripheral vision. Her feelings of dread intensified.

“I think he’s going to put his papers in.” Cragen finally said, his voice as gentle as she’d ever heard. The words felt like a slap. 

Part of her expected that from the beginning, Elliot’s retirement from the force. The second Compton forced them to undress, the writing was on the wall. 

She knew Elliot better than she’d ever known another person. She knew how he viewed himself, who he aspired to be, what lines he vowed he’d never cross. Though his actions ultimately saved them both from a bloody ending, she knew that Elliot would struggle to see his role through a lens of heroism. 

He would likely end his career as penance for a crime he never committed. 

Stupid, noble fool, she thought. 

The idea of working SVU without Elliot was more painful than she could stand to feel at that moment. After nearly 14 years of her career spent side by side with the man, it was impossible to imagine doing the work without him. Unbearable, really. 

If he was truly ready for retirement, Olivia would be happy for him. He’d earned it, earned the chance to sleep past 6am, to see Eli off to school, to pick up a hobby or binge watch a show. He earned the chance to be lazy for the first time since he was 17. But she’d wanted him to retire when it was his time, not because he felt guilty or because he felt tainted by something horrific that happened to them. She wanted him to retire with joy. He deserved that. 

Olivia resolved to tell him all of it, to make sure he understood that he didn’t rape her, that they were both victims of Compton, that he saved their lives. She’d tell him she was grateful to him for saving them. She’d tell him until he believed it. 

And once he believed her, she would tell him to do whatever he needs to do next - to put his papers in, or transfer to another unit, or sue the NYPD and take his family on a nice vacation with the settlement - whatever would help him get through this. 

She knew his absence from her daily life would feel like the greatest loss she’d ever experienced, but she would support him anyway and she would find a new normal for herself, no matter the personal cost. 

It’s not as if she had no one. She loved the rest of her squad: Cragen with his fatherly guidance and steadfast support, Fin with his blunt, tough facade and a soft spot reserved for her, Munch with his shitty coffee and ever evolving conspiracy theories, and Nick - Nick who was more like Elliot than either of the men cared to admit. 

They were her family, all of them. 

But nobody looked out for her like Elliot. Not in her lifetime. Not even her mother took care of her like he did. 

“I know it’s hard for you to think about working with a new partner, but I don’t want you to worry about that right now, Liv. The brass wants you to take some time off, at least a month. They’re ordering counseling, they want to make sure that you’ll be alright working with vics now-”

“Now that I am one? Yeah, I expected as much.” She replied dully. 

A long beat passed between them. 

“I don’t want to push you but-” 

“Did you see the tape?” She interrupted, cringing at the bluntness of her own words.

“Nothing beyond the first 30 seconds. I told TARU to put them in a confidential file. Nobody should be able to access them without a court order or clearance from the chief,” he cleared his throat nervously and shifted in his seat, “They will need to be reviewed at some point, is there anything specific I should know before that happens?”

Olivia blew out a breath and rubbed her face with both hands, trying not to dissociate into a flashback of the warehouse.

“I gave most of the details in my initial statement to Fin and my IAB interview but… Compton choked me at one point while Elliot was… while we were- I blacked out. I have no idea what happened after or how long I was down.” She told him, rubbing her tender neck reflexively where the bruises from Compton’s grip were starting to materialize, “I may have forgotten to mention that.”

“Christ.” Cragen muttered. 

“I’d rather not know what happened when I was down.” She admitted. 

Cragen nodded and cleared his throat nervously before confessing, “I’d like to get you checked out before you go home.” 

She shook her head adamantly, “No, Cap, please - just let me go home and take a shower,” she pleaded with him, almost losing the tenuous grip she had on her emotions, “none of my injuries need treatment, just rest.”

That statement did nothing to comfort her captain.

“What other injuries do you have, Olivia?” he pressed cautiously.

She turned to look at him once again and could barely stand to see the concern on his face. 

“Nothing worth a 2 hour wait at the ER and the paperwork nightmare it’ll create for you, I mean it.”

He seemed to accept that answer but couldn’t let the conversation die without one final question, “What about a rape kit?”

“ No kit ,” she snapped, the aggressiveness of her words building the tension in the car to a fever pitch. 

Alarm bells in Cragen’s head were going off and he fought against his every instinct telling him to drag her into the nearest ER. 

Olivia knew she needed to end the conversation before she broke. In a calm, matter-of-fact tone she explained, “It was just El. A kit isn’t going to provide more evidence than the tapes and I cannot deal with that process right now. I just need a shower.”

“Olivia-”

“Captain, thank you for your concern. I promise I’ll be alright. I don’t need a kit, I don’t need a hospital, I’m not going to fall apart. I just need to clean up and sleep for the next 10 hours. I’ll spend the next month going to the shrink and watching crappy TV on my couch and when I come back we can pretend this never happened, okay?”

Please, please, please stop asking me questions. 

“Alright, I’ll drop it. You have just under 70 hours if you change your mind, you know that…I’m recommending you see Dr  Lindstrom, I’ll send you his contact in the morning. After 4 weeks of sessions and his recommendation, we’ll get you back to work.” He reached over and squeezed her hand one more time before silence fell over the rest of the ride. 

A welcome relief for Olivia. 

When they pulled up to her apartment building just after 1am, she was only slightly surprised that Elliot wasn’t waiting on her stoop. Usually after a rough case, he would at least make sure she arrived home safely if he wasn’t driving her home himself. This case took ‘rough’ to an entirely new level but she supposed he was too preoccupied with his own trauma to worry about hers. 

She couldn’t blame him for that.

“Take care of yourself. I’ll call to check in tomorrow. Get some sleep.” Cragen instructed, the caring tone in his voice bubbling up warm emotion in her chest. 

She nodded and exited the car, trying not to groan at the pain between her legs. She had to trek up three flights of stairs to get to her apartment due to a broken elevator. By the time she made it to her door, silent tears were clouding her vision. 

Within seconds of her entering her home, she yanked the dress off over her head, unclipped the strapless bra and tore down her panties. Each movement brought attention to new aches and pains. She was sore in muscle she didn’t know existed.

She threw all three soiled garments into a trash bag, tied the end and tossed it into her closet on the off chance the clothes would be needed as evidence. 

She doubted they would. Compton would be going down for trafficking and sexual assault of countless others. She didn’t expect the DA to tack on charges for what happened to her and Elliot, especially since they’d been undercover operating as a married couple. Barba would have a hell of a time convincing a jury that she and Elliot did not know exactly what they were getting when they walked into the warehouse. 

With the offending clothes off of her and out of sight, she helped herself to the hottest shower she could stand. 

“Fuck,” she hissed as the liquid burned her skin. She grabbed her body wash and squeezed an excessive amount onto a loofah, lathering it for only a moment before gently washing between her legs. Just the slight pressure brought a heavy ache and thoughts of the warehouse flooded her mind. 

~~~~~

“Police! Get down, everyone get on the floor, put your hands where we can see them.”

Within seconds of those words being spoken, a firefight ensued between ESU/SVU and Compton’s crew. Elliot and Olivia - both unarmed and out of it from their ordeal - ducked under the bed to take cover as the warehouse erupted in gunfire. 

They lay flat on their bellies, side by side under the bed as he whispered to her, “It’s all on camera so we’ll have to be honest about what just happened, Liv. Don’t lie to protect me.” 

She wanted to ask what he meant but merely nodded instead, unable to form words at that moment. She’d barely woken up from being choked unconscious before all Hell broke loose.

Elliot reached over and grasped her hand in his. He was trembling and clammy, cold even. She recognized that his adrenaline was high, hers was too. She smoothed her thumb over his knuckle in a calming gesture. 

“When you passed out, I thought you died. That was the scariest moment of my life.” He whispered harshly, wiping a tear from his cheek with his free hand. 

“I’m okay, Elliot,” she murmured back, ‘We’re okay.”

He didn’t say another word, just held her hand and waited to see if they’d walk out of that godforsaken warehouse. 

What felt like hours later, the gunshots ceased and a familiar face appeared at the side of the bed. Fin extended a hand out to her, an unusually gentle smile on his lips, “it’s safe now, let’s get you out of there, Liv.”

She took his hand and let him pull her out from under the bed. She let him place his jacket over her shoulders, let him inspect the cut on her face from where Bellemont backhanded her with nails sharp enough to draw blood. She uncharacteristically let him pull her in for the briefest of hugs and to whisper, “you’re alright, we got you.” 

She hardly noticed when Elliot crawled out from under the bed and dusted himself off absentmindedly, walking away from them without a glance.  

She stood in that bloodied warehouse, chaos around her as Compton’s crew was gathered up in cuffs - her arms hugged to her chest, the remnants of the assault soaking her panties, finger- shaped bruises forming on her neck where Compton choked her. 

Forever changed with Elliot, by Elliot. 

And he just walked away. 

~~~~~

She cried in the shower until there were no tears left in her, until hunger and pain and exhaustion brought her to her knees and the hot water pounding on her back ran lukewarm. 

She thought of her mother and felt close to her for the first time since she was a little girl. 

After squirting soap onto her loofah for the 5th time and scrubbing her flesh raw, she wrapped a towel around her head, one around her body and collapsed on her bed like that, sleeping until 10am. 

No calls or text came through from Elliot. 

/////

No stranger to the most tragic and heartbreaking parts of life, Olivia did what she always does when the pain comes calling - she focused on the things she could control. Went to therapy three times a week, deep cleaned her bedroom closet for the first time in over a decade and ordered takeout from a new restaurant almost every night of the week. 

Elliot never reached out but that didn’t stop her from trying to make contact.

December 11th 2012 - 3:11pm

A voice message from Olivia Benson to Elliot Stabler: 

“Hey El, it’s Liv. I thought I’d hear from you by now. I just wanted to tell you that the brass ordered me off for a month. I’ve gotta meet with Lindstrom 3 times a week in the meantime… Cragen mentioned you were thinking about putting your papers in. I just- I just want you to know that I have your back. If you think it’s time, I’m happy for you. But El, please don’t retire because you feel like you did something wrong. You saved us. I know that, you have to know that too. I can’t stop thinking that maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to…to… I just didn’t want it to be Compton, you know, I couldn’t… El I didn’t want to be like my mother. I just… I’m so sorry. Tell Kathy I’m sorry. This whole thing is just so fucked up. I’m sorry.

December 15th 2012 - 7:42pm

A voice message from Olivia Benson to Elliot Stabler: 

“Hey it’s Liv. It’s, uh, It’s been a week…I really thought you’d reach out by now. I don’t know if you’re mad at me or if you’re just working through this mess on your own time, but I really need to talk to you. I’ve been thinking back on all of these years and… our partnership… it’s been everything to me. You know that. If- if it’s over, I need to know that we are still okay. You’re my best friend, I can’t imagine losing you like this, Elliot. I tried calling Kathy to check in on you but she didn’t pick up. I left a message. Hope that’s okay. I want to give you space if you need it, but I also need to know that we’re good. Please call me back.

December 20th 2012 - 10:29am

A voice message from Olivia Benson to Elliot Stabler: 

“El, Cragen just told me you put your papers in… I’m happy for you if you’re happy. I really am. Wanted you to know that. And I’m sure Kathy and the kids will be thrilled to have more time with you for Christmas…You know, I’ve been to Lindstrom a handful of times now. Mandated therapy is pretty much the only reason I’ve left my house the last couple of weeks. I know I’ve knocked it in the past but Lindstrom’s pretty good, he’s been helping me come to terms with what happened in the warehouse. Helping me deal with the guilt and the nightmares. I feel like you probably understand, you went through it too. I just wish we could talk about it together.”

December 24th 2012 - 11:14am

A voice message from Olivia Benson to Elliot Stabler: 

“Merry Christmas, El. Give the kids and Kathy a hug from me. Bye.”

January 4th, 2013 - 4:44pm

A voice message from Olivia Benson to Elliot Stabler: 

“Elliot. I’ve called you 8 times in the last 2 days, I’ve tried Kathy, Kathleen, Maureen… I stopped by the house and saw the ‘For Sale’ sign. Your car wasn’t there. Cragen said you haven’t been taking any of his calls either. Fin and Nick both tried. I’ve exhausted all avenues at this point. It’s pretty clear that you are cutting all of us out and tha- that’s honestly a horrible fucking thing to do. I know you are hurting but this is wrong, Elliot. I have to talk to you. Please, please call me.”

January 29th, 2013 - 7:50pm

A voice message from Olivia Benson to Elliot Stabler: 

“Okay Elliot, this is my last message. I realize now that you aren’t going to answer, you aren’t going to call me back, you aren’t coming back. I’m done reaching out. On the off chance you listen to any of these messages, I need you to know… I’m pregnant. It’s yours… I feel like I should say sorry, but I’m not sorry. I didn’t ask for this either. I never imagined any of this… but I am keeping the baby. I had my first appointment today. They said everything looks good. They’re worried about my age, of course, but I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep the baby healthy. Maybe I’ll try to find you again someday, but I can’t worry about you anymore, not right now. I have to let you go, El, so I can take care of myself for once. You know I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I never thought it would happen like this. I guess I’m more like Serena than I thought... El, even though I’m mad at you right now, I’m glad it’s your baby. I can’t imagine if- if… well, you know. You really did save me in more ways than one. I’ll always be grateful for that. Take care of yourself and I’ll do the same… Goodbye, Elliot.” 

Chapter Text

March 1st 2013 - the office of Dr. Peter Lindstrom - 11am

Olivia sat comfortably on the oversized leather couch in Dr. Lindstrom’s office, one hand rested on her barely visible 14-week baby bump, the other fidgeting with a loose thread on her pant leg. 

“Forgive me if it’s impolite to say so, but you’re starting to show, Olivia. How do you feel about that?” Lindstrom inquired at the start of the hour. 

She grinned slightly at the comment and subconsciously rubbed her belly as she spoke, “It’s not impolite at all. I’m happy my baby’s growing.”

“Have you heard from Elliot?” Lindstrom asked cautiously, jotting something down on his notepad as he spoke. 

The smile fell from her lips the second she heard her former partner’s name, “I have not and I don’t expect that I will. Munch tried to call him last week and his number is now disconnected. He’s made himself impossible to reach,” she replied plainly, staring down at the thread between her fingers.

“Why do you think Elliot doesn’t want to be found?”

A long moment of silence passed as he waited for her answer.

“I think…” She struggled to articulate her thoughts and pulled the thread a little harder before professing, “I think he feels guilty for what happened in the warehouse. Like he… raped me. And he couldn’t handle it, so he ran away from the fallout. That’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.”

“Do you feel like Elliot raped you, Olivia?” Lindstrom questioned, and not for the first time since she’d started therapy. She always managed to dodge that particular inquiry, never knowing how to answer it. 

She averted her gaze from Lindstrom and ripped the thread a little harder until a small hole appeared in the stitching, “I was assaulted. But so was El. Compton had the guns, he was ready to kill us both. If we hadn’t done what we did-”

“-had sex?” 

“It’s hard for me to call it sex. It didn’t feel like sex. It felt like…” 

“Like rape?”

Olivia sighed again and rubbed her face in frustration, “I know what you’re doing.”

“I am just trying to get an understanding of how you view what happened to you in that warehouse. You’ve made tremendous progress identifying your thoughts and feelings about your attackers and your undercover assignment, but you’re still struggling to define how Elliot fits into all of it. You say that you know you were assaulted by Compton, but how would you describe what physically occurred between you and Elliot? 

She squirmed in her seat and wished that she could be anywhere else. She and Lindstrom had discussed the warehouse during every session, but her retelling of it was always fairly vague and clinical. It seemed he wanted her to go beyond the superficial explanation and put her experience into words that she hadn’t even fully admitted to herself yet. Anxiety bubbled up in her chest at the thought of being that exposed with another person, even if that person was her shrink. 

“Elliot did not rape me, he’s not a rapist,” she stressed, “by a purely physical definition, we had sex. He did not do anything forcibly to me, I consented to everything. I asked him to do it.”

“Because the alternative was Compton?”

“Yes.”

“Elliot was your safest option.” Lindstrom asserted. 

“Yes, I was always safe with Elliot,” she affirmed. “Even though we were in danger in that warehouse, I knew he had my back.”

“You knew that you were safe with Elliot - but your life was still threatened, you didn’t want to have sex and you didn’t directly consent to Compton’s actions. Looking at it from an SVU detective lens, would you say that both you and Elliot were essentially raped by Compton?”

“Rape by proxy comes to mind,” she conceded.. 

She’d given up ripping her jeans open and turned her attention to chewing on her thumbnail, trying to fight away the agitation that was threatening to put her into fight-or-flight mode if he pushed her too far. 

“You are able to admit out loud that you were victimized. Do you think Elliot is able to do the same?”

Olivia furrowed her brow, thinking deeply before exhaling harshly, “No, I don’t. He’s a protector, he’s always seen it as his job to protect me. In his eyes, he failed the second Compton’s made us remove our clothes.”

“Even though it saved your lives?” Lindstrom wondered. 

She laughed dryly and said, “He’s a complicated man.”

Lindstrom chuckled and then leaned over, writing intensely in his notepad. 

She would have paid good money to read the wise doctor’s assessment of her fucked up life in those little bits of chicken scratch. She’d bet his opinions of her dynamic with her ‘best friend and partner’ turned ‘baby’s absentee father’ would make quite the read. 

After a few minutes of easy silence, he broke his concentration away from his notepad and furthered the discussion, “he may be a complicated person generally, but I don’t think this decision was complicated for him. Based on everything you’ve told me about Elliot, don’t you think he would have done anything to spare you being raped by Compton?”

Olivia shrugged half-heartedly, “I don’t know anymore. Maybe in theory but Compton was…” She shivered and subconsciously wrapped her arms protectively around herself. “Compton was ordering Elliot to-” she sucked in air deeply and shook her head a few times, trying to calm the panicky feeling rising in her chest., “to be rough. That’s where things started to really go down hill and I could tell Elliot was struggling with that. He tried to refuse.”

“What happened when he refused?”

She closed her eyes, battling the memory as she whispered, “Compton put the barrel of his pistol in my mouth.” The sensation of cold metal filled her mouth with those words. Suddenly her mind was transported back in time, back to that goddamned  warehouse. She was naked, positioned on her hands and knees on the disgusting, lumpy mattress with Elliot sobbing behind her. She felt throbbing pain between her legs as the gun clicked against her teeth and the greasy fingers of Compton’s free hand wrapped around her throat. 

She couldn’t breathe. She grabbed at her throat with both hands and gasped for air, eyes clenched tightly as the memories assaulted her in vicious waves.

She barely felt the weight of him as Lindstrom sat down next to her on the couch, his hands gently wrapping around hers to remove them from her neck, “Olivia… Olivia it’s okay, you’re safe, it’s okay, you’re safe here. Breathe. Try to take a deep breath,” he soothed, “You’re in my office, Olivia, you're not in the warehouse. Nobody is hurting you right now. Just breathe .”

The words started to break through her haze and the memories slowly faded out as the sound of Lindstrom’s voice filled the spaces in her mind. She found that she could breathe unimpeded once her own hands were off of her neck and she started to recognize the feeling of the couch beneath her and the familiar smell of Lindstrom’s cologne.

Her eyes opened slowly, taking in the room in pieces, her overwhelmed mind needing to compartmentalize. She flushed in embarrassment when she realized her therapist was sitting directly next to her with concern etched into the corners of his eyes. The proximity unnerved her and she stood abruptly from her spot on the couch, pacing for a moment before bracing herself against the windowsill. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why that happened.” She confessed - pulling in deep, steady breaths and trying not to cry at the humiliation. 

“No need to apologize. How many times has that happened recently?” Lindstrom asked kindly while handing her a bottle of cold water from his mini fridge. She accepted it gratefully and took a few big gulps to ease her aching throat before placing the bottle on her forehead. Her face was burning hot and tear-stained. 

“Only once,” she replied, “ I’ve had plenty of nightmares but nothing like that. Not since…”

“Since the day you discovered you were pregnant.” Lindstrom stated.

“Mhm.” 

“After that first flashback, you told me you were triggered by the feeling that nothing in your life would be the same. What do you think triggered you this time?”

“Thinking about the gun in my mouth… I haven’t told anyone about that. I just-” she started trembling again and shook her head as if to shake away the bad feelings, “I came so close to dying, that terror came back to me.”

Lindstrom jotted down a few more notes and closed his notebook, “You did well today, Olivia. You talked about things you’ve been avoiding for months. It might not feel like it right now, but it’s progress.”

She knew he was right. Even though it was painful, it was progress.

/////

March 1st 2013 - the apartment of Detective Olivia Benson - 5pm

Her panic attack at therapy left her jittery, exhausted and more than a bit famished. She entered her apartment building with a bag of Lebanese food and a bottle of peach iced tea balanced precariously in one arm with her purse slung haphazardly over the other. She was greeted with the familiar “out of service” sign on her elevator and her bottom lip quivered just slightly. Normally she wouldn’t mind trekking up 3 flights of stairs but the hormones, therapy trauma and hunger were working against her normally tough and logical self. She glared bitterly at the offending sign and willed her tears not to fall. 

“Do they ever do maintenance in this building?” a familiar voice quipped from behind her. 

She whipped her head around and saw her partner standing a few feet away offering her a cheeky smile. 

He walked closer and motioned toward her bags, “Let me carry those for you, Liv.”

“What are you doing here, Nick?” She inquired, adjusting the bags in her tired arms, not ready to give in to his offer, “It’s Friday night, don’t you have plans or something?”

“Nah, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to check on my partner.”

Her heart ached at his words. They reminded her so much of Elliot when he was being overbearing. Sometimes she’d hated it, but most of the time it made her feel like someone gave a damn about her. It healed a part of her that had never felt worthy of care in her life. Nick was giving her a bit of that same kind of care and it warmed her to have it back in some small way. 

She laughed at his response, “You mean your useless pregnant partner who’s riding a desk for the next 6 months?”

“I wouldn’t say useless.” He retorted, once again motioning to her bags, “Gimme those bags, Olivia. Your food is getting cold as we speak.”

She acquiesced and handed him the items, sighing in relief once her arm was freed. They trekked up the stairs together, her walking slower than usual and him matching her pace like a good partner. 

“Just admit you’re only here to make sure I eat after my head shrinking session.”

Nick chuckled, “okay, you caught me. I’m just doing my part to ensure you have a fat baby.”

“You and the kabobs in that bag,” she laughed, unlocking and opening her apartment door for them, “you might as well stay for dinner, I bought enough to feed a small army.”

It didn’t take any convincing for him to agree to that. They settled on her couch with full plates, shoulder to shoulder, eating in companionable silence before Nick spoke again, “How’d it go today, Liv? You seem tired.”

She scooped a big spoonful of rice into her mouth, chewing slower than necessary to avoid answering his question. She’d already shared so many heavy things with Lindstrom, she wasn’t in the mood to share even more with Nick.

He nudged her shoulder slightly and continued, “You don’t have to talk about it, I just worry about you after-”

“-I know, Nick. You’re a good partner, you know that?” She smiled at him and offered him a piece of pita slathered with hummus, “It was a rough session, the worst one yet I think. I had another flashback, like the one I had when you drove me to Queens.”

“Fuck,” he breathed out, “Jesus Liv, I’m sorry.”

“But I got through it,” she assured him, “I’m home and eating good food with a good friend. I’ll be alright.”

“Yeah you will, Liv. You’ll be great.”

~~~~~

January 4th 2013 - the office of Peter Lindstrom - 6:30pm

Dr. Peter Lindstrom was tired, more tired than he’d been in a long time. 

January 4th was his first day back in the office after the holidays and he’d had nothing but emergency sessions from 8am onward. He’d spent the first 2 hours of the day counseling a new client who’d cheated on his wife with an escort on New Years Eve. Lindstrom tried to offer sage advice and guidance but the man was mainly focused on justifying why he would never tell his wife. 

After the adulterer finally left the office with the parting words of, “thanks doc, I feel better,” Peter had a soul crushing session with a long-term client who’d relapsed after 4 years of sobriety and was coping with the aftermath. That was followed by a young woman who’d tried to overdose herself with antidepressants and gin on Christmas Eve night after an argument with her mother.

Then, a young widow who’d spent her first holiday season without her husband. And finally - to end the day on a positively devastating note - an elderly man who’d recently become homeless after selling his house to pay for cancer treatments.

Lindstrom exited his office at 6:30pm with a brutal tension headache and a severe hankering for chicken piccata. As he locked the door and began to descend down the stairs, eager to start the journey home, he heard choking sobs coming from the bench near his building’s stoop. 

“Who is that? Are you okay?” He called out, turning around to unlock the door he’d barely just closed. 

This was not a new occurrence for the doctor. He’d never turn someone away when they showed up like that, vulnerable and splintered and waiting for him in the cold. In his experience, only the most dire situations brought them to him in such a state.

His chicken piccata and Tylenol date would have to wait.

“It’s Olivia Benson.” she choked out, “Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

After a month of treating Olivia Benson, Dr. Lindstrom didn't know everything about the woman yet. He would have described her as stoic, professional, calm. During their sessions, she’d relayed the details of her sexual assault to him in a clinical manner, almost as if recalling details of a victim’s file rather than her own trauma. She’d openly examined her attachment to her former partner, her commitment issues in relationships, her abusive alcoholic mother, her rapist father. She graciously accepted his advice and coping techniques for her nightmares and her sadness over her partner’s disappearance from her life. 

Three sessions a week for a month and he’d never seen her shed a single tear. 

Overall, she’d presented as a patient who was not enthusiastic to partake in therapy but was willing to do anything to get her job back. He deeply respected her for that and for the work she did at the Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit. 

To see her reduced to a puddle of tears on the bench outside of his office... It rattled him.

“Come in, Olivia.” He opened the door and watched her pull herself up on shaky legs. She nearly fell walking up the 6 steps to his door and he wondered briefly if she might need medical attention.

He led her into his office, watching her closely as she was still unsteady on her feet. Wordlessly, he motioned for her to sit on the couch before handing her a throw blanket and bottled water. 

He allowed her a moment to settle in while taking in her general appearance. He noted that her clothes were soaking wet and her teeth were chattering. He wondered how long she’d been sitting out in the elements waiting for him. Her cheeks were reddened from the cold but he noticed her skin underneath lacked its normal golden hue. 

The shakiness, trouble walking, pale skin - he’d seen those things a time or two with trauma victims.

“Did you eat today?” He coaxed while rummaging through one of his drawers and pulling out a granola bar. He walked it over to her and she accepted it shakily, another sob bubbling up from her chest. 

“I had breakfast,” she stated, unwrapping the snack and taking a generous bite with tears trailing down her face, “I must have forgotten after that. It's been a hard day.”

“What happened today?”

She sniffled in a quivering, frantic way that told Lindstrom she was fighting a losing battle against her emotions. She took another bite of the granola bar and stared down at the ground, chewing with obvious difficulty and swallowing hard before mumbling, “I’m pregnant.”

A sense of dread settled into Lindstrom’s stomach at her admission. He knew of Olivia’s history - her mother’s assault, Olivia’s own origins, the abuse she’d endured due to her conception. She was less than a month past her own vicious assault and the abandonment of her best friend. To discover that she was pregnant with his child as a result of that trauma… Lindstrom worried that this news would severely impact her recovery.

“You found out today?” He questioned. 

“Yes,” she sniffled, “I tried to call Elliot immediately. Fin and Nick tried to call him, I even tried to call his wife and kids just to get in touch with him. I think they all blocked me. I’ve never wanted to talk to someone so badly. And they’ve all just cut me out like I don’t exist. I can’t even tell him that we’re- that I’m pregnant.” She popped the last of the granola into her mouth and tried to breath through her nose as she chewed. He started to worry she might choke until she began speaking again, “Nick drove me to his house and I saw a fucking ‘for sale’ sign on his lawn, no cars in the driveway… I had this realization that he is really gone, that nothing will ever be the same again. And then I had a panic attack or a flashback or something. Nick almost drove me to the hospital but I didn’t want to go so I lied and told him I had an appointment with you.”

Lindstrom offered a small smile and said, “I’m glad you came here. I know that must have been hard for you.”

She shrugged, “you’ve helped me, even if I don’t always tell you that. I’m sorry to show up like this though. If you’re going to fire me as a client, can you at least clear me to go back to work first?” 

He laughed, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

~~~~~

March 21st  2013 - Manhattan Special Victims Unit - 1pm

Olivia sat hunched over at her desk, glaring at a pile of documents that were growing by the second. The squad had caught a massive case involving a daycare perp and there were over 30 interviews that needed to be typed up and reviewed. Since she was stuck behind a desk, she had the pleasure of doing most of the paperwork and cold calling for SVU. 

“Sorry Liv, here are the statements from Dr. Coldwater and Mrs. Keller.” Amanda Rollins said regretfully, adding a few pages to the stack. 

Olivia grunted at the younger woman in response. 

She didn’t hate Rollins, even though the woman was Elliot’s replacement, and she took over his desk and she was blonde and southern and maybe a little too blunt sometimes for Olivia’s liking. 

“So, just about halfway this week, huh?” Amanda gushed, motioning to Olivia’s belly, “Must be starting to feel pretty real?”

Olivia glanced down at her protruding belly and nodded at the other woman, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Amanda smiled and put her hand on Olivia’s. The younger detective pressed something into her palm as she walked away. Olivia inspected the offering - a pack of peanut butter crackers from the vending machine. Her favorite. 

No, she definitely didn’t hate Rollins.

Olivia had to admit that the way her squad rallied around her in Elliot’s absence was touching. Before the warehouse, she would have rebuked their caregiving and fussing, probably would have been offended by the tender treatment since it was contradictory to the tough cop persona she’d spent the better part of her life perfecting. Her pregnancy had softened her to them and her walls crumbled a little more each day as she allowed their care to infiltrate parts of herself that she’d closed off decades ago when she was just a girl. 

Her squad showed up for her everyday - Amanda regularly bringing her snacks, Fin and Nick insisting on driving her to doctor’s appointments, Barba showing up at her apartment with healthy groceries and little unisex baby clothes, Cragen sending her home early several times a week with orders to rest and relax. It was all so domestic and so, so soft. It was exactly what she’d craved her entire life - a family. 

“Olivia, can you come into my office please?” Cragen called, breaking her out of her thoughts. 

“Sure, Cap.” 

She stood up only a tad slower than usual, the 17-week bump only impeding her movement slightly. She made her way into the Captain's office and plopped down into the seat across from his desk without an invitation. Her feet were sore and her pants felt a little too tight, just enough to be uncomfortable. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, clocking his worried expression immediately. A pit of dread built in her gut as Cragen looked anywhere but at her.

“Barba will be here in 2 minutes, don’t panic.” He said, trying to pacify her obvious fear. 

“Cap-”

A knock at the door startled them both. Cragen recovered quickly and waved Barba in. 

The ADA entered in his usual state of pressed suit, leather briefcase, shiny black shoes that likely cost an entire month of Olivia’s salary. She noted a stress line between his brows that only appeared during the toughest cases. 

“Barba,” she stated, an air of paranoia lacing the word, “what brings you here today?”

The man smiled sympathetically at her and the pit in her stomach became a crater. 

Ah, so it is me. 

He took the seat next to her and opened up his briefcase, pulling out a file and placing it on Cragen’s desk before snapping the briefcase closed and tucking it under his chair. 

“Brooklyn SVU finished the Compton investigation. The DA is adding more charges,”  Barba began hesitantly, “There were over 60 tapes recovered from the warehouse, all of which have now been reviewed.”

Olivia took in a sharp breath and placed a hand on her chest, rubbing it lightly in an attempt to calm her racing heart. 

Barba opened the folder in his hands and stared at the top document, “After reviewing the tape of you and Detective Stabler, the DA has elected to add charges directly pertaining to the crimes Compton committed against you - 2 counts of rape in the first degree, forcible touching, unlawful imprisonment, coercion and attempted murder.” 

Silence fell over the room as Olivia’s racing mind tried to comprehend the words. 

“I thought they weren’t going to pursue our charges since we were undercover. You said it could taint the case. You said I wouldn’t have to go through my own trial, that I could just testify about the UC assignment.” Her voice was trembling and her words were laced with accusation. 

“That was before.” Barba asserted, looking up at her with a pained expression, “Olivia, the DA was under the impression that Compton only orchestrated a sexual act between you and Stabler. The tape told a very different story. What happened to you was-”

“-I know what happened to me,” she snapped, “and I disclosed it in my initial statement. I told Fin everything-”

“-Not everything. You didn’t mention the gun.” Barba whispered, tearing his eyes away from hers to stare down at his file. His words hung heavy in the air. 

Compton’s threats started replaying in her head at the thought of the gun.

Fuck her harder or I’ll blow her head off.

“What about a gun?” Cragen chimed in, looking between his detective and the ADA with a raised brow. 

Just a mention of that gun and Olivia was slipping into a flashback. She put a hand up to silence them both. 

She placed her other hand on her belly and pressed slightly, grounding herself. Compton’s voice was blaring in her head now. She knew if she didn’t get a hold of herself that her mind would be back in the warehouse in seconds. She forced her eyes to Cragen’s desk, finding a yellow sticky pad, 3 black pens, a mug half full of black coffee, and a handful of colorful paper clips. She took in another deep breath. She counted the paperclips 3 times. She inhaled deeply through her nose and noted the scent of freshly printed papers and Barba’s spicy aftershave. Another deep breath through her nose. She pressed a little harder on her stomach and thought of the tiny little being growing just inches under her palm. 

She was starting to calm down. She hadn’t had another flashback since the one in Lindstrom’s office and she certainly didn’t want to have one in front of her captain and ADA. 

“Olivia-”

“Shh, give me a second,” she stated firmly before taking a few more deep breaths. She glanced  at Cragen and the haunted look in his eyes felt like a fist to the chest. She turned away from him and focused her attention back on the ADA, explaining through clenched teeth, “I forgot to disclose about the gun during my initial statement. In my defense, I’d been choked unconscious barely 30 minutes before my interview. I realized a few days later that I’d missed some details but I’d assumed the tapes had been reviewed and would fill in the blanks for me. The tapes have been available this entire time. It's not my fault that Brooklyn took 4 months to watch them. I resent the implication that I intentionally withheld information from the investigation.”

“Nobody is blaming you, Olivia. Even if you had downplayed what happened to you, nobody would blame you for that either. You knew the tapes would help to tell your story, you shouldn’t have had to recount every detail when the evidence was at our fingertips,” Barba soothed, “doesn’t change the fact that the DA is insistent that we pursue these charges on your behalf. Now that we understand the full picture of what happened to you and Detective Stabler, we cannot turn a blind eye to it.” 

She blinked back tears and shook her head, “I don’t want this. I don’t want my name all over court documents for my kid to find someday. I don’t want them to know how they were conceived. Compton is facing hundreds of charges, you’re telling me the DA can’t let these ones go?”

“I tried. I’ve been trying for 3 days to talk him out of this. He won’t budge.” He admitted, “I’m going to try and reach Stabler after I leave here to let him know. I doubt I’ll find him. Once subpoenas are ready, I’ll have to hire a P.I to track him down.” Barba put his hand on hers and gave a squeeze, “I’m so sorry about all of this. Liv. Compton’s team is filing motion after motion. Trials are far off, definitely won’t be before baby Benson makes their grand entrance. Try to put it out of your mind for a while.”

“That’s easier said than done,” she huffed in frustration, “It’s not just about a trial. What happened in that warehouse changed my entire life. I’m tired of thinking about it all the damned time.”

“I understand-”

“-you don’t. Nobody fucking understands. Nobody but Elliot and he’s gone.” Her voice broke on the last word, “Maybe he had the right idea. Sometimes I think about just getting in a cab and going as far as they’ll take me, just leaving the city and raising my baby somewhere far away from here.” 

“Olivia-” Cragen began, but she stood up from her chair and put her hand up to stop him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just tired, “ she murmured unemotionally, walking out of the room without another glance at the men.

The two men’s eyes met and the sentiment was clear.

Chapter Text

April 1st 2013 - the apartment of Detective Olivia Benson - 1pm  

Olivia was depressed. 

Her initial grief and anxiety from the warehouse had shifted into excitement about her baby which then morphed into loneliness and then very abruptly settled into a depression that she couldn’t seem to shake. On top of being pregnant, tired and burnt out from the job, she battled with a heavy, numbing sadness and a disinterest in everything which used to bring her joy. 

Work wasn’t the escape that it had once been for Olivia. The energy in their unit had changed. Maybe it was because she had changed, she wasn’t sure. But things were different - bad different. Sometimes Nick looked at her with a solemn, knowing look in his eyes, like he could see into her heart and see her pain. His gaze made her feel naked. Munch spoke much too softly and Cragen had a permanent worry line between his brows and Fin joked less and Amanda avoided eye contact. She knew they walked on eggshells around her. She didn’t know how to fix it. 

It occurred to her more than once that she could tell Lindstrom that she was feeling depressed, that maybe he could help her. He’d helped a great deal with her PTSD but she worried how he might interpret her words if she admitted her struggles, if he might deem her a danger to herself or others on the job. She was too paranoid to take any chances after everything else that she’d endured. The last thing she needed in her file after the Compton debacle was the brass thinking she might eat her gun. 

Instead of getting help for herself, she swallowed the feelings down and went to work everyday and tried to pretend that her life wasn’t devastatingly unrecognizable. 

She tried to pretend that she didn’t spend most of her time missing Elliot. 

More than anything, she tried to pretend that Elliot’s absence wasn’t the entire reason that she felt so low. 

Despite her determination to put him behind her and only focus on her baby and her pregnancy, she couldn’t get him out of her head. How could she focus solely on the baby when the baby’s entire existence was wrapped up in Elliot and the gaping hole he’d left in her life?

She tried so hard to find joy in thinking of the life she was growing, but her mind would wander to him if she thought too long. She’d start to wonder what their child would look like, who the child would look like, then she would picture Elliot’s face and that familiar grief would envelope her in an unwanted hug. She’d see him sometimes in her dreams -  cradling their little one in his arms, holding the infant's small head in a big calloused hand and looking up at her with awe and joy and love. She’d wake up with a sickening longing which would sit heavy in her chest for days after. 

She missed so many things about him, big and small. She missed his warm greetings in the mornings, the days where he’d casually set a hot coffee and bagel on her desk and offer a small smile or a wink rather than words. They never had to speak to communicate, their eyes could hold entire conversations. She missed the easy camaraderie. She missed the security and fearlessness that his presence gave her, the knowledge that she was safe and secure as long as he had her six. She missed his righteous anger toward perps, the way he used to rage for their vics like they were his own kin. 

The list went on and on and on like a mantra in her head all day and all night, just a million little things she missed about Elliot Stabler, a million little gestures that made her feel like a person who was loved… until he vanished like he’d never been there at all, leaving her with only a few photos she hid away, a small box containing items from his desk and locker, his 6th child growing in her womb, and a fierce, aching, painful love that burned her up from the inside out. 

The love was the worst part. She’d always cared about Elliot, always loved him in a closed off, forbidden, unspoken way which she could never act upon or speak aloud. Her feelings were born out of countless hours spent together, blood they’d shed for one another, a mutual respect and willingness to sacrifice their lives for each other. That love was steady and timeless and she knew he felt it too, way deep down underneath the layers of Catholic guilt and repression. 

The new love she felt for him was different, worse. It was born out of a cocktail of pregnancy hormones, a shared trauma they’d never been able to discuss and the grief of missing him constantly. The love was heavy and made her sick with longing and guilt and desire for things she’d never be able to put into words. She loved him more than ever and hated him for leaving her and she realized that missing him was causing 99% of her depressed feelings. She needed a break to work through it, to mourn him like he was dead so she could move on with her life. 

That is how she ended up sideways on her couch with a bag of Fritos balanced precariously on her belly, watching soaps she didn’t really care about and crying about Elliot instead of being at work. 

After placing an early call to Cragen with the weak excuse of, “I’m sick, I’ll be back tomorrow”, Olivia settled in to feel her pain and get it out of her system. 

The feat was easier said than done. Olivia wasn’t great at having free time. She couldn’t seem to stay awake.

First she watched the morning news and cried into a lukewarm cup of rooibos tea, then dozed off on the couch for an hour. Barely conscious, she watched Maury, then the Price is Right, then dozed again. By 1pm, her back was sore from the couch, her eyes hurt from crying and she was disinterested in TV. She dragged herself off of the couch and headed to her bedroom, resolved to sleep somewhere more comfortable. 

Before she could settle into the blankets, three loud knocks echoed through her home. 

I’m not going to answer, she thought, they’ll give up eventually. Three more slightly louder knocks followed. 

“Benson, open the door,” a gruff voice called from the hallway, “I’ll break it down if I have to.” 

“Jesus Christ,” she grumbled, trudging to the door and throwing it open unceremoniously to reveal the identity of her uninvited guest, “What can you possibly need from me at my home on a Monday afternoon, Lieutenant Tucker?”

The man merely raised his eyebrows and looked her quickly up and down before replying, “You look rough. Can I come in?”

She almost laughed at the audacity and shook her head, closing the door with both hands as she told him to go to Hell. 

His hand shot out and pushed the door back slightly. Before she could protest, he lifted up a bag that she hadn’t noticed before and said, “Peace offering. It’s a chicken Caesar salad wrap and sweet potato fries.”

Her brows shot up in surprise and she scoffed, “You honestly think you can win me over with food just because I’m pregnant?”

He smirked at her and put his foot out to once again stop her from closing the door in his face, “I have it on good authority that this is your favorite lunch these days. I think you should let me in so you can have it.” 

Now that he’d mentioned the food, she wanted it badly. She just didn’t want the Tucker that was attached to it. 

She huffed out a small frustrated breath and backed out of the doorway, opening her space to him wordlessly. He took 3 steps into her living room before she snatched the bag out of his hand and walked to her kitchen, muttering a ‘thanks’ to the man. She wasn’t that hungry before he showed up but the smell of the food and the mention of her favorite lunch had her suddenly ravenous. 

She set the bag on the counter and pulled out the takeout container, not sparing a second to plate the meal or sit down before popping the lid and shoving a few fries into her mouth. Before she could swallow them, she shoved in 3 more fries and chewed them quickly. 

“Hungry?” Tucker questioned, still standing awkwardly near her front door. 

She swallowed the fries and crossed her arms over herself protectively, sighing, “Why are you here, Tucker? Should I call my union rep?”

He looked at her bewilderedly and challenged, “You really think I would bring you lunch if I came here to interrogate you?”

She shrugged and grabbed her meal off the counter, walking to her couch and motioning for him to follow, “maybe not, but I can’t honestly think of another reason why you would be here at all. You did arrest me once.”

He sat down on the cushion furthest from her and put his hands on his knees, clearly uncomfortable with their proximity. “I had to stop by the 1-6, Cragen mentioned you were out and Tutuola was supposed to check on you but something came up. I volunteered.” 

Olivia raised a brow and took a big bite of her wrap. There was no reality where Tucker volunteered to bring her food and check on her at home. They’d been on better terms since the warehouse incident, she didn’t actively despise him like she had before, but she still didn’t trust him. She was skeptical of the motivations behind his kindness. 

“You wanna slow down so you don’t choke to death? I know the Heimlich but it’ll probably squish your kid or something.” He remarked dryly. 

She laughed in response and immediately started coughing, a small piece of fry going down the wrong tube. 

“Oh Christ, see what I mean? Do you need a drink or something?” He started to stand up from the couch and she grabbed his arm, pulling him back down to sitting. She coughed a few more times and shook her head, giving the incredulous man a small thumbs up and putting another fry in her mouth. 

“You want a coke?” She asked him, pulling herself up from the couch with slight difficulty and shooting him a look that said he should shut up about it.

“Yeah, sure. Could have grabbed it myself when I offered to get you one 5 seconds ago.” He replied.

“What kind of hostess would I be if I didn’t get my uninvited guest a drink?” she deadpanned. 

“Good point.” He laughed, relaxing slightly. 

The banter between them was probably more comfortable than it should have been given the circumstances. Tucker was someone she was fundamentally supposed to hate - had hated, vehemently - for years. Perhaps her willingness to let down some of her walls with him was another testament to how things had changed in her since the warehouse. 

Some walls were down, some were higher than ever. 

She grabbed their drinks from her refrigerator as well as a bottle of ketchup, a bottle of barbecue sauce and a bottle of Thousand Island dressing. Tucker watched in amusement as she set the items down on the coffee table and handed him a cold can of Coca Cola. 

“Thanks,” He popped the top and took a long swig, eyeing her as she settled back in and squirted each of the condiments onto her plate before resuming her meal. 

Olivia dipped several fries into thousand island dressing, then ketchup, then barbecue sauce before popping them into her mouth. Tucker’s disgusted expression made her roll her eyes. “Don’t judge me, you have no idea the power this kid has over my appetite. I’ll probably throw this up later.”

He laughed gruffly and sipped his drink, “Not judging you. I know how pregnant women eat. My sister has 3 kids.”

“Ah, pregnancy expert Uncle Tucker.”

“Uncle Eddie is what they call me,” he corrected. 

“Even better,” she laughed. 

They settled into a slightly awkward silence while she finished her meal. She wasn’t entirely sure why Tucker was still in her home but found she didn’t mind his company much as long as he wasn’t talking about work or interrogating her. There was something vaguely comforting about the man, something familiar in his blue eyes. 

She finished her lunch and leaned back lazily on her couch, turning toward her guest to start her inquisition, “why did you volunteer to come here? I took a sick day, I’m not dying.” 

“Someone from your squad would have come by if I hadn’t,” he replied with a shrug, “Kind of defeats the purpose of you staying home to avoid them, doesn’t it?” 

She looked away from him and pursed her lips before replying, “My squad is great. I’m not trying to avoid them, I’m sick.’

“I’ve seen the way they treat you lately. They’re driving you nuts, all that concern and empathy.” He retorted.

Irritation creeped up her spine and she breathed deeply through her nose to keep it away. She didn’t want to snap at him but her temper could be short, “They’re taking care of me, I’m grateful for them. Don’t act like you know me, Tucker.”

“Two things can be true at the same time. You can be grateful for them and still need a break.” He replied. 

“You think you know me well enough to know when I need a break? That’s pretty presumptuous, even for you.” 

Tucker cleared his throat before pointedly saying, “I know enough, I know Stabler was the only person you ever let take care of you. I know you have no family… I’ve seen your file, Benson. It’s my job to know. You expect me to believe that you don’t find your coworkers overbearing after you’ve spent your entire life taking care of yourself?”

She recoiled at his words and stood up abruptly, motioning toward the door with a shaking hand, “Thanks for lunch, Tucker. I really need to get some rest now.”

He stood up and gently put a hand on her arm to stop her from walking away. She resisted the urge to rip her arm out of his grasp, not wanting to be dramatic or show him how much he was under her skin. He could see through her and she hated it.  

“Just hear me out for another second and I’ll be out of your hair,” Tucker said quietly, staring intensely into her eyes. Olivia found she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him as he spoke, brown eyes locked on blue, “I know we’ve butted heads, Olivia, I’m not going to pretend that we’re friends. But I do know you’re a good cop and I’ve been concerned about you since the Compton case. That was rough. Then Stabler left and I hear that you’re pregnant... It’s a lot for a person to deal with.”

“It is, but I’m fine.” She replied flatly, her annoyance at him feeling more like sorrow the longer he spoke. She needed him out of her space, his concern made her itch, it was too heavy, too familiar, too much. 

“Yeah, sure, you’re completely fine. That’s what you tell everyone,” He sighed, straightening his posture and lowering his gaze, “I’ve done this job for a long time. I can read cops pretty well by now, I’m sure you can imagine.” He cleared his throat and made a sweeping gesture in her direction, “I know what a depressed cop looks like, how they act, how they talk, how they are always completely fine … till they aren’t.”

“Oh you’re a shrink now?” She asked sarcastically and pulled her arm out of his grip. Her words lacked the passion and venom she’d hoped to level at him. She was tired - just so goddamn tired - and his assessment had her spiraling. She wondered how truly transparent she was if even Tucker could read her like a goddamn book.

“I’m not trying to be your shrink, I’m trying to let you know that I see you and I’m concerned.”

She backed away from him even more, rubbing both hands over her face to maintain the tenuous hold she had on her emotions. Tucker of all people was in her home, bringing her food, making her laugh, telling her he saw her and calling her out on all of the shit she was trying to hide from the world. It was too familiar, too reminiscent of Elliot. It felt to her that the universe was mocking her with a gruff, blue-eyed doppelganger of her former partner. 

“I’m not sure what you think you’re seeing. I only took one day off. This intervention feels premature,” she responded nonchalantly, trying to lighten the mood and ease his concerns enough to get him out of her space, “and you don’t have to worry about me eating my gun, the baby isn’t craving lead.”

She watched his expression change from concern to disbelief before he choked out a laugh and said, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Do whatever you need to do.” 

The two of them stared at one another for a tense moment before Olivia lowered her defenses an inch and broke eye contact. She let out a nervous breath and admitted, “I’m not going to do anything stupid. I did need a break. Just a day.”

“You’re human, Benson. You’re allowed.” He replied. The smile he offered her was warm and apologetic. He walked to the door and opened it to let himself out.  “If you need anything-”

“-thank you, Tucker,” she interrupted, her voice quiet and sincere, “I mean it. And not just for the food.” Their eyes locked again and he nodded in understanding.

“Anytime,” he offered, walking through the threshold and turning around one last time to look at her, “and outside of work, it’s Ed.” 

She nodded, “okay. Thank you, Ed .”

/////

April 19th 2013 - office of Dr. Diana Mareno OB/GYN - 2:30pm

“Shit, I’m going to be late.” Olivia mumbled as Nick pulled the squad car crookedly into a spot near her OB/GYN’s office, nearly driving up onto the curb. She scrambled for her purse and avoided eye contact with her partner.

“Or right on time.” Nick offered with a smile, “You want-?”

“Thanks for the ride, Nick, I’ll see you after.” She interrupted and opened the door, using the grab handle to pull herself out of the car and shutting the door before Nick could say anything else. 

They’d left the precinct late because she was distracted by a case and nearly forgot about her appointment, only remembering when Cragen sheepishly approached her desk and inquired about her 20 week ultrasound. She’d rushed out so quickly she tripped getting out of the elevator and Nick had to lunge to catch her and keep her upright. 

She was off her game and embarrassed and on edge. 

Dressed in a comfortable half sleeve maroon maternity dress that fell down to just below her knees, a knitted cream cardigan and her most comfortable pair of slip-ons, she felt every bit the expectant mother, blending in seamlessly with the rest of the women in the waiting room. She signed herself in and took a seat away from the rest of the women in the room, needing space to calm her nerves before they called her back to be seen.

She let her mind wander to Nick sitting out in the squad car by himself. Fin or Nick had driven her to every appointment for months. It was unspoken and understood between Cragen and the male detectives that Olivia would be transported by one of them every two weeks to the OB/GYN. She tried to argue against it the first few times but gave up and accepted the help once it was clear that they weren’t yielding. It was cheaper than taking a taxi and she was about to be a single mom, she could use the extra funds. 

Nick always offered to come in with her and Fin usually hinted that he was willing to if she asked. She’d never taken either of them up on it. For the first few appointments, she wanted to be alone. Listening to the doctor describe the many risks of having your first baby at 44 wasn’t an experience she wanted to share with her friends. She’d been warned about chromosomal disorders, gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, stillbirth and a litany of other terrifying risks she and her baby were facing due to her “advanced maternal age”. 

Luckily for Olivia, the genetic tests had revealed no abnormalities, she did not have signs of gestational diabetes, her blood pressure was good considering her age, high stress job and recent trauma, and the baby was on track with all growth and developmental milestones. Though her pregnancy was going well, every appointment was still an opportunity for bad news and she didn’t want to hear bad news with an audience. She didn’t want them to have another reason to pity her. 

Poor Olivia, pregnant from an assault and facing endless risks to her baby. 

Poor Olivia, abandoned by Elliot with nobody to drive her to appointments. 

Poor Olivia, a depressed single mother with no family. 

Her rejection of their perceived pity was how she justified walking into each appointment alone, even though a huge part of her wanted someone with whom she could share the joys. She wanted someone to look over at during the ultrasound, someone who would smile with her and listen to the heartbeat and tell her that she’d be a great mom and make her believe it. 

She denied herself that small comfort, like she’d denied herself most comforts in her lifetime. 

Her refusals didn’t stop them from offering and letting her know in their own way that she didn’t have to be alone if she didn’t want to be. They were trying more than ever to be there for her. Since she’d returned from her sick day, Nick started picking her up every morning and driving her home every night, she’d been relieved of on-call duties for the remainder of her pregnancy, there were fresh flowers in the squad room every few days that appeared out of nowhere, some calm piano music coming from Munch’s radio at all times and healthy lunches that conveniently appeared on her desk everyday at noon. They were trying to make the squad room a happier place and take stress from her where they could. 

Tucker’s words came back to her often, I’ve seen the way they treat you lately. They’re driving you nuts, all that concern and empathy.

He was right at the time, she’d felt suffocated, she hadn’t allowed herself to fully accept their love and care and she’d let it bother her instead. Maybe she didn’t think she deserved love. 

She hoped her baby would grow up feeling loved and deserving of love. She rubbed her baby bump tenderly and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths in through her nose and trying to calm down her pre-appointment jitters. After a few moments of peaceful breathing, she sensed someone settling into the chair next to her and she internally scoffed. There were so many other places they could sit. Irritated at the person’s lack of waiting room decorum, she opened her eyes to observe the encroacher only to see that it was Nick. 

 He gave her a toothy smile. 

“What’re you doing in here?” She asked him softly, surprised.

“I really wanted to see the little guy for myself. Figured you might throw me a bone and let me sit in on the ultrasound.”

Tears stung at the back of her eyes and she blinked them back rapidly, touched and relieved that Nick took the initiative to join her. He’d understood somehow that she wanted the company without her having to say a word. She squeezed his arm and nodded. 

“Little guy? What makes you think it’s a boy?” She questioned him.  

“I don’t know for sure, just hoping. We’ve got a little betting pool going.”

She laughed out loud and pushed his shoulder, “you’ve been betting on my kid? Who’s in the pool?”

“Me, Fin, Munch, Amanda, Cap. $50 each, winners split the pot.”

She rolled her eyes but there was no malice behind it. The fact that her captain even had some stake in the game was more entertaining than anything. 

“Me, Munch and Amanda think it’s a boy, Fin and Cragen bet girl.” 

“I would’ve bet girl to even out the pot,” she remarked, “ if I’d been invited.”

His mouth dropped open in surprise,  “Sorry Liv, we-”

“I’m kidding, Nick. It’s okay. I wouldn’t want to bet on the sex, maybe the due date though.” She replied cheekily. 

He visibly relaxed for the rest of their wait. A few more minutes of small talk passed between them before she was called back into the exam room. Nick waited in the hallway during the pelvic but was invited in to observe the ultrasound. He stood to her left and Olivia didn’t fight him when he grabbed her hand and held it. His hand was warm and comforting. 

The ultrasound technician was a very perky 20-something who talked a mile a minute and, at the sight of Nick, immediately exclaimed that she was, “very happy to see daddy” at the appointment. Olivia politely informed the woman that Nick was  just a friend and that she should not expect to see the baby’s father at any future appointments. A beat of awkwardness passed between the three of them as the younger woman apologized quietly and squirted gel onto Olivia’s abdomen. 

And just like that, Elliot’s absence was again the most profound part of her experience. 

That angered her, it felt like he was stealing something from her with his absence, ruining parts of her pregnancy when he didn’t even know it existed. It was a testament to the power that he still had over her, and she wanted to fight against it.

“I’d like to know if the baby is a boy or girl, I know I said I wanted to wait but,” she squeezed Nick’s hand and smiled, “I think we’ve all waited long enough.”

Nick squeezed back, beaming at her. 

The tech relaxed a bit and nodded cheerily at Olivia as she moved the wand around on her belly. Olivia crushed Nick’s hand nervously in hers, feeling restless with every second that passed. They both hyper focused on the screen and the black and white blobs, trying to see anything that resembled a baby. 

Finally, the tech grinned and pointed at the screen.

“Your little one is a girl, mama. Congratulations.”

Olivia gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. In 20 weeks or less, she’d have a sweet little girl to love for the rest of her life. It was more than she’d ever dared to hope for. 

A healthy daughter, her daughter, her only family. 

For a beat, Olivia wondered if Nick might be disappointed to lose his bet. She turned to look at him and caught a lone tear streaking down his face. She chuckled and reached over to wipe it with her sleeve, “you getting soft on me, partner? Or crying because you lost $50?”

He gripped her hand a little tighter and replied quietly, “Just happy for you, Liv. That’s all.”

“I’m happy, too.” She replied. 

Sitting in the doctor’s office with her close friend and feeling the pure joy of learning that her baby would be a girl, she found that she meant it. She felt truly happy. 

If only it could last. 

/////

She entered her 22nd week of pregnancy on April 27th, 2013. The week was calm. Her lingering sadness ebbed and flowed but she went to work everyday and allowed the good parts of life to warm her. She let Nick tell the squad about her baby’s gender. She relished in the excitement on their faces as they absorbed the news. Even Rollins looked pleased, despite losing $50. Olivia watched Fin smugly collect the pot, bragging “Told you all, I knew it was a girl the whole damn time.” She rolled her eyes as he cockily walked half of the winnings over to their captain. The next day, a stroller was delivered to her apartment along with several days of groceries, no sender details. When she asked Cragen about it, he smiled and winked. 

Her 23rd week started on May 4th, 2013. She started converting her second bedroom into a nursery, opting for a periwinkle and cloud grey color scheme. Nick and Barba painted the room for her while Fin took her out to lunch to keep her away from the fumes. Cragen suggested she start a baby registry and she caved at his gentle insistence. Within 3 days of finishing the registry, most of the items were purchased for her thanks to a discrete email chain started by her captain. To her surprise, a crib was delivered with a card signed by the newly appointed Hostage Negotiation Team’s Captain Tucker. People rallied around her. As her daughter’s little nursery came together and her bump grew and the kicks felt stronger by the day, she felt a sort of peace and acceptance wash over her soul. She could visualize her sweet little swaddled baby and feel a longing that didn’t hurt at all. She still missed Elliot, but not as deeply and not as often. 

Week 24 started like any other. She spent Saturday the 11th of May sorting through some of the baby items that had been delivered over the previous weeks. She washed all of the baby clothes she’d accumulated and folded them, tucking them into the drawers of the changing table dresser - tiny little garments with cute animals and sayings like, “momma’s miracle” on the front. She found herself nearly in tears the entire time as she pictured her daughter wearing the clothes. She was grateful. The night of the 11th ended in front of the TV with Olivia working on a long list of thank-you cards and preparing for a quiet Sunday. 

It wasn’t quiet at all. 

On Sunday the 12th of May, Rollins called everyone into the precinct, insisting that the flasher she’d arrested in the park was much worse than just a flasher. Nick picked Olivia up on his way and she nearly fell asleep on the drive. She hadn’t slept much the night before, tossing and turning with a backache. She was irritable about being called in and it was going to be a struggle not to snap at Amanda for her intuition. 

Once everyone assembled at the 1-6, Rollins and Fin grilled the perp while Olivia and Amaro searched databases to dig up information on the man with no fingerprints. After the interview, Fin escorted William Lewis in cuffs to holding for the night so he could be arraigned in the morning. Olivia looked up from her desk as he passed by and his eyes locked on hers. The smirk he gave her made her blood run cold. 

“A pregnant detective, don’t see that every day.” Lewis jeered. Fin jostled the man and pulled him out of Olivia’s line of sight, telling him to shut up or he’d shut him up. 

After he was gone, the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up for almost an hour. Rollins was right, Olivia’s own intuition was now screaming at her that something was very wrong with William Lewis. 

The following day, Lewis declined a plea deal and was released from custody pending trial. Unbeknownst to the fine detectives at Manhattan SVU, he left with a vendetta. He hunted down the witness from the park flashing incident and tortured her in her home for 18 hours. He was captured and arrested again. Fin and Amanda tried to question him but he wasn’t giving an inch. He swore he was willing to provide information but he wanted to tell the pregnant one. 

They were at a standstill. 

“I’m not cool with this. He’s fixated on Liv and we’re gonna use her as bait to get a confession?” Fin questioned indignantly, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. She’s pregnant, she’s not supposed to be around perps.”

“I’ll be fine, Fin. Nick will be in the room, he’s not going to let Lewis do anything. We need him to cop to this. He can’t get away with what he did to Alice.” Olivia pressed. She’d do just about anything to lock Lewis up at this point. 

“I don’t feel good about it either, but she’s right. We need his confession. Olivia, Nick, go in there in 5. Amaro, you keep him away from Olivia, sit between them and keep him cuffed.” Cragen instructed. 

He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach for the rest of the day. 

Nick wasn’t happy with the idea either, but recognized that his partner and captain were right, Lewis had to go away. He was too dangerous. He and Olivia walked into the interrogation room ready to say and do what needed to be said and done. 

Choosing to exploit the fact that Lewis was fascinated with her status as a pregnant cop, she waddled into the interrogation room with one hand resting on her baby bump. Lewis couldn’t tear his eyes away from her and that had Nick on edge. She could hear Elliot’s voice in her head, What are you doing, Liv? Don’t use our baby to get a confession out of this piece of shit. Don’t use yourself as bait. 

She felt guilty about it for days. And it wasn’t even worth it in the end. 

Sure, Lewis confessed in graphic detail to burning, raping and tormenting their witness, Alice Parker. Then he framed the entire thing as hypothetical once his attorney was present, making the confession unusable. 

That night, Olivia threw up twice after dinner and slept with all of the lights on in her apartment, waking up with PTSD nightmares of the warehouse every few hours. Something about Lewis had dredged up her own trauma in a big way. 

The rest of the week was chaotic. The case was taking a toll on all of them but was harder on her than the rest. She was exhausted, taking power naps in the cribs as necessary but never feeling rested. She could barely remember what day it was. 

The flowers in the squad room were wilted and starting to stink. 

While the squad spent most of their time looking for ways to nail him to the wall, Lewis tried every trick in the book to make the process harder. He attempted suicide in custody, dodged a line up, declined another plea deal. It was one thing after another. Every update had Olivia spinning. Her PTSD was rampant at night and her body ached in the mornings from thrashing around with nightmares. She checked her blood pressure every 6 hours and used the heart rate doppler to check her baby’s heartbeat at least twice a day. She was afraid the stress would send her into preterm labor. She needed Lewis gone.

Details of the man’s sordid past were finally uncovered. Rapes and murders going back as far as the 90’s, fake names and the greatest streak of luck a scumbag could ever ask for. The depth of his sociopathy was revealed through his records and the squad’s desire to see him locked up went from determined to obsessive. 

Then, Alice Parker died from her injuries. 

More luck for Lewis. 

He rejected yet another plea deal, the lab screwed up the DNA and a mistrial was declared. 

Olivia worked through the weekend and woke up 5+ times a night in a pool of sweat. 

The 25th week of her pregnancy started badly and only got worse.

On the 21st of May, Lewis was released on bail. Olivia sat quietly at her desk in the aftermath of his release, trying to shake the exhaustion and rage she felt at the monster reentering society after raping an old woman to death. The fact that men like Lewis could walk the streets, the same streets she would soon walk with her daughter, made her blood run cold. She knew better than anyone how dangerous the world was, but Lewis was a different kind of dangerous and evil. He was the worst she’d ever seen. Worse than Compton even. 

She was beyond exhausted and couldn’t keep her eyes open at her desk. She’d drift off for a few seconds before her body jolted her awake. 

“Olivia, you’ve fallen asleep 4 times since we left court. Go home and get some rest. You’ve done more than your fair share this week,” Cragen instructed from his office.

She shook her head and straightened herself up, trying to appear more alert. “Cap, I’m fine. I need to save my time off for maternity leave.”

“It’s taken care of, you’ll be paid. Take the next two days, we’ll see you Thursday after your appointment. Fin will pick you up.”

“Cap-” she began to argue but her boss cut her off.

“Olivia, it’s an order. If you show up here, I’ll have you arrested,” he asserted, though his words lacked any real threat. She understood that he was looking out for her and her baby. She’d barely slept in over a week and she needed a few days to rest up and take care of herself. She was too tired to argue it further. 

Nick dropped her off at the curb of her apartment building and told her to call if she needed anything.

“Take these days to rest up, Liv. Nobody’s gonna bother you until Thursday. Just try to remember to eat.” He lectured her tenderly. 

“Yes, mom.” She laughed, “I’ll eat. See you Thursday.”

She watched him pull off and headed inside, fantasizing on the way about putting her feet up and sleeping for 12 hours. 

She was so focused on getting to the couch that she didn’t hear the noise when she entered her home and shut the door behind her. 

Within seconds, the cold metal of a gun was against her forehead and the voice of William Lewis filled her ears, “Welcome home, Detective Benson.”

Chapter Text

December 8th 2012 - 1PP - IAB Interview Room A

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The yellowing wall clock in front of Elliot Stabler read 10:14pm.

His eyes zeroed in on the big hand, watching the seconds drag on as he tried not to picture Olivia in the next room over telling Ed-fucking-Tucker of all people what he had done to her in that cursed warehouse.

He clenched his fist and teeth, thinking about how badly he wanted to tear into Tucker’s sergeant whose name he’d forgotten. Sergeant No Name wasn’t even grilling him hard when considering the many other IAB interviews he’d been subjected to during his long career with SVU. The questions were compulsory, not overly personal or inflammatory, but Elliot was just so exceptionally angry after what had happened that he would have screamed at a puppy if it looked at him wrong.

He and Liv spent 3 days of Hell in a sex-trafficking operation scoping out the vilest, most despicable scumbags with whom he’d ever had the displeasure of sharing oxygen. The operation was the most extensive and hands-on UC they’d ever pull off. They’d spent over a month studying their cover as Nathan and Veronica Barnes, a married couple who aspired to join the organization as “foster parents” assisting in the housing and transportation of underaged trafficking victims. Compton required them to participate in a week-long “meet-and-greet” to assess how they would fit in with the group. The 3 days they were there were spent partying, networking, schmoozing Compton and collecting as much information about the trafficking operation as possible for the inevitable trial. It was dangerous and exhausting work.

During the infant stages of the investigation, SVU arrested Gary and Lora Decker, a couple who’d previously worked for Compton as foster parents. They’d agreed to provide information to the detectives in exchange for a plea deal and reduced sentencing. Arguably the most important detail they’d provided was about the third night of the meet-and-greet. In a shaky voice, Gary Decker described to detectives how they’d been plied with expensive bourbon and coerced into having group sex in front of several cameras. When it was over, Compton congratulated them for passing the test and informed them that he would be keeping the tapes so the Decker’s would “have a little skin in the game.” As Gary had become acquainted with some of the other “foster parents”, he’d learned that all of them had experienced a test on night 3.

To avoid the test, Elliot and Olivia had to be extracted during the early evening of night three. That was the plan from the start of the operation and Cragen assured them that it would go off without a hitch.

It did not.

He and Olivia did all the hard work and they’d been left there to-

-he was so pissed, so enraged at every goddamned one of his superiors. They would never understand the damage they’d done when they failed to extract on time.

He felt like he would never have another moment of peace in his life after what Compton made him do to Olivia.

Tick, tock. 10:20pm.

He needed a shower like never before. He smelled like sweat and fear and Olivia’s perfume. Every inhale was a punch to the gut.

If his pension weren’t at stake, he would have already walked out the door, consequences be damned. It wasn’t an option though. He and Liv had promised each other that they would be truthful during their interviews and he would honor that for both of their sakes. Once he finished, he’d drive home, shower until the water ran cold and drink himself stupid and try to forget, for even just a few minutes, what he’d become at Compton’s hands.

“Detective Stabler, can you tell me what happened after you and Detective Benson were instructed to undress?”

The question added another log to the fire of his rage. He leaned over the table, leveling a deadly gaze at the man and sneered, “what do you think happened?”

Sergeant What’s-His-Nuts sighed and jotted down a few notes before reaching over and turning off his recorder, “Stabler, I don’t want to hear the dirty details anymore than you want to give them to me but you know the drill. We need to do this by the book for your careers and for the integrity of the Compton investigation.” He clicked the record button with his thumb and continued, “I can guess what happened but I need to hear it in your words.”

“He wanted us to have sex in front of the cameras and his cronies. Said he needed the tape for collateral. I told him no and he threatened to-” He palmed his face in frustration and rubbed furiously, barely able to say the words, “He was going to rape Detective Benson if I didnt - if we didn’t have sex.”

“So you had sex to keep away from her?”

Tick tock. 10:31pm.

Elliot nodded, looking anywhere but at the man. He loathed to call it sex. Sex was sacred, passionate, romantic, fun. What they did in that warehouse wasn’t sex to Elliot. It was a nightmare.

“Where were Compton and his men while this was happening?” the Sergeant questioned.

“Compton was with us. He was orchestrating. His men were surrounding the bed, they were armed.” Elliot explained.

“What do you mean by orchestrating?” Sergeant Whatever probed.

Elliot didn’t want to elaborate but he knew they would see it on the tape that they’d confiscated from the warehouse so he continued, “He was telling me what to do to Detective Benson. When I didn’t follow his exact instructions, he shoved the barrel of his gun into her mouth. He even…” Elliot blinked several times hard and shook his head, trying to fight the horrifying image in his head, “he choked her unconscious. I thought she was dead. They told me- made me- fuck. Fuck!” He stood up from the table and grabbed a trash can from near the door, depositing what little was in his stomach into the can. Just thinking about those moments made him feel like he might pass out. He threw the can back down and grabbed his water bottle off of the table, emptying it in a few big gulps before sitting back down. A cold sheen of sweat was covering his entire body. He refused to look at Seagant Who-Gives-A-Fuck, “they wouldn’t let me stop while she was out.”

“How long was Benson unconscious?”

“I’m not sure how long, it felt like a long time.” He admitted.

Sergeant Nobody nodded and asked a few slightly less triggering questions to conclude the interview before turning off his tape and offering Elliot a sympathetic smile, “I’m really sorry this happened to you and Benson. Trust that we’re going to thoroughly investigate what caused the delayed response from ESU. It won’t go unpunished.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Elliot muttered and walked out of the room without another word.

A lot of good it’ll do to investigate now. The damage is already done.

His partner had been brutalized and he had been the weapon used against her. There would be no justice great enough to fix that. They would never be partners again. What they had - an epic 13 year partnership and friendship that Elliot treasured more than any worldly possession - was cracked and broken in that warehouse and would never be the same again.

Liv was his best friend.

He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her or hearing her voice again.

Tick tock, 10:44pm.

December 9th 2012 - 1PP - 10:45pm

Elliot exited the interview room and found his Captain sitting vigil against the wall across from Interview Room B where he was sure Olivia and Tucker were still speaking. The thought of being so close to her made him itch. Elliot gave his Captain one long, reproachful look and turned on his heel to start his journey home.

“Elliot, wait,” He heard from behind him, but he did not slow down or give the man an opportunity to catch up. He’d always respected Cragen, had always seen him as a father figure, but he now grouped the man in with the rest of the COs and brass who’d failed him and turned him into a monster through their bureaucratic incompetence. Cragen’s failure to lead the operation as intended had destroyed him, both of them. That was unforgivable. If Cragen got too close, Elliot wasn’t sure what he might do to the man.

He walked briskly through the halls of 1PP, chin tucked to his chest to avoid eye contact with any of the few cops remaining in the building at such a late hour. He wasn’t interested in entertaining looks of curiosity from the nosy brass who might have heard about his ordeal.

Fucking vultures.

He burst through the doors into frigid December air that whipped around his face and only served to piss him off more. He was one more trigger away from an explosion.

“Elliot, wait up a minute.” Cragen hollered from behind him. He quickened his pace again until he finally made it to his vehicle. Without missing a beat, he unlocked his driver’s door and pulled the icy handle harder than necessary. Cragen approached the back of his car and Elliot held out a shaking hand in warning.

Don’t do anything stupid, Elliot, you need that pension for the family.

“Elliot,” the older man breathed out, winded from the chase, “I’m so sorry, so damned sorry.”

Sincerity and sorrow laced his words, but it did little to quell the burning rage in Elliot’s heart.

“I’m sure you’re very sorry, Don. It doesn’t change a damned thing.” Elliot replied coldly, clutching his car door in a bid for some self control.

“I know that. The COs responsible-”

“You are responsible,” Elliot snapped, “You’re my CO, it was your job to get me and Liv out of there. I don’t care what any other CO did or didn’t do. You didn’t get us in time and everything is fucked. I’m putting in my papers, I don’t want to see you again.”

“You don’t have to put in your papers, Elliot. There are other options.” Cragen pleaded.

Elliot laughed bitterly and unclipped his badge, “I basically raped my partner. I don’t want to be a cop anymore.” He tossed his badge into the snow at Cragen’s feet, “Take care of Liv for me. I’ll get you my papers once IAB concludes their investigation.” With those parting words, he climbed into his car and slammed the door shut. He watched in his rear view mirror as Cragen bent down and picked up his badge, pocketing it before walking away with his head hanging low.

He drove home in silence, thinking only about Olivia the entire way. He knew she would be upset about his retirement, that he hadn’t mentioned it to her. He expected she would try to call him and text him, that she might show up at his home to talk to him. The thought made his heart race uncomfortably fast.

Maybe it was selfish and cruel, but Elliot knew he wasn’t going to answer her calls or text. He would not give her the goodbye that she deserved because he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave if he heard her voice or saw her pain. It had to be a clean break for him.

He told himself that she would be fine. She wouldn’t be alone in the world. She had the squad and they would help her. They would get her through the aftermath of Compton and help her when she went back to work. She’d likely be partnered with Amaro and Elliot could see that working out just fine for her. There was a sick, twisted jealousy in his heart when he thought about her having a new partner, but he pushed it away immediately. He had no claim over Olivia, especially not know.

When he pulled up to his home just after midnight, he saw the porch light was still on and was relieved that there was no Olivia shaped silhouette waiting for him.

It was only a small comfort for Elliot because he suspected that Kathy was waiting for him.

The thought of speaking to his wife after everything was nauseating.

He trudged up the porch stairs and unlocked the door as quietly as possible, hoping that she would sleep through his arrival so he wouldn’t have to deal with any questions.

No such luck. Kathy was sitting on the sofa with a mug of tea in hand and a fearful look in her eyes when she saw her husband’s face after 3 days.

He paused at the door and shook his head, willing away the tears that he felt pricking the back of his eyes, “I don’t want to talk, Kath. Please just don’t.”

She nodded and gripped her drink, a million questions and worries flooding through her at once.

Elliot dropped his bag on the floor and beelined for the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of whisky from the high cabinet over the fridge and pouring himself a full glass. He threw it back in a few gulps and poured himself another for the shower. He glanced over at the couch and saw Kathy’s wide eyes staring back at him.

“It was bad, wasn’t it?” She whispered, “really bad?”

He nodded and walked with his tumbler to the bathroom to scrub the scent of Olivia from his skin.

December 11th 2012 - The Stabler Residence - 3:11pm

His phone dinged with an unopened voicemail. He glanced aloofly at the screen and saw Olivia’s name. It gave him the chills. He swiped over and deleted the message before he could second guess it..

“Elliot, whatever happened between you two, you have to talk to her eventually. And me, for that matter. You’ve hardly said 3 words since you came home. I’m worried about you.” Kathy lectured. The words went in one ear and out the other. Elliot was sauced and exhausted, a potent combination for a man fresh out of a traumatic experience.

He took a long drag from his beer and scratched his stubble disinterestedly, “don’t have anything to say to you or Olivia.”

Kathy scoffed and grabbed 3 of the empty beer bottles off of the coffee table, “I’m your wife. You don’t get to shut me out. I need to know what the hell happened between you and Olivia and why you haven’t gone to work in days.” Kathy stomped out of the room to set the bottles on the kitchen counter and returned to see Elliot popping the cap on another bottle.

“Elliot, please…” She begged quietly, sitting next to him on the couch and putting her hand on his knee, “Please talk to me. You need help. They won’t let you back to work like this, you know that.”

He brushed her hand off and set his beer on the table before rising from the couch to put distance between them. Without looking at her, he said, “I’m retiring, I’m not going back to SVU. Let it go.”

December 15th, 2012 - The Stabler Residence - 7:42pm

He poured himself a third glass of whiskey as Kathy took the love seat across from him. She’d issued an ultimatum after a full week of him binge drinking silently on the couch.

Talk or leave.

He chose to talk. If he left, he wasn’t sure where he’d go. He was afraid he’d find himself parked outside of Olivia’s apartment, then walking up the steps, then knocking on her door. The sight of her would surely break the last vestiges of his composure. He needed to stay away from her and work things out with Kathy or he was going to end up on the streets with no job and no family.

The thought had his stomach in knots.

His phone vibrated with another voicemail from his former partner. Like the first one, he pressed delete before it could even transcribe on his phone.

Listening to her messages wouldn’t do either of them any good because he had no intention of responding.

“Why won’t you talk to Olivia?” Kathy asked quietly.

Not pulling your punches, I see.

“I don’t want to,” he replied sloppily, “Isn’t that enough of a reason?”

“What happened during your undercover job? Everything was fine before you left. We were fine. Then you come back and you quit your job, you won’t answer her calls, you drink all day. I’ve never seen you like this. Did someone…” she trailed off and folded her arms protectively across her chest, “did someone hurt you or Olivia? Is that why you don’t want to talk to her?” She whispered.

He nearly choked on his drink. He coughed violently a few times and set the glass on the table with a thud, dark liquor sloshing over the sides and spilling onto the wood. His lungs seized with the effort and he panicked at the burning sensation. Kathy leaned over and patted his back a few times comfortingly.

It made him feel guiltier that she was giving him kindness. He knew it was time to tell her the truth, to ruin her perception of him. He couldn’t stand another second of her gentle care. The guilt was eating him alive.

“I had sex with her.” He mumbled, leaning back on the couch and bracing himself for Kathy’s reaction.

She gaped at him. He watched her cheeks redden and eyes fill with tears. He stared back at her with a blank expression, bracing for her to make the next move. .

“You cheated?” She whispered shakily, “with Olivia?”

Elliot nodded. The booze was clouding his thinking and he tried to select his next words carefully. He didn’t want to give Kathy all of the painful details, didn’t want her to live with those images, but he needed her to stop hounding him about what happened. He explained, “It was an impossible situation, the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he drained his glass again and swallowed back a sob. “I want to forget. I need to forget about it and about Olivia and I can’t forget it if you don’t let me.” He was shaking with barely contained rage and grief and a bitter hatred that lived in the worst parts of himself, “Goddammit Kathy, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He screamed, swiping his whisky glass off the table and watching it shatter into pieces on the floor as the amber liquid seeped into their area rug.

A moment of silence passed over them and he chanced another look at Kathy between ragged breaths. The shock in her face had been replaced with something else.

Pain.

December 20th 2012 - the office of Dr. Blake Ballard - 10:29am

“Elliot, I know that you agreed to these sessions with Kathy to improve your communication, but I do think you’d benefit greatly from some one-on-one therapy as well. I can recommend a few specialists in the area-” the couple’s therapist suggested. He was interrupted by Elliot’s refusal.

“-not interested, thanks.” Elliot declined bluntly and slumped back on the couch. They were only in their second session of marriage counseling and Dr. Ballard had recommended individual counseling for Elliot a half dozen times.

He’s not telling Kathy that she needs another shrink. So much for impartiality.

“Okay, that’s fine, Elliot. Let me know if you change your mind. It’s good that you’re willing to attend these sessions with your wife.” Dr. Ballard flipped through his notebook and took a pause to review his notes, “During your first session, I asked you why you’d decided to participate in marriage counseling. You both cited Elliot’s sexual encounter with his former colleague was the driving force behind your decision. After completing last week’s homework, do you still believe that infidelity is the main problem in your marriage?”

Kathy nodded. Elliot stared at the wall behind the counselor’s head and tried not to flinch at the feeling of his wife’s shoulder pressed against his own. The use of the word “infidelity” also irked him. Infidelity is intentional and consensual. What happened between him and Liv was not.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, grateful for a momentary reprieve from the counselors questions until he saw Olivia’s name and another voicemail message. He quickly deleted it and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

“She won’t stop calling him,” Kathy complained to Dr. Ballard, “She even tried to call me a few times. After everything she did, I don’t understand why she thinks it’s okay to call us.”

Elliot furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes at her, “What do you mean ‘everything she did’?”

Kathy looked dumbfounded as she spat back at him, “She had sex with my husband. Is that not enough of a reason that she shouldn’t contact me? I trusted her, both of you. How dare you defend Olivia  after what you did!” She was enraged, red and breathing heavily.

The counselor attempted to interject and de-escalate but Elliot wasn’t having it. He snapped, pulling himself as far away from her as possible on the couch and growling back at her, “You have no idea what happened in that warehouse. Liv is not to blame here.” His breathing was erratic and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air, like the walls were closing in.

Kathy laughed in disbelief and anger, exclaiming, “You told me you had sex with her!”

He didn’t know how to respond.. That was exactly what he’d told her and he hadn’t given her a lick of context, just let her mind run wild while he tried (and failed) to pull himself together in the aftermath. He wrung his hands together and tried to take in a big breath unsuccessfully. The careful control he had over his emotions was faltering. He was panicking.

“Kathy, stop-”

“No, I’m not going to stop!” She clapped back harshly, “You agreed to counseling, you agreed to talk about what happened. If you want to save this marriage like you said you do, you have to talk to me,” she argued, “I’m not the one who cheated. Stop making me the bad guy because you want to protect Olivia. I’m your wife. Olivia isn’t.”

The words hit in like a punch to the gut.

I’m your wife. Olivia isn’t.

Marriage was sacred to him. The vows they’d taken to one another were a covenant between them and God, that was why he’d gone home to her every night, why he’d never allowed himself to cross lines with Olivia or any other woman for that matter. He didn’t want his marriage to fall apart. He’d already lost his career, his direction in life, his best friend, his squad. Without his family, he would truly have nothing left. The kids would always be his, but they would inevitably pick a side in a divorce and he knew it would be Kathy’s, especially if she decided to tell them that their father had been unfaithful.

The thought of Kathy walking around in the world thinking that he and Liv had betrayed her was almost worse than her knowing what he’d been forced to do. What happened in the warehouse was not a passionate moment of weakness between two long time friends, it was a brutal and desperate act of survival.

“I know, I don’t want to lose you, Kath. It’s just hard to talk about.” Elliot confessed, wishing her to see the sincerity in his words, to hear the desperation in his voice.

“Can you just try? God knows I don’t want all of the details, Elliot, but some context might help.” She pleaded, some of the harshness gone from her voice.

He saw fresh tears trailing down her cheeks. The guilt that had been stabbing at him for 12 awful days reached an apex. Kathy was miserable right along with him, suffering in the aftermath of everything that he’d been through. His family was collateral damage from his job, like they always had been. Elliot knew it was his responsibility and his duty as a husband and father to repair some of what he’d broken.

He would start with being honest.

“What do you want to know?” He asked her hesitantly, heart pounding in his ears. He turned his body towards hers and she grabbed his hands instinctively, holding them tightly in her own. The touch felt invasive to Elliot but he knew he couldn’t pull away from her during such a pivotal moment.

“How many times did you sleep with her?” Kathy asked, staring down at their joined hands. Hers trembled in his and his palms dampened hers.

Elliot did not hesitate to answer, “Just once.” He replied honestly. An acrid taste filled his mouth and sweat beads started to form on his lower lip in anxious anticipation of her other questions.

Kathy accepted his answer with a firm nod and took in a shaky breath before continuing, “How did it happen?”

He opened his mouth to reply but found he couldn’t speak. The two of them stared at one another until Kathy broke eye contact, unable to stand another second of the anguish on her husband’s face. The silence was suffocating.

Never before had Elliot been faced with such a monumental confession. Once the words were said, he knew she’d never unhear them, she’d never have a chance to forget the reality of what led to her husband’s ‘infidelity’. The trajectory of their relationship would change forever. There was a brief moment where he debated lying to her and telling her that he and Olivia were drunk. It felt kinder to lie somehow.

He rejected that thought as quickly as it came. Kathy deserved the truth and he deserved to tell it, even if it hurt them both.

Sweat trickled down his brow and she reached over shakily to wipe it away with a handkerchief. He closed his eyes at her touch and tried not to think about the words as he said, “Gun to my head.” The words were clipped and harsh. He heard her sharp intake of breath and decided to keep going, to get more of the words out while he still had the nerve, “They were going to rape Olivia if I didn’t. They threatened to shoot us both. I just-” A sob ripped from his throat and he swallowed hard, ripping his hands from her grasp and clenching his fist together in an effort to choke down his emotions. “I just wanted to go home.” His voice broke apart but he continued, raspy voiced, “It was bad - what they did to her, what they made me do - it was violent. I thought she was dead at one point.” Elliot leaned over and buried his face in his hands, tears dripping between his fingers. He was numb. He couldn’t open his eyes. He didn’t want to see Kathy’s face.

“Elliot,” she whispered, trembling, “I didn’t realize… I thought…You said you cheated.”

“I did.” He murmured sadly, “I had sex with Liv, I just didn’t want to.”

Kathy kneeled down in front of him and grabbed his arms to pull his hands away from his face, “Please look at me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I understand now. Honey, it’s okay,” She caressed his face gently with her thumb, wiping his tears away and cradling his salt-and-pepper scruff, “You don’t need to say another word.”

December 24th 2012 - The Stabler Residence - 11:14am

He pressed the delete button on yet another voicemail and sighed tiredly. Every time she called, he felt like he received an adrenaline shot directly to the heart. He said a silent prayer that Olivia would be merciful and give up soon. It would be better for both of them.

“Another voicemail?” Kathy questioned gently from beside him while chopping potatoes. They were busily preparing for a Christmas Eve dinner with all of the kids. Kathy did the lion's share of the cooking but Elliot acted as her helper, trying to keep himself busy and away from the bottle of scotch he’d bought behind her back and stashed in the toilet tank 2 days prior.

“Yeah, I deleted it.” He replied numbly, planting a small kiss on her cheek, “I’m going to get a new number after the new year. I think a fresh start will do me some good.”

Kathy nodded and offered a very small smile, “Whatever you need, that’s what we’ll do,” She grabbed two handfuls of potatoes and dropped them into a small pot with boiling water, “Are you going to tell the kids what happened?”

He blanched at the suggestion and shook his head adamantly before straining to say, “No, not now. Let’s just enjoy the holidays. We’ll figure out what to tell them later.” He squeezed her hips and walked to their guest bathroom. Once the door was shut behind him, he turned on the exhaust fan to cover any noise and carefully removed the lid of the toilet tank to reveal the bottle of Johnnie Walker he’d hidden there. Pulling the bottle out, he was disgusted at himself but justified that it was better to be discreet than to openly drink away his feelings in front of his family.

He poured some of the liquor into a mouthwash cup and drank it down in one gulp. Booze offered him the one thing that talking, therapy, quitting his job and ignoring Liv’s calls could not give him - an escape from the constant pain.

He poured another and threw it back. Then another. Then another, and one more before stashing the bottle, replacing the tank lid and swishing some wintermint mouthwash around his mouth to hide the stench of alcohol.

January 4th, 2013 - Holiday Inn Resort - Aruba - 4:44pm

Elliot was sprawled out on the white sand beach, eyes closed,  letting the sounds of the ocean and the beating sun wash over him like a warm hug. The salt smell was intoxicating and he found himself breathing it in so deeply that it relaxed his whole body on the exhale. The need to drink away his memories was dulled significantly by the euphoria he felt in being away from the snow-covered streets and frigid temperatures of New York City. On the beach, he was a brand new Elliot Stabler.

Beach Elliot could relax for once. Beach Elliot had a smile that reached his eyes. Beach Elliot ate delicious rich Caribbean food, danced with Kathy under the setting sun and slept in until 9am.

It wasn’t all perfect. Nightmares about the warehouse still plagued his sleep almost every night, he couldn’t bring himself to have sex with Kathy, and he craved liquor like a son-of-a-bitch, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. He felt better than he had before, so he would take it as a win.

Kathy had embraced his crazy impulse to list their house for sale and book a trip to Aruba much faster than he’d anticipated. Eli was enjoying a week-long sleepover at Maureen’s while Elliot’s realtor was working to find the perfect buyers for their home. Once the house sold, Elliot thought they might spend the rest of the winter months somewhere far away from New York. Eli could be homeschooled for a bit, he was young enough to acclimate to a new kind of schooling. Between Elliot’s pension and the profit from the sale of their house, he figured they could travel without financial worries for at least a few months. Then maybe they’d want to settle down again and find work. He wasn’t sure where they would end up or what they would end up doing but he chose not to worry about it and enjoyed the excitement of not knowing instead.

Dr. Ballard cautioned them about spontaneous life decisions during this period of transition in their lives, but he decided to ignore the man’s advice and do what he wanted for once. He’d finally found a way to numb some of the pain he’d felt after the warehouse and after cutting Olivia out of his life. If he needed to waste some money and run away from New York to feel better, that was his business, nobody else's. His family was intact and life was moving forward. At least he was running in the right direction.

January 29th, 2013 - the residence of Maureen Stabler - 7:50pm

The family of 7 huddled together outside of Maureen’s home, their breaths visible in the cold air while they waited for a taxi to arrive. The tension was palpable to all except 5-year-old Eli who was just excited to fly in an airplane.

“Are you guys sure about this?” The eldest Stabler child asked her parents, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands and trying not to cry, “Putting everything you own into storage and flying to Europe seems like-”

“-like a midlife crisis.” Richard interjected harshly. Elliot scowled at his eldest son. Richard was outspokenly angry at them for leaving. He and Lizzie were only in their sophomore year of college and his parents were fucking off for almost two months out of the country. He felt abandoned and was resentful about it.

“It’s not a midlife crisis. Your mother has always wanted to go to Europe. I’m retired and Eli’s still young enough that we can homeschool him while we travel. It’s the perfect time.” Elliot pulled his oldest son into a hug and patted him firmly on the back, “We’ll be back in no time, kid, before the semester is even over.”

“Yeah, so you said.” Richard mumbled, hugging his father back half-heartedly.

“We’re going to miss you guys.” Kathleen cried, wiping fresh tears from her face and giving her mom another firm hug. Their second eldest child was the most sentimental of their brood. Elliot wasn’t surprised that she was openly crying over their departure. Lizzie and Maureen were more closed off with their emotions, and Dickie usually expressed his negative feelings in the form of anger, a trait he’d unfortunately inherited from his old man.

“We’ll miss you too, Katie. Take care of yourselves, all of you.” Kathy said, smiling at her children and trying to hide how excited she was for her upcoming adventures. Elliot knew that she didn’t want to rub salt in their wounds.

It was Kathy’s life’s dream to travel the world. Her travel aspirations took a backseat when she fell pregnant at 17 and married him and raised 5 babies instead. There was no time or money to take adult vacations when Maureen needed braces and Dickie needed basketball shoes and Lizzie needed paint markers and Kathleen needed pocket money to go to the mall with her friends. This was her opportunity to revive the dreams of girlhood Kathy, the small Kathy who spent hours hunched over travel magazines, meticulously cutting out her favorite photos to glue to poster board, vision boards of a future sightseeing the great big world. He could give that to her and was happy to do so.

It was a win-win situation. She was living out her dreams and he was getting out of New York.

Their taxi finally arrived and Elliot released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in. He was ready, more than ready. The anticipation of leaving was heady.

Kathy ushered Eli into the back seat while Elliot handed their luggage to the driver and provided him with their destination. They waved through the window at their older kids as their ride pulled away and Elliot breathed his first full breath since Aruba.

A grand adventure was ahead.

Goodbye, New York.

March 1st 2013 - Pont des Arts bridge - Paris, France - 5pm

Elliot stood on the pedestrian bridge and took in the sight of thousands of locks attached to it. He raised his eyebrows at his wife and couldn’t help but smile at the look of awe on her face.

It was Kathy’s idea that they should add their own lock, a symbol of their new life and fresh start. He’d agreed that it sounded neat. He was very amiable these days, ready to experience anything new that life had to offer, big or small.

Eli ran his hands over the locks, clinking them together and giggling at the cacophony of metal on metal as his parents examined the monstrosity.

“Think we’re too old for this?” Elliot asked his wife lightly. She shook her head and laughed, pulling a black marker out of her pocket. He watched her write ‘ES + KS’ on the padlock and set out to find room for their love lock.

The volume of locks was overwhelming to Elliot and a touch of cynicism crept into his mind. He wondered how many of the couples were still together, how many had hurt each other, how many were stuck with one another. Standing in the most romantic city in the world with his wife and his son, he had more questions about love than he ever had before.

Elliot had love in his life that he did not take for granted - a loyal wife who stood by him no matter what and who gave him 5 beautiful children. They’d met when they were still children themselves and had built something great for themselves. He was grateful for it and he’d always love her for that, yet he knew they were missing something crucial in their relationship, a connection that he’d only felt with one woman in his lifetime.

In the rare moments where he let himself think about Olivia, his heart filled with longing for her. He missed her like a missing piece of his own soul. Looking at the locks, he allowed himself the fleeting fantasy of a parallel universe and a lock with ‘ES+OB’ dangling from the bridge with a key at the bottom of the Seine never to be found.

Kathy’s voice called out to him and he snapped back to reality. He was married. Between his loyalty to Kathy and Olivia’s dignity and moral compass, they never would have crossed that line if it weren’t for Compton. They would have only ever been friends, and now they didn’t even have the friendship holding them together. He was a world away trying to build something new and there wasn’t room for Olivia in his fragile new reality.

“I found the perfect spot,” Kathy exclaimed, waving him and Eli over and showing them the tiny spot she’d scoped out for their lock. Together, they latched it on and let their son throw the key into the river below. Kathy wrapped her arm around his waist and he pulled her into a gentle kiss.

His new life was good, he decided. Everyday was something different - new foods, sights to see, people to meet. The adventure was intoxicating. He could be happy if he just let himself be.

March 31st 2013 - the residence of Maureen Stabler - 3pm

Elliot sat around the kitchen table at his eldest daughter’s home, surrounded by the chaos of his 5 children together for the first time in months.

It was Easter Sunday, a day to celebrate the resurrection of Christ. Elliot took this holiday more seriously than most and was relieved when his eldest daughter offered to host the customary Stabler family Easter meal. She and Kathy prepared a feast of ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese, stuffing, noodle casserole and homemade rolls. Before they’d left for Europe, Kathy gifted Maureen their heirloom fine china and Maureen was all too eager to put it to use while hosting her first holiday. The sounds of silverware clinking on the plates was familiar and it made him wistful.

He was blessed to have this big family. Some weren’t so blessed. He knew Olivia would likely spend the holiday alone or working overtime to keep herself busy. Holidays were hard for her. She’d told him once that they reminded her of a family she never had. He loathed to think about her spending the day in isolation.

A pang of guilt hit when he remembered that he’d made her even more alone when he disappeared.

“Dad, are you okay?” Kathleen asked, nudging his right shoulder with her left and offering up a gentle smile, “You disappeared there for a second.”

“Yeah, I’m fine sweetheart.” He replied quietly and cut a piece of the ham on his plate, chewing it thoughtfully and watching his family interact with one another.

Maureen and Kathy were discussing Maureen’s upcoming nuptials and her struggle to decide between peonies and roses or peonies and ranunculus, Lizzie was entertaining Eli with an exaggerated story about a pig that she’d encountered during her internship at a veterinary clinic and Richard was silently pushing around the food on his plate, not engaged in any of the conversations going on around him. 

Richard was the most vocal about his dislike for his parents' drastic life changes. In the last few months, conversations between the man and his father had been icy at best and hostile at worst. Easter was the first time they’d seen one another since Elliot and Kathy left for the airport and Richard had not spoken two words to him in the hours since he’d arrived.

“Dickie, you okay over there?” Elliot asked his eldest son. Chatter at the table quieted down and attention was quickly turned to the patriarch who’d been mostly silent throughout the day.

“It’s Richard,” The younger man responded and set his fork down on his plate, “I’m fine. We should be asking you if you’re okay.”

Elliot raised his brows at Richard and crossed his arms over his chest defensively, “Okay, Richard. What are you trying to say exactly?”

Richard huffed and rolled his eyes before replying, "C’mon Dad. Don’t play dumb, please. We all know something’s going on,” Richard looked around at the rest of the family, hoping one of his siblings would chime in but they were silent and wouldn’t look at him. He sighed and continued, “You quit your job out of nowhere, spent weeks drunk on the couch, fucked off to Aruba and then sold the house and went to Europe. You pulled Eli out of school in the middle of the year for fucks sake!”

“Richard, please.” Kathy begged, reaching over Eli to put a hand on Richard’s arm, “Not now. Not today.”

“I’m sorry, mom, but this has gone on long enough. Something’s wrong here and you expect us to pretend it’s all fine! Dad quit his job out of the blue and all you’ll tell us is that we need to block Olivia’s phone number? And we’re not supposed to wonder why? We’re all adults here except Eli, yet I feel like he probably knows more than all of us about what happened. I’m tired of acting like this shit is normal.” He stood up from the table and grabbed his jacket before walking out the front door.

Elliot sat frozen in his chair. All eyes were on him but Eli’s who was too busy spooning mashed potatoes into his mouth to notice the mood shift in the room.

Lizzie pushed away from the table, whispering, “I’ll go talk to him.” Elliot wanted to stop her and take her place but he couldn’t seem to move his legs.

He felt like his son had poured a bucket of ice cold water on him. Months of running from the feelings, running from what happened in the warehouse, it all came crashing down on him. Compton had broken him so badly that he’d thought the only way to move on was to pretend it never happened and never think about it again. He distracted himself with traveling and Kathy and Eli. He moved them all over Europe, overloaded their schedule with sightseeing and tours, overloading his own system with enough sensory input to override thoughts of anything unpleasant. He’d thought he was healing himself but he realized that all he’d done was postpone the inevitable. He hadn’t moved on at all and Richard’s confrontation made that clear.

He never did contact an individual therapist like Dr. Ballard suggested. They’d spent a few weeks in couple’s counseling until they left New York and decided that they were fine once Kathy had a clearer picture of what happened in the warehouse. She never pushed for any more information after the one fateful session where he’d spilled his guts to her. That session was actually the last time that Elliot had spoken of the warehouse to any person, the last time he’d admitted what happened between him and Olivia.

It was again at the forefront of his mind with his son’s angry questioning. He noticed Maureen was on the verge of tears and Kathleen had a sympathetic expression aimed toward him. Kathy looked uncomfortable and a bit panicked. She knew the topic of Olivia was a massive trigger point for him. She also knew after Richard’s outburst that their lack of explanation was taking a toll on their children. She was conflicted, he could see that on her face. She would want to ease their worries and give them the explanations that they needed, but she also knew that telling them about the warehouse would be traumatic for everyone.

It was another impossible choice to make but Elliot was willing to have the hard conversation if it meant that his children would have peace again.

“Kath, get Lizzie and Dickie back in here. It’s time we talk about this.” He said with very little confidence in his voice.

His wife squeezed his arm comfortingly and shook her head, “you don’t have to do this today if you aren’t ready.”

“I think I do.” He replied. She stood from the table and walked outside to retrieve the twins. Maureen accompanied Eli to his room to put on a movie for the boy so the adults could talk freely. Kathleen remained at the table with her dad.

“Dad, did Liv do something?” She asked quietly. Of all of his children, she’d always been the most attached to Olivia and had taken it the hardest when her father asked - begged, really - that she block the women’s number.

“No, Katie. Liv was… She was a victim in all of it.” He replied cryptically. The words sat heavily in the air between them.

“I guess I don’t understand why we cut her out of our lives.” Kathleen said, “If she didn’t do anything wrong, I mean.”

Elliot gulped before he said, “Sometimes when you cross a line, you can’t ever uncross it and you have to walk away.”

Kathleen’s eyes widened in surprise and she started to speak again when her mother reentered the house with Lizzie and Richard.

Richard looked properly shamed, his head hanging low and cheeks flushed. He wasn’t sure what his wife and daughter said to calm him but Elliot was grateful that he didn’t return with guns blazing.

“I’m sorry, dad. I shouldn’t have-” Richard began.

“-no, you were right, “Kathy chimed in, “All of you deserve an explanation. I’m sorry we didn’t address it before. It’s just… It’s hard for your dad to talk about.”

Maureen returned to the table a moment later and the 6 of them sat together as Elliot gave them a highly censored summary of what led to him retiring from the police force. He described the general purpose of the undercover assignment, the way that the department had dropped the ball and failed to extract him and Olivia on schedule. Without being too explicit, he explained what Compton and his crew had demanded from him and Olivia. He was sure to emphasize that what happened between them was under extreme duress and under the threat of death. Throughout the story, he kept his eyes trained down at his clasped hands on the tabletop, not willing to look up into the faces of his children and see the horror he was sure he’d find in their eyes.

Some of the details he gave were new to Kathy. He hadn't told her very much at all about the warehouse and he hoped the revelations wouldn’t cause them new issues in their marriage.

After he’d given them as much information as he was willing to, he concluded, “When it was all over, I spoke to internal affairs for a few hours and turned in my badge to Cragen. I haven’t spoken to any of them since.”

He finally looked up, ready to appraise the damage he’d done to his children.

His eyes first connected with Lizzie’s across the table. She was pale and her eyes were wide, shocked and glassy. Richard’s fists were clenched and his eyes were fixed on the wall across the room. Tears were streaming down Kathleen’s cheeks and Maureen’s reaction appeared quite similar to her youngest sisters. None of them spoke.

“Do you have any questions for me?” He asked quietly. The girls all shook their heads no. Richard’s head shot up and the blue eyes of father and son met in a tense gaze. For just a second, it seemed like the younger man wanted to fight, the air charged with the anticipation of a confrontation. Then suddenly, Richard’s defenses fell and his shoulders slumped.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” He mumbled. “I really shouldn’t have pushed about it. I didn’t realize…”

Elliot rose from the table and walked over to the young man. He patted his son on the shoulder and whispered, “It’s alright, son. You didn’t know.” as he walked by and excused himself to the bathroom. Once the door was closed, he breathed out a massive shaky breath and splashed cold water on his face in a desperate attempt to calm down. The haggard image of his own face caught his attention in the mirror and he blanched at how old and worn out he appeared. 

It was the first time in months that he’d really looked at himself and appraised what he saw. He’d been going and going for so long, barely sleeping, running from his problems at full speed in a near manic state. Once they’d returned to New York from Europe he’d expected to feel some catharsis, but he hadn’t felt anything other than a desire to leave again. The numbing effect of leaving was wearing off and reality was hitting him where it hurt the most.

His children were now aware of the worst moments of his life and he was suffocating under the vulnerability he felt. He wanted to drive back to the airport, buy a one-way ticket and never think about New York again.

Elliot knew it was time to stop running. If he didn’t face it all, he’d never actually be happy again, he’d just be running from his bad feelings until he one day dropped dead.

April 19th 2013 - the office of Dr. James Urey - 2:30pm

Elliot was 6 sessions into intensive therapy before he had to talk about Olivia on a less than superficial level.

Before his first appointment, he’d promised Kathy (and himself) that he would do the work required of him to get better, that he would put in the time to find himself again so he could move on from what had happened. Easter dinner was his rock bottom and he was finally ready to crawl his way back from the depths.

He called and scheduled himself a therapy appointment as soon as the offices opened on April 1st.

During session one, he’d provided Dr. Urey with a brief summary of the warehouse incident and his reasoning for finally seeking therapy to cope with the trauma he’d endured. He’d been diagnosed with PTSD and the doctor suggested that they table the more in depth discussions about the warehouse and Olivia for later sessions once they’d covered more background and had the opportunity to get more familiar with one another. Elliot eagerly agreed to the suggestion, happy to put off the inevitable discomfort for a little bit longer.

Session two primarily revolved around discussions about his childhood and his issues with his parents. There was a lump in his throat the rest of the day after that one but he overall walked away unscathed.

Session three was a deep discussion regarding his relationship with Kathy, their history and the rockiness of their relationship which never seemed to fully abate once he’d returned home during her pregnancy with Eli. The questions hit a nerve during that session and Elliot contemplated finding a new counselor for a few days.

“Do you regret reconciling with Kathy?” He’d asked.

The question had Elliot dumbstruck and defensive, “She’s the mother of my kids, she was pregnant. She asked me to come back.” He explained.

“I understand, but I’m not asking why you moved back home. I’m asking if you regret it now.”

Elliot paused for a long time, longer than was appropriate, before responding, “I… No, I don’t regret it. I love my wife.” He stated, sounding less than confident in his own answer.

“But?” The man pressed.

Elliot sighed, “I guess there’s a part of me that wonders what could have been if we’d stayed apart.”

He’d been distant with Kathy for a few days after that session and she didn’t push him about it. Guilt gnawed at him. She’d be sleeping peacefully next to him and his own words would echo back at him, “what could have been if we’d stayed apart.”

In the fourth session, he’d spoken about his career and what being a cop had meant to him. That conversation was particularly brutal to Elliot as they discussed how fractured his identity was after Compton had turned him into one of the perps that Elliot had dedicated his life to fighting. It was soul crushing. He’d spent 3 hours in the bar after and took a taxi home.

The fifth session was primarily centered around his children and the family unit that Elliot feared he’d destroyed after Easter dinner had turned into a confession about his personal Hell.

“They’ll never look at me the same. How can they trust me after everything I did?” He’d asked Dr. Urey.

The man gave him a sympathetic smile before shrugging, “If your children know your character, they know that your actions in that warehouse do not define you as a person or align with your own morals.”

Each session helped and hurt him in equal measure. It was peeling away his defenses and forcing him to look critically at all of the pieces of who he had become. It exposed the uncertainty he had about his marriage and the codependency he worried was keeping him and Kathy together for the wrong reasons. It cracked open his childhood trauma, his propensity to run away from his feelings instead of processing them, his deep love for his children and obsession that he’d damaged them, his worry that he had no clear life’s path now that he was no longer on the force.

Somehow, he was healing and breaking all at once.

Sessions one through five were child’s play compared to what session six would do to him, he realized that as soon as Dr. Urey greeted him.

“Tell me about Olivia.” the doctor instructed, looking up briefly from his clipboard to add, “ Tell me about her as a person, who she was to you before the incident.”

He closed his eyes at the mention of her name and a memory of Olivia smiling over at him from his passenger seat filled his mind. She was cradling a coffee cup in both hands, though he knew it contained some kind of earthy tea instead of coffee. Her brown eyes stared at him in the memory, full of mirth over a joke he’d made regarding Munch’s outfit. Her joy was infectious, she was ethereal. Indescribable, really.

“I’m not sure what to say about her.” He said. “Or where to start.”

“You were smiling just now, were you thinking about her?”

“I was.” Elliot admitted, “I have a lot of good memories with Liv.”

“Would you say she was more than just a coworker to you? Would you have classified her as a friend?” Dr. Urey questioned.

Elliot realized then that he’d done an incredible job of suppressing the topic of Olivia during therapy. Somehow, his shrink didn’t even know that they had been close, not even after 6 hours of talking about Elliot’s life. That bothered him for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint.

“She is my - was my - best friend.” He said. The past tense made him flinch.

Dr. Urey looked up at his patient with a furrowed brow, “How long did you work together?”

“13 years.”

The doctor looked briefly surprised and wrote for a long time after that answer. The silence picked at Elliot’s nerves. He knew the tough questions were coming and the familiar desire to bolt was creeping up on him.

“13 years is significant. Is Olivia married as well? Does she have any children?”

“No, she was single most of our partnership. No children either.” Elliot replied, unhappy with the hint of jealousy he felt when picturing Olivia married or as a mother to some unknown man’s child.

“Partnerships in Law Enforcement don’t usually last quite that long. Tell me something about Olivia that made her a good partner for you.” Urey requested.

Elliot sighed wistfully, “Liv was incredible at the job, one of the best cops I’ve ever seen. She’s especially good with the victims, she can hold her own with perps, she’d  smarter than anyone else in the department. SVU was her calling in life. Her passion for the work kept me in the unit longer than I probably should have been.”

“It sounds like you cared deeply for her.” Urey observed.

A pang of regret struck him and he nodded, “I did. I still do and I think I always will.”

“Do you miss her?”

Elliot paused before stating, “I do. I try not to think of her too often, it just hurts and makes it harder to move forward.”

“Do you love her?”

Elliot didn’t say anything.

“Elliot, do you love Olivia?”

He didn’t answer.

May 23rd 2013 - the apartment of Elliot and Kathy Stabler - 6:45pm

Their new apartment was packed wall to wall with boxes. The 4 oldest Stabler kids had emptied the U-Haul full of their parent’s belongings in less than 2 hours. Kathy placed a pizza order for everyone’s favorites to thank them for the assistance but the kids didn’t even want a thank you, they were just relieved to have their parents back in the states to stay.

Elliot and Kathy had been hesitant to settle back down so quickly, but he’d needed consistency with his therapy, so they’d spent a pretty penny on hotels before deciding to sign a one year lease and reevaluate their travel plans later.

“We’ll always have Paris.” Kathy remarked sentimentally. She didn’t argue when he’d suggested it. She knew it would be good for Eli to be enrolled back in public school for his Kindergarten year so he could socialize with children his own age. Kathy also found that she wanted to return to the workforce and would take advantage of the opportunity to find a job now that they had a permanent address.

After a few weeks of touring different apartments to see what they liked, they settled on a 3 bed, 2 bath in Little Neck. It was close enough to all of the older kids that Elliot and Kathy could visit them often, yet far enough from Manhattan that Elliot didn’t worry about running into former coworkers or perps.

“Richard, do you mind helping me with the TV? These instructions don’t make a damn bit of sense.” Elliot grumbled.

His son laughed and nodded, joining him next to the newly-mounted television and taking the instructions from his father’s hands. He inspected the manual and the cable box, everything was plugged in correctly from what he could see. Then he noticed his father had failed to plug in the power cord. Laughing, he reached over and plugged the cord into the wall. The TV started booting up and Elliot patted him on the back appreciatively.

“Cable’s all good to go, we can watch a movie once our pizza gets here.” he announced and was met with enthusiastic whooping from his tired, hungry kids.

Kathy sat on the couch with Eli as the girls brought in the last of the boxes and Richard started assembling an Ikea dresser they’d had delivered. The scene was cozy and domestic and made Elliot feel blanketed in familial love. He felt like they belonged exactly where they were, him and Kathy and their 5 children. The move to Little Neck was big for them and Elliot was at peace with the decision. Therapy helped him realize that a fresh start didn’t include running as fast as possible away from everything you’ve known.

Life was good. He felt truly happy.

If only it could last.

The TV finally booted up and filled their living room with sound. Elliot wasn’t paying much attention at first, he was hyper focused on trying to remove duct tape from their box of plates and cups since they would need something to eat off of when the pizza arrived. The breaking news announcement caught his attention and he looked up to see what was happening.

To his horror, half of the screen filled with a photo of the last person he ever expected to see. Olivia’s police headshot stared back at him and Elliot shot up from the couch and walked closer to the television, his legs moving him automatically. Kathy gasped behind him and the conversations of their children halted instantly.

“Auntie Liv’s on TV!” Eli exclaimed happily. Kathy wrapped her arm around the boy's shoulders and gently shushed him, unable to take her eyes off of the television.

“Breaking News tonight out of Manhattan. The search continues for missing NYPD Detective Olivia Benson. Benson, who is 25 weeks pregnant, has not been seen or heard from since Tuesday, May 21st.” Elliot grabbed his chest, he felt like he was having a heart attack. He reached for the wall and held on for dear life as his knees gave out beneath him. His lungs weren’t working and his throat was closed up from panic. “She was reported missing this afternoon when her apartment was discovered ransacked. It’s suspected by law enforcement that she was abducted by 34 year old William Lewis, an accused rapist and murderer who is currently out on bail….”

“No, oh my God, Olivia.” Kathleen gasped from behind him.

Elliot was frozen on his knees as the newscaster’s words rapidly bounced around in his head.

Pregnant.

Missing.

Ransacked.

Abductor.

Rapist.

Murderer.

Pregnant.

25 weeks pregnant.

25 weeks pregnant.

25 weeks…

25 weeks.

It hit him like a freight train, the realization, the guilt, the terror, the desperation.

He didn’t have a calendar in front of him but he was sure, he’d never been more sure than anything else.

Olivia was pregnant and the baby was his.

Not only that, but Olivia and his baby were in grave danger. They were missing.

The adrenaline finally kicked in and his body started working again. He pulled himself up off the floor and tried not to throw up all over the hardwood floors of their new apartment. Kathy was standing in front of him, he didn’t remember her walking over to him.

She had done the math too, he could tell by the look in her eyes. She was horrified, anxious, and struggling not to cry. She handed him his phone, key and jacket and quietly urged, “Go. Help find Liv. Please keep us updated.”

Elliot gratefully took the items from her, teeth chattering and his fingers numb. His mind was on overdrive. He needed to call Cragen, to get in the car, to drive somewhere, wherever they were searching.

His children were all sitting down now, each of them looking as if they’d been slapped. His fatherly instincts told him to say some words of comfort, but he shook it away. He’d comfort them later, he promised himself. This wasn’t the time.

He dialed a familiar number on his phone and headed toward the door.

“Don, it’s me. Tell me what you know.”

Chapter Text

May 23rd 2013 - abandoned warehouse parking lot, somewhere in Long Island, New York - 7:50pm

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

A hard smack to the cheek brought Olivia back to rocky consciousness. She could hardly open her eyes, they were dry and her eyelids were so, so heavy.  Her head lolled from side to side as she blinked rapidly, trying to bring the world into focus through bleary eyes. Her arms were tied behind her back, legs taped at the ankles and duct tape stuck over her mouth. The last time she’d been awake, Lewis had thrown her into the trunk of Mayer's car. At some point while she was out, he’d moved her to the backseat. 

The thought of him moving her around and touching her while she was unconscious sent a chill of disgust up her spine. 

“If I take the tape off, are you gonna be a good girl?” Lewis asked in a mocking, sing-song tone. 

She nodded weakly. In her condition, and three days into her captivity, she would do almost anything he asked if it meant he would loosen or remove one of her restraints. 

The pregnancy discomfort she’d experienced before was mild compared to what she was feeling after a few days in the company of The Beast. Her lower back blazed with constant pain. Her hips throbbed and ached. Her inability to hold her bladder resulted in 3 fresh cigarette burns added to the extensive collection littering her once-perfect skin. Her head bled on and off from a pistol whip wound which throbbed near constantly, and her blood sugar was dangerously low, keeping her weaker and more docile than his sleeping pills and vodka ever could. 

The tiny movements in her belly from her baby girl were the only comfort Olivia had left, and those had stopped around 3pm on May 22nd. 

Lewis ripped the tape from her mouth with a quick motion and she sucked in lungfuls of fresh air through the pain. Much of the skin from her lips was ripped off with the tape and it left a sticky bloody residue that coated her face. The lingering aftertaste of vodka on her tongue almost made her gag, but she breathed through her nose and swallowed it back, knowing the punishment for puking would be much worse than the taste of her own sick. 

“Picked up a few things, some supplies ,” he taunted, waggling his brows and pulling out a water bottle from his brown paper bag to dangle in front of her face. She instinctively leaned toward the bottle and whined. She’d never felt such thirst in her life. Lewis laughed and pulled out a bottle of vodka, “drink this and I’ll give you some water.”

She shook her head in futile protest and closed her mouth tightly, cringing as her damaged lips stung with her refusal. Lewis gripped her jaw hard and shook her face, leaning close enough that she could smell his rancid breath, “You don’t get to say no to me!” he roared, his spittle peppering her sweat-coated skin. She was dizzy and felt like she was slipping back into unconsciousness. He smacked her again and her eyes shot back open, “I didn’t give you any pills today, stay awake.”

Olivia blinked slowly and mumbled, “I can’t. I haven’t eaten in two days.”

Lewis smirked, reached into the bag of supplies and stated, “If you do what I say, we can share this.” He pulled out a large candy bar and waved it in front of her face. Her mouth watered at the sight of it and she nodded desperately. He placed the tip of the vodka bottle onto her lips. She hesitated for a moment on instinct. Enraged, he gripped her hair, yanking her head back and forcing the liquid into her mouth. She gagged at the taste but managed to swallow a few gulps, silently apologizing to her daughter and praying to a god she didn’t believe in that her baby was still alive and wouldn’t suffer for her actions. 

“Good girl,” Lewis cooed, putting the candy up to her mouth and allowing her several bites in between his own, “You’ll get more food if you behave.” He slapped the tape back over her mouth and planted a violent, wet kiss over it. Olivia groaned and tried to squirm away, but he squeezed her face in his hands. He chugged a bottle of water while she watched, offering her none, then crushed the empty bottle against one of the burns on her upper chest. The pain had her screaming and she nearly lost consciousness again from the lack of oxygen.

Laughing, he pushed her down to the floor of the backseat and set a tarp over her. In a few minutes, she was dead to the world once again. 

May 23, 2013 - Manhattan Special Victims Unit - 7:50pm

Though he hadn’t worked at the precinct for almost 6 months, Elliot did not stop at the desk to check in when he arrived. He ran through the front doors and sprinted up the stairs leading to the Special Victims Unit, nearly colliding with 2 unis on this way up. 

When he finally reached his destination, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. The squad room had been converted into a situation room, desks pushed against the wall and replaced with cork boards of varying sizes. 

Pinned to each board were brutal crime scene photos. He scanned them all at lightning speed. 

Burnt skin, a woman’s taped wrists, a dead man’s face. 

The smallest board had only 6 photos on it. It was labeled, “Olivia Benson’s apartment”. Elliot could see that her home was completely ransacked. 

His eyes flitted between each photo rapidly until they settled on the one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

The photo was of a light purple or blue room, he couldn’t quite make out the color. 

Ripped decals of zoo animals hung from the walls. 

A white crib lay cracked and crushed in the middle of the room. 

Little baby clothes were scattered about, appearing to have been ripped or cut. 

All of the items were covered in paint and what Elliot assumed to be urine. 

Horrified, he realized it was a nursery.

The man who had taken Olivia had destroyed the nursery that she’d prepared for her baby. 

Their baby.

He walked up to the photo and ripped it from the board, holding it with both hands in front of him. It was one of the worst things he’d ever seen, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Something about the crib and the baby clothes lying destroyed had him in a trance of his own anguish.

Elliot was no stranger to the work and love that went into preparing a nursery. He could picture Olivia carefully selecting the crib where their baby would sleep, washing and folding and putting away the little clothes, anticipating the day where she’d put them on the little person she’d created. It was a beautiful, sacred right of passage in the journey to motherhood. 

Elliot knew how badly Olivia wanted to be a mother, he’d known since the first time he saw her with a child back in 1998. She’d waited 44 long years to finally experience motherhood and the excitement of pregnancy. It should have been the happiest time of her life… yet some vile, scumbag, piece-of-human-shit destroyed the room where their child was meant to sleep and violated the sanctity of Liv’s nesting. 

Elliot knew he’d kill the man if he ever laid eyes on him, consequences be damned. 

“Stabler.” 

The familiar voice pulled him out of his shocked thoughts. He tore his eyes away from the photo and saw the face of John Munch staring back at him. 

“John,” he choked out, taking in more of the photos, still white knuckling the nursery picture and trying to think straight before he spoke, “How the fuck did this happen?” 

“We can’t give you any information about the case, Elliot. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t even be in here.” Munch replied, professionally but sympathetically. He gently took the photo from the other man’s grasp to place it back on the cork board, “I can let the cap know you’re here but you might want to make yourself scarce before-”

“The fuck are you doing here?” an angry voice interrupted from the entryway. Elliot knew immediately that the voice belonged to Nick Amaro, and he felt himself snap into fight-or-flight mode. He didn’t have a problem with Nick personally but he was feeling unhinged and knew that he would lay hands on the other man if pushed too hard. 

Nick walked closer, eyes full of rage, challenging Elliot to say something. Neither uttered a word until they were standing a few feet from each other, their testosterone choking out everyone unfortunate enough to witness the dramatic display of machismo.

“This is what it takes for you to come back? She had to get kidnapped for you to give a damn about her and your kid?” Nick seethed, barely contained rage in his voice. 

The men were inches from one another, eyes locked, unblinking and unmoving. The air between them was charged with Nick’s words and the heavy, angry breaths of both men. 

Elliot sneered at his former colleague and pointed a finger into the man’s chest, “Fuck you, Amaro. You don’t know shit about how I feel.” 

Nick jabbed him in the chest, sneering, “I don’t give a fuck about how you feel, Stabler. I care about Liv. You left her without a fucking word after the warehouse, and now you show up here after months of nothing? It’s a little late to act like you care.”

“I just want to help find her.” Elliot replied defeatedly, swallowing down the anger he felt toward Nick, knowing it was just a reflection of the hatred he had for himself and the blame he put on himself for Liv’s disappearance. 

Fin walked over and pushed the two men apart. He turned to Elliot with a look of disappointment and said, "We tried to call you for months, man. Where the fuck you been?”

Elliot swallowed hard at the question. He wasn’t going to give them a recap of the last 5 months of his life, not at a time like this. 

“It doesn’t matter. I fucked up bad, I know that.” Elliot conceded, the confidence in his voice betrayed by a slight wavering break, “I didn’t even know she was pregnant until I saw the news tonight.”

Cragen, whom Elliot suspected had been silently observing the interaction for a while, finally made himself known and whistled for their attention, “Enough of this. Olivia wouldn’t stand around arguing over who is to blame, she’d be working. John and Fin, work the tip line for a few hours. If anybody mentions the beach, you send a uni to check it out. Nick and Amanda, comb through Lewis’ MO one more time. If you find clues about where he might have taken Liv after they left the Mayers, you let me know immediately. Elliot, my office.”

The detectives dispersed immediately to their respective assignments and Elliot trailed Cragen into his office. The older man perched on the end of his desk and motioned for Elliot to close the door. 

“Sit.” He instructed. 

Elliot opened his mouth to argue, to scream at the man that there was no time to sit, no time to stop, no time to breathe. He thought better of it, shut his mouth and sat down stiffly in the chair across from his former boss. There was no time to argue either. 

“If you want to be here, you’re here on my terms. You are a civilian, I am the police. You will follow my lead. Understood?”

Elliot nodded tersely. He wanted to interject but he knew better. 

“Good. Here’s what we know. Our perp William Lewis took Olivia on the 21st. We think he was waiting for her in the apartment when she arrived home that afternoon. He left with her on the 22nd and drove around with his girlfriend Vanessa Mayer while Liv was tied up in the trunk. They went to her parent’s home on Long Island for dinner. Lewis then drove her to the train station and returned later that night to her parent’s home with Liv.” Cragen stopped for a moment, turning away from Elliot and taking a deep breath before continuing in a low, mournful tone, “He murdered the father, then beat and raped the mother while he made Liv watch. She was tied up to a chair.”

Elliot recoiled at the words. The thought of Olivia Benson, the most empathetic person he’d ever met, a true champion for sexual assault victims, tied up and forced to watch a woman be raped… It was probably the worst kind of mental torture someone could inflict on her.

He knew Olivia would never be the same after witnessing that. 

“Is the mother okay? Did she say anything about Liv?” Elliot asked, dread pooling heavier and heavier in his gut. The more pressing questions he needed to ask were stuck in his throat and he found he couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud. 

Cragen paused for a beat, breaking eye contact with the younger man. His silence told Elliot that he was holding back some key information related to Olivia’s status. The unknown of it made his skin crawl. Elliot pleaded, “Whatever it is, Don, I need to know. I need to be prepared when we find her.”

Cragen sighed, “She said Liv was barely conscious, that she appeared to be drugged. Mrs. Mayer said Lewis would burn her with a lit cigarette if Liv looked away or closed her eyes while he was raping her. The woman has dozens of burns. She said…”

Elliot closed his eyes, bracing himself for the words he knew were coming. The silence in the room was palpable, suffocating.

Cragen said nothing. They were stuck in a horrible silence until Elliot whispered, “He burned Liv too, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Cragen choked out, “There was a pan on her stove with a house key and a wire hanger, there were cigarettes everywhere and… we could smell burnt flesh in the apartment.”

That was Elliot’s limit. He grabbed the trash can from next to Cragen’s desk and heaved up everything he’d eaten earlier in the day. Hot tears poured down his face as his stomach tried to bring up more and more. The vivid images of Olivia screaming with a molten hanger on her skin was just too much for his broken heart and mind to process. 

“What else?” Elliot asked, face still buried in the can.

“It’s okay, Elliot. You don’t need to hear the details.” Cragen soothed. 

Elliot slammed the can down and shook his head furiously, fist clenched at his sides and, in an agitated tone, snarled, “Like Hell I don’t. I need to know everything that you know. Everything. Keep going.”

He stood and started to pace the office, bracing himself for more devastation. 

“Okay, okay.” Cragen appeased, “We know that they left the Mayer’s house in Mr. Mayer’s car last night. We know they’re still somewhere on Long Island. Lewis told his girlfriend that he wanted to go to the beach, so we have unis out searching the beaches. There’s no way to narrow down a general search area yet because we have no idea where they went after the Mayer’s. From Lewis’ MO, we know that he’s looking for a secluded location to keep Liv, somewhere off grid where they’ll stay for a few days,” Cragen swallowed deeply before continuing, “Once he believes he’s in the clear, he usually starts a spree of rape and torture, one or two full days until he either leaves them tied up somewhere or...”

“...or he kills them.” Elliot finished the sentence and plopped back into the chair, feeling weak. His skin was clammy and his heart felt like it was beating in slow motion. He leaned over and put his head in his hands in an attempt to regain composure. 

“Elliot, I know this is bad, but this is Olivia we’re talking about. She’s tougher than most-”

“-she’s pregnant and injured, Don.” Elliot replied, voice breaking with pain.

Cragen nodded, “Yes, but that doesn’t make her weak, it makes her strong. She’s fighting for her baby, your baby, she’ll do anything to get them both out of this alive.”

Elliot knew that was the truth. Liv fought harder for children than any other cop he’d ever known. Her protective instincts would be even stronger for their child. 

The thought gave him a bit of fleeting comfort.

“I should have been there, I should have-”

“-Lewis would have shot you dead. Or worse. You don’t know him, Elliot. This is the slipperiest bastard I’ve ever seen. He’s a professional,” Cragen argued, “And this is not the time to blame yourself. You can hate yourself after we get her back.” 

The Captain pulled a stack of paperwork out from his file drawer and set it in front of Elliot with a pen, “Since we’re all hands on deck with this investigation, I’m reinstating your badge until we find Olivia. It’s been less than 6 months since you left the force so we just need you to sign a few papers and you’ll be good to go. The brass has agreed to this with only one stipulation: you cannot be armed. If someone has to take Lewis out, it cannot be you. Understood?” 

Elliot’s left eye twitched. He wanted to kill Lewis, felt as if he had to do it for Olivia, like it was the only way to make everything right. 

As that thought popped into his head, he realized it was exactly why he couldn’t be the one to take Lewis out. If he killed the man, it would be an act of revenge fueled by bloodlust and hatred, and there would be no arguing against that. He wouldn’t be able to control himself if he saw the predator and had a gun at his disposal.

He would execute Lewis, then he would go to prison. It was as simple as that. It would be yet another tragedy that Olivia would have to survive. 

An image of Olivia carrying a dark haired infant into the visiting room at Ryker’s flashed before his eyes and he shook it away immediately. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - do that to her. 

Not unless she asked him to kill the man for her. Then, he would find a way. 

In the meantime, he would agree to the stipulation and be grateful for the opportunity to assist in the search. He wasn’t sure what Cragen had to do to get his badge back for this, but he wasn’t going to question it. 

“I understand.” He told the older man.

Whatever he needed to do to be there for Olivia, he would. He’d wasted enough time. 

Cragen slid a badge across the desk to him and solemnly met Elliot’s eyes, “Good. You’ll go where I go. Once we get the call that they’ve been found, don’t lose your head. We do everything by the book. Lewis has escaped justice more times than anyone I’ve seen. If he comes out of this alive, we’ll need a squeaky clean investigation. He cannot walk away again or Olivia will never be safe.” 

Elliot nodded, “Understood.”

“Alright, then let’s get to work, detective. It’s going to be a long night.”

May 23rd, 2013 - the stolen vehicle of Mr. and Mrs. Mayer, somewhere in Long Island, New York - 11:53pm

“Every morning, every evening, ain’t we got fun? Not much money, oh but honey, ain’t we got fun?” Lewis sang tauntingly from the driver’s seat of the Mayer's SUV. 

He was driving them around in search of a final destination to carry out the worst of his plans for Olivia. She lay on the floor of the backseat covered with a tarp, trying to block out his voice and instead focus her energy on the middle of her body. 

Come on, baby girl. Move for me. Move just a little for mama. Please, sweet girl. Show me that you’re okay. Give me a reason to fight.

Nothing. 

The burns Lewis had left all over her torso hurt constantly. Her likely concussion coupled with the effects of mystery pills, alcohol, starvation, dehydration and her pregnancy left her with the most extreme headache she’d had in her life, and she’d been battling flashbacks from the warehouse since the second Lewis appeared in her home. 

None of those things hurt Olivia as much as the fact that there was no movement in her belly anymore.

She tried not to panic about it, tried to keep herself calm and alert as much as possible. 

She was barely conscious as it was, she couldn’t afford to lose more time or oxygen. 

The end was near.

Suddenly, red and blue lights flashed in her vision and the sound of a single police siren filled her ears. The fact that it was only one siren did not bode well for her odds of rescue and a sob stuck in her throat at the realization. She knew Lewis would sweet talk his way out of a ticket or kill the cop. There was no imminent miracle for Olivia. 

“He’s young… One move, he’s dead.” Lewis threatened. 

Olivia listened with an ever-growing sense of dread as Lewis attempted to charm the young officer and failed miserably. When the officer escalated his questioning of Lewis, pointing out the alcohol in the passenger's seat and asking him what was in the backseat, she wasn’t surprised to hear the gunshot. 

She took a moment to grieve the stranger, the young officer who just happened to pull over the wrong car, just another piece of collateral damage in Lewis’ game against her. 

The door near her head opened and Lewis covered her face with the tarp before lifting her out of the car and tossing her into another trunk. She landed hard on her back.
Her muffled cries went unheard by kind ears.

He slammed the trunk shut and she was wrapped in total darkness once again. 

She hated the trunk more than anything else. A panic attack crept ever closer but she fought against it, closing her eyes and picturing a baby girl with dark hair and a gummy smile and her daddy’s blue eyes. She held onto that image until her heart and breathing slowed. It wasn’t long before she was dead to the world once again. 

May 24th, 2013 - on the road, somewhere in Long Island, New York - 5:59am

Elliot’s fitful night of sleep in the cribs was too reminiscent of his previous life to be comfortable in any way. The familiar feeling of the lumpy mattress, the distinctive musty smell of the sheets, the flicking light underneath the doorway, all of it left him achy with nostalgia, and a bone deep longing for Olivia. 

The overflow of emotion he was feeling for her was all-encompassing after 5 months of pushing her out of his mind. He loved her, he always had and always would, but the shift in the way that love presented in him was transformative. It was heavy and tragic and laced with a primal, ferocious instinct to keep her safe that he could feel in every inch of his body. It was driving him, pushing him through hunger and exhaustion. 

Knowing that she was vulnerable, growing his child, injured, drugged, that he’d left her alone to face a monster… it made me crazy. He believed if he saw William Lewis alive, he wouldn’t need a gun to rid the earth of the putrid creature. He was certain he could rip the man’s heart out of his chest with nothing but his bare hands and the power of his love for Olivia Benson.

If she asked him to kill Lewis, he would do it without hesitation. 

If she was alive to ask.

Elliot told himself she would be, she had to be, it was the only reality he could stand to live in. 

If she didn’t make it out, neither would he. 

There was no world in which he could live with himself if he lost Liv like this. 

And their baby…

How could he walk the earth another 40 years knowing there was a sixth child he was meant to have, one that he never got to meet because he’d abandoned Olivia and didn’t protect her from harm? 

It was too much suffering for one man to survive, he was sure of that. 

He sat in the passenger’s seat of Cragen’s car as they raced to Long Island, lights on and sirens blazing. He was trying not to assume the worst but he and Cragen had been called to meet Nick and Fin over 3 hours before their scheduled swap. 

The other two detectives had covered the overnight shift on Long Island, working with unis to search beaches and follow-up on tips from the 24/7 tip line. Elliot had wanted to go with them but Cragen made him stay back at the precinct, promising they would swap out at 8am on the 24th.

They’d stayed busy at the precinct until the early hours of the morning, scouring over maps for potential search locations to add to the growing list. Cragen finally convinced him to lay down for a few hours of sleep around 3am, but sleep did not find Elliot until 4am. A call came in at 4:43am that they were needed on Long Island.

Munch handed them each a cup of disgusting black coffee as they hurried out the door. The energy boost it provided was diminutive. 

Elliot was impatient. Their drive to Long Island from Manhattan was long and the sirens only helped so much during rush hour. He resisted the urge to ask Cragen to let him drive so he could shave a few minutes off of the journey, already knowing the captain would refuse and tell him to relax. 

Every second they didn’t have Olivia was another second closer to Elliot’s inevitable insanity. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when they finally approached the scene, the red and blue lights in the distance illuminating the orange morning sky. Dozens of units came into view as the lights flashed ever brighter. 

Elliot braced himself. 

A passage from Psalm 34 looped in his head, “ The righteous cry out, and the LORD hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. The righteous person may have many troubles, but the LORD delivers him from them all; he protects all his bones, not one of them will be broken.”

Please God, deliver them from this, he prayed, deliver them. Save Olivia. Save our child. Please God, I will do anything.

As soon as Cragen put the car in park, Elliot jumped out and sprinted to the crime scene, flashing his newly reacquired badge at anyone who offered resistance. As he approached, he saw a uniformed officer lying lifelessly on the ground in a puddle of dark blood, surrounded by his brothers in blue, with a single gunshot wound to the head. 

They were informed that the man’s name was Jimmy Hamilton and he’d only been on the job for 3 months. Lewis had murdered him and taken his gun, badge and squad car. 

“Anything in the car?” Cragen asked Nick, a look of dread lining his features.

The detective winced, replying, “traces of blood and hair. Looks like he had Liv on the floor of the backseat.”

“ And that's Hamilton's squad car?” Cragen asked, gesturing at the empty squad car that was also surrounded by unis and a crime scene investigator.

“Lewis used it to pull over another driver, pistol-whipped her, locked her and her baby in the squad car trunk, drove off in her minivan. We got a BOLO out on a white minivan with Connecticut plates.” Fin advised. 

“He'll ditch that as soon as he can, go to ground.” Elliot suggested, hating the way his voice sounded small. 

Time was running out, he could feel it, feel the walls closing in. 

“We've moved the grid search east and south, checking every home, foreclosed home, second home, even boats, from here to the water's edge.” Nick said, with a bit more confidence than Elliot believed was warranted. There was a lot of ground to cover. Anything could happen to Olivia in the meantime. 

“All right, check hardware stores, gas stations, anywhere they could've stopped between here and Montauk.” Cragen instructed. 

Nick and Fin left immediately and Elliot took a moment to survey the area. He saw a woman sitting in the back of an ambulance, clutching a baby in her arms and sobbing. The sight stole his breath away. It reminded him too much of what was at stake. 

Cragen called Munch and Amanda and instructed them to contact gas stations in the area to gather their surveillance videos from the night before. He and Elliot stayed on scene, going over the evidence that had been collected by ESU and setting up a mobile workstation in the back of Cragen’s squad car. 

At 8am, Cragen received a call from Fin that had the blood draining from his face as he listened. Elliot wasn’t able to hear the other end of the conversation, but based on the look his former Captain was giving him, he dreaded the news.

After a few minutes of tense listening, Cragen thanked Fin numbly and advised him and Amaro to head back to the cribs for some rest. It was clear from Cragen’s reaction that both detectives refused to leave Long Island.

Elliot understood why. How could anyone truly rest knowing Liv was being tortured? 

They could catch up on rest once she was safe. 

When Cragen hung up the call, he quietly advised Elliot that the owner of a hardware store in Yaphank had sold Lewis a tarp, a rope, some wire and a handheld blow torch at 7:45pm the night prior. 

The news hit Elliot square in the chest. He wondered sincerely if he could be having a heart attack as a bolt of pain passed through his arm and into his chest. 

If she dies, I die. If she dies, I die. If she dies, I die. If she dies, I- 

“Breathe, son. You can’t lose it now, we don’t have her yet.” Cragen soothed, not sounding completely calm himself but trying to put on a brave face for the other man. 

It didn’t help.

May 24th, 2013  - a beach house somewhere on Long Island, New York - 1:15pm

Time was running out, Olivia knew that. 

Lewis had found his perfect torture spot, the one he’d been waxing poetic about for 4 long days. It was an empty beach house with no nearby neighbors to hear her tortured screams. He’d even ditched the car and covered their tracks to ensure there would be no interruptions. 

Any hope she’d had of someone saving her was gone. She would have to save herself. 

Or die trying. 

She was cuffed to a metal bedpost, the skin of her wrists raw and weeping from her attempts to escape while Lewis was out dumping the car. She’d saved every bit of energy for that opportunity and tried like Hell to make it count for something. 

She’d been able to move the bed a few feet when he’d caught her and thrown her fully back onto the mattress. She’d narrowly avoided landing directly on her stomach, but had instead managed to land on her elbow which dug into the long, wire-shaped burn on her left hip. 

Olivia screamed from the pain and Lewis gave her a look of fake sympathy, “You sad? Thinking about someone you’ll never get to see again?” He ran a finger up and down her belly and she thrashed to get away from the touch, “Baby daddy, maybe? Bet you’d give anything to see him just one more time. You’re gonna cry out his name at some point, they always do.” Lewis grinned as he inched closer to her face, his putrid breath making her gag through the tape, “Put him out of your mind, you don’t make it out of here alive.”

Olivia didn’t give up then, though. She couldn’t. She was tired and dizzy and angry and afraid and in pain, but she was a mother, she had to fight until the end. 

She tried every tactic she could think of: baiting him, placating him, taunting him, bargaining, begging, acquiescing. The two of them went back and forth, verbally jabbing at one another. Nothing worked in her favor and she was fading out fast. Her mind said fight but her body wouldn’t let her. 

Lewis finally had enough of the buildup. Olivia didn’t have any more fight  to give. 

He climbed on top of her; her eyes wouldn’t stay open. 

He smacked her in the face; she could hardly feel the pain. 

His hands were on her breasts; she was almost back into blissful unconsciousness. 

Too much trauma, too many substances, no food and the pregnancy her body was trying desperately to keep had used up all of her reserves. 

She was done.

Then, there was a knock at the door which stopped the predator in his tracks. Divine intervention, perhaps, but Olivia was too far gone to appreciate the timing. Her breaths were slow and deep, her eyes closed, her heart slowing for the first time in days. It was almost over. 

Lewis told her to shut up and left the room, but she didn’t hear him. 

A wave of peace washed over her. Her eyes were still closed, but she could see a warm light filling the space all around her. She was in a dream, or a vision, or a hallucination. 

She didn’t care what it was, really, she was so close to freedom.

It was a safe place, the safest place she’d ever been. The warm light grew larger and brighter around her, kissing her skin softly. She sighed at the feeling, her soul filling with contentment for the first time in many years. 

Olivia knew that she was exactly where she belonged. 

Her burns were healed, her back no longer ached, her head no longer throbbed with pain. 

Her arms were no longer restrained. Instead, they cradled a perfect, swaddled baby with a crown of dark hair and the chubbiest little cheeks she’d ever seen.

She knew in her heart that the baby was her daughter. The joy she felt at the sight of her beloved child was all-consuming. 

She laughed a bubbly, carefree laugh that she’d never heard from herself before. It was an unburdened laugh. It was the laugh of the Olivia Benson she could have been if life had been just a little less cruel to her. It was the light, airy laugh of a woman who loves and is loved and is never alone and is never lonely. 

In the warm place with the bright light, she could be that Olivia. She could thrive with her little baby and feel none of the pain Lewis brought to her, none of the damage her mother had caused her, none of the lifelong inferiority that Joseph Hollister had instilled in her when he’d raped her mother and violently brought about her existence. 

The agony of losing Elliot did not exist in the warm light. 

Nothing bad lived there, only all of the good things that she deserved to have. 

For once, Olivia decided to choose the painless path. She started to walk slowly forward, eager to feel more of the warmth. Walking had never felt so easy as she cradled her cooing baby girl and led them both into safety, into a place where no one could ever hurt them again. 

She knew if she just kept walking into the warmth that she could stay there forever with all of the good things she’d spent her lifetime craving and none of the bad things she’d spent her lifetime receiving.

It didn’t matter to her anymore if it was all a hallucination, or a vision, or a vivid dream borne of a dying mother’s desperate wish to spend eternity with her baby. She’d already chosen the light and she would accept whatever came next.

Until his voice stopped her in her tracks. 

Not even the promises of that bright eternal light could make her turn away from Elliot’s voice. 

You have to fight, Liv. Don’t give up now, this is your last chance. Turn around, come back to me.

She shook her head weakly a few times, replying, “No, it’s better here. We’re safe here.”

The light will wait forever for you, Liv. But you aren’t done on this earth yet. You deserve to watch her grow. If you stay there, she’ll be a baby forever. She’ll never know her daddy or her siblings. She has a family here… you both do. Please come back.

His voice was crystal clear and she could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her ear as he begged. The light was still calling to her, but the allure was fading with the desperation in Elliot’s voice. 

“I’m too weak, El. You don’t know what he did to me.” She replied mournfully. 

You have one more fight in you. I know it’s hard to see it, but it's deep down inside of you - in the part of you that wants to live, in the part of you that wants to see me again, in the part of you that’s never stopped fighting a day in your life - there is strength left. You have to pull it from the angriest, most stubborn part of yourself and fight back.

“ What if I can’t?” she whispered.

You can. You can fight and you can win. And when you do… you kill him, Olivia. Don’t hesitate. Do not let him leave that beach house. You and the baby will only be safe if he’s dead. 

She stood frozen, her soul being tugged in two opposite directions.

Go, Liv! Now! You’re running out of time. 

She looked down at the bundle in her arms and knew that she had to try one more time.

“Your daddy is right. Trust mama. We’ll be together again soon,” She sighed and kissed the baby’s soft cheek, whispering, “Goodbye for now, my love.”

She turned away from the light and ran. Instantly, the warmth faded from her skin, the pain returned to her body, her baby returned to her womb. 

Her eyes opened and she was back on the bed - filthy, bloody, bruised and wide awake. Buzzing. 

Elliot’s words repeated over and over in her head. You have to fight, Liv. He’d begged her to try, so she would try . 

She would go one last round with the Beast for him. 

The door opened. 

Olivia steeled herself for the final showdown.

Lewis entered her space with a sickening grin on his sweat-coated face. The tension in the room was palpable. They both knew it was time. 

He gleefully informed her that a maid and her 5 year old daughter were tied up in the other room. He was enchanted by the little girl, Luisa. 

The mention of the girl enraged Olivia.

The burning ember of the fight inside of her was growing fast.

She started to taunt him about how he only went after vulnerable people - little girls, old ladies, pregnant women - how he couldn’t handle a real fight, how he was scared to rape her because he was afraid she could kick his ass, even while pregnant. He was afraid she would see how weak he really was. 

“I think you’re afraid of me.” She breathed out, all fear and baseless confidence and rage. 

Elliot’s words replayed on a loop and the ember of fight was suddenly a flame licking at her muscles. The strength was filling her, her body was finding it for her despite everything she’d endured.

“I’m not the one who’s afraid, Olivia. You forget, you have more to lose than I do,” he sneered. He climbed on top of her, straddling her legs and pulling a knife out of his pocket. Olivia pulled harder against the bar she was cuffed to with steady, sustained force as Lewis pulled her shirt up over her belly and placed the blade on the bottom of her baby bump, grinning, “let’s see how tough you are after a c-section, hm?”

She focused every bit of energy and power and rage that lived in her onto that bar. 

One slice to her abdomen, about 3 inches long and a half centimeter deep, was all it took. The most primal scream she’d ever heard burst forth from her own mouth and she lurched forward in response to the pain, the bar finally coming free with the sheer force of her body. 

She gripped it like a bat and, in one fluid motion, swung for Lewis’ left hand. 

It landed on his fingers with a loud crack and he shrieked in pain. The force of the blow knocked him back and he dropped the gun onto the mattress. Olivia kicked it onto the floor out of his reach, then kicked Lewis off of the bed using both of her legs. He fell to the floor with a thud and a groan, knife still gripped in his right hand. 

Blood seeped from her abdomen, but she didn’t falter, not for a second. She knew there were more guns in the room somewhere and she wasn’t about to give him another chance to find one of them. 

She swiftly bent to pick up the firearm with her cuffed hands and limped over to him, bringing the butt of the gun down on his face as hard as she could. She watched his teeth burst from his mouth and scatter on the wood floor. The animalistic scream he let out gave her very little satisfaction. 

The Beast was not dead yet. He still had the knife and he was trying to stand up. He was swinging it in her direction.

She needed to end it.

Elliot’s voice screamed back at her, guiding her next movements. 

Olivia, don’t hesitate.

She didn’t.

She aimed the gun and fired.

Time seemed to slow down as she watched the bullet enter Lewis’ face square in the middle of his forehead. 

She watched him fall back, eyes open and instantly lifeless. 

The gun fell from her hands and clanged to the floor, startling her back to reality. 

It’s over. It’s finally fucking over.

She turned away from Lewis and stumbled toward the door. There was a full length mirror in the room and she caught a glimpse of herself in it. 

She was unrecognizable. Her hair was ratted and oily, skin slicked with grease and sweat and blood. Her eyes were dull and her skin pale, ghostly. 

The yellow baby doll maternity shirt that Lewis had dressed her in was rapidly turning red in color, reminding her that she wasn’t quite out of the woods yet. 

She limped back over to Lewis’ body and rummaged through his pockets to find the handcuff key and the phone he’d taken from the maid. As she tried to use her left hand to look through his pockets, pain shot through her arm and she realized her left wrist was broken. 

Through the pain, she persisted. Time was running out. 

She would not let Lewis steal her victory. 

She found the handcuff key first and was able to twist her unbroken wrist enough to unlock the restraints. She threw them across the room and started to dig in his other pockets. 

Adrenaline and determination were all that she had left. 

When she finally wrapped her fingers around the phone and pulled it from his pocket, Olivia felt a moment of triumph and the unbelievable realization that she might actually survive. 

If she didn’t bleed out, there was a chance she’d get to meet her baby, to see Elliot again, to live a new life. 

She’d fought and she’d won and the rest of her life was the prize.

She dialed 911. 

May 24th, 2013  - on a road somewhere, Long Island, New York - 1:50pm

Elliot and Cragen stood on the beach supervising the dozens of unis that were searching the area. Several officers were going door to door, passing out flyers with Olivia and Lewis’ faces, and cautioning the residents not to answer the door for anyone but police until Lewis was captured. Other unis were searching the sand and the water for-

-Elliot didn’t want to think about what they were searching for. 

The trail was cold for now. All they could do was keep looking and keep hoping.

As they walked down the beach, finding absolutely nothing for the umpteenth time, he let out a growl of frustration. Cragen grabbed his arm and turned Elliot to face him. 

There was a look in his eyes that Elliot did not like. He tried to shake off the other man’s grip but Cragen tightened his fingers. 

“Don’t.” Elliot warned in a low growl, “Don’t say it.”

“Elliot, you need to prepare yourself. If she’s alive-”

“-she’s alive, Don,” He pulled his arm out from Cragen’s hold and put some space between them, “you can’t give up on her.”

“I’m not giving up. I’m trying to tell you that you need to prepare yourself. If Olivia is alive, she’s going to be in rough shape. You saw the crime scene photos from Lewis’ other sprees.” Cragen advised with a gentle, sympathetic voice that made Elliot want to scream. 

He nodded stiffly, “Whatever he did, we’ll get her through it.”

Cragen took a moment to contemplate his answer before asking, “Are you planning to stick around?”

Elliot snapped, “We’re having a baby . You think I’m going to abandon Liv and my kid?” 

Of course they think that, you already did, a small voice in his head taunted. He shook it away. 

“Olivia wouldn’t hold it against you, Elliot.” Cragen assured him, “Neither of you chose what happened in the warehouse, but she made a choice to keep the baby. She doesn’t hold you to her choices, she’s made that very clear.” 

Elliot thought that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. There was no world in which he would walk away from Olivia and their kid just because of the way the child was conceived. 

The warehouse was a hideous nightmare that he’d never forget, but their child was separate from that, a flower blooming up through the cracks of newly-laid asphalt. It was a miracle. 

He hated that Olivia had resigned herself to being a single mother, and hated even more that their baby’s conception made her question if he would want them. 

He wanted them - both of them - way too much. 

“I’ve made a choice too. I’m choosing my family, my whole family. That includes Liv and our baby now. I’ll take care of them, no matter what.” 

Cragen nodded, a small smile gracing his worry-worn face, “I’m glad to hear that. Olivia deserves a family.”

He felt a lump in his throat as he agreed, “She does.” 

Elliot thought she deserved the entire world. 

He would give her as much as he could, just as soon as she was safe.

Cragen patted him on the back and gestured toward the car, “Let’s head to the next location. It’s about 15 minutes away, we can stop at the Shell for gas and coffee on the way.” 

Elliot agreed without much gusto and they headed back to the vehicle. It felt like someone was tightening a rope around his neck just a little tighter every time they left a search location without Olivia. 

There were too many spots and not enough time. Every second they didn’t have her was another second Lewis could be raping, torturing, killing her. The thought would surely drive him to madness. 

Oh Lord, please hear my prayer. Please help us find Liv, keep her safe until-

Cragen’s radio squawked to life, “Dispatching units to 98 Spring Way. Caller claiming to be Detective Olivia Benson, requesting emergency response and SVU, ambulance en route. Captain Cragen, do you copy?”

Elliot started sprinting toward the car, though he couldn’t feel his legs anymore.

Cragen snatched the radio from his waist and responded, “10-4, on our way. “ 

As soon as they were in the car, Elliot punched the address into the GPS. 

It was only 7 minutes.

They were so close. 

Oh Lord, please hear my prayer, keep her safe until we arrive-

“We’re 7 minutes out,” Cragen spoke into the radio and spun out of the driveway, flipping on the lights and sirens and accelerating to 80 mph within seconds, “We’ll be there in less than 5. Any status on Detective Benson?”

“Dispatcher said she sounded weak, he couldn’t get much out of her. She provided her name, the address, stated that the perp is deceased, that there are two hostages tied up in the home that she was unable to free. She also reported that she is bleeding and needs EMS. He tried to ask where she was bleeding from but the call disconnected.”

Elliot gripped the dashboard and tried to breathe. 

Oh Lord, please hear-

“Is anyone on location yet?” Cragen asked, making a sharp left and almost sending them careening into a ditch. He corrected immediately and picked up speed. 

They were so close. 

“No, you’re the closest. Long Island PD have been advised that you’re taking command of the scene, they’ll arrive in 6 minutes, EMS is 13 minutes out.” 

“10-4.” Cragen responded. 

They were 2 minutes away, which was actually 60 seconds with the way Cragen was driving. He reached into the center console and pulled out a department-issued pistol. He handed the gun to Elliot who accepted it without question. Lewis was dead, it’s not like he could kill the man again. 

Cragen instructed, “You get Liv, stay away from Lewis’ body, don’t touch a thing. Just find her and assess her injuries until EMS arrives. We’ll figure out the rest later. I’ll secure the house.”

Elliot didn’t need to be told twice. He was out of the car before the wheels stopped, sprinting to the door and yanking on the knob with almost enough force to take it off its hinges. He gripped the gun with his right hand.

“Liv!” He called out. 

She wasn’t in the living room. He ran over to another door and threw it open, gun ready on instinct. The smell of blood filled his nostrils and he only took a moment to assess Lewis’ corpse on the floor. 

“Olivia!” He called out. She wasn’t in there either. 

He ran to the next door, throwing it open, praying again and again that Liv would be there.

Oh Lord, pl-

The strong smell of vodka and cigarettes hit him like a brick wall.

And there she was. 

She was laying in a bathtub, pale but alive, holding a bloody shirt to her stomach and breathing in short, labored pants. Her eyes were closed but tears streamed down her dirty cheeks. Her expression was too calm and it made him nervous. 

She was the most beautiful and terrifying thing he’d ever seen. 

“Liv,” he breathed out, dropping down to his knees next to her. He immediately put his hands on hers, applying pressure to her wound and yelling their location to Cragen, “stay awake, ambulance is on the way, stay with me.”

“El,” she wheezed, the ghost of a smile on her lips, “I-I-I did what you said. I didn’t hesitate.” 

Her teeth chattered as she spoke. He resisted the urge to pull her into his warmth. 

“You did good, Liv. You did so good. Now you have to stay awake for me just a little longer.” Her head lolled to the side and Elliot shook her with a now bloody hand, “Please, stay awake.”

“I wish you were here, El,” she whispered, “I wish you would come save me.”

“I’m here, I’m right here. I’m with you. I’m not leaving you again.” Elliot promised, tears blurring his vision. He swiped his face on his shoulder to wipe them away, keeping his hands firmly on her stomach.

She didn’t seem to hear him but she kept breathing and that’s all that mattered. 

Cragen called out that EMTs were entering. Elliot moved slightly to give them more space to kneel beside Liv, but his shaky red-stained hands did not leave her for even a second.

“She’s 25 weeks pregnant.” Elliot heard Cragen inform the EMTs.

The male EMT hung back in the doorway as the female EMT knelt down beside Olivia and placed a gentle hand on her arm. She spoke softly, “Detective Benson, my name is Bethany. I’m going to help you.” Bethany put her hands on Elliot’s, asking him without words to remove his hands from the wound so she could take over. He did so without argument. She continued speaking directly to Olivia, “I’m going to take a look at your stomach now, Olivia, I just need to see if the bleeding has stopped.”

Liv’s eyes were still closed but she nodded slightly. Bethany carefully pulled the formerly yellow shirt from Olivia’s stomach to reveal a cut which Elliot estimated to be 3 or 4 inches long. He knew the pain must be unbearable.

The placement of the cut made him very uneasy, he’d seen Kathy cut in the same spot during the twin’s birth. 

He told himself it must have been a coincidence.

He noted with slight relief that the bleeding had slowed, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign anymore. Olivia was pale and listless and the shirt was absolutely soaked.

“Good news, the bleeding is under control. We’ll clean the cut real quick and then get you to the hospital.” Bethany assured. 

Olivia nodded slightly in understanding. She opened her eyes tiredly and her gaze settled on Elliot. He tried to smile at her through his tears, but she looked away from him. There was something akin to a heart break in her expression.

He ached to reach out to her, but knew he should stay out of Bethany’s way so the woman could get Liv ready to transport.

The sooner they got her out of the tub and into the ambulance, the better. 

As Bethany poured saline solution over Olivia’s abdominal wound, Elliot took time to finally assess her many injuries. 

Since she was only wearing a very stained beige maternity bra and a pair of black leggings, he was able to see a great deal of her skin. To his horror, there was hardly a 2-inch patch that wasn’t marked with a burn or wound of some kind. He counted at least 9 cigarette burns, a long thin burn that he believed was from a wire hanger, and a burn in the shape of a key on her chest. Her belly had at least 3 angry looking burns that he knew would itch like crazy as their baby grew, and the thought brought him great sorrow. 

Her arm sat at an unnatural angle, he guessed that it was probably broken. Her wrists were raw and bloody and resembled hamburger meat. She had several cuts on her forehead that were crusted in dried blood and surrounded by black bruising, and innumerable cuts on the rest of her visible skin. 

All of those injuries were just on her front torso. There was no knowing what he’d done to her lower body or back, or what horrors she’d faced beyond the physical. 

Olivia moaned in pain as Bethany applied a sterile dressing over the wound. When it was secured, Bethany soothed, “You did great, Olivia. We’re ready to move you now. This is my partner, Jeremy. He’s going to help me lift you onto the stretcher. Is that okay?”

Liv nodded weakly and scooched forward, closing her eyes as Jeremy grabbed her from under her armpits, Bethany lifted her feet and they eased her flat onto the stretcher next to the tub. 

Elliot noticed Don watching from the entryway with a look of anguish. 

The EMTs draped a blanket over Liv, covering all but her head, before wheeling her through the house toward the front door. Elliot followed close behind. 

When they entered the living room, he was only mildly startled to see dozens of unis scattered throughout the home. He noticed a Hispanic woman and child sitting on the couch talking to Fin. The child was nearly hysterical and the woman wasn’t fairing much better. Elliot guessed they were Lewis’ hostages, the ones that Liv told 911 she couldn’t untie. 

Nick stood in the entryway, holding the door open for them. He looked at Liv with an expression of relief and heavy grief. As the stretcher passed by him, Liv reached out and gave his hand a small squeeze. Elliot stopped for only a second, placing a hand on the other man’s shoulder in a gesture of respect and comfort. Amaro nodded tersely and did the same back to him.

Olivia was quickly loaded into the ambulance and Bethany waved Elliot over to join them. He appreciated that Cragen must have made that happen for him, that the Captain knew he should stay with Liv. 

He settled into a seat next to her stretcher. She wouldn’t look at him. It made him ache, but he told himself that it was okay if she was mad at him because he was mad at himself. If she never forgave him, he wouldn’t hold it against her because he knew he didn’t deserve it. 

He watched as Bethany hooked her up to several monitors and put an oxygen mask over her face. Elliot could see the blood pressure monitor and was alarmed at the low numbers flashing brightly on the screen. 

The male EMT stood next to Bethany, handing her supplies and quietly speaking instructions to her that Elliot could barely make out. Then, he climbed into the front seat and they were off, lights and sirens blazing. 

Olivia’s eyes closed again and her breaths slowed. They were slower than they should have been, he knew that much. 

“I’m going to check on your abdominal wound again, Olivia. We’re less than 10 minutes from the hospital. Just try to stay awake for me.” Bethany asked calmly and peeled back the blanket and sterile dressing. 

Elliot could see a bit of blood on the dressing but was relieved it wasn’t gushing.

Bethany turned to Elliot, whispering, “We need her to stay awake. Talk to her. Try to keep her eyes open.” 

Elliot didn’t know where to start. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know how. He wanted to throw himself at her feet and beg her for forgiveness and pledge every second of the rest of his life to her to make up for his colossal failure, but he knew it was selfish to put that on her in the back of an ambulance when she’s barely hanging on to consciousness. 

Liv didn’t need his self-pity or apologies, she needed him to be the strong one. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Liv. Open your eyes, you’ve gotta stay awake,” he said tenderly. Her eyes flitted to his for only a second before she fixed her stare on the ceiling. He continued, “It’s okay if you’re mad at me, I deserve it. Just know that I’m not going anywhere. Not ever again.” he whispered, reaching over to move a piece of greasy, snarled hair out of her eye. 

She flinched at the touch and closed her eyes again. He pulled his hand away like it burned and vowed to himself that he would not touch her again until she was ready. He couldn’t bear the thought that he might trigger her. 

“2 minutes out, Detective Benson. Keep those eyes open for me, I know you’re tired, but it’s important.” Bethany urged. 

When she opened her tired brown eyes again, Elliot saw a flood of tears gathering in the corners. He knew she would refuse them passage until she was ready to let them fall. 

That was Liv’s way. 

They pulled up to the ambulance bay and he moved out of the way to give them room to work. Bethany and Jeremy quickly wheeled Olivia out of the ambulance. There were 20  to 30 unis lined up at the bay forming a barricade, and Elliot realized it was because there were dozens of reporters outside of the hospital trying to get photos of Liv. 

The feelings of rage and disbelief that bubbled up in his chest were swallowed down for a later date when he was alone with a punching bag. 

They wheeled Olivia into the hospital quickly where there was a team of medical staff waiting. The sheer volume of them made Elliot incredibly uneasy. He couldn’t decide if they were rolling out the red carpet for the injured cop, or if her condition was a lot worse than he’d let himself believe. 

The handoff from EMS to hospital staff was a blur with Bethany rattling off numbers to one of the nurses and another nurse speaking quietly to Olivia while another one took her vitals and then started wheeling her away. 

Elliot followed closely behind, flashing his badge at anyone who looked at him sideways.

When she was wheeled into a triage room with a 7-man trauma team, one of the male staff put a firm hand on his chest to stop him from following while another person shut the door. 

Elliot snarled at the man and was about to break his fingers when he felt Cragen’s gentle hand on his shoulder. The other man’s presence reminded Elliot that he needed to keep his cool so he didn’t get himself kicked out of the hospital. 

“I’m sorry, sir, they need space to triage her, her condition is critical. I understand that the police have a vested interest, but please allow us to do our jobs so we can get Detective Benson the care she needs.” The male nurse stated firmly.

Cragen nodded, but Elliot was not appeased. He wanted to scream at the man that he wasn’t police, he was family . He wanted to tear the door off of its hinges and refuse to leave Olivia’s side for the next 30 years. 

He paced outside of the room, glowering at anyone who went in or came out. At one point, several bags of blood were brought in, followed by two more within minutes. It made him sick with worry. 

Then, the screaming started. 

Her screams were tortured, blood-curdling. Cragen had to physically restrain him from entering her room when he heard those screams. They penetrated his being. He could feel her pain inside of him and it was akin to torture. 

All he could do was stand in the hallway while she endured more suffering. 

After almost an hour, they finally opened the door and allowed him and Cragen to enter. 

The sight of her took Elliot’s breath away. 

She was laying in the bed, half covered with a blanket, dressed in a light blue hospital gown. She looked impossibly pale and small and heartbreakingly maternal with her hand resting on her belly. There was an oxygen cannula in her nose, several bags of fluids and a bag of blood hung on an IV pole. The IV line was in Liv’s right hand, the bloodline was in a vein near her elbow between two dressed burns. One wrist was wrapped in gauze, the other was in a sling. Her forehead was cleaned and stitched and her hair had been brushed and pulled back into a ponytail. 

Her face was empty of emotion. 

Elliot’s heart could not possibly survive much more, he was certain he would break soon.

He entered the room first and cautiously walked to the chair on Olivia’s right side, sitting down gently so as not to startle her. Cragen entered behind him and took the seat to her left. 

The older man reached out a hand and Liv grasped it with her unbroken one. A silent tear trailed down her cheek and she whispered, with trembling uncertainty, “They’re waiting for someone from OB to come do an ultrasound. I haven’t felt anything in two days.” 

A sob caught in Elliot’s throat, and the instinct to grab her and pull her to his chest and hold her was so powerful that he had to grip the arms of his chair to control himself. 

He'd promised himself that he would not touch her again until she was ready and he intended to keep that promise. 

“Oh, Olivia. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Cragen cried out, his voice cracking and breaking apart under the weight of his guilt, “I shouldn’t have sent you home.” 

Olivia shook her head and squeezed his hand, soothing him with her quiet words, “You were looking out for me. None of us could have known that… that-” she shivered and looked away from her Captain, “Nobody is responsible but him .” She closed her eyes for a few moments and it almost seemed like she was asleep until she quietly added. “It doesn’t matter right now. I actually need a favor.”

Cragen leaned closer and replied, “anything.”

Her lip trembled and she whispered, “I need you to find Elliot. If the baby is gone, I need to tell him.”

Elliot’s spine stiffened and his breath caught in his throat. He looked at Cragen in disbelief and the other man’s expression was equally as shocked. For a moment, the room was utterly silent as the men realized what was happening. 

“Liv,” Elliot breathed out, “I’m here. I’m right here with you.” 

She didn’t look at him or react to his words, just continued to look at her Captain, tears swimming down her cheeks. 

“Olivia,” Elliot urged, a little bit louder, a little bit desperately, “Look at me. Please.”

She closed her eyes and her tears picked up speed. Her body shook as she breathed out, “I think I’m going crazy.” 

Cragen smiled sadly and shook his head, speaking gently, “You aren’t crazy, Olivia. Elliot is right next to you. He’s real. I promise.”

May 24th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 3:51pm

For a moment, Olivia was as still as a statue. Cragen’s words sent a shock so monumental through her body that she couldn’t remember how to speak or breathe. She stared at her mentor and searched his face, scanning for micro expressions which might imply he was lying to her. 

She saw nothing but raw honesty in his gaze. 

Her mind raced. She couldn’t bring herself to look over her shoulder to where the Phantom Elliot Stabler was posted up next to her bed. The stakes were too high. 

If she looked over and the chair was empty and he wasn’t real, it would confirm that she was,  in fact, crazy. Or worse, hallucinating.  

And if she was hallucinating, then maybe none of it was real. Maybe her rescue wasn’t real. 

Maybe she was still tied up in the beach house being raped or beaten or having her baby cut from her womb with a kitchen knife or bleeding to death in the bathtub. 

Maybe she was already dead.

She’d heard Elliot’s voice in her head, telling her to fight, telling her to kill Lewis. It brought her back from the brink of death.

Then, he’d appeared when she was laying in the bathtub waiting for the EMTs and the apparition of Elliot Stabler sat in the bathroom as they tended to her.

He sat next to her in the ambulance and tried to speak to her, and she could almost feel his fingertips as he brushed the hair from her face. 

The phantom had walked near the gurney as they wheeled her past a few dozen of her brothers in blue into the hospital. 

And now, he sat next to her like a sentry in her hospital room. 

But she knew he wasn’t real. 

He wasn’t real, because how was he wearing a badge when he’d quit the force months ago? How was he in the beach house? How was he in the ambulance? How could he be in those places and be wearing his badge when he’d disappeared? 

She’d fully believed that her mind had created him to comfort her, or to keep her conscious, or maybe to torment her. 

She’d tried not to look at him in the bathroom or the ambulance because looking at the specter of the man she loved while she was dying was just too tragic.

She didn’t want to die full of deep longing for a man who’d left her behind.

If she died, she wanted to die thinking of her baby…

…but she hadn't died.

And she didn’t think she was hallucinating anymore. 

And Cragen said Elliot was real. Cragen was like a father to her, he would never dangle Elliot in her face like that. 

So she was either dead, or Elliot was real. 

She had to know which. 

She turned her head to the side slowly, her entire body stiff, bracing for an empty chair and the realization that her life was over.

Instead, brown eyes locked on blue.

Her heart monitor beeped noticeably faster, but she felt like the muscle had stopped entirely. 

“You’re real ?” she choked out, hope and disbelief and months of pain echoing through her words, “Are you real?” 

Tears were pouring down his cheeks as he reached over to put his hand on her arm and sobbed, “I’m right here, Liv. I’m real.”

She grasped his arm and squeezed it as hard as she could. With rasping, desperate breaths, she pulled him closer, clinging to him, needing to feel him so she could believe that he was real, so her heart and her mind could accept that he was real, because there was still something in her that told her she was hallucinating him and maybe Cragen too and maybe she really was dead. 

He fell from his chair as she pulled him in, landing on his knees next to her bed. Sobs wracked his body, the powerful unrelenting bone deep sobs of a man who almost lost more than he could survive losing. 

Olivia grabbed his face with her working hand and pulled his chin up. She felt the scruff of his unkempt beard and his warm skin beneath. Her fingers danced along his jaw and landed on the pulse point under his chin where she found what she was looking for. 

The steady throbbing under her fingers told her he was real and alive and she was finally safe because Elliot was with her and he would never let someone hurt her like that again. 

It was over and she could finally believe it in her soul. 

Tears flowed freely from her eyes, and she let his presence bring her the feeling of safety that it always had. 

Elliot clasped her hand in his own and brought her palm to his lips, kissing her flesh for the first time and weeping, “I’m so fucking sorry, Liv, I’m sorry.” 

She shook her head vigorously, “No, no, don’t be sorry right now, just be here. You can be sorry later.” She thumbed a tear from his cheek and leaned closer. 

She didn’t need apologies or explanations or excuses from him yet. She didn’t need the inevitable fighting, the hurt feelings, the discussions about the warehouse, Lewis… all of it could wait for another day when she wasn’t weak and broken and bleeding. 

All she wanted was him to exist with her and remind her that she was safe, if only for a few days.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed, reaching over and placing his hand so, so gently on her bump, “no matter what, I’m here.” 

She placed hers on top of his and he interlocked their fingers together. 

She gripped him tightly, just like she had that night in the warehouse as they laid on that filthy floor, under the bed where they’d unknowingly made a baby, hands clasped together like two pieces of a puzzle made to fit.

There was a quiet knock on the door. A pretty blonde 30-something with a terrible poker face opened the door with a nervous smile and wheeled the ultrasound machine into the room. 

Olivia’s grip on Elliot’s hand went from strong to crushing. He rubbed his thumb comfortingly on her hand but he knew she was too tense to notice. 

“Hi Detective Benson, I’m Emily, I’m here to do your scan. Go ahead and pull your gown up and we’ll take a look at your little one,” she instructed with fake confidence that the three experienced detectives could see right through. 

The woman was terrified, and Olivia didn’t blame her. She didn’t want to be the one to discover that the baby was dead, that the baby had been killed in the womb by a sadistic rapist murderer.

Who would want that responsibility? 

Olivia pulled the gown up to reveal her stomach which was now a patchwork of bandages. She watched Elliot as he assessed her body with a tense expression. 

Particularly horrific was her abdominal wound which - thanks to the unknown cocktail of drugs and alcohol that Lewis had kept her on for 4 days - had been stitched without anesthesia in the triage room. 

Several nurses held her still while a surgeon closed the wound. The pain and feeling of being restrained had her stuck in a violent loop of flashbacks that nearly made her pass out from screaming. Everyone was traumatized by that experience, not the least of all was Olivia herself. 

At least the rest were able to walk away without a Frankenstein scar on their abdomens. 

She hadn’t been so lucky. 

The tech squirted cold gel on a small, undamaged part of her stomach and carefully put the wand against her skin. Olivia drew in a deep breath, readying herself for the blow. 

She had prepared for this moment for days, prepared herself for the possibility that she would escape Lewis and be safe in a room just like this one, and the ultrasound tech would search and search and then give her a small fake smile and say, “let me get the doctor,” instead of just letting her hear the heartbeat. 

Olivia would know what that meant without being told and she was prepared for it, prepared for anything. It had been two long days since the tiny kicks and flutters had ceased, and what little baby could survive the starvation and dehydration and the drugs and alcohol and the burns and the terror? It just wasn’t possible. 

She thought, for just a moment, that she should have walked to the warm light after all. 

Her daughter had. 

But then, a whooshing sound filled the room, and Olivia gasped in astonishment and relief. 

“Oh my god. She’s alive? ” 

May 24th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 4:19pm

She’s alive. 

Elliot clutched onto Olivia’s hand with both of his and covered his eyes with their arms as another sob escaped him. He battled against his own emotions for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d seen the news of Olivia’s abduction, but even floodgates could only hold so long before some water broke through. He was merely human and his tears of relief and gratefulness poured out of him.

Olivia, though traumatized, was still alive and still pregnant with a child - their daughter - that he would love for the rest of his life. 

The ultrasound technician excused herself with the promise of another scan before Liv was discharged, leaving the parents and Olivia’s captain alone again. 

“I was sure she’d died,” Olivia choked out in a small voice, “the vodka and pills, and my blood sugar was so low I kept passing out. Lew-” She grimaced and cleared her throat, “No water for days, and a few bites of a candy bar. And he…  I was so sure she was gone.” She moved her and Elliot’s clasped hands to her belly, rubbing between bandages, completely awed. 

“She’s a fighter, like her mom,” he declared reverently. Though his soul was heavy with guilt and regret and grief over everything she’d endured, he couldn’t help the small laugh that burst out of him when he said, “We’re having a baby, Liv. Together. Can you believe that?”

She smiled sadly and looked away as she said, “I tried to call you. I wanted you to know about her before this.”

He cringed as he thought of the voicemails he’d deleted so foolishly all of those months before. “I should have answered your calls or listened to your messages. I should have been here.” He lowered his voice, the guilt eating him alive as he listed just a few of the many ways in which he had failed her, “I should have been there, I should have killed Lewis for you.”

She shook her head and begged softly, “Don’t do that, please. I don’t want to go back there right now.”

He brought her hand back up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the bandages on one of her wrists, “Okay Liv, whatever you need.” 

Chapter Text

May 24th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 4:32pm

When the OBGYN arrived to perform an internal examination on Liv, Elliot reluctantly agreed to leave the triage room at her request. For a fleeting moment, his good sense left him and he considered arguing that he had a right to be there, that she was carrying his baby, that he belonged in the room during all baby-related matters. It was an outmoded and misogynistic argument, and a patently misleading one at that. 

He wasn’t clinging to Liv because he was a possessive bastard who felt entitled to her space, he was clinging to her because he felt like he would throw up anytime she was out of his line of sight. 

He wasn’t a total bastard though. If Liv didn’t want him at her bedside while her legs were in stirrups, well, he couldn’t blame her for that one bit. She deserved her privacy, he knew that. It didn’t change the fact that leaving the room, leaving her, left a panicky fidgety buzzing in his chest and a pit in his stomach that he couldn’t shake. 

There was a small waiting area across the hall from the triage room and Elliot figured he had enough time to grab a coke and stretch his legs before returning to his rightful place at Liv’s bedside. Maybe the drink would be enough of a distraction to calm his racing thoughts until he could lay eyes on her again.

Instead, his heart rate kicked into overdrive as he rounded the corner and was greeted by dozens of expectant gazes in the waiting room. 

He’d forgotten about them, forgotten about the sea of concerned faces who’d spent the better part of two days searching high and low for Liv. He felt bad about it, but in his defense he’d also forgotten about her squad, the media, his own family, food, water, using the bathroom, breathing, everything, everything but Liv since the moment he found her in that bathtub. 

Near frozen in shock at the number of eyes on him, he gaped at the crowd of officers silently until Cragen approached behind him and patted his back, muttering softly, “go ahead, dad, give ‘em the good news.”

Elliot sucked in a deep breath and tried to ease the tension with a shaky smile as he announced, “Liv and the baby are both okay, they’re stable.”

There was a collective response from the room at large, a symphony of murmurs, breaths, sighs, general sounds of bodies and minds relaxing after a period of great stress. He caught sight of Fin who looked like the weight of the entire world had been peeled off of his shoulders. Amanda Rollins sat next to him, face buried in her hands as tense laughter and sobs burst from her mouth and echoed through the hospital corridors. Fin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a one-armed hug, shushing her gently, which only seemed to make her cry harder. Nick Amaro sat on the other side of Amanda, and Elliot watched him collapse backward into his chair, boneless, as if the tension in his body had been sucked out with a vacuum. 

It was a moment that Elliot would never forget.

He knew the palpable, clawing fear that Liv’s squad had experienced when she went missing, knew it intimately. It was a choking, paralyzing terror that could leave a person useless, take away their ability to cope, work, function. He’d seen the families and friends of victims cave under that fear for 2 decades, yet he’d watched her squad thrive in it, challenge their fear, use it as motivation to work harder and faster and longer and better.

Some might say it was their police training, but Elliot knew better. Training means very little when someone you love is in danger. He knew that they'd worked through their fear because that’s what Liv would have done if one of them were missing. She wouldn’t have slept, or ate, or stopped for a second until they were home. 

They’d given their all to the most important manhunt of their lives, and the outcome was better than any of them could have dared to hope for. Liv was alive and still pregnant somehow and mostly in one piece.

It was truly a miracle. 

As the quiet moment of celebration continued all over the waiting area, Cragen whistled loudly to gather the attention of the cops, and addressed them in a kind but commanding tone, “I wanted to take a moment to thank every one of you. The hours of manpower and energy you poured into this investigation did not go unnoticed, and I can’t begin to express how grateful I am. Though many of you don’t know Detective Benson personally, you poured yourselves into this like she was your own wife, or daughter, or mother. Each and every one of you demonstrated the true brotherhood that exists in the NYPD and I couldn’t be prouder.  On behalf of the 1-6 and Special Victims, and on behalf of Detective Benson and her daughter, thank you. Thank you all. Please, everyone, go home, rest, see your families, eat, sleep. You’ve earned it.” 

Several officers approached Cragen to shake his hand and exchange quick goodbyes while many others started to disperse, gathering their coffee cups and candy wrappers, patting one another's backs and moseying toward the exit. 

The brotherhood that Cragen spoke of was strong in moments like these - moments where one of their own was hurt and they came together to do something about it. He knew many of them would go home to their families a little quieter than usual, hug their kids longer, hold their wives or husbands a little closer in bed, and they would see Liv’s face in their mind’s eye as they drifted off to sleep. 

Elliot knew that experience all too well. 

After just a few minutes, the waiting room went from wall-to-wall cops to nearly empty, just three chairs remaining occupied by Nick, Amanda and Fin.

He decided that he didn’t want to engage with the three cops and he really didn’t want to field questions about Liv’s condition or her injuries, so he turned his back to them all and focused his attention on the waiting room TV instead.  

An episode of The Andy Griffith Show was playing without sound and he stared at it unblinkingly, not paying a bit of attention to the plot. He thought it a bit odd that the television was not on a news channel. He’d assumed that the squad might want to see how the media was covering Liv’s rescue. 1PP would do an official presser soon if they hadn’t already, and Elliot wondered idly if any of the news vans had left yet, or if they were all still parked outside like fucking seagulls fighting over scraps in the Walmart parking lot. 

God, how he hated the media, hated the way they exploited tragedies for their own gain, hated that they were so fixated on Liv. He knew that they would write dozens, maybe hundreds of articles about Olivia Benson, the pregnant detective taken by an evil sociopath. This was the exact type of crime that they would heavily sensationalize, and all of those breaking news articles and clips would exist in the world for their little girl to stumble upon someday. 

He and Liv could try to keep the evils of Compton and Lewis from darkening their daughter’s mind, but they could only shelter her so much thanks to modern technology. Kids learned how to use Google in elementary school now, for Christsakes. One Google search of her mother’s name, and their daughter would find a veritable cyber platter of life altering news and trauma that she would never be able to unlearn.

All of it in the name of news and entertainment. It enraged him. 

He wondered how much information they already had about what she’d endured. Did they know about the burns? The cut on her stomach? Had his family been watching the news? What did they know?

God, he’d forgotten about his kids and his wife. What must they be thinking after he’d bolted from the apartment? He’d been so preoccupied, everything had been about Liv, Liv, Liv for hours, every waking second. He hadn’t thought to reach out once. 

He walked back over to Liv’s door and plopped down across from it, he was tired of being away from her and the familiar anxiety was creeping back, making him jittery, restless. He pulled his phone out and dialed Kathy’s number, paused, then erased it and pulled up the family group chat instead, not ready to hear his wife’s voice or answer the many questions that he was certain she would ask. 

Back when he was a detective, he’d sought comfort from his family’s presence after the tough cases, especially when the older ones were still little. Hearing their small voices always grounded him, seeing that they were safe from the evils of the world was an antidote to his soul after his most harrowing days at SVU.

It was ironic that now, in the aftermath of the most frightening 24 hours of his life, he craved distance from them. The older 4 weren’t small children anymore, they were adults who understood more about the world than he wanted them to.

What could he possibly tell them about this? 

“She’s fine, kids, the guy just tortured her for days, but she killed him so that’s good. And she doesn’t think that he raped her at least. She almost bled to death, but she didn’t. And the burns will heal eventually. Not all the way, of course, she’ll have scars on her for the rest of her life, but it could have been worse .”

He certainly couldn’t say that. Those details were too brutal, too personal. He didn’t want them to picture the hell that she’d endured, wanted to spare them the visuals.

They knew about the warehouse and Compton, knew enough about what had happened to him and Liv to eventually understand why he cut her out of their lives. After his Easter dinner confession, he’d received very little additional questioning from them, and he’d appreciated that they were willing to accept his explanation and move forward while he and Kathy built their new life.

Now, in the plot twist of the century, he was suddenly expecting a baby with Liv and bringing her back into their lives very pregnant and very broken, and he didn’t know what any of it would look like, so he definitely could not explain it to them yet. 

He owed them everything, they were his family, but so was Liv and right now he owed her more.  

She would need a new place to live, a new nursery, help getting to and from appointments, not to mention she was unable to get out of bed or walk on her own. She needed him more than anyone else did right now, and he would prioritize her needs for the very first time in all of the years he’d known her. He would finally be a partner deserving of Olivia Benson, or he would die trying. That was the only thing he was sure of as he sat in that waiting room. 

He didn’t know where it would leave his marriage. Kathy was an understanding woman, but everyone had a breaking point. He was having a child with another woman and he was going to put that woman and her needs before his own wife. Their marriage had broken before under less extreme circumstances. 

He knew that should have bothered him, he wished it bothered him. He wished he was more worried about Kathy, wished he was a better man, wished for a voice in his head screaming at him to call his wife, to put her first while forsaking all others, to remember the vows he’d taken before God. 

Instead, he closed his eyes and saw Liv, only Liv, lying in that fucking tub, belly sliced open and bleeding to death. 

Maybe he wasn’t a good man, maybe he’d never been a very good husband, maybe he was a shit father, maybe it didn’t matter anymore. Kathy might leave and his older kids might hate him and he might suffer a great deal of pain and loss, but nothing would compare to the absolute torture that Liv endured for days on end at Lewis’ hand because he’d fucking vanished from her life and nobody had bothered to check on her. 

That’s what it all came down to.

He quickly typed a text and didn’t allow himself to second guess it before pressing send. 

“Liv and the baby girl are both okay. At Long Island Community Hospital, she’ll be here awhile. Love you all.” 

He powered off the device, not wanting messages or calls to distract him from Liv. As the screen dimmed, the door to her room opened and the OBGYN walked out with a smile on her face as she laughed, “Detective Benson said her partner would be sitting out here like a watchdog, and that I should let him in before he starts barking at everyone.”

Elliot pulled himself off of the floor and shoved his phone into his back pocket, putting thoughts of his wife and kids away with it and putting his focus back where it belonged. 

His partner. 

May 24th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 5:08pm

Olivia watched in tired amusement as a scowling, haggard-looking Elliot picked at his dinner tray in disgust. She’d seen the same exact scowl on his face once when he’d ordered a meat and cheese omelette from one of their regular breakfast spots and received one filled with multicolored peppers and tofu instead. He’d spat the bite into a napkin and called it an abomination before taking a massive swig of her apple juice to get the taste out of his mouth. The familiarity of it was comforting to her.  

When someone from the hospital first delivered the extra dinner tray for him, Elliot had accepted it graciously. Once the lids were off and the food smells started mingling with the general antiseptic odor of the hospital and the still-quite pungent smell of vodka and cigarettes on her hair and skin, it created a rather nauseating aroma in the room, and she thought maybe that had ruined his appetite since he was suddenly looking at the meal like it was a snake raring to bite him. 

The lackluster offering of bread, “salisbury steak”, mashed potatoes, canned peaches and juice was hardly a feast, but Olivia was grateful to have it. Now that she’d become familiar with the feeling of clawing, desperate hunger in her belly, the fear that she might never get to eat again, the near-manic willingness to do anything for even a single bite, she would never take food for granted again. 

She watched as Elliot picked up his roll and scrutinized it like a piece of evidence, another wave of nostalgia hitting her in the gut. The bread looked a little damp and a little stale and she had to laugh as he set it back on his tray, incoherent grumblings of revulsion on his tongue as he declared, “You don’t have to eat this crap. I can have something delivered.”

“No, this is okay, El.”

“You deserve something better than this dog food,” he complained,” I should have offered to get you something before they brought these hazmat trays.”

She coughed out a small laugh and grimaced at the wave of aches and pain that rippled through her body. His description of the meal wasn’t completely inaccurate, it vaguely reminded her of the inmate trays at Rikers, but she still wanted it, and maybe some of his, and maybe a third tray after that. She was still, so hungry.

Yet her tray remained untouched. She was scared to eat. Her stomach had not been completely empty for the past 4 days, but full of vodka and mystery drugs, a potent combination for a pregnant woman who tended to battle with nausea several times a day. She was worried that her stomach wouldn’t tolerate the food, that she might get sick and hurt herself more, even rip her stitches. 

She knew she still had to try to eat something. She wasn’t the only one who’d been starving for days. 

With a level of effort that Olivia deemed embarrassing, she picked up the fork from her tray and stabbed at a canned peach, bringing it up to her lips unsteadily and popping the entire thing into her mouth. 

Her determination waned a bit as the muscles in her arm and hand screamed and shook and seized up with her efforts, and she dropped the fork back down to her tray with a clang. She leaned back in the bed as she chewed the peach, breathing heavily through her nose like she’d just completed a significant physical feat. 

Officially, she could not feed herself, and the realization sent a surge of fear through her which clawed at her throat and left her near breathless. 

How am I going to get through this? How am I going to take care of us?

She tried to quell the growing panic inside of her, not wanting Elliot to see just how helpless and rattled she really was. She feared he would confront her, and the carefully crafted mask she was putting up for the world would crumble away, and everyone would see how truly broken she really was after everything that she’d been through, and she wasn’t ready to face that. 

As she breathed deeply and prepared to grab her fork and work on getting another bite, Elliot leaned over and plucked up the utensil, scooping up a bite of mashed potatoes and bringing it up to her lips without hesitation. Her mouth fell open in surprise as she barked out a small, disbelieving laugh.  

“I can feed myself,” she lied, wheezing, reaching up to grab the fork from his hand so she could prove her strength, only for her arm to give out after a mere second of effort. Sighing in defeat and letting her arm drop back down to the blanket, she insisted, “I really can, I’m just tired.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the bed, embarrassed, tempted to fake sleep so she could spare herself any further humiliation. 

“You’re in pain, Liv. Just let me help you, I swear I won’t tell anyone,” Elliot promised, a bit too cheekily for her liking, “Doc said you need food, both of you.” 

He looked pointedly at her belly and she sighed. Now that Elliot was back, she feared she would be reminded that she was pregnant every 3 minutes for the next 15 or so weeks. 

Elliot brought the forkful of potatoes up to her mouth again, an expectant look on his face. She wanted to argue with him some more, it felt good to tell him no, but she found that she didn’t have any fight left in her. 

There would be plenty of time for them to fight later. On this day, she’d fought and won much bigger battles, and she needed to heal from them before taking on another opponent. 

She wrapped her cracked lips around the fork, accepting the bland potatoes into her mouth and chewing them quickly, taking very little time to savor them before swallowing hard. The act of being fed by Elliot felt intimate, too intimate and her cheeks warmed. Her mind wandered to a time in the not-so-distant future where a tiny girl would sit in a high chair while the same man scooped pureed bananas onto a spoon and guided them into her toothless mouth. The parallels were not lost on her. 

She knew Elliot felt it too, the significance in that act of feeding her. He was usually one to break tension with humor or sarcasm, but he remained silent in those moments, devotedly feeding her bite after bite as he picked at his own tray. When his eyes met hers over a forkful of meat, she saw something in them that frightened her. 

He had this loaded look in his eyes, one that she’d seen when he was speaking to one of his older children on the phone, or sharing a warm moment with Kathy, or praising Eli for doing well in school. The look held reverence, warmth, care, love ; it was a look full of promises from a man who had no business promising her a damned thing.

He’d left her for 6 months -  didn’t reach out, didn’t say goodbye, didn’t check on her. If Lewis hadn’t taken her, there was a good chance that she would not have seen or heard from him until the Compton trial, which Barba had assured her would not take place until after their daughter was born, so he would have missed the entire pregnancy and birth because he disappeared and made damned sure that she had no way to reach him. Nothing that happened to her changed what he did, or didn’t do, or the fact that the man was married.

If she needed a reminder that he’d never seen her as more than a coworker, she just had to think back to the unanswered calls, the unacknowledged messages, the appointments where she’d stared at the ultrasound machine alone, looking at her baby’s silhouette and carrying the weight of it’s whole existence on her shoulders alone.  

She knew that his presence at her bedside in the aftermath of her abduction was due to fear, and obligation, and nothing more, that his affection was a trauma response from discovering that she was pregnant and hurt. She wouldn’t let herself get caught up in him, it was all fleeting, she knew that in her heart. 

But still, as he fed her bite after bite, and wiped her face when gravy got on her chin, and didn’t seem fazed by any of it, she felt loved by him. It was nice to be cared for, especially when she felt so raw and vulnerable and exposed. 

Even if it wasn’t real. 

He fed her almost the entire tray before she reached her limit and eased herself back on the bed, tired and sated. His initial complaints about the meal were forgotten and he quickly finished off his own portion and her leftovers before setting their trays aside and wheeling her overbed table away so she could have more room to move.

She struggled to get comfortable with only one arm working, and wiggling herself into a good position was irritating the cigarette burns on her hips, inner thighs and ass, not to mention that almost any movement sent sharp stabbing pains through her middle where Lewis sliced her. 

Her pain was reaching an unmanageable level. With her adrenaline gone and the imminent threat of death no longer hanging over, she could finally feel each burn, cut and bruise in its full glory, and there wasn’t a single inch of her flesh that wasn’t sensitive to the touch. Due to the cocktail of drugs and alcohol still working their way through her body, she wasn’t allowed any Tylenol, which was the only pain medicine she was willing to take while pregnant anyway, and her body felt like one massive bruise as a result. 

It reminded her of her early days in the police academy when she would run to the point of exhaustion and feel it in her muscles for days, sometimes weeks after. That ache was child’s play compared to her body after 4 days in the company of the Beast. 

She tried not to show how frustrated she was, but she could feel the angry tears pricking at her eyes. She’d never hurt so much or been so helpless, and she just wanted to relax. It was such a small thing, to lay back, to find a comfortable position in bed, and she was not able to do it. 

“Let me?” Elliot said, reaching one arm around her back and the other under her slightly raised knees, not touching her until she gave a slight nod of permission. She felt the warmth of his hands press gently, so gently on her as he effortlessly lifted her up a few inches and placed her a bit lower on the bed. She was able to stretch her legs out more and ease her back fully on the inclined mattress. 

She breathed out an exhausted, “thank you.”

The smile he gave her in return was watery and it made her want to weep, which she could not do because she was certain that the pain of it would send her into cardiac arrest. She needed to break the moment, get them out of the emotional whirlwind they were stuck in before shit got too real. 

“Think they’ll let me shower?” She asked once he’d settled back in his chair at her bedside, “One of us needs to, this room is a biohazard.” 

Elliot barked out a laugh and pressed the “call” button next to her bed, “Doesn’t hurt to ask, Liv. I think they’d pretty much give you whatever you want.”

One of her triage nurses quickly entered the room, flashing a kind smile which did very little to hide the emotion in her eyes. Olivia was used to the look by now, the mixture of awe and pity and nerves that all of the medical staff had when they looked at her. 

She posed the question of a shower and was relieved that the woman’s answer was not an immediate ‘no’.

“It’s possible, but we’ll need to change the bandage on your abdominal wound to a waterproof one, it’ll be uncomfortable. If you’d like a sponge bath instead-”

“- a sponge bath isn’t going to get the smell of vodka and cigarettes out of my hair. Sorry, no, please, you can do whatever you need to do, I just need a real shower.” 

The nurse acquiesced and some of the tension that Olivia had been carrying in her shoulders and neck dissipated with the promise of a shower and a private room and a few hours of hopefully dreamless sleep in her near future. 

“Once we move you into your room, they’ll get started on your bandages and then help you into the shower so you can get clean and settled for the night. Just hang tight in here a little longer.”

As the nurse was speaking, Olivia saw Cragen slip quietly into the room, his brow furrowed in a look of concern that she was all too familiar with. Before Olivia could say another word, her Captain spoke , “Is there a SANE nurse available to complete the rape kit before she showers?” 

Olivia’s breath caught in her throat and she felt Elliot stiffen next to her. They hadn’t spoken once about a rape kit since she’d been found. For some reason, she hadn’t considered that her Captain would want her to get one or that anyone would assume she needed one. 

Olivia knew if she got the kit done and it concluded that she was raped by William Lewis, she would spend the rest of her life grieving over an assault that she was not even conscious to remember. As far as she was concerned, the only thing a rape kit could do is give Lewis more power over her, more space in her head, more fuel for the nightmares. 

She would not let him sully her victory.  “Absolutely not. No kit.”

“Lewis had you for almost 4 days.” It was a statement, not a question, and she didn’t appreciate the connotation. 

Her nostrils flared and she snapped back at him, “I’m aware of how long it was, thank you. I-” She stopped, feeling herself getting too worked up, feeling like she was dissociating from reality again. She breathed deeply and calmly finished, “We aren’t supposed to discuss any of this until my interview.” 

Cragen sat down in the empty chair on the other side of her bed and waved the nurse out reluctantly. The blood had drained from the woman’s face and Olivia felt a bit sorry for her. Mere hours ago, the same nurse helped hold her down while her bloodied abdomen had been stitched without anesthesia. The woman had trauma associated with Olivia now, and she imagined that her case would stay with that nurse for a long time, resurfacing in unwelcome moments like so many of Olivia’s own cases did. 

Once the door was shut, Cragen lowered his voice and leaned forward to appeal to her once more, “This conversation will stay between the three of us.” He waited for Olivia and Elliot to agree before he continued, “Olivia, you killed William Lewis. Nobody is lining up to mourn the bastard, but if some overzealous family member comes out of the woodwork to claim police brutality against him, you might need the evidence from the kit to justify lethal force.”

“ He tried to cut my baby out of me. Is that not justification enough?” She asked, words clipped and tasting bitter on her tongue. It was a sentence that no expectant mother should ever have to utter. 

“My God,” Elliot breathed out, his tone shocked and panicking. He placed his head in his hands and slumped in his chair. To her, it had seemed obvious that Lewis was trying to take the baby out, but she supposed that maybe Elliot hadn’t let his mind go there, that it was too horrifying to comprehend. It was a hard pill to swallow - the knowledge that, if she had not escaped, Lewis would have carved her up and removed their child and left them both in that beach house to die.

The memory sent a chill up her spine and she had to push it away, far away, down with all of the other brutal memories that she would eventually have to face during the long road ahead. 

“Captain,” she stated slowly, her patience thin, “if Lewis’ family wants to take me to court for police brutality, let them. They can look at the photos of my injuries and decide for themselves if he should have walked out of that beach house after everything he did.”

A tense silence stretched out over the room before Cragen, who was no longer looking at her, spoke again in a low, mournful tone, “I’ll ask you this once now, and once tomorrow for IAB’s records.” He swallowed hard, and she already knew the question before the words left his mouth, “Did he rape you?”

A terrible anticipation hung between them, and Olivia wished more than anything that she could flee the room, flee the scrutiny of the two men who knew her better than anyone else in the world. 

“To my knowledge, he did not.” 

Cragen’s skepticism played out over his face like a feature film.

“You can tell me, Olivia. It won’t impact your job, I promise.” Cragen assured. 

“I just told you, to my knowledge-” 

“-but what does-

“-I was passed out drunk and high half the time, he could have-” She closed her eyes tightly and fought it, fought against the fear that was building in her, pushed the anxiety as far away as she could. She had to cope, she was too injured to have a flashback, and she couldn’t go back there, not yet. She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t. 

Cragen reached over to place a gentle hand on her arm and she hissed at the contact, causing him to withdraw it immediately. She could feel Elliot heating up next to her, feel the vibration of him, the aggression building in his body as the tension escalated between her and Cragen. He was letting her fight her own battles for now, but she knew better than to think it would last if her Captain kept pressing.

“If you think there’s a chance he did, the kit-”

That was it, Elliot’s last straw. She watched the vestiges of her former partner’s composure break before her eyes.

He slapped his hand down on the end table and a thunderous sound boomed through the room. Elliot snarled at Cragen, voice low and dripping with danger, “You heard what she said. Drop it. Now.”

Olivia tensed, the monitors indicating a spike in her heart rate, and she clenched her eyes closed again in a bid to calm down. She felt Elliot’s hand on her knee, a gentle squeeze that she took as an apology easing her stress only slightly. 

Everything was out of control, and she was so tired, and she wanted to cry almost as much as she wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t do either, and now Cragen and Elliot were fighting and it was way too much for a day which had already almost taken everything from her. 

She dared to look at them again. Elliot kept his deadly gaze fixed on Cragen’s face, eyes blazing and ready to strike, itching for a fight, welcoming it even. He was wound up too tightly, only the slightest provocation away from exploding. It was only a matter of time, and a matter of who would be his unlucky opponent.

There was a beat where she wondered if her Captain was also wound up that tight, if there was a chance he might let himself get beaten by Elliot just to let it out.  

Then, as she should have expected, Cragen surrendered. He put his hands up and offered, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you like that.”

Elliot’s grip on her knee loosened slightly, and she saw the almost imperceptible sag of his shoulders in her peripheral vision, the moment the inferno flickered down into a small flame once again. 

The Big One would happen soon, the Big “Elliot-Stabler-meltdown-to-end-all-meltdowns” which would surely leave someone battered or bloodied or verbally lashed to pieces, it was coming, oh yes, she knew it was right on the horizon. By some miracle, they’d skirted it for a bit longer. 

Thank God for small favors. 

“You up for visitors?” Cragen asked suddenly in what Olivia guessed to be a desperate attempt to change the subject for the sake of Elliot’s sanity, “The squad refuses to leave until they can lay eyes on you for themselves.” 

Her first instinct was to immediately say no. She smelled bad, looked worse, and was too tired to carry half of a conversation. It was humiliating for people to see her in such a state, made her feel exposed and vulnerable and not like herself at all. 

But she thought about the Hell they must have gone through while looking for her, 2 days imagining the worst, knowing what Lewis was capable of and knowing that he’d had her in his evil grasp. They would have been beside themselves. Even though it was her ordeal, they’d all been victims of Lewis, and they would live with the memories of what he did for the rest of their lives. If seeing her for a few minutes would help bring them enough peace to leave the hospital, she would not deny them.

“Sure.”

Cragen typed out a quick text and, within moments, the door opened. 

Fin entered first, slowly, cautiously, the warm smile on his face reminiscent of the way he’d looked at her that day in the warehouse. She could see through that smile. Fin was a tough cop, took no shit from anyone, but he was kind and he took things to heart, especially when the people he loved were involved. He was suffering, she knew, and she ached to ease it, to put her hands on him and draw it out and take it on herself somehow. 

He walked to the edge of her bed and placed both hands on her socked feet, giving a small squeeze as he spoke in the softest voice she’d ever heard from him, “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Liv”. 

She swallowed hard at the emotion bubbling up in her chest and said, “Back at you, Fin.” 

Amanda followed close behind Fin, arms crossed self-consciously over her chest. Olivia observed her red, tear-stained cheeks and the bags under her eyes that alluded to several sleepless nights. 

Olivia worried that Amanda was blaming herself. She’d been the one to collar Lewis, the one who couldn’t let go of the feeling that there was more to him, the one whose dogged pursuit of him led her to call them all in on a Sunday. If the roles had been reversed, Olivia might blame herself too. 

But Olivia didn’t blame Amanda, not one bit. Amanda wasn’t the one who dangled herself in front of Lewis for a confession, she wasn’t the one who’d cross contaminated the evidence, she wasn’t the person who’d broken into Olivia’s apartment and tortured her. There were many people who could be assigned some blame, but Amanda was not one of them as far as Olivia was concerned. 

The younger detective approached her bedside and spoke softly, “I’m real glad to see you, Liv.” 

She set an offering down on the bedside table - a pack of peanut butter crackers - and the familiar gesture had tears welling up in Olivia’s eyes. As Amanda pulled her hand away, Olivia grabbed it and squeezed, whispering a cracked, “thank you, Amanda.”

Finally, her partner entered the room. 

Nick looked like he’d taken several beatings in the time since she’d last seen him. His eyes were puffy and dark - worse than Amanda’s - and his neck and shoulders were more tense than she’d ever seen. He was a shell of the man who’d driven her home from work on Tuesday. 

Cragen vacated his seat so Nick could take it, and he settled next to her wordlessly. He was wound up tight, fidgety, as ready to blow as Elliot had been just a few minutes prior.

She waited for him to say something, to break the terrible silence between them, but he remained quiet beside her, hunched over on his elbows, hands clasped together and knees bouncing anxiously. 

He stared at her belly, only her belly, and she thought back to the day where he’d stood at her side and they’d learned together that she was having a little girl. He’d inserted himself into that day because he knew that she needed someone, and she could recall the easy smile on his face, the way he’d gripped her hand and made her feel less alone, how that ultrasound was the start of her coming out of a long depression that had been swallowing her up for weeks.

For months, Nick drove her to appointments, and to and from work every day, and kept her fed, and kept her sane, and was more than she could have ever hoped to have in a partner after Elliot left. 

He was family, and he loved her, and he loved her baby, and he’d thought he’d lost them both. 

“She’s okay, Nick. We’re okay.” She soothed, placing her hand gently on his hand, squeezing as tightly as her tired muscles could manage. She felt a tremor flow through him and realized that he was crying.

“I’m sorry, Liv,” he weeped, voice cracking and wounded, “I’m sorry I didn’t walk you up. I should have walked you up, I should have checked the apartment,” he wiped his cheek with the arm of his shirt and sobbed, “I should have protected you.” 

Her heart ached at the sight of his brokenness. Olivia placed her uninjured hand on his head and affectionately ran her fingers through his dark hair, “Lewis would have shot you dead, Nick. I’m so glad you didn’t walk me up.” He let out another sob and she shushed him sweetly, fingers still gliding through his locks in a sweeping motion that she hoped would comfort the man as she told him, “this is not your fault. You are not to blame. You can’t put this on yourself,” She looked around at the others, all wearing matching forlorn expressions, all carrying blame on their shoulders that did not belong to them. She focused her gaze on Elliot and stated, with as much conviction as she could muster, “ None of you are to blame for what happened to me.”

Elliot stared back at her as she said the words, and there was a split second where she swore she could see inside of him, could see the burning rage he felt at Lewis, the fear he’d carried when he thought she was dying, the love he already felt for their daughter, the depth of every emotion that lived in him. More powerful and brighter than any other feeling, she saw a blazing guilt so heavy and awful that she couldn’t look at him anymore. 

It would destroy him, she knew that. His guilt would eat him alive, devour him from the inside out and leave nothing for his kids and Kathy, nothing for her and her baby. Elliot would burn alive under it if he let himself. 

She wanted to soothe it away, to pull him into her and reach inside of him and grab that stinking putrid guilt and ease his soul from it. 

And then she remembered that he’d left her without a trace and she thought that maybe he should keep the guilt in him, just a little longer, maybe he deserved to feel it for a little while. 

Just a little while. 

Chapter Text

May 24th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 6:35pm

A few eventful hours after arriving at the hospital, Olivia was retrieved from triage and taken to her private room on the general patient ward. It was much nicer than Elliot expected, located at the end of a hallway without a lot of hustle and bustle around to disturb Liv. 

Elliot was by her side each step of the journey, watching intently as the staff moved her into her new bed, appreciating the careful way they handled her, how they spoke in soft tones, how they told her what they were going to do before they did anything, even the small things. They were cognizant of her trauma as well as her injuries, and he was relieved that she seemed to be in capable hands. 

He was hovering a bit, and usually Liv hated that, but they seemed to have a fragile understanding that he was allowed to cling to her now, just for a little while. Maybe Liv needed it too, maybe she needed his overwhelming steady presence by her side as she was poked and prodded. It was familiar, he knew, if not a little infuriating to her the way that his eyes tracked her, tracked the nurses, scanned each space, took inventory of everyone and everything. Usually she’d snap at him for being so intense, tell him that she could take care of herself. And she could, he knew, but she shouldn’t have to all the time. 

Most importantly, Liv did not tell him to fuck off, so he would not. He would act as appointed bodyguard until she told him to stand down (and possibly even after, if he was being honest with himself). 

It wasn’t completely necessary in this instance, her team seemed to be competent enough. The senior nurse in charge of Liv’s care was an older heavier-set woman with dark brown hair and baby blue scrubs and a smile that put him just a tiny bit more at ease the moment she’d introduced herself to them. 

“Nurse Jillian, but you two can call me Jill.”

It was immediately clear to Elliot that Jill was special, that she liked her job and her patients, took pride in her work, and had been tasked by someone much higher up than herself to oversee Liv’s care. The hospital was pulling out all the stops for the injured cop, giving her the good nurses and the nice room, real VIP treatment for a little hospital on Long Island.

As they should, he thought, maybe they’ll find some better food for her.

Jill hooked Liv up to a vital monitor machine as a male nurse hooked her up to an IV. Despite the constant movement and noise from her caregivers, Liv’s eyes slipped shut every few seconds, and Jill would ask her questions to keep her awake.

Her answers were short, and a bit nonsensical at times, and he wished she would change her mind about the damned shower and let herself sleep because she clearly needed rest more. His instincts screamed at him to kick them all out, shut off the lights and make her close her eyes, but he knew how badly she needed to feel clean, how important it was for assault victims to wash away the feelings of their attack, and he knew that Jill was only keeping her awake so she could have that. The shower was a way for Liv to reclaim her power, so he stood by as they woke her up over and over again, and didn’t say a word about it. 

“How do you like the room, Olivia? We picked this one because this end of the hall is usually quieter, and it has the extra bed in case you want your husband to stay.” Jill said with a wink as she fiddled with one of the machines at Liv’s bedside. 

The laugh that burst out of the other woman was louder than he thought her capable of in her sleepy, subdued state, and the volume of it made it feel more insulting to Elliot than she’d probably intended it to be.

“We’re not married,” she emphasized, looking at the nurse and, infuriatingly, not at Elliot, “we used to work together.” 

We used to work together. 

That’s how she was choosing to label him - a former coworker. Not her baby’s father, not a friend, not her partner. He knew he was overly tired, too sensitive, not thinking clearly anymore, but it hurt his feelings that she’d diminished him to such a meaningless role in her life. Former coworkers were people you dreaded running into at the grocery store, not the people whose hands you grip onto when you’re in the hospital, whose moods you can read with a simple glance, whose babies you choose to bring into the world. He was more than that to her, dammit. Much more, and he knew that she knew that. 

He stood silently next to her, waiting for her to say something more, waiting for her to correct herself, to pull the knife out of his chest. 

But Liv instead closed her eyes and started to drift off again. 

“It’s more than that.” He insisted in an almost whiny tone that he hated. He was feeling uncharacteristically insecure, like he had to stake a claim on her, like everyone had to know that he was something to Olivia Benson, something significant, more than some lousy former cop she used to work with. 

She laughed again, a harsh joyless laugh, and simply said, “Okay, Elliot.”

Elliot. Not El. It was cold, and he surely deserved it, but something about that condescending “Elliot” pushed him off of the short cliff's edge he’d been hanging from since he’d almost kicked Cragen’s ass in her triage room. The tension had built and built and built, and would now burst out of him in destructive little spurts until he lost. his. fucking. mind. 

All of his effort to be sweet and loving and kind to Liv, to be the man that she needed for once, to stay calm, to let her get her digs in.. all of that flew out the window as he spat his next words out into the universe before he could think better of them. 

“I put that baby in there.”

Everyone in the room went quiet, and Elliot's stomach fell to the floor as he realized what he’d said. 

Without missing a beat, Liv locked eyes with him and sneered, “yes, I remember that.” 

Fuck, he thought, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck is wrong with me? 

For a second, just the briefest second, he’d let himself forget how that baby was really made. He was strutting around like a peacock for no reason, like he’d had her, like he’d given her a baby in a normal way, not during a fucked up life or death situation that they were both still traumatized from. He was sure Liv didn’t want to be reminded of the fucking warehouse hours after she’d almost bled to death from another horror. 

God, he was stupid, a stupid fucking bastard. 

“Liv, I didn’t-”

“-stop-”

“No, I’m sorry, I-”

“- Stop,” she demanded, voice firmer than he’d heard all day, “I’m tired, you’re tired, my nurses don’t need to know all of our business. Just stop talking, Elliot.” 

He rubbed his face with both hands, pushing away tears as he mumbled, “Right, right. Sorry Liv, sorry.” 

He felt like a kicked dog at her admonishment, though he knew he deserved it (and more, so much more). The exhaustion, the comedown from finding her, the residual anxiety of almost losing her and the baby, it was making him crazy and moody and unbearable and stupid. He felt like he couldn’t do right by her, like he’d just keep screwing up until she eventually told him to leave. 

He hated himself. 

But then, mere moments later, Liv’s hand was reaching out to him, giving him an out, demonstrating the endless grace she had for him, grace he almost never deserved. 

He took it without hesitation, and equilibrium was restored in his body with her touch. The small sigh she huffed out told him that he was on very thin ice. 

Nurse Jill smiled at them and said, “You two are gonna keep me on my toes, aren’t you?” 

She fiddled with Liv’s vital monitor one last time, then clapped her hands together and said, “Alright, how about we get some waterproof dressings on you, then we’ll get you into a nice warm shower?”

Liv nodded, not resisting as the woman pulled her blankets down to her feet and exposed her bare legs to the air. Elliot felt her tense up and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand to sooth her. He tried not to look down, but could not help but notice that her gown was pulled up a bit, revealing several bandages on her inner thighs that he had not seen before. The wounds were alarmingly high up on her thighs, and he clenched his jaw tightly at the thought of Lewis placing the butt of a lit cigarette on such a private, sensitive part of Liv’s body. He wanted to put his fist through a wall at the sight. 

He looked away from them quickly and focused his attention back on Liv. There was a knowing look in her eyes. The ice was getting thinner.

She’s about to kick me out, she thinks I can’t handle this.

“El, why don’t you go grab a coffee and call Kathy?” 

Dammit.

“Fine right here, Liv.” He replied gruffly.

She rolled her eyes at his indignant reply and opened her mouth to argue with him when one of her other nurses, a young man with a name tag reading “Darren,” carried a tray of tools to her bedside and accidentally dropped them on her leg. Liv visibly flinched at the unexpected contact and instinctively raised their clasped hands up to her face in a guarding gesture.  Her grip was tight, trembling. The heart rate monitor spiked and started to beep aggressively.

Elliot’s shattered heart continued to fracture into smaller and smaller pieces somehow.

Darren immediately put his hands up, stepping away from the bed, and apologizing, “Detective Benson, I’m so sorry. My hand slipped.”

Liv’s breaths were shallow and ragged, and Elliot resisted the urge to pull his hand away from her so he could instead grab her face and make her look at him and tell her to breath, to let her know that she was as safe as she could ever be because he would never let anyone hurt her again. 

Instead, he gave her a second to compose herself, watched as the monitors calmed, and her breathing slowed, and she eased their hands back down to her side. She offered a breathy, apologetic smile to Darren and said, “Doesn’t take much to startle me these days. Don’t worry about it,” then turned to Elliot, cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and exhaustion, “You’ve seen enough today, El. Let me get cleaned up and you can come back to read me a bedtime story.” 

Elliot saw Jill smile at Liv’s words, but he was not as amused by his partner’s obvious avoidance tactic.

“I can handle it, Liv.” He responded stubbornly, making no attempt to move from his place next to her bed. Their eyes locked and tension flowed between them as Elliot challenged her. 

That was what he did - he challenged Liv when no one else had the balls to do it, always had. Sometimes it worked in his favor, sometimes it only served to piss her off more. 

She squinted at him, cocking her head the slightest bit and raising a brow, challenging him back. 

She may have been exhausted, but she wasn’t turning down the fight. The ice cracked.

Elliot felt the assessing eyes of Jill and Darren watching them, waiting to see who would lay down their weapon first. When the silence stretched on and there was no sign that either of them would yield, Jill leaned close to Liv, mouthing something he couldn’t hear. 

Liv’s nostrils flared slightly and she chuckled weakly before shaking her head. 

“As much as I would love to see that, we’re okay. Could we have the room for a minute?”

Jill regarded Elliot with a warning in her eyes while showing Liv the call button, “You press this and we’ll be back in here in 10 seconds flat,” then leveled him with another pointed look and motioned for Darren to follow her out. 

When they were finally alone again, Liv’s bravado faded. The weary way her shoulder’s fell made her look tiny and helpless and his chest ached at the sight. Her eyes were more bloodshot than he’d ever seen them and the bags under them were almost black. There were bruises darkening on her face and neck, evidence of injuries he did not yet know about, and her skin was still a sickly pale color that was very unnatural on her. She looked defenseless and beaten down and he could see that the brave face she’d been putting on all day was starting to crack. He knew that he was one of very few people that she would allow to see even a little bit of her vulnerability, and he didn’t take that for granted.

“She offered to call security and have them drag you out of here.” She told him with a small laugh. 

He sighed and gripped her hand tighter, feeling most grounded with the warmth of her skin on his own.

“You told her no.” Not a question, but another challenge. 

If you really wanted me to go, you could have told them to take me. 

“I don’t want them to kick you out for the night… I want you to come back.” She said quietly, the tiniest twitch of her eye exposing how vulnerable the words made her feel.

He didn’t take her candor lightly, offering some back. “I just wanna be here for you, Liv, that’s all.” He sighed, bringing their hands up to his mouth and kissing her broken knuckles. The gesture crossed some of their boundaries, but he found that he didn’t care at that moment. He wanted her to see that the issue was important to him. He didn’t want her to send him away to spare him from seeing her injuries because he needed her to know that he could handle all of it, that he would not run away from the hard stuff this time, especially now when everything was hard for Liv. 

“I know, El. I know you can handle it,” she admitted, voice thick with unshed tears, “but I can’t. If you’re in here with me, it’s like I’m seeing it all through your eyes. It’s too much. I just want to pretend I’m somewhere else for a little while, but I can’t do that if you’re standing here seeing everything he did to me.” 

He felt like she’d slapped him. He was prolonging her suffering because he was trying to prove something to her, but all she needed from him was a bit of space so she didn’t have to see how much her injuries hurt him. He’d gone and made everything about himself again, not even realizing it because he was just inherently selfish when it came to her. 

He sucked at being Liv’s emotional support, and he added that to the ever growing list of reasons he hated himself. 

WIthout further argument, Elliot reached over her and pressed the call button. Nurses Jill and Darren returned to the room in less than 10 seconds, just as promised, regarding him with thinly veiled suspicion as they entered. 

Elliot ignored their scrutiny and placed his hand on Liv’s shoulder gently, murmuring, “I’ll come back at 8, have them page me if you need me before then, I’ll be in the cafeteria.”

“Thank you, El,” She exhaled and leaned into his touch, then recoiled slightly and said, “When you get back, you can shower. You really stink.”

–

He reached the cafeteria in less than 5 minutes. To his surprise, there was only one other occupant in the entire space -  a man sitting alone, nursing a large cup and staring down at his phone blankly. Elliot grabbed himself a black coffee and sat down at the man’s table. 

“Why’re you still here?” He asked before taking a long swig of the hot drink, burning off all of his taste buds in the process and praying that it would give him enough energy to stay awake until he could return to Liv. 

Captain Cragen rubbed a tired hand over his 5 o'clock shadow and sighed. Elliot observed his slumped shoulders and worry-worn face, feeling a great deal of empathy for the man. Liv was like a daughter to him. Her abduction had put him through a Hell that would surely stay with him for the rest of his life. 

“I know I should go home but-”

“-it’s hard to leave her when she’s like this.” Elliot finished.

Cragen nodded and took a sip from his coffee before confessing, more to himself than to Elliot, “ I sent her home for two damned days. Didn’t want to disturb her rest so I didn’t bother to call…God, that was stupid. So stupid... But she was running herself ragged on the Lewis case, and I’ve seen her like that before, you know how Liv can be, but she’d been better about taking care of herself since she found out about the baby... Not with this case though, she was barely sleeping, forgetting to eat until we put food right in front of her… She was too invested in it, Lewis was under her skin in a big way and she was stressed, exhausted, dehydrated. I was worried she would lose the baby if she didn’t take it easy,” He shook his head, defeated, “So I sent her home, for two days, and I didn’t call, and I told Amaro not to bother her… so she could relax .” He spit out the last word like it tasted bad on his tongue.

Elliot shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He hated thinking about her in those days without him -  pregnant, exhausted, overwhelmed, being looked after by Cragen and the squad instead of him, the one who should have been feeding her and making her rest and keeping rapist scumbags away from her and their kid. 

He tensed up at the thought. There was an unstable, violent, maniac inside of him that surfaced at the thought of William Lewis and he was too goddamn tired to keep that part of himself in check. 

Cragen did not seem to notice his discomfort, and continued, “The whole time, that bastard had her. And God, we don’t even know the extent of it yet.”

Elliot clenched his hand around his cup and felt the styrofoam start to cave before he loosened the grip, “I wish he’d been alive when we found her. I wish-” He huffed and shook his head, pushing the words away and taking a deep breath, ”When she said that he tried to…” Elliot swallowed hard, feeling a surge of rage and anguish that threatened to choke him, “ cut the baby out of her, I almost lost my damned mind.”

Cragen’s haunted eyes met his, the heaviness of the words settling uneasily between them.

“We probably shouldn’t talk about it here, not until after she gives her statement.” Cragen declared, suddenly paranoid, glancing around the empty cafeteria. There was no one else in there, but Elliot was relieved to change the subject, fearful of what he might say or do when speaking about the man who’d taken Liv. Cragen lowered his voice and continued, “I’m meeting IAB up here at 3pm tomorrow to conduct a joint interview. Her union rep and Trevor Langan will be with us.”

Elliot balked at the mention of the prestigious defense attorney, “Langan? Is that really necessary?”

Cragen shrugged, lowering his voice to an almost imperceptible volume which Elliot had to crane his neck to hear, “I hope not. The brass is lauding her a hero to the press. She took out the perp, saved herself and two civilians while pregnant and injured. It was good police work, I wouldn’t be surprised if she ends up with a Combat Cross.” 

Elliot was confused, “Why hire Langan then?” he pressed, worried that Cragen knew of some greater threat lurking in the shadows. 

“I want IAB to know that she has big guns behind her, just in case.”

Elliot appreciated the sentiment. There was no way to know how an IAB interview would go until you were in the room. If things went south, if the rats started digging for cheese, Langan could stop the interview or interject on her behalf.

He hoped she wouldn’t need his intervention, but it was better safe than sorry, since IAB were a slimy bunch of rat bastards. 

Elliot thought back to the final night of the Compton UC and the last IAB interview he’d ever had the displeasure of partaking in - the scrutiny, the overly personal questions full of thinly veiled accusations, the reliving it all for the official record. He loathed the fact that Liv would be subjected to the bullshit after the horrors she’d already faced. She’d almost bled to death, for Christsakes. As far as Elliot was concerned, that fact alone was all the evidence they needed to justify the shooting of William Lewis.

The bastard was rotting in Hell where he belonged.

“They’ll want to talk to you too, son.” Cragen warned, though Elliot was already prepared for it, “ You were first on the scene. When they ask you what you saw, don’t spare them the gory details. They need to know that she fought for her life.”

...and almost lost it. 

Elliot shuddered. He felt suffocated when he thought about her in that tub - her shallow pants of agony, skin so pale it looked translucent, that bloody shirt pressed to her torn flesh. He knew that the details must be included in the official record, but he loathed putting them into words, like giving them life would somehow give them the power to hurt her more. 

“I’ll tell them.” He promised. He would give them every graphic detail, anything to ensure that they would wrap up their investigation quickly and leave Olivia alone. She’d been through enough.

They two sat quietly together for a few more minutes until Cragen spoke again, “When you left that night, after your IAB interview, I didn’t think we’d see you again. I can’t imagine how you feel coming back to all of this.”

Elliot laughed humorlessly, “It’s surreal. This time last night, I was ordering pizza for my kids like everything was normal. All the while she…” He stopped. He couldn’t say the words, couldn’t think about it, couldn’t stand one more second of the soul-crushing guilt, “... I can’t.”

He took a final swig from his coffee and rose from his chair. He gestured to Cragen’s cup and the man pushed it toward him. Elliot grabbed both and motioned for Cragen to rise from the table before admitting, “I’ve thought about it enough for today. I’m sure you have too. It’s time for you to go home, Don.”

Cragen pulled himself up with a groan and sighed, “I booked a room at the Holiday Inn, too tired to make it back to Manhattan. What’s your game plan? You need a ride somewhere?”

Elliot pulled his phone out of his pocket and flashed it at Cragen, “I’m going to turn this back on, see if my wife and kids are still speaking to me, then I’m going back to Liv’s room at 8 and I’m gonna shower, pass out in her extra bed and sleep as long as she’ll let me.”

Cragen’s brows lifted, though Elliot wasn’t sure that he was surprised. Had anyone actually expected him to leave her all night? He wondered.

“Does she know that you’re staying in her room?” Cragen questioned, a hint of skeptical teasing in his voice. 

Elliot half-laughed, “Not sure yet. If she doesn’t want me in there, I’ll camp out in the cafeteria ‘til morning. I’m not leaving this hospital until Liv does.”

Cragen placed a hand on his shoulder and shook it firmly, affectionately, “I’m glad you’re here, son. I feel like I can leave knowing that she’s in good hands. It’s gonna be a hard recovery, she’s gonna need you for this next part. Not just for the baby, but for herself too.” 

Elliot nodded solemnly, “I know. I’m not going anywhere.”

They navigated through the hallway, following the hanging directional signs until they reached the main door. As the parking lot came into view, Elliot observed with great relief that there was not a single news van remaining. 

Good riddance.

The closer they walked to Cragen’s car, the more he could feel the other man’s hesitation. He understood it, the gravitational pull of Olivia Benson, the need to be close to her, to see her living and breathing in order to keep your sanity. 

Cragen grabbed the door handle to open his car, then stopped, turning to look at Elliot with a raw expression of regret, “I sent her home, Elliot. How do I live with that? ” 

Elliot sighed, leaning against Cragen’s car, pausing to rub his palms on his thighs and confessing, “I don’t know, Cap. I ask myself the same question, and we aren’t the only ones. You saw Amaro, he’s a wreck that he didn’t check her apartment. Nobody is truly blameless here but Liv. You sent her home, I fucking abandoned her, a judge gave Lewis bail, that lawyer introduced him to her parents. We all had a part to play in the end result. I don’t know how we begin to forgive ourselves,” he waited for Cragen to argue, or interject, but the man said nothing so Elliot continued, “Problem is, our guilt does nothing to help Liv. If she sees that you’re killing yourself over this, she will always try to carry your pain for you. It’s in her nature, and it’s so easy to just let her take your hurt away and put it on herself, I know that better than anyone. If she tries to do that now, if she tries to ease our guilt, she’ll ruin herself, she’ll spend all of the energy she should put into getting better into trying to fix us. We can’t let her. We have to pull it together for her. You have to pull it together.”

Cragen nodded, pulling his car open and plopping down into the seat with a tired ‘oof’, “You’re right. I’ll pull it together, she won’t need to worry about me. Go get some rest, Elliot. You did good today.”

Elliot waved goodbye as Cragen pulled away, then watched as the other man’s car weaved through the parking lot, turned onto the main road and eventually drove out of sight. 

The last precious drops of energy that Elliot had been milking for hours seemed to evaporate as he found himself alone for the first time in longer than he could remember. God, he was more than tired, more than drained. His body shook with the effort of standing, but he stood still in that spot for a long time as the winds of early summer whipped around his weary body, shadows dancing in his vision that he had a hard time distinguishing as real or not. 

After a long minute of dissociation and fatigue, he finally turned to walk back to the hospital, bones crackling with the effort of each step. The smell of freshly cut grass on the breeze hit his nose, sending a wave of nostalgia through him and gooseflesh up his neck and arms. 

The scent reminded him of summers at the Queen's house, back when his oldest 4 kids were still little, when there still were more ‘tomorrows’ than ‘yesterdays’, and everything in life felt like a possibility. For a split second, he could actually see his old home, see Lizzie and Dickie toddling through the yard with chubby grass-stained ankles, delighted giggles echoing through the neighborhood.

He was sure he was losing it then, the way the memory so vividly filled his head. Surely he was going crazy. 

He found a bench by the hospital entrance and plopped down, struggling to keep his eyes open, frantically rubbing his face with his hands. His watch read 7:45pm. 

Just a little more time. 

He rested his head on the back of the bench and tried not to think about the miserable shower that Liv was taking, tried not to imagine that the pelting water felt like hail on her bruised and aching flesh. She’d been putting on a tough face, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that she was in excruciating pain. Broken arm, burns all over, that fucking gash on her belly, cuts and bruises galore. And no pain meds. She was suffering. 

If there was true justice in the world, he thought, he would be allowed to somehow take her pain onto his own flesh and relieve her of her suffering. That would be a start, the first of many steps he would need to take to atone for the fact that he hadn’t been there to prevent this, that he’d left her alone and nobody else had called to check on her for two days. 

Two fucking days. He would never understand that part. She’s fucking pregnant. 

He would have called if he hadn’t left, if he’d know that she was pregnant, and he would have been there. He would have been in contact with her every single day if he’d known she was pregnant with his baby. He would have been at her door in 30 minutes or less if she suddenly stopped answering his texts and calls. These were indisputable facts. 

Maybe Lewis would have shot him dead when he showed up, but at least the gunshots would have alerted one of her neighbors and they would have called it in, and the dispatchers would have seen that it was a cop’s address, and they would have sent heavy reinforcements and taken the bastard out before he had the chance to do the worst of it to her. 

At least then there would have been a chance that she wasn’t cut and burned and starved and tormented. That would have been worth dying for, he thought, well worth dying for.  

He would have been there, except he wasn’t. He wasn’t there at all. He was busy signing a fucking lease on an apartment with Kathy in fucking Little Neck of all places and pretending that Liv never existed and pretending like she’d never meant a damned thing to him. He would pay his penance for that later, much later, when she was ready, when she could handle it, he would lay down at her feet and repent for all of the ways he’d failed her.

Until then, he’d just be there as long as she tolerated him. There wasn’t any other option in Elliot’s mind. 

He glanced at his watch again, impatiently, it was 7:50pm. 

Just a little longer.

He powered on his phone to quickly read the messages from his family, wanting to get the task over and done with so he wouldn’t have to think about it for the rest of the night. They were either going to hate him or they weren’t, waiting to read their messages would not change the outcome.

To his relief, they’d sent him nothing but unconditional love and support. He felt a twinge of guilt that he’d written them off so quickly. Kathy and his daughters were loving, nurturing, good-hearted women and they deserved more credit than he’d given them. 

Kathleen - Thank god she’s okay!!! The news said she was in critical condition. 

Kathleen - Give her a hug from me please.

Kathy - Thank you for the update, we’ve been praying for her. Do either of you need anything?

Maureen - Can we send flowers to the hospital or something? Tell her we’re glad she’s okay.

Lizzie - I knew you’d find her. <3 Are you doing okay, dad? 

He was relieved at the grace and kindness that his wife and daughters were showing him during such an impossibly difficult time. He hadn’t realized how afraid he was of their responses until he saw that they didn’t seem to hate him after all. He’d needed their support more than he’d let himself admit. 

Or maybe they were hiding it well, he couldn’t be sure. Dickie hadn’t actually responded at all, so the jury was still out on him, too, but Elliot guessed he’d find out everyone’s true feelings later once the dust settled. Until then, he could breathe a little easier that they weren’t writing him off for good.

As he typed out a quick response, tears splashed from his eyes onto the screen and obscured his vision. He hadn’t realized he was crying, his face was numb from exhaustion. 

Not critical anymore but she has a long recovery ahead. You can send flowers if you want, Mo - I’m sure she would like them. She’s in room 350. I can’t think of anything we need right now. I’m doing okay, just need to sleep. Turning phone off, call hospital if you need me. Love you. 

That would have to be enough for now, it was all he had to give. 

– 

As promised, he returned to Liv’s room promptly at 8pm. He knocked twice, gently, waiting longer than he’d expected for someone to respond. When Jill finally opened the door, she slid out into the hallway with him rather than letting him inside. Concern filled his gut as she gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“What happened?” He whispered, tone laden with dread. 

He knew he shouldn’t have left. 

Jill sighed, “The shower was very taxing on Olivia’s body. She’s okay now, but she did pass out while we were getting her back into bed. We’ve got her on oxygen. Her heart rate and blood pressure dropped, so we’ve put fetal monitors on her as well. The OBGYN is not necessarily worried about your daughter, but Olivia has not felt any movement since she was admitted, so we’re just going to keep a closer eye on the baby out of an abundance of caution. These are all pretty common setbacks after blood loss and injuries like hers, we just didn’t want to catch you off guard when you walk in there and see her hooked up to all of the machines. It can be a scary sight for a loved one. She’s still doing remarkably well, all things considered.”

The words bounced around in his head and he felt like he might scream. Despite the woman’s professional competence and reassurance, panic gripped at him and his vision wavered for a second. Elliot grabbed onto the wall behind him, hands trembling slightly as he asked, as calm as he possibly could given the circumstance, “And why didn’t anyone call me?”

“Honey, we paged you 15 minutes ago.”

Fuck me.

The words were like a sucker punch to the gut. Elliot rubbed his face in frustration and confessed, “dammit, I walked her boss out and spent a few minutes outside. I’m sorry. God, that was stupid. I should have left my number.” 

His spiral of blame and self-hatred hit an all-time high, and he wondered how Liv could even stand the sight of him, why she was even entertaining his presence at her bedside. He’d let her down at every single turn.

Jill must have seen the way he was tearing himself apart and was taking pity on him. She shook her head and assured him, “You’re only human, and she really is okay, she’s been asking for you. I think she’s waiting for that bedtime story, come on, put on a smile before you see her.”

She led him back into the room, and his assessing eyes immediately landed on Liv. He first noticed her exposed belly with 2 thick bands wrapped around it, wires coming off of them leading to a large machine at her bedside - the fetal monitors, he knew, he’d seen those many times when Kathy was pregnant, but not usually until she was further along. Liv was only 25 weeks. He worried about their little girl, and wondered how much more the small baby could possibly endure while she was still tucked away in her mother’s belly. 

Under and around the bands were fresh bandages, including the big one. He knew it must be uncomfortable for her to have those bands over her wounds, but he knew Liv wouldn’t complain no matter how bad it felt. Those monitors were for the baby, and Liv would do anything for the baby, she’d already proven that. 

Her eyes were half open, hair was damp, clean and free of tangles, and she sported several new hospital bracelets including a bright yellow one that said “FALL RISK” in big letters. The haunting scent of cigarettes and vodka no longer lingered in the air around her, but she was paler than she’d been when he’d left the room, paler and more subdued.

She offered him a ghost of a smile, and he could have sworn that he saw her relax just a little that he was back in her space. 

“Not as bad as it looks, I swear,” she insisted unconvincingly, voice weak and crackly as she teased him, “and wasn’t it worth it? I smell much better than you now.”

The fact that she was awake and joking brought him so much relief he could have sobbed. He took the bait, did an exaggerated whiff of his armpit and replied, “it doesn’t take much for that. I’m a little ripe.” 

She laughed, but her voice was so worn and scratchy that it was practically silent. He tried to laugh too but found that he couldn’t. His mouth was stuck in a frown, his brow furrowed with concern that he could no longer mask. The worry he felt for her would put him in an early grave, he was sure of it. 

He had to remind himself of the lecture he’d just given Cragen. His soul, selfish little thing it was, wanted to pour his grief into Liv, to just lay down next to her and bury his face in her hair and full body sob into her, to relieve himself from some of the fear and worry and guilt and pain and love that weighed on him so heavily that he felt he might break under it.

No, he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. He was going to be the strong one, he’d already promised himself. 

“Go shower, El. Bathrooms all yours.”

He shook his head and settled into the chair next to her, soothing, “I will in a minute. I wanna sit with you for a bit,” he grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together, holding her one hand with both of his, “Shower was rough?”

She closed her eyes and a small moan escaped her lips as she nodded slightly, “A little… I just wanted to be clean.” 

Her voice was so weak, so soft. It disquieted his soul, reminded him of when he’d first found her in that bathtub.

“Do you feel better now?” He asked hopefully, “Was it worth it at least?”

Her heavy eyelids opened and she looked at him with a sleepy openness that felt very intimate for them, breathing out, “Yes. I needed to wash it away. And so do you,” she thumbed his fingernails softly, “my blood’s still in your nails. Go wash it away. You’ll feel better too.”

He hummed, “I’ll sit here ‘til you fall asleep, Liv. Then I will.” He pressed his lips to her hand and rested it against his cheek.

“Mmm okay… sleep here after. I already warned Jill that you snore like a freight train. She’s going to suffocate you with a pillow for me.” 

He laughed, her humor lifting some of the pressure from his chest. She was still Liv. She was still alive. 

“Good, I don’t want to disturb your beauty sleep.” 

She mumbled a few things he didn’t understand, eyes closed, then he watched as her chest rose and fell, slower and slower, as she drifted into what he could only hope was a peaceful slumber.

Though he’d promised her that he would shower once she was asleep, he had a hard time walking away. Maybe he was delirious, but he couldn’t stop looking at her like this, breathing and peaceful and safe and pregnant with his kid. She was beautiful. 

He’s always known that Liv was a beautiful woman, he wasn’t blind . But he’d never let himself consider just how beautiful she was. As he sat at her bedside, he took her in like it was his first time really seeing her - the soft pout of her lips, how they frowned slightly as she slept; the hard angles of her jaw, the slight curl of her dark hair, the full lashes fanned out on her cheeks. She was the sum of all of the beautiful things he’s ever seen, she was ethereal, she was the sun and the moon and the stars and the whole fucking sky.  

And there was their baby, his and Liv’s…God, he couldn’t get enough of that thought. 

He didn’t give a fuck how that baby was made, it didn’t matter. That was their baby , Liv was making that little girl for them, and she was perfect. 

She was the answer to a prayer that Liv had been praying for as long as Elliot had known her.

He stared at the bump that wasn’t yet huge but was definitely there, not mistakable for anything but a baby belly, and he pictured the resilient little being that survived being tortured before she was even born. He loved her. God, how he loved that little baby.

Eventually, when he’d nearly lost his battle with sleep, he peeled himself away from her bedside and climbed into the hottest shower he could stand. He scrubbed at his nails for a long time, not wanting Liv to have to see her blood in them again, and let the hot spray pound his flesh until he almost fell asleep while standing. 

When he finally felt clean enough to be in Liv’s presence again, he dressed himself in a pair of green scrub pants that Jill had left for him and snuck back into the room, falling into the extra bed, and was out before his head hit the pillow. 

Chapter Text

May 25th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 6:01am

Olivia slept straight through the night, deeply and dreamlessly like she’d prayed for. 

“I’m sorry to wake you, honey. Can you open your eyes for me?.... Olivia… Olivia… it’s time to wake up.”

The voice calling her out of slumber was kind, warm and soft -  nothing like the voice she’d heard the last time she’d been pulled from a deep sleep. The gentleness of it confused Olivia. There were so few times in her life that she’d been awoken with such care. She thought maybe she was dreaming after all. Her eyelids were heavy, and she was warm, drifting back into the quiet nothingness…

Then she felt an unexpected weight on her arm. It wasn’t gripping her firmly, but panic still rippled through her like electricity and her eyes shot open, painfully dry and blinking rapidly against the fluorescent hospital lighting. 

The touch was her first trigger of the morning. 

Jill stood at her bedside with a sorrowful expression in her dark eyes. She slowly removed her hand from Olivia’s arm and offered a sympathetic smile. 

“I’m sorry to force you up like this. Your doctor is up my ass this morning, I was supposed to wake you at 4am and, well, I guess I must have forgotten,” Jill winked, “you can go back to sleep as soon as we get some food, fluids and meds into you.”

Olivia tried to smile back at the kind woman, but all she could offer was a grimace as awareness slowly came back to her mind and body. Her long sleep left her aching muscles even heavier and more tender than the day before, and she instantly missed the blissful nothingness of sleep, the lack of pain, the dreamless existence where she wasn’t a vic or a patient. Reality was ugly and she didn’t want to face it.

“Feels like I was hit by a truck.” She groaned, shifting ever-so-slightly and regretting it instantly. Her muscles were tight. Her mouth was dry and the words came out scratchy and quieter than she’d intended. 

“The doctor cleared you for Tylenol. If that doesn’t help, we’ll look into stronger options,” Jill cooed, reaching over to Olivia’s bedside remote and grasping it, “Your baby’s stats are excellent this morning, so I’m going to remove the bands. Once they’re off, I’ll sit you up nice and slow.” 

Olivia nodded and closed her eyes, bracing for the additional pain. She tried not to show her discomfort, wanted to be a good patient and focus on how grateful she was to be alive, but it was hard to think about anything other than how bad her body felt. 

As Jill eased her into a sitting position, the slight pressure on Olivia’s abdominal wound felt like a stab. She ground her teeth hard, breathed deep slow breaths through her nose and tried not to cry. Every time that wound hurt, she remembered the feeling of the knife on her skin, the base terror that vibrated through every part of her, the knowledge that she was seconds away from losing everything.

That pain was her second trigger of the morning. 

She was agitated and restless now, desperate to flee from the room, to hide herself away to battle with the memories alone. 

She’d barely been awake 5 minutes and was already fighting off a panic attack. She wondered briefly how she could ever truly heal when her own skin was a trigger, a constant reminder of the unimaginable horrors she’d faced.

If Jill noticed that she was struggling, she was gracious and said nothing, just wheeled the overbed table to Olivia and set it up over her lap. It held a covered food tray, an apple juice cup, a small plate of buttered toast and a small container with several pills. 

Pills were the third trigger. 

It was almost instinctual how her eyes slammed shut at the mere sight of them as the memory of dirty fingers forcing her mouth open and placing mystery pills on her tongue hit her like a fastball to the gut. Memories so vivid, so real that she could taste the disgusting salt of Lewis’ skin on her tongue, could feel the pressure of his sweaty palm over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air, forcing her to swallow. She could recall physically the depth of her panic as she’d wondered what the drugs might do to her baby. 

Somehow, she could feel them, those pills still stuck in her throat, and she was sure that she would choke to death on them. 

“Are you okay?” Jill asked urgently, looking between Olivia and the vital monitor. Her heart rate and blood pressure were much higher than they’d been minutes prior and the monitor was going off with warning beeps. 

Olivia was stuck somewhere between her apartment and the hospital, between a danger unlike anything she’d ever faced and the sterile safety of room 350. She tried to respond, to calm her body, tried to breathe, tried to see beyond the pulsing distorted image of William Lewis’ wicked grin, but she was teeter away from her own body. 

“No pills,” she choked out. It was all she could manage. 

A look of understanding appeared on Jill’s face and she grabbed the pill cup without hesitation, walking it to the other side of the room. 

“No pills,” she repeated back to her patient. She pressed the call button and another nurse entered the room quickly. Jill instructed the newcomer, “Add ‘no pills’ to her chart and get me a crusher.” 

The second nurse reappeared within two minutes and handed Jill a small container which she then used to crush the Tylenol pills into powder. She grabbed two jelly packets from Olivia’s food tray, mixed them into the now empty pill cup, then added the crushed Tylenol from the pill crusher, mixed the concoction vigorously and smeared the jelly onto two pieces of toast, setting them back in front of Olivia. 

“The jelly should counteract the taste. We’ll do liquid next time, okay?”

Olivia wanted to thank her for the effort, but the words were stuck in her throat along with the phantom pills and burning vodka, and her lungs were on fire, and tears were pooling in the corner of her eyes. 

She’d put on an excellent show the day before, acted every bit the strong and resilient survivor, but she didn’t think she could keep it up. Being in pain was one thing - being in pain and triggered and pregnant and seeing Lewis’ face in her head was too much.

I can’t do this, she thought, I won’t survive this.

“Liv, look at me. Focus on me. You’re okay.”

Oh.

Just the sound of the man’s voice could calm the storm brewing in her mind. 

Somehow, her sleepy, pain-addled brain had forgotten that Elliot was still at the hospital. He stood next to her bed, all sleepy and concerned, with bedraggled hair, prickly chin, scrub pants hanging low on his hips, no shirt, looking so unfamiliarly domestic to her. It was disorienting to see him like that, but comforting too -  felt warm and safe and good like a blanket fresh out of the dryer on the coldest winter night. 

Her eyes found his and she was almost embarrassed at the way her body reacted. Within seconds, the tension in her throat eased, the muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxed, and her mind quieted. The image of William Lewis faded into the background and she felt anchored back to earth once again.

Despite months apart, he still managed to drain all of the anxiety from her body with his mere presence and a few gentle words. If she weren’t so grateful to be out of the panicked haze, she’d be furious that Elliot still had such an effect on her. 

“You’re awake,” she rasped, face flushed, words shaky from the comedown, throat still a bit thick. Her hands were shaking and she fisted the blanket to hide her trembling from him.

“I smelled food.” He smirked, though his eyes betrayed him. He was worrying over her, eyes scanning up and down, inventorying her, every bit still the detective she’d always known him to be. 

He sat down in the chair next to her bed and Jill, who’d been quietly observing them, brought over a second breakfast tray and a cup of coffee, handing them to him with a smile and a quiet, “Good morning, Elliot.” 

He thanked her and set the items down on the end table. He immediately focused his attention on Olivia’s tray, pulling the lid off to reveal pale yellow scrambled eggs, a small sausage patty, bland-looking oatmeal, some honeydew melon and an applesauce cup. He wrinkled his nose at the sight.

“We’re getting you some decent food later.” He grumbled, ripping open a ketchup packet with his teeth to squeeze on her eggs, just how she liked them. 

She watched in a daze as he poured a sugar packet into her oatmeal, stirred it, tried a small spoonful, made a face, then added another half packet and stirred again. He cut her sausage patty and melon into small pieces and opened the applesauce and juice while she just watched him, entranced by the way his thick fingers moved from item to item, carefully preparing the meal for her. When the tray was prepared to his satisfaction, he stabbed a piece of melon with the fork and held it up to her mouth with a devastatingly soft look in his eyes that made her want to rip her hair out. 

She was still right there at the edge of Hell where William Lewis was waiting to drag her into vivid, wicked, life-ruining memories that would peel away the remaining fragments of her sanity, and Elliot was trying to feed her fucking melon and looking at her with those beautiful fucking blue eyes. 

The warring emotions of fear and love and pain and rage were swirling around in her heavy heart, and she hated that the strongest of them in that moment was love. She loved Elliot. God, how fiercely and unconditionally she loved that married , untouchable man. 

Tucked away from reality in her hospital room, with his twinkling blue eyes and a sweet little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he fed her breakfast…. she could almost pretend that he loved her too.

She pictured, just briefly, a parallel universe where he was hers, where she could grab onto him for dear life, let him carry her through the coming days and weeks of recovery and pain and retraumatization, where she could fall apart, freely and without judgment in his strong arms, and feel truly safe even as the world kept tilting under her feet. 

In that parallel universe, she never worried about how she would survive what had been done to her because he was carrying the weight of it with her.

It was an impossible, beautiful, painful dream that would never be. 

“Liv?” Elliot asked, pulling her from her wishful thoughts, brows furrowed with concern, “you’re crying.”

She hadn’t even realized she was crying. Her cheeks were cool and wet from tears, but Olivia was too sore to brush them away.

“I’m fine.” She claimed quietly, then took the bite off of the fork, looking at the food and not at the shirtless man who’s proximity cracked her heart in half. 

The food was tasteless to her and difficult to swallow. Her throat was thick with the sobs that she’d been choking away and the feelings of love that she kept shoving down and the phantom pills that were still stuck. She wasn’t really hungry, wanted to go back to sleep and spend another few hours far from reality, but her baby needed food and Olivia needed Tylenol, so she silently took bite after bite of Elliot’s offerings as he watched her silently with that ever-present concerned brow. 

Breakfast was a somber affair. 

May 25th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 11:18am

Elliot was worried about Liv. All he did anymore was worry about her. 

Physically, she was still stable. She couldn’t walk alone, couldn’t feed herself, couldn’t move much without pain, but she was alive, stable and breathing. He thanked God every second for that.

She was also still dehydrated, but the IV fluids were helping with that.

And according to Jill, none of her wounds appeared infected, her temp was within normal range, vitals were good, baby’s vitals were good. All in all, she was faring better than anyone could have expected physically.

But mentally… that was another story entirely. 

Liv was triggered. He’d seen the way she’d reacted to the Tylenol pills on her breakfast tray, knew that Lewis had forced her to take pills, that his MO was to keep his vics docile by shoving sedatives down their throats. 

The look on her face when she saw those pills would haunt him - her wide, terrified eyes unfixed, pupils blown; mouth slightly open, choking for air. He’d called out to her, desperate to bring her back, and she’d snapped out of it almost immediately. 

He was a little taken aback at how quickly he’d gotten through to her, though maybe he shouldn’t have been. They’d always pulled each other from the cliff’s edge. 

Well, it was usually Liv keeping him from putting his fist through a wall, but still. 

He was rattled seeing her like that but he played it off, knowing Liv would not want him to ask her about it. He just sat down at her side and helped her with breakfast. She’d silently cried throughout the meal, taking each bite in a quiet, robotic way, then asked him to help her recline her bed after, and fell back to sleep almost immediately. 

He’d watched her sleep for a while, mind racing as a new fear percolated in his gut.

Her IAB interview was a few short hours away… She’d be expected to provide them with a play-by-play of her 4 days with Lewis, giving every ugly, terrifying detail of it. He thought about the extensive burns on her, the fucking gash on her belly, her destroyed apartment. He didn’t even know half of what she’d been through, but he knew she wasn’t in a state to recount it for anyone.

The last thing she needed to deal with while highly triggered was the invasive re-traumatization of a fucking IAB interrogation. 

So he watched her for a while longer, then his restlessness kicked in and his anxiety about the stupid interview got worse, so he snuck out into the hallway where he could pace freely without waking her and decide his next move. 

He paced and paced outside room 350, phone gripped in hand, ready to dial Cragen and debating if he should overstep her boundaries for the millionth time since he’d known her. 

Liv loathed when he thought he knew what was best for her, loathed even more when he took it upon himself to protect her without looping her in. He recalled the time he’d put a protective detail on her after she’d (stupidly) refused one, she'd about lost her damned mind on him.

He’d never once regretted looking out for her like that though, especially in situations where she was too pigheaded to do it herself. 

It was his job as her partner to look out for her. 

And now, Liv was barely thinking, barely holding it together, triggered, injured, exhausted, and he felt that she needed someone to step in for her again, felt that it was his new job as her baby’s father, to step in, to keep IAB away from her, at least for a little while longer.

And so what if she’s pissed about it? He thought. 

She could add it to the list of things she was going to yell at him later. 

He had to do it. He had to. 

Without allowing himself to overthink any longer, he pulled out his phone and dialed Cragen. They were running out of time to stop this train.

His former Captain answered on the first ring.

“She okay?” Cragen asked, voice slightly high and panicky, not wasting time on pleasantries.

“Yeah- I mean- no, she’s not okay , she’s-” 

“-I’ll be up there in 10 minutes, I just need to-”

“-no, Don, listen to me for a sec, would you?” Elliot huffed. Every conversation he had about Liv felt like handling a live grenade. He took a deep breath and clarified, “Liv’s still stable, it’s not that. I just… I’m calling cause you need to hold off IAB, reschedule the interview.”

Don was quiet on the other line. It grated at Elliot’s nerves. He hated when the other man did that, made him sit in silence instead of participating in the conversation. It always made him overthink. 

“Elliot, I don’t know that I can do that. Self-defense or not, she was involved in a fatal shooting and there are protocols we have to follow to ensure that she’ll keep her badge when this is over. The IAB interview is one of those, you know that.”

Elliot gritted his teeth in frustration and gripped the phone harder. He hated their fucking protocols. “Okay,” he spat back, “ try anyway . She has 72 hours to comply. It hasn’t even been 24. Just tell the rats that she needs another day.”

The other man’s sigh could be heard through the phone. Elliot rubbed his stubble anxiously and prayed that Cragen would cave. He wasn’t in the mood to fight, but he would if he had to. 

“Okay, I’ll try.” Cragen acquiesced, “You gonma tell me what’s got you so worked up about her interview?”

Elliot had already crossed a huge line by calling Cragen in the first place, he figured it wouldn’t do much more damage to give him an update on Liv. The man was an ally after all.

“She’s having a rough day,” he admitted, “withdrawn, been sleeping all day. She’s got PTSD bad, something at breakfast triggered it. If IAB shows up today and makes her talk about Lewis while she’s like this, I don’t know what’ll happen, but it won’t be good for Liv… Please, Don, you gotta trust me on this, try to put this off.”

Cragen hummed a bit, then caved to Elliot’s great relief, “If you think it’s best for Liv, I’ll call Captain Stanton. I’ll let you know what he says.”

Elliot breathed a little easier and sighed, “Thanks. If you’re coming up later, maybe you could bring her something decent for dinner. Foods hit or miss here.”

“I know just what to bring.” Cragen agreed, then ended the call with a promise that he’d update Elliot after speaking with IAB. 

Elliot shoved his phone back in his pocket, feeling confident in his decision to call. He believed Cragen would get the interview postponed, then Liv could have a quiet day of rest. Maybe she’d feel better after more sleep and some Tylenol and a nice meal. God, he hoped she would. 

As he turned back toward Liv’s door, ready to sneak in and catch a quick nap himself, a familiar voice called out down the corridor. 

“Dad!”

Elliot’s head whipped sharply toward the direction of the voice and he froze for just a second in shock. No part of him expected that anyone from his family would show up at the hospital, yet two of his daughters were walking toward him with full arms and big smiles. 

“Katie? Mo? What are you doing here?” He questioned, not unkindly, as he took big steps to meet them and threw an arm around each to pull them into a tight group embrace. 

Though he’d been afraid to see his kids, afraid to face them after everything that had happened, the sight of his two daughters was like medicine on his aching soul. Contentment washed over him at the weight of them in his arms, and he pressed a kiss to the top of Maureen’s head, then Kathleen’s and mumbled, “Good to see you girls.” 

He held the embrace for a long time, and neither of them pulled away. Maybe they knew how much he needed it. 

He pulled back slightly while still holding onto them and looked from Katie to Mo, drinking them in for a moment, so beautiful and healthy and safe . He could not help but think about the resilient little daughter he couldn’t see yet, the one he’d nearly lost, who’d somehow survived 4 days with the devil, and he felt so grateful that God had always protected his kids. 

“We wanted to check on you. Brought these for Olivia,” Kathleen gestured to the bouquet of carnations and sunflowers in her hand, “We figured she probably wouldn’t want visitors yet, but you can give them to her and tell her we’re glad she’s okay. And mom sent this for you,” she gestured toward a duffle bag in Maureen’s hand, “some of your clothes, razors and stuff, and some things for Olivia too, slippers I think.”

Elliot sucked his top lip between his teeth and bit hard, taking the bag from his oldest and willing himself for the hundredth time to just hold it together. 

It wasn’t like he was surprised by Kathy’s kindness. She was a good woman, of course she would send something nice to the hospital for Liv. It was the fact that Liv was pregnant with his baby and Kathy was still being gracious and kind that made his chest ache. 

He loved and admired her so much for her unwavering goodness and knew he didn’t deserve any part of her. 

While Kathy was packing a bag of stuff for him and Liv, he was at Liv’s bedside thinking about how much he loved her and their baby. What did that say about him? He wondered. What kind of man did that make him? 

It was another source of guilt and shame that he would have to push away until Liv was better, until he could make an appointment to unpack it all with Dr. Urey. 

“What’s going on in Liv’s room? Why are you out here?” Maureen asked nervously, starting at the closed door of room 350. 

Elliot put his arm back around her and pulled her close to kiss the side of her head, “Don’t worry, she’s just napping, I just stepped out to make a call. There’s a waiting room right down the hall, we can talk in there for a few unless you have to rush out.” He suggested. 

Now that he had some company, he found that he didn’t want them to leave yet. 

Both immediately agreed to stay and Elliot led them down the corridor toward the waiting area. He spotted Darren at the nurses station and waved him down, idly wondering if he and Jill worked 24 hour shifts or if they were just on a strange schedule as Liv’s designated nurses. 

“Darren, I’m taking my daughters to the waiting room for a few minutes. If Liv asks for me, let her know that I’ll be back soon?” He grabbed a slip of paper and pen from a small basket and wrote his phone number down, sliding it to the other man, “If anything happens again, don’t page. Just call me. I'll answer this time.”

Darren took the slip of paper and smiled, “Will do. Enjoy your visit.”

Elliot saw Maureen and Kathleen exchange a look of confusion, and he knew he was about to be bombarded with questions as soon as they were alone. He tried to prepare himself, told himself it was a good warm up for the much bigger Q + A he would be faced with the next time he saw Kathy. 

The waiting room was a short walk from the nurse’s station, and was blessedly empty when they arrived. It was small with only 15 or so chairs for visitors. There was a TV hanging on the wall playing reruns of Friends and a vending machine that had a decent selection of snacks. 

He made a note to grab something sweet for Liv on his way out.

Elliot sat down in one of the waiting room chairs with a groan, muscles still tight and achy from the previous day's ordeal, and waited for the interrogation to begin. 

The girls took the chairs across from him, and the moment felt oddly reminiscent of being in the interrogation room at the 1-6.

They wasted no time. 

“You told that nurse not to page you again… What was that about?” Kathleen asked, voice low, concerned. 

A softball question before the hard stuff, he thought. 

“Liv passed out last night when they were getting her out of the shower. They tried to page me, but I was outside with Cragen so I missed it.” He explained. Kathleen gripped the flowers tighter and grimaced. He shook his head and offered a reassuring smile, wanting to comfort her, “she’s better today, Katie, a lot better.” 

It wasn’t completely true, but she wasn’t actively bleeding to death either so it also wasn’t a total lie.

Kathleen looked on the verge of tears and asked, “Do they know why she passed out? Is something wrong? I mean, something else? Other than…” she trailed off and looked away, embarrassed.

He sighed, “They said her blood pressure dropped suddenly, it’s pretty common after-” he stopped himself before the words ‘extreme blood loss’ could come out and upset Katie even  more,“-she was very dehydrated. She’s had a lot of IV fluids since and she’s doing better today.”

Kathleen nodded slightly, seeming to accept his answer for now but looking like she might burst into tears any moment, and glanced at Maureen. The oldest of his children was looking between her sister and father contemplatively, and Elliot braced himself for whatever might come out of her mouth. 

Mo was the wise and level-headed oldest sibling, but she also did not hesitate to ask the burning questions when the occasion called for directness. He’d always admired that about her, was proud of her moxy. 

“Olivia’s baby…it’s okay?” She finally asked, eyes locked on her father’s. 

Elliot nodded slowly, eyes trained on hers. He had a feeling he knew where the conversation was going.

“You said in your text that it’s a girl?”

He nodded again, maintaining eye contact though his breathing was a little shaky and the room felt a little smaller. 

Maureen pursed her lips and asked in a very quiet voice, “And she’s definitely yours?”

There it is.

Elliot looked between them, assessing each woman briefly before responding in a confident and level voice, “She is definitely mine.”

Neither of his daughters looked surprised at his answer. They seemed more resigned than anything else. Maureen’s brows were furrowed in deep thought, and Kathleen’s thumbnail was lodged between her teeth, and Elliot wasn’t sure if they were waiting for more information or just absorbing the news. He was preparing for the fallout. 

Maureen was the first to speak again, words quiet and a little unsure, “It’ll be nice to have another baby sister, I think… I mean, now I can afford all the dresses and bows and the little shoes.... It’s kind of weird but…” She trailed off, smiling a little at her dad and looked to her younger sister.

“Maybe we can throw Liv a baby shower?” Kathleen suggested, voice wavering a bit, “Do you think she’d like that?”

Elliot swallowed hard and looked away from them, focusing instead on a black scuff on the floor. He was so grateful for Katie and Mo, too proud of them, too emotional to say a word. He did not deserve his wonderful girls and their gracious hearts that they’d inherited from their equally gracious mother.

“Thank you, girls,” he finally said in a gravelly voice, “I know it’s hard to think about me having a kid with someone other than your mom. I’m still wrapping my head around it myself.”

Maureen nodded. She seemed to be handling it well. 

Kathleen on the other hand looked unsettled. There was something familiar in his eyes, something he understood on a deep, fundamental level after everything that had transpired over the last few days. 

She was feeling guilty.

“Katie, what is it? I can tell something’s bothering you.” He pressed. 

She looked up at the ceiling and blinked back tears before asking, “You and Olivia… Was it just that one time? The thing you told us about at Easter?”

His face felt red hot. 

She was asking him if he’d had an affair with Liv. 

He hadn’t considered that anyone would wonder about that, but he should have. What were the odds of her getting pregnant from that one horrific encounter in the warehouse? High enough, obviously, but he could see how other people might wonder. 

“Yes, Katie, it was just the one time. I didn’t cheat on your mother with Liv.” He replied evenly. 

He thought the answer would make her feel better, put her mind at ease that her father wasn’t a cheating bastard, but the reply seemed to have the opposite effect on the young woman. She put a hand up to her mouth and started crying. 

“Katie, I know this is upsetting-”

“-stop, dad, you have no idea, ” She sobbed, placing her head in her hands, “Olivia was good to me, she helped me so much. When I got arrested, she brought Grandma to the jail to talk to me, helped me realize that I needed treatment. She probably saved my life that day. Did you know that? Did you know she did that for me?”

He shook his head, speechless. He’d had no idea that she’d done that for Kathleen, for him.

That was just like Liv, though. She was selfless and she never sought recognition for her good deeds, just did them without expectation and cared for her people unconditionally. 

He didn’t deserve her either.

“I just ignored her calls… I-I thought she must have really done something bad when you asked us to block her, but now I know… you two had- you were… that bad thing happened to you and she- she-” She cried harder, trying to muffle the sound with her hands, “she needed you, dad. She needed you because she was pregnant, and we all just ignored her… She saved me and I abandoned her, just like you did.”

Elliot felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest. She was right, but God it hurt him to hear the words. 

“Katie-”

“-no, stop it. Just- just…you need to hear this. You need to hear this and understand what we did to her,” She reached a shaky hand into her purse and pulled out her phone, swiping a few times before finally looking up at her father, cheeks red and wet, irises drowning in tears as she cried to him, “I found this last night.”

She pressed her phone screen. 

“Hey Kathleen, it’s Olivia.” 

Elliot sucked in a sharp breath, blood pounding in his head and senses suddenly sharp, too sharp. The tone of Liv's voice immediately set his teeth on edge. It was stripped of her normal defenses and professionalism, full of a heartbreak that he’d only heard from her a few times in their many years of partnership.

“I’m sorry to bother you like this. I know you’re a busy woman, and I don’t want to drag you into anything but…. Kathle-“

His daughter’s name was cut off by a hiccupping sob, the sound was like a bullet directly through Elliot’s heart. Then he heard Liv’s quiet frantic sniffles, her futile attempts to calm herself down. 

He’d never heard her cry like that, not once. She’d been emotional on occasion during their partnership, had shed tears over Sonya’s death, Calvin, bad cases… She’d cried a few times since her rescue but nothing like that voicemail, never like that. 

I really need to talk to your dad, sweetheart. I wouldn’t bother you if it weren't important…  it’s really important.”

Another sob punctuated her pleas, and Elliot swore he’d never feel peace again.

“Please, ask him to call me if you can. The sooner the better… And Kathleen, if our paths don’t cross again, I wish a beautiful life for you. Take good care of yourself.”

He pressed his hands against his forehead, fighting the ever-growing urge to throw his first through the nearest wall, and asked a question which had no real good answer, “what day did she leave you that message?” His voice was raspy and nearly hysterical. 

Kathleen wiped her cheek and looked down at her phone, “January 4th”. 

Fuck , he thought, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

She had to have been calling because she found out she was pregnant. The timing made sense, and it was the only reason she would have been so frantic to reach him. 

He’d been in Aruba then, suntanning on the fucking beach, thinking about how great it felt to be away from New York, free from his burdens… All the while Liv was crying on Kathleen’s voicemail, doing everything in her power to reach him to tell him that she was having his baby.

He felt sick.

Chapter Text

May 25th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 2:46pm

The clock on her hospital room wall read 2:46pm when Olivia finally awoke, easing out of sleep naturally without unwelcome touch or strange voices pulling her from slumber. She felt rested, alive for the first time in over a week. 

Early afternoon sunlight peeked through the window blinds on the far side of her room, the rays dragging lazily along the walls, and that felt like a nice way to wake up.

It was peaceful. Boring, even. 

Her pain hadn’t improved during her nap, but by some miracle she was not triggered by the heaviness of her muscles, or the lingering sting of the cigarette burns, or the pulsing ache of her belly wound.

At her side was a snoring Elliot, hunched over, using his crossed arms on her bed as a pillow. The rise and fall of his back was steady with each breath, and she found herself breathing in tandem with him, slowly and deeply. 

Despite his dogged insistence that he would be there for her every step of the way, she was not  confident that he would stay after their disastrous breakfast. He wasn’t her family, her partner, not even really her friend anymore. 

He owed her nothing, really.

But he was still there, at her side, and she loved and hated him for it. 

Wounded, bitter parts of her longed to lash out at him. Slap him across the face, cuss him out, lay out for him the ugly, dripping resentment that was borne into her when he’d vanished without a trace…

…but the soft, touch-starved, needy parts of her ached to reach over to him, run her hand through the scarce hair on top of his head, feel the sensation of his flesh on her own, tell him how much it meant that he was by her side. She craved his touch, wanted to hold him-   

She shook away the thought. 

There were still lines she would not cross. 

Not willing to toss away her dignity for a bit of comfort, she instead stretched her good arm slowly, muscles burning as she rotated it at the shoulder. It was tight, stiff , but looser than before, so she pushed through her discomfort, flexing and unflexing over and over, stretching the muscles until she could finally reach over and adjust her bed. 

She eased herself into a half-sitting position, the pressure of gravity against her belly causing deep, sharp pain, but she greeted the feeling with a slow inhale, letting it roll through her in waves until it eventually ebbed away. 

She was no stranger to pain, but this recovery was proving to be her greatest test. 

She sat in the solitude of her hospital room, taking in the symphony of beeps, the gentle grunts and snores of her former partner, the occasional squeaky wheel in the hallway. 

Time passed in quiet ticks from the wall clock. 

With each one, her thoughts drifted back to her baby. 

And more than that…

The haunting stillness in her womb. 

Over 24 hours had passed since her rescue, and Olivia had not felt a single movement from her child. Fetal monitoring, ultrasound, bloodwork - all came back fine. The OB blamed dehydration for the lack of movement and said they would continue to monitor, but it did nothing to ease her panic.  

Olivia reached shakily down to her belly and rubbed firmly in a spot between two dressed burns. 

Before Lewis, her touch used to be met with a kick. A flutter. Something . 

She pressed harder, desperate. The clock ticked louder in her ears. 

Move, baby. Just a little. 

Nothing. 

“Please,” she whispered, “please move for mama.”

Not even a flutter. 

A wave of fear washed over her, cold and suffocating. 

Maybe it was dehydration…But it could be so much worse, she knew. Fetal alcohol syndrome maybe? A side effect from the pills Lewis had forced her to take? Or from when he threw her into the trunk? 

The Beast’s final taunts echoed in her head, “ You forget, you have more to lose than I do.”

He’d been right. 

To lose her baby would be to lose everything . 

A small sob broke from her chest. She swallowed hard, grasping onto the last threads of her composure once more. 

The walls were closing in, a familiar fog settling into her, dulling the edges. 

Then-

“You okay, Liv?”

She tensed, her body jerking in response to Elliot’s voice. She turned to face him, heart pounding, hoping to downplay everything going on in her head, but he was already assessing her in that intense, nurturing way that made her feel naked. 

He rubbed his face with both hands and straightened in his chair, blinking rapidly before looking her over, top to toe. His eyes locked onto her belly and he asked again, voice slightly more urgent, “Is the baby alright, Liv?” 

It was a loaded question. 

She blew out a shaky breath and massaged another spot near her ribs, “I know they said she’s fine,” she told him, voice quivering, “but she still hasn’t moved .”

Elliot frowned and reached for her hand, halting his movement before their skin could touch. He paused to read her face, eyebrows raised slightly in question, waiting for a sign that he was allowed. 

She nodded slightly. He rested his palm on the top of her hand and squeezed. 

His hand was much bigger than hers, and the weight of it on her belly felt right somehow, heavy and unyielding, firm and steady, grounding. He rubbed tenderly with the tips of his fingers, thumb smoothing over her own, comforting her and their daughter in his own way. 

“She used to move a lot?” he asked, eyes low, voice soft.

She nodded, “All the time….  she’d keep me up some nights, kicking at all hours… Now it’s like… she’s gone .” She choked on the last word. 

Elliot gripped her fingers in his hand and squeezed, “We know she’s alive, Liv. Maybe…Maybe she needs time,” He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the paper cup, “Have you tried cold water? That used to work with Eli. Made him wiggly.”

She shrugged. It couldn’t hurt. She pulled her hand from under his own and reached up shakily to take the cup, “Let me.” 

He raised his brows, but didn’t say anything, just held the cup up to her hand and watched as she used great effort to grasp it, her sore muscles protesting with the effort. Some of the water sloshed over the sides of the cup, soaking through her blanket to her thin hospital gown, but she didn’t care. She was determined. 

She brought the cup to her lips and managed to down the remaining water, letting the empty cup drop from her hand onto the bed.

Her aching arm dropped back down with a thud, but it was worth it. 

The water tasted like a victory. 

“Great job, Liv,” Elliot said with a quiet smile, the twinkle in his eye matching his words. There was no condescension in his tone, just a subtle, genuine pride that she knew was authentically him. 

She rolled her eyes, but smiled back good-naturedly.

The water sloshed in her empty stomach, and she pressed gently around the middle of her bump, hoping the trick would work. 

Please. Please, God, let her move. 

Still, nothing. 

There was a lump in her throat and the echo of an evil voice in her head, one that sounded an awful lot like William Lewis taunting, “You thought you’d be the only one to have scars from me? Please, Olivia. You aren’t that stupid.”

She shook her head at Elliot, lips pursed to keep them from trembling. 

“She survived ,” he assured her, “You have to remember that. She might need time.”

Olivia huffed and pressed her palm tighter to her belly, trying to keep her voice level, to maintain some semblance of composure, “You don’t know, Elliot. You have no idea what he… did to us…” she trailed off. 

Nothing was guaranteed, not after Lewis. Only a list of terrifying possibilities that she worried over in an endless loop. 

Fetal Alcohol syndrome. Nerve damage. Paralysis, broken bones, maybe her brain…

A familiar feeling of dissociation washed over her, her vision blurring out of focus.

“Liv,” he urged, reaching to tilt her chin gently back toward him so she would meet his gaze, “I’m here . Talk to me.”

She zoned out, staring into his wet blue eyes. Her head drooped under its own weight. She shook it once. Twice. Trying to snap herself out of it.

“I’m fine, El.”

Elliot scoffed, though there wasn't much heat behind it. 

“Bullshit.”

The word settled heavily in the silence between them. 

Of course it was bullshit. She wasn’t fine, she wouldn’t be fine for a long time, but talking about it wouldn’t help her, not yet. 

She didn’t argue, just stared at nothing and let her mind wander to safety. 

Elliot sighed, “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

She met his gaze and nodded slightly, agreeing to nothing specific, but agreeing nonetheless. 

He reached over her slowly, pausing for a moment to rest his hand on her shoulder, then hit the call button, “I promised Jill I’d call when you woke up. You missed lunch.”

May 25th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 4:07pm

Elliot watched as Liv managed to take four small bites of a grilled chicken sandwich, unassisted, before unceremoniously dropping it all over herself. 

The top bun settled in her lap, patty and bottom bun on her belly, and a wet tomato stuck to her chest. She stared down at the mess with equal parts horror and disbelief, hand bent as if she was still holding the offending morsel. 

“What the fuck ,” she muttered under her breath, cheeks turning crimson.

He quickly reached over and picked each piece off of her, dropping them back on the tray. Olivia closed her eyes until he was finished, then offered a tight smile and a muttered “thanks”. He handed her a napkin so she could wipe the tomato juice off of her chest, and looked away as she did so. 

Her pride was wounded.

That bastard Lewis had stripped the most independent person he’d ever met of her autonomy. 

Olivia Benson was a force of nature, and he’d snuffed her flame. 

He wished for the thousandth time that he had been the one to kill the man. 

She’d carried out that task alone, but he’d be damned if she was alone for the rest of it. 

“You’re making good progress, Liv. It’s only been one day and you’re almost back to normal,” he said softly, taking a bite from his burger and then offering it up to her with a smile. 

She rolled her eyes at him, though he could see the smile playing on her lips as she took a big bite. They chewed in a familiar rhythm. 

“I’d hardly say ‘almost back to normal’, but I might be able to keep myself alive once I’m out of here.”

Elliot held two fries up to her mouth. She bit half of each and he popped the remaining halves into his own mouth. They were a little too salty for his taste, but he figured the sodium was good for her. 

“That’s the goal,” he lowered his voice, trying to sound casual, “And you’ll have help. I’ll be there.”

Her lower lip quivered, one of her familiar tells, and he understood that he’d hit a nerve. 

He didn’t say more, just held the burger up to her mouth again. She hesitated a beat before taking a small bite and chewing slowly. 

Elliot took a swig of lukewarm coffee and watched her, waiting. 

“I’m not ready to think about what happens when I leave here,” she admitted, “What my life will look like…”

He understood more than he cared to admit. 

Let her think that one of us has it all figured out. 

He fed her a spoonful of Tylenol-laden applesauce and waited to see if she would offer more. 

She exhaled sharply and looked away from him. 

When she kept her silence, he pressed, “Nothing to stress about now, Liv... I’ll spring you when it’s time. We’ll figure out the rest later.” 

There were conversations to have. Logistics to untangle. An entire marriage to navigate.

But none of it changed the fact: he was going to be there for Liv.

Ideally he’d stay with her through her entire recovery, but her wrist would take at least six weeks to heal, and that was a long time to ask his wife to wait for him to come home. 

Kathy was gracious, often much more than he deserved, but even she had her limits.

And by the time Liv’s wrist healed, she’d be over 30 weeks into her pregnancy. She deserved someone by her side then too.

And maybe it wasn’t all about Olivia needing help. 

Maybe it was about him too.

He knew he was a bastard for considering his own wants when he now had two families to consider, but he couldn’t deny it - he wanted to experience the rest of Liv’s pregnancy with her. The final appointments, the false contractions, packing the hospital bag… all the little things he’d done with Kathy four times over. 

Those experiences belonged to him and Liv now, and he wanted them badly . 

He didn’t know how he was going to make it all work, but helping her get better seemed like a good place to start. 

Liv didn’t seem convinced.

She tensed up. Elliot could sense the walls going up around her once more. 

Anxiety surged through him, quick and sharp.

The sound of her voice in that message to Kathleen echoed constantly in his head. Her panic, her raw, desperate pleading - he vowed to never make her feel that way again. 

He wanted her to feel safe, to know that she wasn’t alone, but every conversation they had led to dangerous territory, always one careless word away from her shutting down. 

“It seems like you’re trying to convince yourself,” she remarked, tone flat, closed off. 

His eyes quickly passed over hers, fixed on the wall opposite him, then down to the rest of her face in a sweeping assessment. He caught the slightest, familiar quiver of her chin. 

He could see the pain behind her bravado, the hope behind her pessimism. 

She wanted him to stay, he knew that, but she’d lost all faith in him. 

He offered her a carton of milk and watched as she took several gulps from the straw, “I don’t need to convince myself, Liv. There’s no way in Hell I’m letting you go through this alone.”

She glared at him. 

“‘I’m not alone, Elliot. I have people. My world doesn’t revolve around you.”

I don’t need you. 

That’s what she was really saying.

And he knew it was true. 

She was independent, always had been. 

Liv survived a childhood of neglect, wrapped herself in solitude like armor. On the job, in relationships, friendships, everything. Never too close, never too dependent on anyone else. 

But that armor wouldn’t help her now. She needed more. With her wrist broken and her stomach stitched up, she would need help getting out of bed, getting to the bathroom, showering. Her independence would be more than challenged, and he planned to be the fiercest challenger.

He fed her another fry and said, “You have a lot of people in your corner. I’m one of them .”

She laid back against the pillow and closed her eyes, chewing slowly, avoiding the conversation.

Elliot’s eyes locked in on the deep black bruises on her eyelids, and felt another surge of rage toward William Lewis.

“I’m tired, El,” she murmured, “I don’t feel like talking anymore.” 

“Sure,” he agreed, trying to hide the defeat in his voice, “Rest up. We can watch shitty reality TV for the rest of the day if you want.”

Her eyes snapped open. 

“We can’t,” she said, suddenly alert. “IAB should be here-”

She glanced up at the clock, brow furrowing.

“An hour ago... They’re late.”

Elliot shifted in his chair, bracing for her anger. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and forced a casual tone.

“About that, Liv… IAB rescheduled your interview for tomorrow night.”

He watched as her expression rapidly cycled between relief and suspicion. 

“The rats rescheduled my interview?” She asked flatly, skepticism dripping from every word. 

Detective Olivia Benson was alive and well.

Elliot almost smiled - almost. 

He nodded once, stiffly, eyes giving away nothing.

She scrutinized him, and he tensed, bracing for her oncoming wrath. 

“Which one of you called them?”

“Liv-“ 

“-Who. Called. Them?” she demanded, “You? Or Cragen?”

A beat of heavy silence passed between them. Elliot’s arms were crossed tightly to his chest, his posture tense, still. The energy in the air was electric, reminiscent of their days in the interrogation room, and the familiarity made him warm with nostalgia for just a moment.

There she is, he thought fondly, there’s my Liv. 

Her jaw was set, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring slightly, waiting for an answer that he knew she’d be pissed about regardless.

“It was Cragen ,” he finally admitted.

She huffed, smacking her leg with her good arm, then wincing in pain, “Dammit, why the Hell would he-“

“- in his defense, I told him to.” Elliot interrupted. 

He dropped the words like a bomb, and she gaped at him, speechless.

He bit back a laugh at her startled expression. It wasn’t funny, exactly, not really funny at all. 

Maybe he was just happy to see her a little riled up, a little feisty, a little more “Liv”.

“That wasn’t your call,” she scolded, drumming her fingers impatiently on her mattress. 

Her jaw clenched, and she looked away. He realized that she wasn’t just angry, she was scared .

“It had to be somebody’s call, Liv.” 

She shook her head, rubbing her forehead in frustration.

“I need them to see that I’m okay, Elliot. The stakes are too high right now. You made me look weak,” she accused. 

He shook his head and sighed, “Nobody thinks you’re weak.. I made a judgment call. Weighed the pros and cons, made a choice. It was a good choice.”

She narrowed her eyes, “ What ? What were the ‘pros and cons’ of going behind my back to my boss? I'd love to hear them.”

Her boss, not his.

A low blow, but not unfair given the circumstances. 

Elliot pressed his lips together tightly and stood up, crossing over to the window. 

He needed space. 

He leaned up against the windowsill with his back to her. Silence stretched out between them, charged with an anticipatory tension, the shadow of conflict on the horizon. 

He needed the space. Not from her, but from the boiling, reckless instinct to protect her no matter the cost. 

There was no winning this argument, no safe option, only the careful tightrope walk of navigating Liv’s recovery whilst a hundred unspoken words lingered in the spaces between them.

One wrong step or careless push and she’d shut down again. 

Or worse, he’d lose the fragile sliver of trust they’d barely managed to rebuild.

He glanced back at her bed and met her eyes once again. She stared, unblinking, waiting for him to save himself or hang himself. 

Goddammit , he thought, I don’t want to fight with her.  

They’d bickered on and off about stupid shit all day, and he wanted it to stop . She was supposed to be resting. 

“The con was you being pissed at me,” he admitted, “I know you’re still pissed at how I left… I didn’t wanna drag that up. Thought you might remember that you hate me.” 

He shifted his focus back to the off-white, slightly dusty blinds, running a finger idly over one of them and collecting the dust on his finger. 

Liv paused for a moment to digest his answer, then in true detective fashion, pressed him for more, “Okay… what else?

Elliot lifted his shoulders in a half hearted shrug, “that was the only one.”

She scoffed, “Wow. Really put some thought into that, didn’t you? What were the pros?” 

She was relentless, detective persona in full swing,  and Elliot found it both charming and infuriating. 

He rolled his eyes, peeling back one of the blinds, ducking his head an inch to peek at the outside world. He felt trapped, agitated, and he wished that Jill might pick that moment to come back and save him from her inquisition. 

“You know why I did it,” he sighed, “C’mon Liv, it was the right call. Can’t you admit that?”

She barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless, “if you’re going to stick your nose in my business and tell me it was for my own good, the least you can do is justify yourself.”

He rested his hands on the windowsill and pressed his forehead to the blinds. 

She was under his skin, so stubborn, so fucking stubborn .

“You are pregnant , with my kid, and you almost died yesterday,” he snapped, “ Yesterday , Liv.”

He was shaking. Devastated by it. Furious that he couldn’t fix any of it.

“I just barely got your blood out from under my fucking fingernails, and I’m supposed to let IAB come in here and interrogate you? When you’re like this ? No fucking way.” 

He spun around to face her then, ready to absorb the rest of her anger, ready for them to put it all on the table. She could tell him to piss off and mind his business, and they could spend the rest of the day watching bad TV and napping.

But she wasn’t poised to yell.

Gone was the hardened, relentless detective. In her place was a tired, soft Liv with big tears shining in her brown eyes. 

His heat sizzled away, heart breaking into pieces at the sight of her. 

“Like this?” She asked, voice cracking, “You mean weak? …broken?”

Not an accusation, but a fear spoken as reality. 

“ No,” he insisted, pushing himself away from the window and crossing over to her, desperate pleading on his face, “God, no . Not weak. Not weak, Liv. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” he sat down next to her and stared down at her belly, “But you’ve been through Hell. It’s my job to look out for you when you’re-“

“-no,” she interrupted, sighing, “It’s not your job-”

“-of course it’s my job. It’ll always be my job, especially now…” he rasped, holding his hand to his chest and rubbing tensely, “You were bleeding out in my arms… Jesus, Liv, I could see the life leaving your eyes, I-” He pressed his palms to his forehead, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the effort of holding back his tears. 

Liv remained still and quiet, unmoving except the lone tear that fell to her cheek. He watched it descend, then reached over and brushed it away, pausing to hold her face in his hand for just a moment. 

She leaned into the touch, and his calloused fingers pressed her flesh gently, careful not to apply pressure to her bruises. 

The gesture was too intimate for them, somewhere way over the careful boundaries of their friendship, but he craved the feel of her skin so he selfishly let himself have the indulgent moment of feeling her warmth on his palm instead. 

Liv squeezed her eyes shut and pressed closer to his hand. He put his other one on her other cheek so he could cradle her face between his palms. 

He had so much affection, so much awe and love and warmth for her, it bloomed in his chest when he touched her, left him aching with longing for more. 

Liv - the woman who’d walked at his side over a decade, saved his ass on too many occasions, understood him on a level that nobody else could - pregnant with his kid and hurt and breaking to pieces. He wanted to pull her closer, shelter her from everything, hold her-

-he cut the thought off before it could even fully form in his head. 

He had a good woman waiting for him at home - loyal, kind, patient. 

And here he was, craving something he had no right to want.

And he knew Liv, knew if he tried to cross those boundaries with her, she’d push him away so fast his head would spin. 

He was just raw, feeling too much. He shook it away, focused on the feeling of her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs and watching a war of emotions play out as he spoke in a soft, wistful voice, “I would give anything to change this, Liv. Anything . To make you better, to make our baby move-”

She sniffled, grabbing one of his hands and pulling it slowly away from her face to rest on her belly.  

He continued, voice raw with emotion as he rubbed his thumb against the roundness of her, “I can’t fix what I missed, but I can look out for you now. That’s all I was tryin’ to do. Just looking out for you and our baby. You get that, right?”

She murmured, “I still don’t like it.”

He pushed out a shaky breath, “I know.”

He didn’t want to press his luck by saying more.

Another beat of silence passed between them, and Elliot wondered if she was about to kick him out. 

Instead, she sighed, resigned, “but I understand.”

The tension in his brow disappeared.

“You do?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, shrugging, “But don’t do it again.”

He wondered if she was just too tired to fight more, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Okay.”

Their hands remained on her, thumbs intertwined on her belly. 

She didn’t let go. 

Neither did he.

No promises, Liv.

Chapter Text

May 25th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 6:21pm

They spent the rest of the afternoon in silence, half-watching bad reality TV and barely speaking at all. 

Jill and the medical staff only popped in occasionally. No one from her squad visited or called. Elliot’s phone remained silent.

The peace made her suspicious.

He’d meddled again. 

She’d put money on it. 

Told everyone to stay away so she could relax or something. 

Thoughtful, infuriating, annoying - textbook Stabler.

But it also reminded her that nobody on earth looked out for her the way he did. 

In her weakest moments, when she was the most in need, he was there, quietly pulling strings, taking care of her. 

She loved him all the more for it. 

He lay sprawled out on his bed, hands folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the television screen, watching two women scream at one another over a man that they were both sleeping with. 

He rolled his eyes, grumbling commentary not meant for her ears, and she stifled a laugh. He clearly hated the show, yet never asked her to change the channel. 

He just watched the TV, and she watched him watch the TV, and the clock on her hospital wall ticked on in the background like a metronome. 

The hours dragging on. 

Quiet, calm, boring .

Not that she was complaining. 

For what felt like the hundredth time, her gaze wandered to the vase of flowers displayed on her end table. 

It was a beautiful arrangement of sunflowers and red carnations, delivered by Kathleen and Maureen while she slept. 

The gesture was sweet, so thoughtful of them, but a strange unease sat in her stomach that she couldn’t name.

Elliot’s daughters…

Elliot and Kathy’s daughters…

Her baby’s sisters. 

Just thinking about it made her stomach drop. 

She peered down at the royal purple slippers warming her tired feet. 

Those were sent by Kathy, along with a heavy grey cardigan that was somehow warmer and softer than anything Olivia had ever worn. 

Elliot had pulled it from the duffle bag with a bittersweet smile, and wrapped it around her shoulders gently. “The girls said Kathy stayed up all night, waiting for news that you were okay.” 

Then he slid the slippers on her feet, giving each foot a squeeze, and said no more about it.  

The gesture was significant coming from Elliot’s wife. 

They both knew that.

Was it a peace offering? 

Kathy’s way of telling her that she wasn’t angry at her? 

Or a simple kindness when Olivia desperately needed kindness? 

She couldn’t begin to guess. 

It would be easy to obsess, she knew, easy to imagine the worst, but it felt like a poor use of her energy to worry about Kathy’s feelings or motivations while she was recovering.

The only Stabler she wanted to focus on was the fragile one still growing inside of her. 

She studied Elliot, now propped up on one arm, brow furrowed at the TV as the earlier fight scene had dissolved into a tearful heart-to-heart. 

She wished she could be like that, focused on something trivial. 

Lose herself in another world.

For just a little while. 

But the darkness was lingering.

She had to focus, one second at a time, trying to stay present. 

The reality was always there, bubbling just below the surface -  a powerful mix of pain and fear and brutal memories waiting to just boil over and pull her under. 

She hadn’t told anyone the full story of her time with Lewis yet, hadn’t even come close to revealing the scope of his derangement, or the severity of his torture.

They’d seen some evidence.

Bruises, the burns, the evidence of torture, the cut where he’d tried to steal her baby right out of her body. 

But they didn't have the story. 

Her story. 

And though she would request the records be sealed after her interview, information had a way of circulating through the NYPD.

Details inevitably leaked.

And strangers would hear about the worst days of her life.

How Lewis was waiting for her when she went home. 

How she was too distracted and exhausted to draw her weapon. 

How he taped her to a chair in her own apartment.

How he cut her clothes off with a knife.

How he put lit cigarettes to her belly.

How he pissed all over her daughters nursery-

Ripped the ultrasound photos to shreds-

Forced pills into her mouth-

Twisted her nipples until she passed out from the pain-

“Liv?”

She startled out of the looping trauma, shaking her head furiously. 

Sweat dripped down her brow, and she brought up a shaky hand to wipe it away.

Elliot was no longer in bed watching TV, but standing next to her, worry lines standing out boldly on his face.

She had no recollection of him walking over. 

I’m losing it. 

“All good here,” she insisted, smile tight and not reaching her eyes. 

Her breaths were shaky and uneven, and she knew she wasn’t fooling him, but was determined to keep up the pretense of composure anyway.

Elliot sat down in the chair next to her bed, “too much time to think?”

She nodded softly, unsurprised that he understood her. They could always read one another well, that’s what made them a great pair on the job. 

“I have an idea… for a distraction.” 

Her stomach twisted anxiously. 

Then he smiled, twinkle in his eye, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Sounds dangerous,” she replied, “I’m all ears.”

He grasped onto her hand - a gesture that felt natural to them now - and held it in both of his, kneading the flesh of her palm anxiously with his thumbs. 

“Tell me about her… Our baby .”

Warmth filled her belly. 

“Oh,” she breathed out, surprised. 

There was so much he didn’t know.

Where to start?

She paused, feeling caught off-guard. 

“It’s alright,” he backpedaled, “I know I don’t deserve to know-“

“-wait-” she interrupted, brow furrowed, “ stop ,” she shook her head adamantly, dime-sized pupils fixed on him. “Of course you deserve to know… She’s your daughter..”

“I know, Liv, but I-“

“No buts, El. You’re her father . That’s-” she took a deep breath, blinking back the tears that seemed to live right behind her lashes, “-you know how important that is to me, that she has you, that she has-“ 

She cleared her throat and shook her head. 

Dangerous territory again.

Too deep, too heavy. 

She redirected. 

For both of their sanities.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about her.”

His face lit up.

There was a shine of tears in his eyes as he leaned forward, ever so slightly, to listen. 

She relaxed against her pillow, ready to share.

And it only seemed right to start from the beginning. 

“Oddly enough, I found out I was pregnant because of a mandatory physical. I was trying to get cleared to go back to work after…” 

She trailed off and looked away from him, suddenly breathless.

After the UC.

After the warehouse.

After we were attacked… 

After you left me.

She didn’t need to say any of it aloud.

It lived in all of the spaces between them.

She nibbled her thumbnail, for just a moment, until the effort of holding her arm up was too exhausting. 

Sighing, she continued. 

“I stopped by the precinct after my exam to fill out some papers for Cragen. A call came through from an unknown number while I was talking to Nick.”

She closed her eyes, recalling the scene in her head like it was happening in real time. 

She was standing over Nick’s desk, laughing over some dramatized story about their least favorite uni being puked on by a perp. 

Being in the squadroom again felt right, like home.  

She was more than ready to get back to work.

Her phone started ringing in her hand, number unrecognized, and there was a brief flash of hope that the caller might be him . 

He didn’t get to know that part, she decided.

“I answered the call, and it was a nurse from the clinic where I’d had my physical done not even an hour before. She said, ‘Detective Benson, I’m calling with some unexpected news.’” 

She laughed, humorlessly, “I started thinking the worst. C ancer or something. Why else would they call so fast? And, it was on speaker, so Munch, Fin, and Nick heard every word. They were staring at me. We all must have been thinking the same thing…”

She sighed, feeling the memory in her body, adrenaline spiking as she retold the memories to the person she most wanted to share them with.

“But then she said, "Your bloodwork just came back. You’re pregnant .”

She had heard the word ‘pregnant’, and the world started spinning on its axis. Her eyes landed on Nick as she searched for solid ground. 

His mouth was gaped in shock, but he didn’t hesitate, just leapt up from his chair, reaching both arms toward her.

Ready to hold her upright if her legs gave out.

She’d reached to him and clutched his arms in her trembling hands.

That was the moment their partnership had changed.

From that day forward, Nick held her up.

“I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Cap came out of his office and asked why I was still there, and the lady on the phone kept saying my name, but I just stood there. I was so shocked, El. Never been so shocked. It never once crossed my mind that I could be pregnant.”

Another barrage of memories.

Fin saying, “she’ll call you back”.

Nick putting his hands on her shoulders and easing her into a chair, placing peanuts in her hand, “Eat these, Liv. You’re white as a ghost.” .

Cragen standing beside her, brow furrowed, worried, asking Munch what the Hell had happened. 

“I almost passed out. Nick was mothering. ‘Liv, drink this water, eat these peanuts, put your feet up.’ It’s a little funny now, but I was humiliated at the time…The whole squad found out I was pregnant at the same time I did.”

“Glad you weren’t alone for that,” Elliot offered quietly, regretful.

Secretly, she was glad too. 

“I don’t know why, but I started laughing. It wasn’t funny at all, not at all, but I just couldn’t stop … laughed until my stomach hurt. Cragen looked at me like I’d grown two heads, and that made me laugh even more for some reason…” 

She shook her head at the memory and sighed, knowing the next part of the story would likely upset Elliot. 

“Then I started crying.”

More visceral memories.

Fin knelt down in front of her and pulled her into his chest. “ Shh, shh, it’s all good, Liv. You’re gonna be okay. We got you.”

Munch was lost, just kept clenching and unclenching his fists at his side.

Nick stood over her, blocking the view of onlookers. 

And Cragen begged someone to tell him what happened. 

Elliot’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked away, eyes shimmering.

“After I calmed down, I told Cragen.”

He stiffened, gripping tighter to her hand. 

“How’d he take it?”

She thought about the look of disbelief on her Captain’s face when she’d gasped out, “I’m pregnant.” 

She shook her head.

“I’ve never seen him like that before.”

He hadn’t looked like a cop then, or her boss, or even a supportive friend.

He looked like a father who’s daughter was terrified. 

He’d knelt beside her, hand on her arm, whispering, “ we’ll get you through this, Olivia.” 

Then he’d helped her into his office, eased her down on the couch, and asked her, point blank, “ It’s his? Elliot’s?”

“Yes.” She’d breathed out, still trying to wrap her mind around it. 

She was really pregnant with El’s baby.

Her head was spinning.

“It happened that night then? The UC?” 

She’d known why he wanted the confirmation. He wanted to torture himself over it.

Olivia blew out a tense breath, “He blamed himself. Thought he’d ruined my life.”

Elliot muttered, shamefaced, “I may have laid into him after my IAB interview, told him everything that happened to us was on him .” 

Ah…

That made a lot of sense now that she thought about it. 

Cragen had been different since that night. 

“None of this has been easy on him,” she offered.

Elliot nodded, “No, I imagine not.”

A beat of loaded silence passed between them. 

He cleared his throat and began rubbing her hand nervously again.

“The day you found out you were pregnant… That was January 4th?” 

She pulled her hand from his harshly, pit forming in her stomach. 

“I didn’t tell you that.  How did you…?” She narrowed her eyes and leaned away from him, breath catching. “You knew? This whole time? You knew I was pregnant?” 

“No, Liv. Christ. Katie found your voicemail yesterday… From January 4th. ” He looked into her eyes, and the amount of guilt staring back at her felt like punishment. “You were trying to reach me.”

Oh.

Olivia was near hysterics in that message. 

She’d tried to call Elliot over 30 times. 

No answer. 

Then Kathy.

No answer. 

By the time she’d moved on to Kathleen, she was beyond desperate.

The last thing she’d wanted to do was drag the young woman into a mess, but every cell in her body told her that she needed to reach him. 

She’d broken in the middle of the message, sobbing as she begged her former partner’s daughter to have him call her. 

It was raw, vulnerable.

Embarrassing.

And it sat unacknowledged on the girl’s phone for 5 months, like the dozens of other messages she’d poured her heart into.

“Everyone called, Elliot . Cragen must have tried you a dozen times that day. Fin and Munch. And Nick even…” she trailed off. 

There were pieces of the story that belonged to her, that maybe he didn’t deserve to have. 

“Nick called me too?” He pressed, voice shaky, stressed.

A stray tear trailed down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly. 

“No.”

Elliot waited, tense.

“He drove me to your house.” 

He flinched like she’d slapped him.

She laughed, but it was hollow.

“I don’t know why I tried, or what I would have said to you,” she admitted, pain and anger bleeding into her words, “I wanted to tell you that I was scared . I thought you would make me brave... You always said I’d be a good mom.” 

She swiped a tear from her cheek, “I was stupid for that, Elliot. You weren’t there. You erased me from your life, and you disappeared from mine.”

She pulled her chin up, projecting defiance to spite her leaky eyes.

“And I didn’t need you to make me brave. I did that on my own.”

Elliot rubbed at his face hard, tears streaking down his cheeks that he swiped away quickly.

“Liv, I’m sorry.” 

Ha.

“Of course you are,” she snapped, “because I’m pregnant with your baby. If I wasn’t, you never would have come back.”

“Liv, I-”

“-Just don’t.”

He pressed his lips into a tight, thin line. 

There was a vein in the middle of his forehead that was pulsing, a telltale sign that he was losing patience. 

She didn’t care.

So what if Elliot was frustrated? 

She was abandoned, discarded, forgotten by him. 

Years of partnership, of friendship, and he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye? 

Ignored her messages like she was a stalker, not the cop who had his six for over a decade. 

Who’d helped deliver his 5th child. 

Who’d saved his ass time and time again.

Who he’d been forced to violate at gunpoint on their last night as partners.

He hadn’t bothered to check on her when all was said and done.

Not one fucking time. 

And instead of healing and taking care of herself now, in the aftermath of another awful trauma, she was wrapped up in all of her anger and hurt toward him. 

All she wanted was to sit in his company, eat bad hospital food, sleep and be grateful to be alive, but every fucking conversation led back to William Lewis, or Compton, or Elliot leaving. 

“I fucked up,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes. 

She was so, so tired. 

“I ran away,” he said, “from my life, my career, from you , Liv. And it turned out to be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

He ran his fingers over his hair, pulling hard at the ends.

“I should’ve been in the squadroom when that call came in. Should’ve taken you to every appointment. Heard her heartbeat for the first time. I missed everything. And it’s all on me.”

An unwelcome empathy grew in her chest. 

She let him continue.

“I’m never gonna forgive myself for that. I know it doesn’t make it better, but it’s the truth.” There was a faraway look in his eye then, “If I hadn’t found out that you were pregnant, if I hadn’t seen the news that you were gone…” he choked out the word, looking at her with so much regret, “I probably would have missed her birth, too. And I would have missed this… you being hurt . I-” 

He shook his head rapidly, like he could shake the bad thoughts away.

She sighed, deciding it was time to give him a little bit of grace. 

“You didn’t miss this.” She grabbed his hand, squeezing as hard as she could muster, “ And I’m so glad.”

She watched as his throat worked quietly, swallowing back emotions that she knew he was suppressing for her benefit. 

It was jarring how many times she’d seen him cry since he’d found her in that bathtub. 

The Elliot she’d worked with for over a decade was not one to wear his grief on his sleeve.

Anger? Sure.

But not sadness.

Now his heart was laid bare for her, and she wondered how much of that was a result of trauma from the UC, or perhaps the result of some good therapy. 

He was different that way, open and blunt in his feelings.

And she was different too, in a more unstable way.

Days of terror and pregnancy hormones will do that to a person. 

Her anger was quickly turning to tears.

She sniffled, swallowing down the thickness in her throat.

Right on the edge. 

She tried to pull them back.

“Let’s drop it. Talk about somethi-”

Then it happened.

Kick.

Kick.

Kick.

She gasped, words choking in her throat.

Kick. 

Her jaw slackened, hand flying to the spot, half in awe and half in pain from the sudden tensing of her bruised body.

Elliot jolted upright, concern flooding his features as he reached for her.

“Liv, what’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Another kick, even stronger.

“She’s moving.”

She grabbed his hand and placed it on the spot, pushing his fingers tight against her bump. 

Their daughter kicked directly at her father’s trembling fingers. 

An incredulous laugh burst from Elliot, and he stared at her belly like it held his every dream. 

His expression was so open, so boyish and gleeful, unlike anything she’d seen before. 

It was beautiful.

For the first time since she’d been rescued, she felt real hope.

It was too much. 

Much too much.

She dropped his hand, bringing hers up to cover her face.

And finally fell apart . 

She sobbed, the force of each one surging through her in hard, unforgiving waves.

An exorcism of pain from her soul. 

Her injuries protested, but she was powerless to stop once the floodgates were opened.

First, she cried for her baby - her kicking, living, breathing baby girl - who’d somehow survived the unsurvivable. 

Her miracle . 

Tears of relief, joy, gratefulness.

Then-

Pain. 

Grief. 

A sorrow so deep that it felt alive inside of her, stitched into the very fabric of Olivia Benson. 

She wept for her old self, dead in her apartment, destroyed by the Beast. 

Gone.

Like her sense of security, her home, her safety…

He’d ripped it all away.

She let herself feel the loss, the devastation, of everything the monster had done to her. 

And with each heaving sob, her wounds responded in kind, reminding her that Lewis had not only wrecked her soul, but her body too.

“Oh, Liv.”

A heavy hand pressed on her back, right below her shoulder.

She jerked away, fight or flight kicking in.

Another cupped the nape of her neck, gently lifting her up from the bed. 

She cried out.

“Don’t.”

His soft, coaxing words whispered right against her ear, “Shhhh, come here, Liv. Come here.”

The bed shifted under her, and she felt his leg settle against her hip as he leaned closer. 

Hands, warm and familiar, held her up. 

The fight drained from her instinctively. 

Her body recognized the safety of Elliot’s arms.

Without thinking, she flung her good arm around his shoulder and let him pull her into his steady embrace, melting against him.

Her chin rested on him, and he hugged her securely to his chest, clutching the back of her head as she gasped and sobbed against him.

“You’ve been so strong, Liv, but you don’t have to be anymore. Let it out.”

She was trembling, tears pouring onto his shoulder. 

He was solid like rock against her, but still warm, comforting.

To her, he felt like coming home again.

She fisted his shirt tightly, pulling him even closer, and buried her face in the crook of his neck. 

Sobs tore through her, shaking them both, but he held firm, grounding her with steady hands moving gently along her back. 

Every wound on her body cried out, but she didn’t let go. 

She couldn’t let go of him. 

“You’re gonna get through this. I’ve got you, partner.” 

He turned his head slightly and pressed his lips to the side of her head.

His embrace was the embodiment of safety, love, everything she’d been denied her entire life. 

Everything she’d desired in her solitude and thought she would never have. 

She gripped harder, hand full of his shirt, pulling almost hard enough to rip the fabric, twisting it desperately as her body heaved. 

He’d told her to get it out, so she did - the pain, the fear, the hope, the boundless love.

Poured it out, and hoped he’d carry it for her so she could finally, truly rest .

He ran his fingers through her hair, gently, barely touching her scalp with each pass, “I’m right here, Liv. Right here with you. Promise.” 

She focused on that soft touch, letting it lull her as the last of her tears fell. 

And when they finally dried up, when she could catch her breath, she collapsed against his shoulder, sniffling shallowly, utterly exhausted.

Elliot rested his temple on top of her head, the wetness of his own tears dripping into her hair.

Aching empathy washed through her once more. 

He was suffering too.

“El?” She asked, voice thick and scratchy, “Lay with me? Just for a little while?”

He didn’t say anything, but nodded, easing her gently back onto her pillow. 

They both needed comfort.

He wiped the tears from both of their faces with a tissue, then climbed in bed beside her. 

She curled up on her side, carefully, sling resting against his stomach, head resting on his chest. 

Everything hurt, but his closeness soothed the ache.

Just a little.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the feeling of safety. 

Jesus… we’re cuddling.

Cuddling with Elliot of all people…

...it terrified her how good it felt. 

She pressed deeper into him and sighed, letting his warmth ease her from the outside in.

Boundaries were crossed, and she hoped she could forgive herself for that someday.

And Kathy… 

Christ . 

Her slippered feet felt a little too warm at the thought.

Elliot’s arm was draped over her, fingers lazily drawing patterns on the side of her belly. 

Kick.

Elliot laughed quietly, awed.

He sighed into her hair. 

Gooseflesh covered her arms.

“Can’t wait to meet her, Liv.”

Chapter Text

May 26th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 8:23am

Olivia blinked at the four breakfast trays cluttering the overbed and side tables. 

Scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, oatmeal. 

An English muffin breakfast sandwich, hash browns. 

Biscuits swimming in white gravy. 

Even after days without food, it was too much. The array of smells in her space had her very pregnant nose in overdrive. 

“El… Why the buffet? ” 

He smirked, reaching over her to spoon gravy onto a bare biscuit.

“Quantity over quality, Liv.” He shrugged. “Thought it’d make up for the fact that you’re still eating this crap .”

She laughed, shaking her head. 

That was Elliot Stabler logic for you. 

Steam drifted from the trays, warming the air around her. 

It felt familiar.

Comforting . 

Like two detectives, crammed in a small booth at their favorite breakfast spot, hunched over hot plates, dissecting a case. 

It felt like them.

Elliot grabbed a cup of orange juice and brought it up to her lips. “Tylenol first.” 

She drank it down without protest, grateful not to taste the pills, praying the relief would kick in fast. 

Because whatever last night was - breakthrough, breakdown , or both - it left her hurting.

A lot. 

She’d barely come down from the adrenaline of her baby moving before she was overcome with pain again. 

By the time Jill returned to the room to check on her, she found Olivia clammy and curled up on Elliot’s chest - racing heart, blood pressure up to 150 over 95.

“You have to rest to recover, ” she’d lectured, “I know you cops don’t like to sit still, but you must know your limits.”

Olivia was too exhausted to defend herself, just nodded her apology and promised to do better. 

And when the nurses set to work fixing her up, she hadn’t sent Elliot away. 

She asked him to stay.

Let him bear witness to the ruin of her body.

That was harder than she could ever admit. 

They’d seen each other blooded before, but never like this.

When Jill peeled back the bandage on her lower abdomen, exposing the wound that had almost killed her, Olivia averted her eyes. 

She couldn’t stand to see it. 

She turned her head toward El instead.

Saw the tick in his jaw, the anger swirling red hot under his collar. 

His eyes were fixed on her belly, and she knew he was thinking about Lewis.

“El. Don’t look.”

His eyes had flicked up to hers, softening in real time - full of somber acknowledgement and devastation beneath all of that brooding heat.

And once she was re-bandaged and laid back in the bed, Elliot followed Jill out of the room. 

She guessed he was probably butting in for the hundredth time, but she couldn’t be certain. 

Still.

The man never stopped inserting himself…

…Like having four entire breakfasts delivered to her room.  

Elliot reached over her, hand brushing her own in quiet acknowledgement, and scooped up a massive spoonful of gravy, placing it carefully on a piece of toast piled high with bacon, eggs and…

…

Grape jelly?

“ Ew. El, what are you doing ?” 

He placed a piece of buttered toast on the top and squashed it down, jelly and eggs spurting out the sides. He waggled his brows at her. 

She almost gagged.

And yet…

He lifted the massive sandwich to his mouth, plate poised underneath to catch the drippings. 

She grasped his arm. “El?”

He set the food down, assessing her with slight concern in his eyes. 

She sighed, staring down at his plate.

“The baby wants me to eat that .” 

His expression softened, warm melodic laughter filling the room. 

“Of course, Liv. Whatever she wants.” He winked, holding the sandwich up to her watering mouth and the plate underneath. “She can have the first bite.” 

She no longer felt self-conscious about Elliot feeding her, so she took the biggest bite she could fit in her mouth and ignored the comment he made about her choking. 

Clumps of gravy and grape jelly spilled over the sides of the bread, plopping onto the plate with a wet splat. 

So gross…

But so good. 

“You like it?” 

He bit down and laughed through a grimace, chewing like it hurt him.

“Oh… It’s kind of terrible.”

She nodded, gesturing for another bite.

They took turns, swapping bites until every dollop of gravy and jelly was gone. 

Then Elliot set out to make another.

“Not a bad spread.” He commented, gesturing to the trays with a twinkle in his eye, “Coulda used a few pancakes, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was amused. 

This man had an insatiable morning sweet tooth - something she’d relentlessly teased him about when they were partners. 

After an all-night stakeout, she’d order something light, sensible - an egg white omelet, maybe oatmeal, a bowl of fruit. El would get a stack of pancakes with extra whipped cream, point his sticky fork at her plate and say, “Life’s too short to skip the pancakes, Liv.”

How things had changed. 

“Or French toast…” she offered. “Peanut butter drizzle, maple syrup, extra powdered sugar?”  

He raised his brows, laughing, the sound muffled by his mouthful of food. 

“Liv… when have you ever eaten that much sugar for breakfast?”

“I’m pregnant, El.” She laughed, “That’s a 3am craving from the diner, eaten under the cover of darkness.”

He didn't laugh with her. 

She felt the shift in his mood like a cold breeze, the quiet peace between them replaced by something heavier. 

Inevitable . 

Brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“3am diner runs?” He asked, “By yourself?” 

There it is.

“I’m still a cop, El.” She groaned.

He set the sandwich down on the tray and she braced herself. 

Blue eyes bore into her.

“I should have been here-”

“-Ell-i-ot,” she interrupted, hand up in protest, “I know what you’re about to say, and you’re wrong . Even if you’d been here, I never would have asked you to drive over the Queensborough Bridge in the middle of the night to bring me food. Let’s get that straight.”

He frowned, and opened his mouth to protest again. 

She shook her head, “Don’t say it.”

While there was something endearing about the way he wanted to insert himself into each part of the experience, it could be a little much. 

A little suffocating.

“If it makes you feel better,” she elaborated, “my late night cravings were usually delivered.”

He rubbed at his cheek, shoulders dropping just a little. 

She knew he wasn’t going to let it go.

Then -

“Delivery men can be dangerous too, Liv. Especially in the middle of the night. You know that-”

She tilted her head, “-well, I’d hardly call Nick and Fin dangerous .”

The truth was she’d never once had to call on a stranger to bring her food. 

Her team was always willing to indulge her. 

She’d just had to suck it up and ask them.

And that wasn’t always easy for Olivia. 

After the abrupt and traumatic way everyone learned of her pregnancy, she’d tried to be private. 

Dignified. 

She didn’t tell anyone about her appointments. Dodged their questions. Tried to pretend her body wasn’t changing, even when the baby made sure she couldn’t forget.

It seemed easier that way. 

She wanted them to see her as a good cop. 

One of the guys, even. 

That all changed one night in early February.

1am hit, and so did her first craving. 

Chili Cheese Hotdog. 

She woke from a dead sleep thinking about it, drool coating her pillowcase, deep hunger aching in her belly. 

She tossed and turned, dug her palms into her eyes, trying not to cry about how badly she wanted that stupid-

Chili.

Cheese.

Hotdog. 

By 1:30, she succumbed. 

Embarrassed and desperate, and through irrational hormonal tears, she shot off a text to Nick and Fin.

Chili cheese dog with extra onions, onion rings and a strawberry milkshake. I’ll do your DD5s for the next month. 

Nick responded first: You’re gonna have the worst heartburn of your life, Liv. 

He was right, of course. But he’d brought the food anyway, and they’d sat in the darkness of her living room, the thick scent of onions in the air, hunched over greasy takeout containers as Nick dipped his fries into her milkshake. 

Their delirious laughter echoed in her ears when she laid down to sleep later, belly full, cautious hope in her heart. 

It was the first night she could rest in comfort knowing she wasn’t going through everything alone. 

The first night that Elliot’s absence wasn’t the loudest thing in the room. 

“Always a friend,” she said wistfully. “I’ve got some good ones.”

Elliot gave a half smile, then offered her another bite of the sandwich before taking one himself. 

They chewed together, silence stretching out in the space between. 

She could tell he was itching to say something, so she waited. 

Finally, he cleared his throat, looking pointedly away. “I would’ve wanted you to call me for that stuff, Liv,” he admitted quietly. “That’s the dad stuff.”

Longing settled heavy in her chest.

The dad stuff.

Then, like a bucket of cold water thrown over the moment, a voice interrupted from the doorway. 

“But I like getting Liv food in the middle of the night.”

Nick walked in, followed closely by Cragen. Both men eyed her breakfast trays curiously. 

Their private little bubble burst again, but she didn’t mind. 

She couldn’t say the same for Elliot, back straight as a board at the intrusion. 

“You really like waking up to drive around Manhattan in the middle of the night?” She laughed.

“Yeah,” Nick teased, crossing to her with a vase of daisies and pink roses in hand. “Gave me an excuse to eat like crap every few nights.”

He set the flowers down next to Kathleen and Maureen’s, then walked over to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders in a half hug. 

She leaned in, resting her head lightly on his arm. 

“Stabler, you ever seen Liv take down two orders of mozzarella sticks with hot mustard at 4am? She puked twice before noon and complained about heartburn the rest of the damned day.”

She scoffed at the recollection, then laughed along with her partner. 

He wasn’t lying. 

Elliot offered a small grin and a half-hearted chuckle in response, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it at all. 

It was clear he hated this - hated that he’d missed so much. 

Hated that someone helped fill the shoes he’d left behind. 

And more than anything else, hated that Nick knew things about her that he didn’t.

Elliot had come back to her, sure, but Nick never left. 

And he was her partner now. 

If there was one thing she’d always known about her child’s father - he didn’t like to share her.

She reached for his knee, concealed by her overbed table, and squeezed lightly. 

I see you, El. 

He gave her a tight smile, then reached down and put his hand over her own. 

“I have an entire pharmacy of antacids in my office now thanks to those late night snack runs.” Cragen added, patting her shoulder affectionately. “How’re we feeling today, Liv?”

A loaded question. 

“Tired,” she sighed, “Pain’s the same. Arm’s getting stronger at least.” Her face flushed. “El’s been helping me eat.” 

Cragen smirked, gesturing to the trays surrounding her. “Taking the job seriously, I see.”

Elliot shrugged, playing it off. “My kid needs food.”

He winked at her. 

My kid…

The dad stuff…

Christ , her heart might crack in half. 

At the mention of her baby, Cragen shifted, eyes finding her middle, tension passing over his face like a cloud. 

The unspoken question lingered between them.

“She’s doing good too.” Olivia offered, patting her belly softly, “Started kicking me again last night. Hasn’t stopped since.”

Her Captain blew out a breath, the fear in his gaze replaced with relief. 

“She’s a fighter, that girl.” He said, eyes glassy. He plopped down in the chair next to Elliot and reached over to offer her belly a small pat. 

She grabbed his hand and gave a squeeze, a fresh sheen of tears gathering. 

“Yes, she is.”

Nick settled in across from Cragen, and Olivia saw him swallow hard, chin quivering slightly. 

These men cared about her, loved her, she knew. 

Loved her baby, too. 

Her job, full of unthinkable crime, heartache, and empathy fatigue, had somehow given her the family she’d always longed for.

She breathed deeply. 

Grateful. 

For a long moment, nobody spoke. 

It wasn’t awkward silence, but reverent . 

A peace borne from years of close proximity at the 1-6. 

Until Cragen shifted, clearing his throat and pulling them gently back to reality.

“I wanted to tell you, Liv… I’m heading back to Manhattan in the morning. It’s time to give the Sarge a break. He’s planning to visit you soon, but he wanted me to pass a message along in the meantime.” 

He pulled a wrinkled scrap of paper from his pocket, unfolding it slowly and squinting at the words scribbled in Munch’s barely legible script. 

“’He who has a why to live can bear almost any how’ - Nietzsche.”

Elliot and Nick raised brows at one another, amusement and confusion in their eyes. 

The meaning hit Olivia straight in the chest. 

Her eyes welled again suddenly, and she took the slip of paper from her Captain's hands with a tremor, staring down at the words to read them over and over again. 

It was an acknowledgment, but also a reminder . Simple on the surface, but not simple at all. 

She survived because she fought, fought because she wanted her baby to live.

And she would keep fighting, no matter what came next. 

A stray tear fell onto the paper and she wiped it away with her thumb, smudging the words a little. 

She folded it up and placed it on the end table. 

For later, when she might need that reminder to fight. 

Oh, John Munch, the man you are.

Nick cleared his throat. She looked up at him through wet lashes, his mouth twitching just slightly as he said, “He couldn’t have written it in a card, at least?”

She shook her head and huffed out a small laugh. 

Leave it to Nick to break the tension. 

The reprieve did not last long, though.

Her Captain was watching her, and the look on his face made her belly roll. 

Like he was bracing himself to drop a bomb.

“Cap, what’s wrong?” She asked, keeping her voice steady. 

Nerves licked up her spine, cold and sharp. 

“Trevor Langan’s coming tonight,” He cautioned softly, “an hour before your interview. To go over some things.”

Her stomach dropped, fast and dizzying, lungs deflating with a jolting gasp.

“Langan? But why? I don’t…”

It didn’t make sense.

Why would a defense attorney be necessary at her IAB interview? 

An expensive, well-known defense attorney with a reputation for being cut-throat?

Unless…

Did IAB think she was guilty of a crime?

Oh my God. Do they think I killed Lewis without cause?

The cold claws of panic scratched upward from her chest into her throat, and she swallowed hard, fighting to keep her cool. 

She raked trembling fingers through her hair. “What are the charges against me?” 

Elliot reached over, squeezing her arm tightly, “Liv, no. It’s not like that. Look at me. ”

She didn’t. Her eyes were fixed on her Captain. 

Waiting for the ball to drop, for the rug to be pulled out from under her. 

That was her life now, wasn’t it? 

Brief peace, then another storm to wash it all away. 

“No. You’ve got it all wrong.” Cragen insisted, voice high and a little frantic, “No charges, Liv. Langan’s just a safety net . A little back up for your interview.”

A little voice in her head whispered, “He’s lying to you.”

And suddenly, she could picture herself in cuffs. 

Big belly under an orange jumpsuit. 

Half hour visits with her baby in a cold, grey waiting room. 

Another wave of adrenaline shot through her. 

“A $500 an hour safety net?” She demanded, her words echoing in the small room, “There’s something you’re not telling me. You two:” she pointed at Elliot and her Captain, “your scheming has gone too far. I want the damned truth.” 

Cragen and (mostly) Elliot had been masterminding since she’d been admitted to the hospital. 

Pushing her interview back, coordinating visitors, intervening with the medical staff. It was all well and good when they were trying to give her time to rest. 

But hiding details about her IAB investigation? 

No. Absolutely not.

This was her life. Her career. Her ability to keep a roof over their heads.

God… this was her freedom at stake. 

“Tell me the truth, or leave.”

Cragen opened his mouth to speak, but Elliot cut him off. Elliot reached for her again, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. 

She sneered at the contact, feeling feral at his proximity. 

“This isn’t a conspiracy. Just a precaution. Langan’s gonna keep the rats in line for you.“ Elliot insisted, turning her to face him. 

She jerked away, but he held tighter. 

He dipped his head to look into her eyes. “I’m not gonna let anyone sandbag you, Liv.”

“I don’t believe you.” She hissed back.

She wrenched away from him and laid back, her heavy breakfast swirling unpleasantly in her gut.

She couldn’t puke. 

And she couldn’t walk away from them. 

She was stuck. 

“Liv, please. Just trust me on this one thing. Can you do that?” Elliot implored, voice low, “Can you trust me?”

She looked into his eyes, searching for a sign that he wasn’t lying. 

He met her gaze and nodded confidently. 

She sighed. 

She was so tired of them keeping her in the dark. 

She missed having control of her own life. 

“If I find out you’re lying to me-”

“-you won’t even have to kick me out. I’ll tell Jill to call security myself.”

Her mouth twitched. 

He was infuriating. 

“Fine.” She exhaled, hands still shaking, “I’ll talk to Langan.” 

May 26th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 11:55am  

Once breakfast was cleared away and her guests were gone, Liv’s doctors started their rounds. 

Elliot was ready to leave again, to bide his time in the cafeteria with a cup of shitty coffee until he was paged back.

But she asked him to stay this time. 

Let him sit at her side.

Gripped his hand like it was a lifeline through each exam.

And even better - she talked to him. 

Spent the entire time telling him about her pregnancy, and he hung on her every word.

Before Lewis, her pregnancy had almost been normal. 

Achy back, a bottomless appetite, tears over nothing - normal. 

His baby girl liked chicken Caesar salad wraps and sweet potato fries, so Liv had them for lunch almost every day. 

She kicked like crazy when Liv ate mint chip ice cream.

And she was measuring five days ahead at the last appointment, with no genetic or chromosomal abnormalities.

A healthy girl due August 31st. 

With each little detail, he felt like she was giving missing pieces of his life back to him. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t all happy. 

She shared that Amaro was with her when she found out the baby’s sex.

Said she’d put it off for weeks and weeks until she caved.

“I think I was waiting for you to come back, but…”

He hadn’t.

So she and Amaro found out together at her 20-week ultrasound. 

That one hurt, but what she said next gutted him even deeper. 

Something he’d never expected to hear from Liv. 

She’d been depressed her entire pregnancy.

Of course she didn’t say those words exactly, danced around it in that evasive way that Liv did when something felt too vulnerable. 

“Some days I just stayed home, stayed in bed the whole day. Not because of the baby, I just… Everything felt too heavy.” 

She didn’t have to say it, but he knew he was partly to blame.

Because he’d left. 

Stripped her normalcy away - left her traumatized from the UC, pregnant…

And alone. 

There was nothing he could say to make that better.

She’d only shrugged, offering him a tired smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and changed the subject, maybe to spare them both. 

“I was planning to hyphenate her last name. Benson-Stabler? You like that?”

He didn’t trust his voice at first. When he finally managed it, it was thick and low. 

“I like that a lot, Liv.” 

She’d smiled, soft and genuine, “ Benson-Stabler it is .”

He’d been greedy for information, and she gave it freely, until the last exam ended and her doctors finally left them alone. 

“ I think I tired myself out .”

Her fingers stayed tangled in his as her eyes closed. 

A breath, a sigh, and she was out.

Elliot stayed beside her, closed his own eyes, but did not sleep. 

His mind was reeling with all of the information Liv had given him. 

Her walls were coming down fast, and she was leaning on him more. 

Letting him see her. 

Finally. 

And the night before… 

Christ.

She’d let him hold her. 

The warmth of her head on his chest, the weight of her in his arms, heavy with their child… 

It was everything to him. 

She was everything . 

She’d laid on his chest like the spot was carved out for her, and he’d run his fingers over her belly, mapping out the feel of her skin on his own. 

For the first time since that fucking warehouse nightmare, he felt like he was where he belonged. 

God, it scared him. 

Over in Little Neck, there was Kathy. Eli. 

His family. 

His other family. 

They were waiting for him to come back.

And he wasn’t sure his heart ever would. 

Chapter Text

May 26th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 5:20pm

Trevor Langan sat beside her bed, pen gripped tightly in hand and writing furiously as Olivia responded to each careful question with a more careful answer. 

“If you need a breather, tell me. I can ask for a few minutes to speak privately during the interview. If you need food, water, meds - ask, Olivia. You aren’t being detained.”

She nodded. 

Professionally, Langan was a pain in her ass. 

But here? He was showing up. 

“You only owe them the facts.” He emphasized, “If they start digging for more than that, asking you about your feelings toward Lewis, your opinions of him, suggesting that you acted emotionally, or that your pregnancy clouded your judgment, I’ll stop the interview. I will not let you self-incriminate. If I tell you to stop talking, Olivia, please, for the love of God, stop talking. Okay?”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

He wasn’t wrong about IAB. 

She’d seen them twist the facts of a case before, try to make a good cop out to be a killer. They’d gone after Elliot pretty much every time he’d fired his weapon, and she expected no different from them now that she was in the hot seat. 

But Langan would serve as an excellent buffer, she could see that already. His presence would set the tone for the interview, and she hoped that he would get her through it in one piece.

All she could really hope for anymore was to survive with her career and sanity intact. 

She chewed her thumbnail, already breathless and overwhelmed.

After the Compton UC, Lindstrom had taught her grounding techniques to use when she was overwhelmed. 

Like counting down from ten. 

She’d try anything to calm her racing heart.

Ten.

Langan offered a sympathetic smile, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think this will go anywhere. Your Captain just wants someone in the room to keep IA from overstepping.”

She understood that now, even if she still wished he'd stop going behind her back.

Nine.

“Thank you, Trevor. I’m not sure how he’s afforded you, but I’m planning to work a lot of overtime after she’s born.” She tried to laugh, but the humor didn’t reach him.

Eight.

He shook his head, expression serious. 

“Absolutely not. This one’s on the house.”

She gaped. “Trevor-“

Seven.

He put a hand up, “Consider it a baby shower gift or something,” he insisted softly, “We’re all glad you made it home.”

Six.

“Thank you,” she breathed out, overcome, “That means a lot.”

Trevor smiled, then set his notebook down. The softness in his expression lingered - until it didn’t. “Can you pull that blanket down a little?” he asked, pen now tapping against the paper like a metronome. “Make your stomach more noticeable?”

The tone shift was abrupt, almost funny if it wasn’t so audacious. 

“Excuse me?”

Five.

Trevor’s cheeks flamed. “When they look at you, they need to see an extremely injured pregnant woman. You understand?” 

She grimaced. 

Four.

He was smart. Conniving, even.

Henshall and Langan were among the most prestigious criminal defense teams in Manhattan.

They knew how to play the game. 

Three.

She hated it, but she let him adjust her blanket down, belly prominently displayed. 

He flipped on the light above her bed, accentuating her bruises and burns, then pulled her hair up in a bun to accentuate the cuts on her forehead, and her black eyes, still darkening by the day. 

Two.

And finally, with her permission, he undid the top button of her gown to reveal two angry red cigarette burns on her upper chest. 

If IAB wanted to know Lewis, she’d let them see his full glory. 

Burns were his signature, after all. 

His somber eyes lingered on her burns for only a second before he gave her a nod of approval. 

“It’s showtime. You’ll do great, Olivia.”

She pulled in a shaky breath and tried to smile, tried to echo some of his confidence.

 “I hope you’re right.”

One. 

May 26th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 7:12pm

It only took an hour for her to realize that Langan was wrong. 

She was not doing great. 

Lewis had invaded her hospital room.

His rotten essence coiled around her like a boa constrictor. 

Choking. 

Suffocating.

The bubble of safety that she and Elliot had created there was no more. 

And she couldn’t seem to remember Lindstrom's tricks.

Something about…counting?

Tick, tock.

She trembled almost violently, teeth chattering when she spoke. 

Cragen wrapped her in Kathy’s cardigan, but it did little to warm her.

A sheen collected on her forehead, and she wiped it away with her sleeve, breath catching.

Freezing cold, yet soaked in sweat.  

Cragen’s eyes were locked on her, heavy and concerned. 

None of the others would meet her eyes. 

There were only five others in the room, but it might as well have been 500. 

She was boxed in by them.

Too weak to run.

Trapped. 

Her heart rate inched up slowly, too high for resting but not high enough to grant her an intermission from Jill. 

And that fucking wall clock - 

Tick, tock. 

“Detective, do you need a moment?” Lieutenant Campbell asked, words heavy with a compassion that seemed genuine.

Though Olivia never could tell with IAB. 

Did they hire compassionate people?

Tucker was nice sometimes.

Occasionally. 

“No,” she replied, voice tight. “Can you just repeat the question?”

The Lieutenant fiddled with her pen and glanced back down at her notebook. "You stated that William Lewis left the bedroom to answer the door while you were handcuffed to the bed frame. I asked how long he was out of the room, and if anything happened during that time.”

Olivia swiped another line of sweat off her brow and shook her head. “I don’t recall how long he was gone. I was in and out of consciousness.”

It was a lie. 

Those moments between when Lewis left to get the door and when he came back…

Those were the most important moments of her life. 

When she made peace with dying, held her baby girl in that warm light, then walked them both away from the pain. 

She made a choice then - to die. 

Until Elliot’s voice begged her to fight. 

But she couldn’t tell them.

They would think her crazy.

And more than that, those moments belonged to her.

“What happened when he returned to the room?” 

Gooseflesh crawled slowly up her neck and arms. 

Everything happened. 

Their final showdown.

She closed her eyes tightly, fighting to stay present. 

“He told me about the maid and her daughter. Taunted me about the little girl. Said he’d rape her.” Nausea rippled in her belly.  “I called him a coward… Goaded him. I didn’t want him to touch her.” 

She pictured Lewis’s sweat-coated face hovering inches above her own, felt his sour breath on her cheek. 

Cold terror crawled up her throat. 

“What did he do?”

Her fingers dug into her temples, hard. 

The smell of cigarettes in the air. 

“He straddled my legs. Pinned me down. Pulled my shirt up over my stomach.” 

Her legs felt heavy. 

Restrained.

“He said ‘let’s see how tough you are after a c-section.’ Then he cut me.” Olivia choked on the last word. 

Her stitches ached. 

Lieutenant Campbell’s pen strokes ceased. She finally looked up, horrified.

“A C-Section? Lewis said that?”

“Yes,” Olivia replied flatly, eyes dark, haunted, “He said I had more to lose than him.”

Tick, tock. 

Campbell went silent for a beat. 

Olivia looked at Cragen. 

His jaw was tight, gaze still locked on her. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

She looked away. 

His pain was too much to bear. 

There was no sanctuary left in the room for her. 

“What happened next, Detective?” The lieutenant asked quietly. 

Olivia felt the cold metal of the cuffs on her wrists, the sting as she beat them against the bed frame. 

“I was screaming. Thrashing at my cuffs. It was- I’m sure you can imagine, it was…” 

She grimaced, the sharp stabbing of the wound growing stronger as she spoke.

"I yanked at the cuffs until the bar somehow broke away from the bed frame. Then, it was in my hands, and I was free.”

Don’t hesitate, Liv.

“I swung it at Lewis.”

The violent thump of the bar hitting Lewis’ flesh rang in her ears.

“I- I think I hit his hand first. He stumbled off of my legs, and I kicked him to the floor. I hit him again.” 

Thump.

“He was trying to stand. I hit him again .”

His pathetic groans of pain. 

Her screams. Animalistic.

“I was trying to subdue him. He dropped the gun, and I grabbed it off the floor.”

The smell of their blood mingling. 

Her stomach twisted.

“ He was reaching for the knife…”

Don’t hesitate, Liv.

“I was bleeding too much. If he cuffed me again, I was done.” 

She took a deep breath. 

Don’t. Hesitate. Liv.

“I shot him in the head.”

Brain matter on the rug. Smoke billowing out the pistol. 

“I killed him.”

His dead eyes stared at her through time.

Lieutenant Campbell sat back in her chair.

The room was silent. 

She was barely there anymore.

“What did you do once he was dead?”

“Took the key to my cuffs and the phone from his body. Uncuffed myself, called 911, and left the room. I found the maid and her daughter in another bedroom but was too weak to untie them. I tried to apply pressure to my wound. I can’t remember much after that. I ended up in the bathtub. Stayed there until Detective Stabler found me.”

The bathtub was so cold.

She trembled harder.

“Do you need a break?” The lieutenant asked again. “You can take a few minutes.”

She shook her head, mouth cotton dry, and reached for the water bottle on her end table. 

“No, no. I’m fine. I just need some water.” 

She held the bottle in her good hand and attempted to thumb the cap off. It was tight, and she couldn’t grip the bottle well enough to break the seal.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on her. 

A sob welled up, frustration swirling with the panic. 

“Here.” Langan said, taking the bottle from her hand. “Let me.”

She was humiliated, but relieved all the same. 

He unscrewed the cap. 

Instead of handing the bottle back to her, he held it up to her lips.

Drink up, sweetheart.

The simple gesture, hauntingly similar to another tall, dark-haired man holding a bottle up to her lips, was all it took for her house of cards to come tumbling down. 

She was dragged away from the hospital by her tortured mind, back in the ruins of her apartment once more. 

//

The stink of burnt flesh clung to the air - maybe from when he held the fork to her thigh.

Or maybe the cigarette burns.

She didn’t know. It was all fuzzy now.

She gagged against the duct tape.

She guessed she would choke to death on her own vomit soon. 

It would be kinder than whatever he had planned for her. 

Her hands and feet were numb, tied to a chair in her living room. 

The rest of her was not.

Fresh burns marked her chest and stomach.

She’d never known pain like that.

Across the hall, the nursery door hung half off its hinges.

She saw fragments of the crib, splinters of white wood scattered all around. 

Destroyed. 

The pink and purple onesies she’d folded days prior were ripped and soaked in filth. 

The Beast had pissed all over her baby’s clothes. 

Now, the nursery she’d carefully prepared would be memorialized only in crime scene photos. 

Her little girl would never feel the love poured into that space.

And if Olivia was honest with herself…

She already knew.

Her baby would never feel anything at all.

Thanks to Lewis, they were already as good as dead. 

No.

They were dead.

…Who would tell Elliot? 

Who would tell him about his daughter, ripped away before she could take a single breath?

Crime scene photos of a piss-soaked nursery? 

Some 10-word caption in the paper?

Is that all that would be left for him to find? 

Her bloodstains on the carpet, some urine stained onesies, and the smell of her charred skin? 

Was this really how she would die? 

Pregnant. Burned. Tortured.

And alone.

Her heart hammered mercilessly fast.

Raw terror surged, faster and faster.

Lewis stood in front of her now.

The sight of him had her whimpering against the tape. 

He tore the tape from her mouth in one violent motion. 

She didn’t scream. 

She knew better.

He smirked, leaning close, the stench and warmth of his putrid breath coated her skin.

“Drink up, sweetheart.” He lifted the vodka bottle to her lips. “You really don’t want to see what happens if you make me ask twice.”

She wrenched her head away instinctively, thinking only of her baby.

“Wait, Billy, please. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be good.”

“Drink!” He barked, shoving his fingers in her mouth, cramming the bottle far back on her tongue.

She started to choke. 

Burning vodka poured from her nose.

Her breath was stolen from her lungs. 

With each desperate pull for oxygen, the burning grew. 

No air. 

Liquor spurted down her chest. 

Her fresh burns screamed.

She couldn’t breathe . 

He laughed.

Tipped the bottle back again, then ripped it from her mouth, hitting her teeth and gums. 

The taste of her blood mingled with the vodka on her tongue. 

She coughed desperately.

Lewis gripped the back of her head and kissed her. 

She gagged.

Choking.

She needed air. 

He grinned. 

Gleeful.

She barely caught the gleam of the barrel. 

I can’t breathe.

Then - 

Nothing.

May 26th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 7:25pm

Elliot was crawling out of his skin.

Sat in the empty hospital room across from Liv’s.

Half listening to the no-name IAB detective.

Asking him questions about what he saw when he found Liv in the warehouse - 

No.

No. No.

Not the fucking warehouse. 

The beach house. 

Fuck.

He was losing it. 

There were too many parallels to his last IAB interview. 

And he’d lost his goddamned mind after that one.

Told off Cragen in the parking lot. 

Threw his badge away.

Imploded his whole goddamned life.

And pretended that Olivia Benson no longer existed. 

He’d done everything wrong . 

But he couldn’t slip up like that again. 

This situation was so much worse than the Compton case. 

He had to be steady. 

The IAB detective cleared his throat loudly. 

Elliot straightened, forcing himself to focus on the man. 

For Liv. 

“Mr. Stabler, when you entered the home at 98 Spring Way, how long did it take you to locate Detective Benson?”

Elliot squinted, visualizing the entry way to the house, the doors laid out in front of his mind’s eye.

“Less than a minute.”

He’d sprinted through the living room, creaky wooden floor boards squealing underfoot. 

“I entered the left bedroom first. Found Lewis on the floor, deceased. Single gunshot wound to the head.”

Lewis’ dead eyes stared up at him. If he hadn’t been looking for Liv, he might’ve stopped to kick the bastard for good measure.

“I ascertained that Detective Benson was not in the room, so I exited and tried the next door.”

He could recall the desperate  pounding of his heart as he gripped the doorknob, praying over and over, begging God to let him find Liv. 

“It led to the bathroom. She was there. In the bathtub.” 

Bloodied. Ghostly. 

It was the first time he’d laid eyes on her pregnant with their baby.

And she was fucking dying. 

He rubbed the tension between his brows. 

The detective jotted his notes.

“What was her condition?”

He drew in a slow breath.

“Pale. Bleeding heavily from a stomach wound. Covered in burns… She was not coherent.”

The detective faltered for a second, swallowing hard as he scratched the words down. 

“What did-”

His words were cut off.

“No, God. No. Please. No. No!”

Then, a gargled scream.

Terror. 

Every hair on Elliot’s body stood up on end. 

He was on his feet in seconds, sprinting to the door. 

He knew that scream. 

Years ago, a psychopath named Merritt Rook pressed down on a garage door opener, in a dusty old recording studio, and that same scream echoed through Elliot’s ears for days after. 

He’d never forget it.

“Liv!” 

He shoving past the crowd of scrubs blocking entry into her room.

“Olivia!”

The sight of her was a gut punch. 

Her eyes were wide open, but faraway.

Frenzied . 

She was screaming like someone was attacking her.

Her medical team was trying, but failing, to get her back.

Darren leaned close to her, placing his hand on her wrist. “Olivia, you’re okay-”

“Don’t,” she hissed, recoiling from his touch. ”Don’t, Billy. Please don’t, please, I-” She gagged, tears painting trails down her splotchy red cheeks. “-I’ll do anything you want. Anything. I want to live .”

Jesus Christ.

Elliot’s feet were frozen to the floor. His mind demanded he go to her, but he was stuck . 

The brutal recall of her abduction was the backing track to his purgatory. 

“Olivia, you’re okay, sweetheart,” Jill soothed, placing a feather light hand on her arm. 

Liv screeched like a wounded animal, lurching away from the woman. 

She swung her legs off the bed, no regard for her injuries, and stood up.

Unassisted.

For the first time in days. 

Elliot watched, horrified, as she swayed forward, losing her balance the second her feet made contact with the floor. 

Darren caught her by the arm and Liv thrashed away from him, legs buckling with the effort. 

“Someone fucking do something!” Elliot roared, finally snapping to action. He lunged toward her, placing both palms on her shoulders to keep her upright. “Liv, please, you gotta get back in bed. You’re hurting yourself.”

She wailed and tried to stagger backward to escape. The bed blocked her. She was sandwiched between it and Elliot. 

She sobbed, choking out tortured pleas, “ Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t tell them you were here. Nobody will ever know.” 

He moved one arm to the middle of her back, pulling her flush against him, and used the other to try and ease her back down to the bed. 

She pushed back with both hands, ignoring her broken wrist and the agony that he was sure she felt. 

He tightened his grip. 

He couldn’t let her do this to herself. 

“Liv, wake up. Please,” he whispered close to her ear. 

He dipped his head to look at her, hoping to see recognition, but her eyes were still somehow both wild and empty, unlike anything he’d ever seen. 

His throat seized.

She was gone . 

Their bellies were pressed together, and he could feel movement in Liv. 

Little kicks. 

And something wet?

He pulled back from her, looking down. 

Blood colored her gown. 

Her stitches.

“Jesus, she’s bleeding . Someone fucking do something! Now!” Elliot shouted, angry and helpless all at once. 

Jill slammed the red call button on the wall, her other hand gripping the phone as she barked instructions.

Darren hovered behind, arms out and ready. 

And the rest just stood there.

Watching her fall apart. 

Langan swayed on his feet, white as a ghost, like he might hit the ground. 

Cragen looked gutted. He’d been trying to talk to Liv when Elliot arrived, but now it seemed he was shutting down. 

No help. 

Elliot ducked his head to look at Liv again. Her knees were starting to buckle, thighs shaking. Gently, he moved a hand to her cheek. She drew back, breath shallow, panting. 

Her skin felt clammy, coated in a thick sheen of sweat. 

“Liv, you’re safe now. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real. Not anymore. Please-.” Elliot begged, “- Liv… look at me . Come back to me.”

She blinked. No recognition. Just fear.

She looked up. 

Those brown eyes, more familiar to him than his own, belonged to a stranger with Liv’s face. 

“I won’t fight you, Billy.” Her tone was flat, haunted. “Just... please. P lease don’t kill my baby.”

The words landed like a slap. 

He pulled her face closer, set his jaw against her temple for a beat. 

Her body tensed against him. 

“I’m sorry,” he quietly cried, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She whined, low and scared, still trying to push him away. 

“I can’t let you hurt yourself, Liv. I can’t .” He held her closer, her face pressed into his shoulder.

He closed his eyes and prayed, arms full of her. 

Shaking. 

Liv whimpered.

Then, blessedly - 

Footsteps.

“Dr. Sumpter.” Jill breathed, shaky, “Thank God.”

Elliot’s eyes shot to the door. 

A white coat.

Finally. 

Yes, thank you, God.

The man approached fast, beelining for Liv’s IV bag.

There was a syringe in his hand.

Elliot’s relief quickly morphed into something dark. 

“What is that?” 

“Ativan,” the man said, “It’ll work fast. Keep a good hold on her.”

He froze. His mind screamed no, but the doctor was already moving.

Elliot shook his head, gripping tighter to Liv, now sobbing and begging against his chest. “Is that safe for our baby?”

The doctor hesitated a moment too long for his liking. 

“There’s gotta be another option.” Elliot insisted, knowing Liv would blame herself if anything happened to the baby. “Find one.”

Sumpter shook his head, pushing the medication into her IV line.

“It’s not ideal for pregnancy, but we don’t have a better option at this time. She can’t afford to lose more blood. And she's at high risk for infection.” He turned to Jill, “Page trauma 911 and get OB in here. I want fetal monitors on her in the next half hour.”

Elliot felt Liv weakening in his arms almost instantly. Her sobs turned quickly to quiet gasps, her head lolling against his chest.

“Liv?”

She looked up at him, eyes half closed. 

“Please…”

A second later, she went limp in his arms.

He wrapped both hands around her back and eased her down into the bed. 

Kathy’s cardigan slipped from her shoulders, falling soundlessly to the floor.

The baseball-sized bloodstain on her gown was spreading. 

Fast. 

Darren and another nurse repositioned her. 

Jill adjusted her IV. 

People poured in and out of the room.

Feet fast, hands full, expressions grim. 

Elliot palmed his stomach, sticky red blood coated his fingers.

Deja vu of the worst kind. 

He stumbled away from her bed, giving them room to work, but not taking his eyes off of Liv for even a second. 

Back straight, posted up like a bodyguard. 

He watched.

Watched them put her on oxygen.

Watched the wound care doc stitch her belly.

Watched the fetal monitors roar to life.

Watched the steady heartbeat line of his precious daughter. 

Minutes passed like hours as he watched. 

Every hand that passed over Liv felt like a violation to him. 

He wanted to grab her away from all of it. 

Take her somewhere far away where nobody could ever fucking touch her again. 

“Elliot…” 

A voice called to him. 

Cragen. 

He snapped to attention, ripping his eyes from his partner for the first time since she’d gone down.

The older man stood in the doorway, the same kicked-dog expression on his face that Elliot had seen for days. 

He was sick of it. 

“What the Hell happened during that interview?” Elliot sneered, “How hard did you let them push her? For fucks sake, you and Langan were supposed to-”

Cragen held his hand up. “-They didn’t push her. It was something else.” He exhaled heavily and stepped closer, eyes flicking to Olivia, “Langan tried to help her take a drink of water. She just… lost it.” 

Cragen sat down in the chair to the left of her, looking from her face to her belly and back. 

Elliot squinted, confused. 

“I don’t understand.”

“She has PTSD. It doesn’t always make sense.” Cragen straightened, wary eyes falling back to Liv’s still form. “IAB’s not coming back. She won’t have to worry about them anymore. But Elliot…” 

Cragen looked stern, focused . 

For a second, Elliot saw a glimpse of the leader he used to know.

“She needs help , and it can’t wait.” Cragen lowered his voice. “Lindstrom’s coming to see her in the morning. Get her to talk to him. Or I will.”

Something like relief washed over Elliot

Her shrink. 

Of course. 

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of calling her shrink. 

Liv said she liked Lindstrom, that he helped her after Compton. 

That he’d given her stability. 

She needed that.

His eyes fell to the place where their daughter rested. 

Where she was once again fighting battles she was too little to face.

There was so much at stake for them.

And Liv needed help he couldn’t give her. 

“Yes, Captain.” He promised, “I’ll get her to talk to him.” 

May 27th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 1:15am

It was dark. 

Her mouth tasted bad…

Coppery.

It was blood, maybe.

Everything hurt.

She felt heavy.

Lewis must have given her more pills. 

A sob escaped her.

Quiet.

She didn’t want to wake the Beast.

Didn’t want him to burn her again. 

Another sob. 

She wanted to go home. 

She wanted to save her baby. 

“God… Please…”

Her voice cracked.

“Shhh, Liv. It’s okay. You’re both okay. I’m here… I’ve got you. Sleep.”

That voice…

“El…” 

His fingers intertwined with hers.

“I’m right here. You sleep. I’ll keep you safe.”

Elliot’s here. 

He’ll keep us safe.

She slept. 

Chapter Text

May 27th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 6:55am

“Olivia, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

“Mmm…”

“Liv?”

She groaned. Something was wrong.

Her body felt too heavy. Each heartbeat echoed a dull thud in her skull, and her gut churned thick with nausea, bile stinging at the back of her throat.

“Gonna be sick,” she croaked, eyes still closed against the bright hospital lights.

She tried to turn over, but everything was too stiff and sore.

I’m going to choke, her mind screamed at her. A moment of panic, then cool metal pressed into her hand and guided under her chin. She leaned forward, clutching the basin, heaving up sour acid and whatever was left of last night’s dinner.

With each heave, her wounds cried out.

Am I dying?

A hand tucked strands of hair behind her ears, ghosting against her cheek with cool fingers. Another rested gently on the middle of her back, heavy hands as familiar as her own.

“Get it out, Liv.”

His soft words brought little comfort as another wave of bile came up with force.

She moaned like she was being torn apart.

Maybe she was.

My stitches. Fuck.

She whimpered, spitting the last bits of sick into the bowl. “Oh my God…”

She pushed the basin away from her face and forced open her scratchy eyes. Elliot stood beside her, hand still steady on her back. Jill was a few feet away with the basin grasped in hand.

Both watched her, eyes soft and sympathetic.

“What the hell happened to me?” she gasped, sucking in harsh, shallow breaths as the pain slowly ebbed through her. 

Elliot’s hand tensed at her back. Just a beat, but enough to tell her it was bad.

She couldn’t pull up the memories. Only fragments.

Yesterday’s breakfast. All the trays he’d ordered, talking about the baby, visits with Cragen and Nick…

Big pieces were missing.

But what?

And why did everything hurt so bad?

“The most important thing to remember,” Jill assured quietly, “is that your baby is okay.”

Olivia furrowed her brow and looked down, only then realizing that the bands were back on her belly. Her eyes scanned the fetal monitor wildly, hunting for the tiny line that tracked her baby’s heartbeat.

It moved steadily along the monitor. Stable.

Thank God.

“I don’t understand. What happened?” She looked between Elliot and Jill, desperate for answers.

Something had hurt her. Something bad enough to land her back on fetal monitors.

And she couldn’t remember a goddamned thing.

“You were sedated.” Jill said, so matter-of-fact that Olivia wanted to scream.

“Sedated? No. I would never agree to that… I–no.”

She whipped around to face Elliot, body protesting with each movement, eyes blazing with accusation.

He swallowed hard and met her fiery gaze with a sorrowful one.

She almost couldn’t believe it.

He was the only other person who could love and protect their baby like she could.

He was supposed to keep them safe.

“I’m pregnant.“ She breathed out, words trembling with disbelief, "You let them sedate me?”

Elliot shook his head weakly, mouth open, but no sound came out.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” Jill asked suddenly.

“Bits and pieces…” Olivia replied, still watching Elliot. “That’s not the point-”

“It is,” Jill insisted, “try to remember.”

Olivia thought hard through the fog, fragments flashing in and out of focus.

Breakfast. Talking with El. Visits from Cragen and Nick…

Then nothing.

What was the missing piece?

“I don't remember.”

Jill sat down in the chair next to her, and Olivia tried to brace herself.

“You were distressed. Your stitches ripped, you were losing blood, and we could not get you back in bed. Your doctor did what was necessary to keep you both safe.”

Olivia reached down and lightly pressed at the stitches, wincing.

I was out of bed? Bleeding? Why?

She turned to Elliot, wordlessly begging for confirmation.

He scratched his chin, looking away from her pleading stare.

“I tried to stop him but-” he swallowed, voice raw. “You were bleeding… and screaming. I tried to talk you through it, but-“ His eyes met hers, haunted and wet. “You couldn't hear me, Liv.”

Her chest cinched with fear. She didn’t remember any of it.

How could she tear herself open and not remember the pain?

She closed her eyes.

Breakfast.

Talking with El.

Cragen and Nick…

…Trevor Langan.

And then -

The realization dawned slowly.

The IAB interview.

She’d been in her bed, telling IAB about Lewis…

Creeping dread crawled up her spine.

She looked to Elliot, imploring. “Nothing happened in front of IAB… Right?”

He said nothing, expression blank.

“El, please - please tell me I didn’t freak out during my interview.”

He shifted in his chair, eyes dragging from her face to the floor.

That was all the answer she needed.

No.

No… no, no, no.

IAB had watched her shatter.

Watched her bleed.

Heard her scream.

The understanding settled deep in her chest like the grief that she’d been carrying there for months.

There was no way they’d let her be a cop again.

“It’s over,” she breathed, sorrowful. “They’re gonna take my badge.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to stay calm despite the raging sorrow in her chest.

And all she could think was…

Lewis had won after all.

Elliot grabbed her shoulder and shook slightly, insistent. “No, Liv. Nothing is over for you. Nothing. You hear me? You’re going to heal, and go back to work when you’re ready. The rats are standing down.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she argued, resignation heavy in her words, “A cop with PTSD is dangerous-”

“But you aren’t dangerous,” he insisted, “They know that. Everyone does. I talked to Cragen, Liv. IAB is not taking your badge.”

It sounded good, but seemed impossible.

Everything in her told her that he was lying to keep her calm.

“You’re just saying that because I’m a mess.”

The slightest smile shone through his misery. “I’d never lie to you about that, Liv. I’ll call IAB right now if you want.” He pulled out his phone and started to dial.

She shook her head, shoulders sagging, tension draining slightly. “No. You offering to call them is all the evidence I need.”

He tucked his phone away and offered up a weak smile. “Good.”

Something about his demeanor kept her on edge, so she pressed. “Anything else you need to tell me, El?”

He shifted in his seat, cracking his knuckles absently.

His hesitation churned dread in her already hollow stomach.

“Just one… Lindstrom will be here at 8.”

She blinked.

That was quite honestly the last thing she’d expected to hear.

“My shrink? You called my shrink?”

Elliot’s arms folded tight across his chest, defensive.

“Not me,” he said, “Cragen. But I supported it.”

She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “How nice. You two are so in sync.”

“Liv…”

“No,” she cut him off. “I love that you continue to make decisions for me after I asked you to stop. Really.”

Elliot’s arms tightened, face flushed red.

She knew her words landed, though they lacked any real heat.

Because deep down, under her defensiveness and desperate longing for autonomy, she knew it was a good call to bring Lindstrom in.

She’d had a flashback severe enough to need sedation.

Had hurt herself and her baby.

But God, the constant interference was wearing on her.

“You really pissed at me?” Elliot asked.

She sighed. “A little.”

A beat of silence passed between them.

His arms dropped back to his sides. “You gonna kick me out?”

She laughed dryly. “No, El. Not this time.”

He settled back down into the chair next to her, letting out a long breath.

“Good.”

Jill, patient longer than they probably deserved, cleared her throat. “How’s your pain this morning? 1 to 10?”

Olivia flushed. In the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten that the nurse was still there.

“6.”

In truth, most of her injuries hurt about as bad as the day she’d been rescued, but she wasn’t going to admit that and have her hospital stay extended.

“A cop’s 6 is a civilian’s 8,” Jill offered sympathetically, “You have new stitches in your belly. Is that the worst of it?”

She nodded, “And my wrist.”

Jill typed a few notes into her laptop, then closed it and walked to the door. “Ortho will come for your wrist later this afternoon. Breakfast and meds are on the way. And ginger tea for the nausea. Try to take it easy today.” She offered a kind smile and added with a wink, “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

The door closed behind her with a gentle click. The second they were alone again, Elliot reached over and grasped her hand tightly in his.

She turned to him, eyes appraising.

He looked worse for the wear: dark heavy bags under bloodshot blue eyes, pallid sickly skin, unkempt salt and pepper beard growing in thick.

Her stomach sank. “I scared you?”

He shrugged, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Yeah. Was worried about you and the baby.”

The unspoken ‘again’ echoed in the hollows between them.

“I’m sorry, El,” she rasped, blinking away tears.

She really was sorry, for so many things.

“It’s not your fault, Liv. I just…” He dragged a hand over his face, eyes trailing down to her middle, where the most important piece of them rested, “I wanna keep you both safe. And I can’t.”

“That makes two of us.” She whispered, quiet and tight.

She felt like she’d failed all of them. Especially her baby.

And all of the progress she’d made toward healing was erased by something she couldn’t even remember. That ate away at her.

“El,” she asked carefully, “Do you know what caused the flashback?”

His eyes went dark for a second. “Langan.”

The answer left her with even more questions.

“How? What did he do?”

Elliot cleared his throat. “Tried to help you drink water. You just… Cragen said it happened fast.”

She furrowed her brow, “He helped me drink water? Why would that-”

Lewis’ face popped into her mind’s eye, stealing the words from her throat.

Drink up, sweetheart.

Her vision narrowed down to a point.

“Liv?”

She tried to focus on a black streak on the floor, anything to ground herself to reality.

Are you gonna be a good girl, Detective Benson?

She dug her nails into Elliot’s hand.

“Talk to me, Liv.” Elliot pleaded.

She gasped in a small breath, feeling the tight grip of his hand on her own. Tears welled up, but she blinked them back.

“Nothing to say, El.”

Elliot trailed his thumb slowly along her palm as she fought to stay present.

He didn’t ask her for more, and she didn’t offer it.

“Will you talk to Lindstrom then?”

He was close to begging, she could hear it in his tone.

Desperate to help her.

She would do it. For all of them.

She couldn’t live like this forever, one wrong move away from a flashback, everyone worrying about her, fussing over her.

Or her daughter becoming collateral damage to her issues, just like Olivia and her own mother.

She couldn’t accept that future for them.

And Lindstrom would have tips about managing and avoiding triggers, breaking out of flashbacks. He had a whole arsenal of coping techniques he’d helped her with after the Compton UC.

At the very least, he could help her get her head on straight.

If she could just find solid ground, she knew she could get her little one to the finish line.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to him, El.”

His hand relaxed in hers.

It was a start.

May 27th 2013 - Long Island Community Hospital, Long Island, New York - 8:07a

Olivia was faring better by the time Lindstrom arrived — bandaged, fed, and Tylenol finally dulling the worst of the aches.

A quiet knock, followed by the slight opening of the door, then he was crossing into her room, briefcase in one hand and a dark purple smoothie in the other.

“Olivia,” he sighed, “I can’t begin to tell you how relieved I am that you’re okay.”

He placed the smoothie on her side table, then rested a warm hand on her shoulder.

She reached up to squeeze his fingers.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking with more emotion than she expected.

Despite her initial hesitancy to participate in therapy, Lindstrom had seen her through some of the worst days of her life. He’d learned her, understood her in ways almost nobody else tried to, and let her take off the ‘detective’  armor a few times a week so she could just be ‘Olivia’.

He’d become an important part of her life, symbolizing how far she’d come over the last seven months, and how much farther she had left to go.

She motioned to the man beside her, “Dr. Lindstrom, meet Elliot Stabler… my former partner.”

Elliot narrowed his eyes at the introduction. She smiled back, mischief in her expression.

The small smirk playing at his lips told her that he was going to let it go.

For now.

The men shook hands, though Lindstrom remained focused on her, a knowing look in his eyes that she’d seen many times.

For 27 weeks, her sessions had revolved around Elliot.

Their partnership.

His disappearance from her life.

The warehouse, her pregnancy, the unclear future.

He’d haunted every corner of her healing.

And now here he was, a looming, protective presence at her bedside, looking and acting every bit like he belonged there.

Shaking her therapist’s hand like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It was a big deal.

And Lindstrom understood how big.

Elliot reached into his pocket and handed the doctor a slip of paper. Without acknowledging it, he then rested his hand gently on Liv’s and said, “I’ll be back right at 9, Liv. Drink that smoothie.”

Before she could respond, he strode out the door like he had somewhere important to be.

She almost laughed.

Cocky bastard.

Lindstrom cocked his head, maybe a little amused by the other man. He unfolded the paper, read it quickly and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “His phone number.”

She rolled her eyes.

Lindstrom chuckled, taking a seat in the chair at the foot of her bed, and pulled a clipboard and pen from his briefcase before tucking it under his chair.

She let out the breath she’d been holding. This was familiar. Comforting. Something normal.

Lindstrom leaned forward and ducked his head, meeting her waiting gaze with eyes full of empathy.

“I want to be transparent with you, Olivia. Your Captain called me last night. He told me what happened to you during your meeting with Internal Affairs.” Lindstrom smiled sadly, “Though your treatment schedule is up to you, I do believe you’ll benefit from more regular sessions after you exit the hospital. Three to four a week for at least the next month. And if you’d like a new doctor-”

She put a hand up to stop him. “A new doctor? Why would I want that?”

It was a terrible thought, having to debrief another shrink about the warehouse, Elliot, her childhood…

Add Lewis in there, and she’d probably have to pay for a new therapist’s therapy.

Lindstrom didn’t flinch at her interruption. “You may consider other treatment types after what you’ve been through. CBT, EMDR… There are options.”

Olivia frowned.

“You don’t even know what happened yet, and you’re already trying to hand me off?”

It felt like rejection, and she was a little too raw to take it on the chin.

He shook his head, “Absolutely not, Olivia. I’m not suggesting you leave me, but after what you’ve endured… Some survivors can benefit from newer techniques. I will not be offended should you choose to go another route. Therapy is for your benefit. You decide what you need.”

She exhaled sharply, fingers worrying at the blanket on her lap. “Okay, great. What I need for now is to talk to the same shrink that already knows all my secrets.”

He chuckled, “Alright. Noted. If you change your mind-”

“I know where to find you.”

He nodded, opening his notebook and flipping through the pages. He’d pause to read for a moment, then flip again.

And again. 

She didn’t know if he was just biding time, or if he didn’t know where to start.

She imagined him staring at a ticking bomb, debating which wire to cut.

Their last session was weeks ago, and they’d mostly talked about her father.

It almost felt irrelevant after everything that had happened to her since. Joe Hollister was old new, old trauma.

He flipped to another page, sighing.

The silence was almost uncomfortable.

He closed the book.

Another beat passed.

She looked up at him. He was staring.

 “Do you want to talk about William Lewis?”

She swallowed hard. Just the sound of his name in Lindstrom's mouth made her itch.

“No.” She closed her eyes, willing the creeping shadow of the Beast away from her mind. “Not after what happened yesterday. That flashback… I hurt myself. I’ll never get out of here if I- if I’m ripping myself open.”

He shivered, subtle, but enough for her to notice.

She didn’t elaborate.

He’d have to use his imagination for now.

“Okay,” he agreed, “We’ll leave that alone until you’re ready. Just don’t wait too long. As you’ve learned, holding trauma inside and pretending you’re fine only hurts your recovery.”

She knew he was right. There would come a day in the not-so-distant future where she would have to talk about what Lewis did to her so she could learn to live with it. But she was happy to put the subject away until then, so she nodded in passive agreement, and Lindstrom jotted a few notes, letting the silence sit comfortably between them once more.

Now that she knew she didn’t have to speak about Lewis, she felt like they had all the time in the world.

No ticking clock in her ear, just the scratching of Lindstrom’s pen on paper.

“So…”

Here it comes.

“Elliot is back.”

There it is.

He’d picked a wire.

“Yes, he is.”

She grabbed her smoothie and took a long drag from the straw. Then another.

Lindstrom let the silence stretch, waiting.

“He heard that I was missing. Joined the search. He was on the scene after I escaped.”

“And he’s still here.” Lindstrom offered softly. 

She chewed on the smoothie straw. “Yes. The whole time. It’s been…” Tears stung in her eyes, and she decided to let them fall. “It’s been good… for both of us, I think.”

Lindstrom’s eyes flickered from his page to her belly, still covered in bands and wires, “How did he react to the news of your pregnancy?”

She thought back to the gentle, reverent way he caressed her stomach, the way his voice broke when he spoke of wanting to protect her.

He loved their baby the same way he loved his other five. There was no doubt in her mind.

“He loves her.”

Lindstrom smiled. “You’ve told me many times that you wanted her father in her life.”

“I do. So much.” Her voice cracked.

She wanted her little girl to have the dad she’d never had.

She’d lied to her friends, said she’d come to terms with being a single mom…

But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

She thought back to the early days of her pregnancy, when she was still heavily dissociating from the Compton UC and struggling to accept that Elliot was gone.

Her body was just starting to change then. Breasts were tender and heavy, bladder on overdrive, and her dreams…

They were either vivid nightmares about the warehouse, or dreams about her baby so visceral that they felt real.

There was one dream, though.

One that she’d never forgotten.

One that made her miss Elliot so much that she’d woken up sobbing, pillow soaked with her misery before she’d even left the dream.

They were in her apartment.

Her and Elliot.

Their home.

She was relaxing on the sofa, TV droning on quietly in the background, but she paid it no mind.

Her eyes were fixed on Elliot across the room.

Cradled in his arms was a bundled baby, cooing softly. The sound was sweet and lovely in her ears.

It was everything she’d ever wanted.

Elliot bounced the baby in that gentle, swaying rhythm parents use with their newborns, staring down at the little one with eyes full of undying love.

And he was singing.

“Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart, naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.”

As he sang, he peered up at Olivia, beaming, and she could feel the love he radiated.

For both of them.

“Thou my best Thought, by day or by night, Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.”

Her world was small there, but perfect.

Her, Elliot, and a child that they’d made together against all odds.

A family.

Years of private yearning summed up, and laid out, beautiful and brutal, to remind her of what she would never, ever, ever have.

That dream, damned and beautiful, ripped open a wound that would never be allowed to heal.

She’d told Lindstrom every detail of it the next day. So he could understand her, understand the longing that she felt down to her bones.

Her hopeless wish of watching Elliot love their baby as much as she did.

And now.

It was no longer hopeless.

“There’s nothing I want more for her,” she admitted quietly, “she deserves Elliot.”

“What about you?” He asked, “What do you want for yourself in all of this?”

She took another long drink.

It was a loaded question.

What she wanted for herself and what she would take for herself were two very different things.

Her wants were buried deep inside, private and forbidden.

“Someone to call when I don’t know what I’m doing. To help me teach her about life… Someone who will protect her from the world with me,” she said, “That’s all I could ever ask for.”

Lindstrom shook his head, “That’s not true, Olivia. You can ask for anything, as long as you’re willing to accept the answer.”

She squinted, annoyed. It was clear where he was trying to lead her.

“Elliot is married. There’s nothing more to ask for.”

He sighed, writing faster in his notebook as she thumbed condensation on her smoothie cup and tried not to scowl at him.

There was push and pull between them sometimes. Lindstrom would drop his professional demeanor every once in a while, let her see that he was just a little irritated with her, and she found it quite endearing for the most part.

But sometimes, when she was too raw, it just pissed her off.

“How about during the rest of your pregnancy? Do you want Elliot around? Accompanying you to appointments? In the delivery room when you have your baby?”

“Yes. I want him involved.”

That old, aching need bloomed again, hot and familiar.

Lindstrom nodded, “Okay. And during your recovery? When you’re discharged from the hospital? What role does Elliot play then?”

She paused.

None.

Once she left the hospital, their paths would have to split again.