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The first thing Olivia Benson notices upon waking is that she can’t open her eyes. She tries, but somehow they’re gummed up, glued hopelessly, completely shut.
The second thing she notices is that her nose is stuffy. Not just a little bit, her entire head feels like it’s been packed with cotton.
She sighs and eases herself into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress, hands resting on the tops of her thighs as her head swirls and she tries to get her bearings.
She knows exactly where this came from and she can’t even be upset about it.
Two days ago SVU had been called to Mercy General to help with a three-year old child, a case of possible sexual abuse. The girl's name was Sara.
When Olivia arrived at the hospital, she could immediately tell that the girl was terrified. She was also nursing a very obvious upper respiratory infection and likely a serious case of pink-eye, Olivia noted.
But the only thing going through Olivia’s mind at that exact moment was comforting Sara, who was crying, shaking and begging for her mom.
Olivia later found out via Sara’s foster mother, whom Sara had only been placed with for a few days, that her biological mother had been killed a year ago in a drug deal gone bad. Sara had been able to open up enough to her new foster mom that evening at bath time that her previous foster dad had been hurting her, and every indication was that it was sexual in nature.
The new foster mom, Robin, had thought it best to bring her straight to the hospital to start a report. That’s when one of the doctors on call had reached out directly to Olivia, who was home watching a movie with Elliot and Noah.
Sara was very obviously traumatized, and sick, but when Olivia had walked into her hospital room and crouched down to her level, using her gentlest voice, she’d grabbed onto Olivia’s hand and pulled her close. Olivia had smiled as the girl burrowed into her side and refused to let go.
“You look like a nice lady,” she had said in the tiniest little voice.
Olivia spent the next two hours sitting next to her in the hospital bed, talking to her, and holding her when she climbed into Olivia’s lap as she cried telling the story of all the awful things that had happened. Her previous foster home was not a good place. She gave details as best as a three-year old could.
Olivia knew just the right way to push for more details in a non-invasive way. She knew when to pull back a little when Sara started to get anxious. She knew how to phrase the questions so that it didn’t feel like an interrogation, but more like Sara was confiding in a friend. Olivia pulled a stuffed bunny out of her bag that Sara took a liking to immediately. Anyone who saw Olivia in action working with kids knew she had a special gift of compassion and empathy for them.
By the time the interview was wrapping up, Olivia had been cried on, snotted on and coughed on. She didn’t mind one bit if it meant helping this sweet girl. The idea of someone hurting Sara left a pit in her stomach and lit a fire in her soul. She would crawl over broken glass if it helped get justice for this girl. Some deeply maternal, protective instinct tugged at her heart, like it always did with victimized children.
______
Two days later and Olivia has clearly come down with whatever upper respiratory bug Sara had, down to the sticky, matted eyes.
She sneezes into her cupped hands, a harsh, desperate, congested thing that she tries to smother for the sake of the sleeping form lying next to her.
It’s no use as she feels his body roll to face her side of the bed as he mumbles a sleepy, “Bless you.”
This whole thing is fairly new to both of them - him sleeping over. It’s been a few months since things slowly evolved from just spending time together a few evenings a week, to every single evening, to six weeks ago when they’d agreed they were both in this. An actual relationship. She was finally ready to take that step.
He cracks an eye open and sees that she’s already upright. He checks the clock. It’s early - earlier than they usually get up.
“You ok?” he asks, his voice rough from sleep.
“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m fine.” But it sounds too nasal, even to her own ears.
She sneezes harshly again, her body folding itself in half.
“Bless you… that doesn’t sound fine,” he says, and she can feel the mattress dip as he moves to sit next to her.
She’s still got her hands cupped over her face. She lowers them into her lap, and turns to face him, but she still can’t open her eyes.
He’s rubbing his own eyes sleepily, trying to fully wake up when he sees hers, still shut. They look wet and sticky.
“Oh baby,” he sighs and reaches a hand out to stroke her cheek. “I think you’re sick.”
“What gave it away?” She scoffs sarcastically and sniffs through her congested nose.
“I can’t open my eyes,” she says stuffily.
“Here,” he says, pressing a handful of tissues from the box on the nightstand into her palm.
“Try to blow your nose. I’m going to run a washcloth under some warm water so we can clean off your eyes.”
He disappears into the en suite.
He’s back two minutes later with a warm, wet washcloth, and he sits on the edge of the bed. He rests a hand gently on her shoulder, letting her know where he is since she can’t see anything.
“Lie back on your pillow, I’ve got this.”
She does as he says, lying back, head easing down onto her soft pillow.
It feels strange and a little disorienting not being able to open her eyes. She feels gross and sick, and she can feel a little bit of anxiety starting to creep into her body. Yet somehow, as soon as she feels his warmth settling in next to her side, she feels completely at ease. Something about just his presence. He has a gentleness about him that’s calming with just his simple touch. His warm hand on her shoulder is grounding.
He takes the warm washcloth, folds it in half, and gently lays it across her eyes, letting the warmth seep in to loosen the gunk that’s taken up residence.
She feels immediate relief on her swollen, irritated eyelids. It's like a soothing balm.
“Let it sit for a minute,” he says quietly. His voice is still deep from sleep. “Loosen everything up.”
He uses his fingers to apply gentle pressure over her eyelids, letting the moisture soak in. Then they sit in a sleepy silence. He reaches for her hand and threads their fingers together and they just breathe.
After a few minutes he pulls the cloth away and begins to pat each eye, so carefully, so tenderly.
He keeps going, moving from the left eye then over to the right, repeating the same process with the easy dexterity of someone who has probably done this once or twice before in his life. Maybe for one of his sick kids, years ago.
Dabbing, patting gently, wiping softly. Never rough. Just soft sweeping motions.
Something inside her chest clenches, in a good way, and her chin wavers slightly with a sob that threatens to escape, but she swallows it down. She realizes she’s never felt this cared for ever before in her life. Definitely not with Serena. And not in any of her past relationships either. She can’t imagine ever asking them to do this for her.
And that’s the other thing. She hadn’t even had to ask him. He’s just here, offering himself and his care to her. No prodding or negotiation needed. Not out of any sense of obligation. Just here.
No one has ever been so gentle with her before. Or so generous.
“There, that’s better,” he says, folding up the washcloth and setting it on the nightstand.
Finally her eyes seem to be cleared enough. She tries to blink. Her lashes flutter and then her eyes open. They’re red-rimmed, the whites are definitely pink and irritated.
“Thanks,” she breathes in deep and sits up again, clearing her throat.
“Well, I guess we should’ve seen this coming,” he says, recalling their conversation when she’d gotten home from the hospital the other night.
They had laid down for bed together around midnight while she’d relayed all the details to him. Her voice had been small, and a little sad, and he could tell her heart was aching for Sara. He knew there was nothing he could do at the moment to help. Nothing except pull her close, hold her to his chest, and let her unload everything. Unburden her mind so that she could hopefully get some sleep. He knew all she was really needing was someone to listen. Someone to be there. Someone to hold her while she processed. He felt lucky that they were at a place where he could do that for her now. All those years he’d wanted to hold her just like this and couldn’t. Now he could be that safe place for her to land.
“I’d do it again a hundred times over. To help Sara. I’ll survive whatever this is,” she gestures to her face, to her red eyes.
“I know you would. And yes, you will.”
He lifts her hand off the bed and kisses her knuckles where their fingers are still joined together. This is what he loves about her. One of many things, of course. But her empathy is one of his favorite qualities.
“I should probably stay home today. Keep from spreading this to the entire precinct.” She sighs. “But I have so much to do for the case… interviews, warrants…”
“Let your squad handle it. Fin can take point. He’s your Sergeant for a reason.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “But you know how much I hate giving up control of the case.”
“I do,” he chuckles. “But this time I think it’s necessary. Fin can keep you updated while you rest. And I’ll handle all the other stuff and Noah.”
“Oh shit! El, this is going to throw a major monkey wrench into your entire day. Noah’s got his before-school club, and he has to bring his science project for the science fair, plus you’ve got that briefing with your team first thing and you can’t be late.”
“Liv, it’s fine. I’ll drop off Noah on my way to work. I can help him carry his project inside.”
“I hate to be such an inconvenience,” she says quietly, staring at the floor.
Why does she always feel like she’s not allowed to need? Like every minor inconvenience is such a burden to others? She's never had someone here to pick up the slack like this and it's making her feel a little off balance.
“Hey, look at me,” he says softly, tilting her chin up with his index finger so that her brown eyes meet his blue.
“You are not an inconvenience to me. Ever. This is just life… life-ing. People get sick. Plans change. We adjust. Things will work out just fine, I promise.”
He leans forward and kisses her softly on the lips.
She pulls back a little. “Stop, El. You’ll get sick.”
“I don’t care,” he says, kissing her again and grinning.
The alarm clock interrupts them.
“Lie down and try to get some rest. I’ll start getting ready for work and then wake Noah.”
She sniffles and pats a finger at the outside corner of her left eye which has started to water a bit. Not from emotion, she insists to herself. Probably just the pink-eye.
“Ok,” she agrees and lies back.
She closes her eyes and drifts, but doesn’t fully go back to sleep. Her nose is too stuffy and her head is starting to ache and her eyes feel like sandpaper.
This isn’t what she had in mind for today at all.
She hears Elliot taking a shower, getting ready for his day. Preparing to help her son get ready for his day.
He exits the bathroom with a cloud of steam whooshing out around him and he heads over to her dresser, to the right three drawers which he now claims as his own.
She rolls to her side and opens her eyes to admire him. Trailing from his bald head, still glistening with droplets from the shower, down to his thick, veined neck, his muscular shoulders and biceps. Then down further as he drops the towel, revealing his toned thighs and ass, to pull on a pair of black boxer briefs.
He turns, about to head to the closet for one of his suits because he’s decided he’s dressing nice today, when he catches her eyes.
“Checking me out?” He smiles and winks at her.
“Always,” she laughs. “If I wasn’t sick and oozing from my eyeballs I’d jump you right now for a morning quickie.”
“I wouldn’t be against it, even with the oozing eyes,” he offers. “If you wanted.”
“That’s sweet. I do want to, actually, but... raincheck for tomorrow morning?” she offers.
“I’m gonna hold you to that.” He checks the clock. “Right now I better start waking Noah up. You know it takes him forever to get out of bed. And don’t even get me started on the thirty minute hair routine he’s into now.”
She laughs, then yawns.
“Mmkay. M’gonna text Fin here in a minute, let him know he’s boss today. And threaten to kick his ass if he doesn’t keep me updated on every detail.”
“That’s my girl,” he says, bending down to kiss her on the forehead. “Hey, you should probably get a tele-medicine appointment. You need eye drops for this,” he says, examining her eyes closely.
“Yeah I’ll see if I can get one this morning. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Have the prescription sent to the pharmacy down the street, I’ll pick it up on my lunch break and bring it by for you.”
She sighs contentedly and smiles, almost not feeling like this is real life.
It’s the first time in what feels like forever that she has someone to pick up the slack for her. To pick up what she doesn’t have the capacity to carry right now. Even if it is something as trivial as picking up her prescription eye drops. Or dropping her son off at school. Or cleaning her eye goop.
It’s the first time in forever that she feels like she’s not doing everything on her own. That she has someone active and present in her life, for no other reason than that this is exactly where he wants to be and what he wants to be doing.
The first time in forever that she feels cared for and loved, unconditionally.
And it feels so good.