Chapter Text
The doorbell rings for the second time, the small red lamp lighting up once more. She wonders if whoever is at the other side of the intercom will go away if only she keeps ignoring the shrill sound. Olivia taps her hand on her right thigh and waits a beat. The frown on her face evens out when there is blissful silence...but not for long. Not a minute later her phone vibrates next to her, and she sees the name 'Elliot' pop up on the screen.
Go to hell, go to hell, go to hell.
She wants to reject the call but knows he's only going to try again. Finding herself between a rock and a hard place Olivia grumbles and slowly scoots forward on her sofa before she carefully pushes herself up, tries to keep her balance on her right foot and then reaches for her crutch.
No matter what, her ex-partner is not going to be deterred from whatever his plan is. Olivia can ignore him, but that's not going to make him go away.
She walks to the door with assistance, the limp slowing her down immensely. What had once been second nature has become debilitating as hell. Here she is, unable to walk the short distance from her sofa to her front door. When she reaches the intercom, Olivia furiously slams her finger on the button to buzz the intruder in. It isn't too long before she hears heavy footsteps in the hallway followed by a gentle knock on the door.
He stands there with a bag of takeout, dressed in a suit. Olivia looks down at herself. She definitely isn't dressed for the occasion. Then again she hasn't asked for a visitor. At least her black sweatpants and shirt are semi-clean, surely attire she can get away with in her own home. Elliot smiles at her boyishly. Her face remains completely impassive.
"What do you want, Elliot?" Although the question suggests she is about to tell him to leave she opens the door further and hobbles back inside.
"Have lunch with you," he says like it's obvious. Her mood doesn't surprise him. First of all he hadn't announced his visit, and Olivia isn't very sunshiny these days, visitors or not. As he closes the door behind him, he notices her imbalance. Olivia's entire body is twisted as she tries to put as little pressure as possible on her left leg. As she reaches the couch she plops down, her face screwed up in pain, and she glances down at her trembling left leg. When she looks back up Olivia notices that he has seen it, too, and she averts her gaze, staring at a distant spot on the wall.
"Bad day?" This earns him a death glare. It's something he thinks he'll never get used to. Each time it feels like a knife twisting in his side, but he tries his damndest not to let it show. These days her face never shows any relaxation, only the constant pain she is in since the accident. He has noticed the tremors before, the involuntary twitching of what is left of her calf muscles.
"Really?" She asks with a scoff. God, his audacity. As if any of her days could possibly still qualify as good.
"No, everything's just peachy. I may not be able to walk or work or do anything at all really, but that's just fine. I'm as happy as a cripple can be," is what she wants to tell him. Instead Olivia decides there's no point in saying anything. She doesn't want to deal with Elliot at all. His insincere optimism is grating on her nerves, even if deep down she knows he means well.
They all mean well.
But that isn't going to help her so they can shove it where the sun doesn't shine.
The bitterness has become a part of her. Maybe it has become her.
Elliot crosses her living room like it belongs to him and the pink plastic bag rustles. "I brought your favorite."
"Uh-huh." Chinese. "I'm not hungry."
"You've got to eat," he tries, his voice soft but encouraging. She has lost weight since the accident and it's worrisome. Only a few times has Olivia worked up an appetite and finished a meal despite the medication that makes her woozy and nauseous a lot of the time.
"I gotta do shit," she states calmly. For a moment she wishes he hadn't ever come back. He had only re-entered her life after learning of her accident and the infection that almost killed her. Probably he'd felt like he owed her at least showing up for that after he'd turned in his notice without contacting her before. Or after for that matter.
"You don't just have yourself to think about." Of course he plays it like that. Of course he brings her child up. Not even the honest concern Olivia hears swinging in Elliot's words cushions the blow of what he's suggesting.
"Don't you dare say he's not being taken care of," she tells him with a hard stare and fury. For a moment her spunk is back. Only for a moment, though.
"That's not what I'm saying," Elliot winces. No matter what he says, she will find a way to take it as a direct offense against her.
"The hell it's not," she mutters underneath her breath. Not even Elliot is the same. Where's his anger? Where's the fight he would have given her six years ago? Like everyone else, he falters around her. It's a clear sign: her situation is hopeless. By now she has come to the same conclusion. Four months ago she had practically laughed in her surgeon's face, thinking how he hadn't known who he was talking to when he had outlined what to expect from her recovery process. How it is unlikely she'd ever walk without assistance again. That the limp is permanent. That there is only so much they can do regarding pain management. Four months ago Olivia had been convinced that if she only worked hard enough at physical therapy, if she was determined enough, she'd be fine. She'd defy the odds and be that one in a million. She'd walk again. On her own two feet. Without a limp.
Only she doesn't. With as little progress as she has made in therapy she's begun to think she won't. Ever since that suspicion came creeping in, she's fallen a little deeper into her depression. If physical therapy doesn't help, then what was the point? What's the point of any of it?
When Olivia falls back into ignoring him, which she does a hell of a lot of when it comes to him, Elliot searches for what to say next. What do you say to a person that has lost nearly everything that's important to them? Olivia has lost her ability to walk and thus her independence--about the worst thing for someone who has always been fiercely independent. She's lost her job, or is about to; it's only a matter of time before they stop holding a place for her. Even a Lieutenant can't always hole up in her office and delegate everything. Not only is she unable to chase after a suspect, with only one free hand, she also can't handle a gun. In the eyes of the NYPD, despite all of the expertise and twenty years of experience in SVU, Olivia Benson is now practically useless to them. He of all people should know how quickly they can turn on you.
If he could take any of this burden from her, he would. He'd take the injury, the pain, the tremors, and he'd live with it for the rest of his life, if only she could have hers back. But there is no option to trade. The best he can do is to come over again and again and show her that at least she's not alone. As much as he hates her rejection, he'd hate himself even more if he gave up on her.
It is bad enough that he hadn't been in her life when the accident had happened. At the time he'd firmly believed that she was better off without him, that his presence would only complicate her life. For a while he had been so messed up, he hadn't wanted Olivia, strong Olivia, to see him teetering on the edge of sanity. Ignoring her many calls had been the easiest way, and when she hadn't stopped calling, Elliot had turned off his phone, then changed his number. Before he had known it a year had passed, then a second, a third. The more time and distance he had put between them, the less he had been able to imagine she would still want him in her life. Maybe she really doesn't now; he hasn't given her much of a choice.
Four months ago Fin had showed up at his door. Although he had moved a couple of years ago his former colleague had easily found him. But then he wouldn't be a good cop if he couldn't. Fin had filled him in. On the accident. On how everything had pointed towards a full recovery until…
Until.
She had developed an infection that had spread quickly. Within a few days it had been touch and go as all antibiotics had failed to contain the infection.
He'd been sitting by her side when it all had gone wrong. When the monitors had started beeping and a nurse had come rushing in. It had all happened so quickly, he can't even remember half of it anymore. He had refused to leave the room until someone dragged him out. They had wheeled her away for emergency surgery, and he had been shaking and crying, thinking he'd lose her.
It was hours until a nurse had told him she was out of surgery, but they wouldn't say anything beyond that, for the time being, she was stable. He was no longer her next of kin, so he waited for Fin.
When Fin got there, they learned together: Olivia had gone into septic shock from the spreading infection, and they'd had to cut away a majority of her calf muscle. There was nothing more they could do but wait.
It had been a goddamn car accident that had slashed her lower leg. She should have been fine. It hadn't been supposed to end up like this.
"I'm just trying to say that you need to take care of yourself, too." Olivia eyes the rice, chicken, vegetables and sauce on the plate he holds out to her with disgust, like he is actually trying to poison her. "Olivia, please."
After a long while she accepts the plate wordlessly. After a few bites, she starts pushing the food around on her plate and makes a small pile in the middle with her fork. He doesn't dare comment on it thinking that it probably won't take much for her to throw it at him. Instead he tries to find out what's going on with her.
"Is it the nausea again?"
It's a vicious cycle. When she is nauseous she can't eat much because it feels like she is going to throw up all over herself. It had happened, so it's a very real fear at this point. When she takes her medication that helps with the nausea it makes her so sleepy she doesn't function. They haven't yet found a cocktail that works well for her. It's not like she hasn't tried, so she hates to hear how she has to take better care of herself.
Although Olivia's gaze is blank she at least acknowledges the question with a nod. If Elliot had blinked, he would have missed it. She may not have said anything but at least she isn't hostile either. That's something. And something is better than nothing.
There is nothing he can do about the nausea. What he can do however is be supportive and have her back. The last thing Elliot wants is for Olivia to feel like she's under scrutiny. When he purses his lips and takes the plate from her he can see confusion flicker in her eyes. She can't eat, and making her feel shitty about it won't make that better. In the kitchen there is a bowl of fruit, probably just for Noah's benefit but he thinks maybe it will go down better than rice.
"Do you think you could eat half a banana?" He is catching her off guard, he can see it in the way she suddenly hugs herself, her arms crossing in front of her chest. Olivia avoids looking at him. Just when he starts to think she is not going to dignify the question with an answer she speaks.
"Maybe."
She has eaten three-fourths of the banana and he's satisfied with that. A few minutes ago Olivia has turned on the TV although Elliot has a feeling she isn't even paying attention to it. Maybe she just wants the noise. Or she thinks that it will get him to keep his mouth shut.
Elliot notices her leg tremble a few more times within minutes. It really seems to be a rather bad day for her. But if he had been worried before then it's nothing compared to what he feels when Olivia starts to groan, closes her eyes and swallows audibly. The sound is so raw that a cold shiver runs down Elliot's back. It's a cramp. She has those regularly, too, and once admitted it's much worse than a charley horse, that it feels like her nerve endings are on fire.
"Is there anything I can do?" He feels helpless and useless, especially when her forehead shows a film of perspiration. Her entire face is twisted in pain. Of all the people in the world why does it have to be Olivia? She doesn't deserve this, none of it.
"Nuh-uh," she manages and shakes her head and gasps. She hates this. Not just the cramps, she can handle those somehow but having Elliot see how vulnerable she is. How she can't even handle it quietly. It lasts for a minute and when the sharpness of it leaves her muscle, there is the tremor again. Elliot's eyes are on her. They reflect his concern, and that is something she has never handled well. Under his gaze she shrinks. It feels like she's losing piece after piece of her dignity. She moves to get up because it's midday, time for her pills. There was a time when she had thought they didn't help at all because the pain was always there, and never really goes away. Once she had skipped her medication, thinking she might as well save the money if it's not helping. She had ended up crawling to get to her medication, sobbing, honestly thinking she was not going to survive the pain. Since that day she has taken her pills religiously. Still, the pain is always there. Some days it's just less manageable than others.
When Elliot moves to assist her, she can't accept it. She should be grateful but instead lashes out again because it's what she does best these days.
"I'm fine," she bites out although a blind person could see she's struggling.
"Just let me help you," he pleads weakly.
"You can't help me!" The wings of her nose flare with the sudden outburst of anger as she stands on her right foot, holding on to the rest of her sofa for balance. There's a fire in her eyes for a second and then they droop. "I appreciate that you want to but you can't help me," she stresses. "I'm a crip." When her voice cracks and she realizes she is about to lose it she reaches for her crutch and hobbles away, the limp more severe now with her nerves shot from the latest spasm. By the time she has reached her kitchen counter, where her pills are, Olivia feels the familiar bite of tears. There is nothing she can do as they start slipping down her cheeks when she reaches for the bottle of pills with shaky hands. Finding herself unable to open them while supporting herself with the crutch she leans against the counter. It's then that she feels Elliot's overpowering presence behind her. At his touch she flinches.
"Just go," she whispers.
"Liv…" He reaches out and the second he touches her, she tenses and then goes rigid.
"Go!" Her cry rattles him. He thinks it might have rattled the entire building. Elliot's first instinct is to simply wrap his arms around her and hold her, hold her despite every bit of protest and every bit of a fight he knows she would give him. But there is so little she can control these days that he doesn't let instinct win. If she needs to have control over this, over who is here and who is not, then he is not going to be the person to take it away from her. As much as it pains him, he steps away from her.
"Okay," he says softly.
"If you need me just call," is what he wants to say. But he keeps his mouth shut because he hopes she knows. He hopes she will call him. And even if she won't, he'll come by in a few days.
He looks back over his shoulder when he reaches the door and finds Olivia standing in the exact same spot, her back to him. Without another word he leaves and pulls the door shut behind him, waiting for any noise from inside of the apartment but there is nothing.
When the door falls shut her body starts to heave. She sobs inaudibly and clamps a hand over her mouth as tears are sliding down her face. It is all true. He can't help her. She doesn't want help. She's crippled. And she doesn't need Elliot's or anyone else's pity over her helplessness. She allows herself a minute to cry, to fall apart. Then she wipes her eyes, stoically pops two of the pills from the bottle and limps back towards her couch.