Chapter Text
It was his fault.
He had been distracted by a damn cat knocking over a rotting plank of wood, startled and sidestepping so he wouldn’t trip over the running feline, losing sight of her just for one damn second.
He’s learned that a second is all it takes to turn your entire universe upside down.
He heard the gunshots, the thud of a heavy object falling to the ground, and then the breaking of glass. He yelled her name, quickly moving into the other room and saw her on the ground, a pool of her blood starting to form under her. He quickly called it in from his radio, pulling his coat off to press against her chest wounds as she coughed up some blood. Her eyes were unfocused and shaky, her breath shallow and her mouth was moving but only whispers came out – “El, El, El.”
“Stay with me, Olivia!” He looked around frantically, he didn’t even know what for. A reason, a miracle, someone to tell him what to do here because he felt himself slipping into the abyss. He could hear the sirens and he turned back to her to see her eyes shut. “No, no. Liv! Wake up!”
He pressed his fingers to her pulse point and found it, shallow and slow. “Liv, come on. Wake up! Liv!”
Everything after that he barely remembered, only bits and pieces – Fin and Munch by his side, pulling him off, riding with her in the back of the ambulance while she flatlined, being held back by Cragen when he couldn’t follow her into surgery, Cragen handing him NYPD sweats to change into because he was covered in her blood – before he was carefully placed in the waiting room with a bunch of faceless cops who showed up for their fallen sister.
His leg was bouncing, waiting, watching, hoping any doctor in scrubs that walked by would give him some piece of news, but they all just kept walking, not sparing the detective a glance as they marched on. He glared at every one of them.
His phone was constantly buzzing in his pocket, finally pulled it out to see Kathy’s number and a dozen missed calls from her before shutting it off entirely. He couldn’t fight with her, not right now, not when he could barely think of anything else but her. Kathy would somehow turn him waiting to hear news on Olivia about them and him picking his work over his family – again — even though Olivia was fighting for her life because of him.
It was all his damn fault.
A cop bumped into his leg, apologizing, barely looking at him as they continued deeper into the packed waiting room. Elliot didn’t even notice how many more had filed into the tiny room, finding it ridiculous that they were here when they didn't even know her. They could be out there, trying to find the damn bastard that did this instead of standing here on a damn coffee break. He pushed himself up then, his anger starting to flare, needing to get away from the packed and stuffy room where not one of these cops even knew his partner. He didn’t stray too far from the room, only walking down the hallway and turning the corner from the nurse's station. He couldn’t bear to stray too far, just in case.
He sagged back against the wall, his eyes falling shut.
He felt like he was submerged in water, hand raised, reaching for a lifeline and waiting and waiting and waiting.
Lost. Broken. Guilty.
He’s not going to survive if she doesn’t.
It should have been me.
He jumped a little when a hand fell on his shoulder, Munch patting him softly before moving around to his other side and leaning against the wall with him.
“Any news?” The lanky sergeant asked, shoving his hands into his pant pockets. Elliot shook his head before letting it fall back against the wall. “No. Still waiting.” He sounded so exhausted, voice thick and deep and quiet. He barely recognized his own voice.
Munch hummed, slightly nodding his head. “Tried calling you.”
“Had to turn it off.” He grumbled, pulling out the offending device and flipping it open to stare at the blank screen. “Kathy kept calling and… I just can’t.”
“I let her know.” He scratched his nose under his glasses, sniffing as he shoved his hand back into his pocket. “She called the squad room ‘bout an hour ago.”
“How long has it been?” Elliot suddenly asked, pulling his arm up to check the time. He could barely focus his eyes on the small numbers but could tell it was past two or three in the morning.
“Eight hours.” Munch supplied, turning his body towards his friend. Elliot cursed, his hand falling to his side. The heavy cement pit in his stomach only doubled in size and his body was falling with it, sliding down the wall until he reached the floor.
Eight hours.
Eight fucking hours with no news.
Do surgeries like this usually take that long?
Don’t doctors usually give updates?
What the fuck was happening in there?
He had no clue, just knew that as long as the surgery was going she was alive and breathing and there was hope.
“I hate to do this,” Munch’s voice was suddenly too soft and gentle, unlike how Elliot was used to hearing and he hated it, “but Cap needs your statement, Elliot.”
“Yeah… yeah.” He rubbed his palm against his chin, staring vacantly at the wall across from them. He had been shoving detectives and officers away from him since the shooting whenever they tried to get one. But he was weary and hollow and just wanted to get this over with. He didn’t move to get up and Munch looked around before sighing and groaning as he got down on the floor next to his friend. He pulled out his notepad and pen from the inside of his suit pocket as he crossed his legs.
He clicked his pen, “Whenever you’re ready.”
He took a deep breath and shut his eyes, finding himself back in the squad car with Olivia at his side before they got the call. Her lips pulled back as she gave a full-bellied laugh as he cracked some joke that he couldn’t remember. He’d been so focused on her smile, on the way her shirt rode up and exposed her stomach as she moved her foot to rest on the edge of the seat, on the way she ran her hand over her head to thread through her hair and planted her elbow on her raised knee.
Her eyes were shining and bright and tears were at the corners of her eyes from laughter. He had just watched her, biting his smile back behind his coffee as her brilliant laugh slowly died down, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye before looking over at him. Her smile was so content and her eyes were so playful and joyful, that it took everything in him not to just reach over and touch her, connect with her. He had found himself over the past year touching her more, bumping shoulders, lingering touches, a guiding hand on her back.
That’s when Fin had called, giving them the address their perp was just seen running into and it was only 8 blocks away.
“Elliot,” Olivia had motioned to the front door as they walked up to the abandoned apartment building, a swipe of fresh bloody fingerprints contrasting against the flaking white paint. They exchanged glances as they pulled out their weapons. They were halfway done clearing the first floor when there was a loud bang from above them. Their eyes had connected, moving quickly then, not wanting to lose him, and then that damned cat as they entered a long hallway.
“I heard two shots,” Elliot took a deep breath, hands running down his face as he focused back on the present, and that's when he realized he still had some of her blood on his hands, “then breaking glass. I rushed in but…” He trailed off, resting his hands, palm up, on his thighs. He had crossed his legs at some point during his statement. He turned his hands over, picking at some of the blood on his nails and feeling numb. He blinked. “It didn’t matter. She was down, the perp was gone… I couldn’t leave her.”
“No one is saying you should have, Elliot,” Munch said, turning the page in his notebook and scribbling down a few more things. He clicked his pen once he was done and leaned over, looking at his friend over his glasses. “I would have shot you myself if you had.”
Normally, he’d crack a smile at the joke, nudge the man away and tell him to screw himself, but today was not a normal day.
Nothing would be normal again.
“She isn’t dead yet, my friend.”
He realized he’d said that aloud.
Munch pulled his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a long breath, taking a second to control his own emotions.
“But you’re right,” the old sergeant spoke, his voice suddenly sounding so much older than he was, “nothing… nothing will be normal again.”
He stumbled back into the waiting room with Munch by his side a few minutes later, letting out a relieved breath at seeing the place nearly empty save for Fin and Cragen. They both stood as he entered, nodding to the man before he slumped back down into the chair he had previously occupied. Munch and Fin left after Cragen assured them he’d call them with any news, off to find the bastard that hurt their friend.
Already, Olivia’s presence was missed. She was the one who took care of them all at times like this, having done the same for each of them when they had found themselves under the blade of a surgeon.
Olivia brought hope to them in this dark, never-ending cycle of hell they found themselves in. Without her, he was sure none of them felt the need to keep going in this unit. Elliot though, found himself wondering if he could even stay in the NYPD without her by his side – but that had been a stupid thought because of course he couldn’t.
She was his partner. And he was hers.
He had promised once, nearly a decade ago, that for better or worse he was her partner. Now he found himself adding in sickness and in health silently along with it. Because, if he was finally going to be honest with himself, being her partner was more than just a part of the job anymore, more than just coworkers and friends, more than just being separate people at this point. She has seen every side there was to him, unflinching, unyielding, and stood with him through it all – triumphs, failures, mistakes, and regrets – and vice versa. They were each other’s rocks now, after eleven years of partnership, and he couldn’t deny any longer how much she meant to him.
When he first thought he’d lost her, during the Gitano case, he had been terrified. She had been the one constant in his life at that point, the only thing he could look forward to every single damn day. He figured it only made sense for God to take her away as well. But when she told him to go, that she was fine, it was too damn late. He blamed her for a few minutes – for being herself, for being selfless and caring and passionate and badass, because how could he not pick her over everything else at that point?
She had been everything to him – still is everything to him, and somehow even more now.
He regrets the words of his younger self, hating the fact that he turned away from her, giving her no choice but to end the partnership, their friendship because he had made her feel inferior, a burden, someone he only tolerated when in fact it had been the damn opposite.
She was someone he couldn’t live without. Not anymore. Not ever again.
As guilty as he felt about his coming thoughts, he’d never regret them.
The thought of a world without Olivia Benson was not a world he wanted to live in – it was one he couldn’t find himself happy in, not truly. No amount of booze, sex, love, hate, adrenaline, children, wives, or partners could make him happy in a world without her. Her eyes, her smile, her essence. She was woven into the fabric of his life for the rest of eternity.
So, he prayed. To God. To the universe. To his guardian angels.
Just let her live. Take all the years you need off my life for her to live .
He didn’t even care if he was with her or not. She brought so much joy and love and protection and hope to this cold, deadly world where predators and rapists and abusers stalked the streets. She did more for victims than he felt he ever could. She connected to them all, even when they ended up being groomed into abusers themselves.
A vicious cycle, she called it, wanting it all to just end, wishing she could make it all just end, take their pain away, help them heal as best as she could. She was truly the mother of SVU. Protecting the victims, with her strength and courage and pride, doing whatever she could to help them keep going.
He told her once to not let the cases get personal.
“It’ll take everything from you if you do.” He was leaning on the lockers, looking through his messages after coming back from court. She was shoving her purse in her locker, glaring at him, the words ‘screw you, Stabler’ radiating off her, but she listened. For a time. Then said fuck it and went back to her old ways, smaller or bigger pieces of herself going into her cases when needed because how could she not?
“What are you gonna do about it?” Her voice was raised, arms crossed as they stood a hairs length from each other in the cribs. A smirk had formed on her plump, dark lips as his nostrils flared in anger, mirroring her posture and giving her the hardest glare he could muster. Her smugness just grew, uncrossing her arms and pressing her chest against him, goading him. “There’s nothing you can do about it, Stabler.”
It was the first time he realized how badly he wanted to kiss her.
He couldn’t help but wonder what would've happened if he had.
Would they even be here, in this exact position, if he had just crashed his lips against her own?
Would they have remained partners if he had? Best friends? Or would she have looked at him in shock and fear of what he’s done? Ruin both his marriage, which had already been in shambles at that point and their friendship, which was becoming one of the most precious things in the world to him?
Would she have even wanted it – them – to happen back then?
If she did, if they had, where would they be right now?
In bed together, maybe. Cradling her in his arms as he held her back flush against his chest, a bit of drool pooling on her pillow. She had always tried to hide it in the crib, her hand always going to her mouth to wipe any saliva away when she was being woken up as if they hadn’t just seen her drooling on her pillow before waking her.
He thought it was adorable.
It made no sense to him why it was.
Perhaps knowing that she felt safe enough to sleep that deeply around him.
That was the only answer he could think of.
Would we have had a kid?
The intrusive thought threw him a little, as did the warmth in his cold chest at the thought of a little Benson running around, but he shouldn’t be surprised, not really. She would be the best mother, caring and thoughtful and patient and kind. She’d make sure that child was so loved and adored, the exact opposite of her experience. The woman has so much love to give, so damn much. She would put her children before anyone and anything else, to make sure her bundle of joy knew of no sorrow or pain when she held them.
He could picture it perfectly, a young boy in her arms, curled up on the couch while she leaned back against him, watching a movie or chatting about their day. He’s thought of it before, late at night when Kathy was turned away from him and he was staring at the ceiling, wondering if he hadn't fled home to see his children after Malcolm Royce, hadn't jumped into bed with his soon-to-be ex-wife, if he’d even be laying next to her.
The answer was always no, as shitty as that was.
He loved Kathy, truly he did, she was the mother of his children and a saint for putting up with him but he was no longer in love with her. And neither was she.
He didn’t look forward to coming home like he used to. If anything, having Eli had made her resent him more because he continued to work long, crazy hours and left in the middle of the night for work while she had to juggle a toddler and rebellious twin teenagers, alone.
He couldn’t remember the last time he told or even showed Kathy that he loved her, yet with Olivia… he said ‘I love you’ in nearly everything he did.
He just wished he had been able to say the words to her before now. Wished they had been able to give it a shot, have them, each other, completely, even just for a little while. Even if just for one night, one car ride, one minute, one second. They deserved that. He deserved that.
But, most importantly, she deserved that.
He had spent the last two hours with Cragen, so engulfed in his thoughts of her, that he nearly missed the scrubbed-up doctor who walked into the waiting room. Both of the men stood immediately, meeting the doctor halfway. Elliot could see the bags under the woman's eyes, couldn’t tell if her expression would hold good news or bad, and felt his chest tighten when she looked at him both. Cragen grabbed onto his shoulder, grip firm and comforting.
She was just as exhausted as they were, no doubt, but she smiled at them.
Good news.
He felt that cement pit in his stomach crumble, letting out a small relieved laugh even as he wavered on his feet. Cragen’s arms were quick, keeping his detective upright as the doctor started to explain.
“She’s alive and stable. A few centimeters to the left and she would have been a goner. She was lucky. It was touch and go there for a while but we recovered all the bullet fragments and fixed the damage–”
“When can we see her?” Elliot cut her off but he didn’t care about anything else right now. Fuck manners at this point, he just needed to see her, touch her, feel her pulse under his fingers, know she was alive under his palms. The doctor smiled kindly to him, a knowing look in those tired eyes of hers and she nodded her head for them to follow. He had tunnel vision as he followed the doctor, eyes focused solely on her until she brought him to a private room in the ICU.
He stopped at the door, his breath stuck in his chest as his eyes washed over her.
She was so pale.
He didn’t know why he didn’t expect that. There was no doubt she’d lost a lot of blood before she finally got to the hospital but… he didn’t expect to see it. He took a few tentative steps forward, afraid that if he made a sound it would somehow spook the unconscious woman. She had a tube down her throat, helping her breathe. He focused on her chest then, as he came to stand next to her bed, watching it rise and fall and wishing he had the courage to touch her.
She looked so damn fragile, so unlike the firecracker of a woman he'd come to love.
The tears he had been holding for the past ten hours finally started to fall. His hands trembled beside him as he slowly moved his hand on top of her own. A sob escaped between his lips and he crumbled then, falling to kneel on the side of her bed and crying over her arm as he held tightly onto her warm hand.