Work Text:
“Hey, Emma.” Elliot greets the infant, standing next to her incubator, watching the machines helping her breath, filling her tiny lungs with oxygen, then emptying them, over and over and over again. “Where is your mom?” He asks quietly, as if she can answer.
As if she can hear him.
She might not ever be able to, for all he knows.
Visitation hours are all but over, and Elliot is the only guest in a room filled with doctors and nurses, all he knows by name now.
He knows doctor Smith likes to watch police dramas in what little free time she has. The blonde, tall doctor asks him again and again about his tales in the force, looking dumbstruck when Elliot tells her that no, there are no squad-room romances in the 1-6. He also knows that the young doctor doesn’t believe him for a moment, knows she sneaks peeks at Olivia and him whenever she thinks neither of them notices, can see the wheels in her brain turning as she makes up a script about all the things that could have been between the two partners.
As if they are some kind of star crossed lovers, two people the universe keeps pulling together and pushing apart, again and again and again.
But she is a good doctor, kind and caring, and if this is what she has to do while she takes care of Emma for months on end, so be it.
He knows that Ellen, the perky redhead nurse, likes the color pink, and he made sure to bring her the biggest bouquet of roses he could find, just to show his appreciation for everything she does.
For him. For Emma. For Olivia.
He knows that the other nurse, Matt, with his scruffy look and his tired yet bright smile, is a Giants fan, and he tends to roll his eyes whenever Elliot brings up the Jets, or god forbid, the Eagles.
He thinks he might buy him a ticket, when this is all over, as a thank you. For letting Elliot be the insufferable bastard that he is. For answering every question he had, and not once screaming at him that he should get out of his hair.
“I’m not her mom, Elliot.” He hears the oh-so familiar voice behind him, and she sounds just as exhausted as the day Cragen handed her the letter saying that she is this girl's official guardian.
The only person she has in the whole wide world.
“You are here every single day, Olivia.” Elliot starts, unable to take his gaze off the little girl. He slips his hand into the incubator, pointing one finger out, slowly touching the baby's hand, like she is made of glass and bound to break at any given moment. She cannot see him, and yet she grabs his finger, her little palm latching onto it and holding on for dear life.
Elliot is amazed every single day by the strength of the premature baby. By the strength of his partner. By the willingness of the two of them to fight together. To win, against all odds.
He guesses the two of them were meant to find each other, one way or another.
Two women whose circumstances of birth were supposed to bring them down to their knees, but yet they both do everything they can to rise from the ashes.
“You took a leave of absence. You sit here, you talk and sing and read to her. You were the one who had to make unimaginable medical decisions. You were the one who named her, when everyone told you it will only make the pain that much harsher when she doesn’t make it.”
He doesn’t bother to mention the pink sticker on the plastic case, the name Benson decorating it in cursive handwriting.
“She has a mom, Elliot. And her mom is going to come back for her, someday, when things are better. Easier.” Olivia says, even though it’s been almost sixty days, and neither of them believes it anymore.
“I brought you dinner. Left it at the nurse’s station.” He tries to change the subject, tries to chase away the gloom that settled over the two of them. “Couldn’t really get a cheeseburger into the NICU.”
“Elliot, you need to go home.” Olivia finally says, his back still facing her. “You can’t keep coming here after work.”
He turns, taking a moment to look at her, to really see her, beneath the layers upon layers of armor she wears these days. He looks at the bags under her eyes, the messy bun that sits, crooked, at the top of her head. The tear marks on her cheeks. Her clothes, the ones he thinks she wore the previous day, and maybe even the day before that.
And god dammit, even like this, the mere sight of her does things to his body he will never be able to voice out loud.
“Kathy called again, didn’t she?”
“Maybe she wouldn’t have to call me if you were actually picking up when her name appears on the screen of your phone.” Olivia bites, playing the role of the devil’s advocate. “Elliot, you have a two year old toddler waiting for you at home. You promised her you are going to do this right this time around. Can you blame her?”
“I am not leaving you here alone.” He takes the chair next to her, sitting down and letting out a frustrated huff as his body slumps into the cushions. “You have a two month old, who needs to go into surgery more often than not. You were the one who stood by my wife when she almost lost Eli, and her own life. You never let her go. I would expect her to understand, of all people.”
“El…” Olivia breathes, and as she stares at him wordlessly, he can tell by the look in her eyes she knows. She knows he is not being honest about the reasons he comes to sit with her in this hospital room that smells like acetone, day in and day out.
Not completely.
When his hand finds hers, interlacing their fingers together and giving it a tight squeeze, she doesn't try to pull away.
“I am scared.” She confesses, something raw and deep and primal that only he manages to get out of her.
“I know.” He squeezes again, harder. “It’s okay to love her.” He promises.
“Is it? But what if she doesn’t make it?” She asks him, knowing he doesn’t have an answer, then adds, quietly. “What if I love her, and she makes it, and Gladys comes and takes her away?”
“Then she will know how it feels to be loved by you. Which is a pretty awesome feeling, if I can say so myself.” Elliot smirks, but there is an 80 pound stone sinking slowly in his stomach, which isn’t enabling the corners of his mouth to lift up completely and turn into a smile.
“What makes you think you know how it feels to be loved by me?” Olivia hits him playfully on the shoulder, biting down her lower lip, and finally, finally, after eight long weeks, there is a sense of lightness to the atmosphere around them.
They are them. Benson and Stabler. Olivia and Elliot, for as little time as it may be, before the looming threat of death comes back to hover over their heads.
“I wanna be there when Emma falls in love. I wanna be there when she takes her first steps, and on her first day of elementary school. I wanna call you on the phone one day, many, many years from now, and bitch about how she doesn’t need me anymore.”
Neither of them mentions the elephant in the room, even though the two of them can hear it marching to the steady beat of the machines keeping the little girl alive, taking up all the space between them.
She might not get to an age when she will be able to do any of this. She might not be able to walk, or talk, or sit in a chair on her own, let alone go to school or be an independent person. She might need the help of these machines for the rest of her life, however short they might be.
“You know I will answer your call.” He promises, bringing their joint hands together and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles.
They have become comfortable in this physical closeness ever since the day Olivia walked out of the 1-6, placing what little memorabilia she had on her desk into a cardboard box, telling her co-workers that she doesn’t know if, or when, she will return.
Elliot has gotten used to giving out those small gestures of affection- the hugs and the small kisses on the top of her head, holding her hand or pulling her into a hug when she needs him to support her so she doesn’t fall apart.
Olivia has gotten used to taking everything he has to offer. Taking comfort in his closeness, in his mere presence, in the scene of his heavy body engulfing hers.
“When was the last time you slept a whole night?” Elliot asks, when the silence becomes too overbearing for the two of them, nothing but the usual, monotone noises of a hospital filling the room. He can swear he is going to hear the sound of the monitor and the names of the doctors being called in the announcement systems in his fucking nightmares.
“I think it was right before Gladys looked at me with tears in her eyes and promised me she is going to make the right decision for Emma.” Olivia laughs, but there is no humor in it, just something dry and dark that scares Elliot for some reason. “Or maybe it was the day before I joined SVU, I don’t know.”
“Let me take you home.” Elliot tries, as he does every single day, right before one of the nurses gives them a death glare that says they need to leave, or else they will call security.
“El, I can’t.”
“Olivia…” His tone is harsh as he places two fingers under her chin, forcing her to look straight at him. “Emma needs you to take care of yourself. There is nothing more you can do for her today, but there is plenty you can do for yourself.” He smirks, then adds playfully “Starting with getting out of this stinky clothes. Or burning them all together.”
“You are a son of a bitch.” She mumbles, but when he gets up from the chair and reaches a hand for her, she grabs it, using him to keep herself steady on her own two feet. While they walk down the hallway, his arm on the small of her back, supporting her weight, he can see Emma's doctor glancing up at them, giving them a knowing smirk before going back to flipping through the chart in her hand.
The drive is silent, save from a couple frustrated sighs coming from Olivia, who is slumped in the front seat, insisting that she is alright, and Elliot can just drop her off and go back home.
They both know he is not going to leave her, but faking an insistence on her part has become a routine, much like pretending there is nothing between them other than being partners.
Other than taking care of a little girl who had to fight more battles in two months than most adults have ever had to encounter in an entire lifetime.
He uses his own key as they go through the door, her apartment the familiar chaos it has always been. She lets go of him, making her way to the bathroom, her legs heavy as she drags them on the floor, and he is suddenly cold, a shiver running down his spine, even though it is already April, closing in on May.
“Wash your hair.” He orders.
“Yes, mom.” Olivia chuckles as she locks the door behind her, and he can almost see the way her eyes roll in their socket, even though she stands with her back to him.
God, how he wishes he could have been the one to draw her a bath, take off every single piece of clothing from her body, lather up shampoo in his hands before he combs his fingers through her hair.
“Let me take care of you, Liv.” He pleads, even though he knows she can’t hear him under the sound of the running water and behind the closed door.
Instead, he puts himself to good use, pouring her a glass of her favorite wine, then going through her fridge and cabinets as he tries to find something for her to eat, the cheeseburger he bought long forgotten in the hospital.
“Really, Olivia?” He asks, as all he finds are a few packages of ramen noodles, a jar of pickles and a piece of cheese that’s probably way past its expression date.
Go to the grocery store, he makes a mental note, even though he knows Olivia is not going to be happy with him filling her fridge and pantry. It’s all going to go bad, she is going to insist, as she is never home to eat the food he buys, anyway.
“Come here.” Elliot whispers as he can hear her footsteps on the tiles and smell the familiar scent of her shampoo behind him. She is completely bare faced, her hair wet, going down her shoulders. She wears an old gray hoodie that used to belong to him many moons ago, and a pair of shorts that almost disappear beneath her top, revealing long, tan legs that leaves him plenty of room for imagination.
And God, he needs to go to confession and stop thinking about her that way.
Forgive me father for I have sinned.
She is silent as she makes her way around him, grabbing the drink he had set for her on the counter and walks back to the living room, propping herself on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her body. “Don’t go.” She pleads, her vulnerability showing, a glimpse of something true and broken before the walls that surround her heart are back up again.
“I’m here.” Elliot promises as he makes his way to the sofa, sitting right next to her and wrapping a hand around her waist, his legs spread away from his body. Her head finds the crook of his neck, the rest of her body pressed tightly against his as she finally, finally, closes her eyes.
And God, it feels like her soft body was made to rest against any nook and cranny in his, two people doing everything they can to become one.
He has one hand entangled in her hair, the other holding her close to him as his lips are pressed softly to the crown of her head, and it doesn’t take long before her breaths even out, and he knows that she is finally, finally, in the land of the dreaming.
And if she mumbles the name Emma from time to time in her sleep, the little girl making her way to her dreams, or her nightmares… Well, this is something that any mother would do, and he doesn’t think twice about it.