Chapter Text
June 21, 2010
Special Victims Unit
There were certain nights when she stayed later at the precinct. The other detectives would leave for their homes and families, and she would remain, filling out paperwork after paperwork. Not that she didn’t have a family waiting for her; she had two children and a husband expecting her, but since last summer, when the kids left for college, she no longer felt that lingering guilt about working late and allowed herself to do it more often than usual. Even so, nights like that brought unwanted memories back to her mind as she immersed herself in completing case files.
With every new name of a victim or survivor written on the page, she would remember her mother sitting across from her at a restaurant table, silently judging her while Olivia, a young woman of thirty, spoke excitedly about the wedding that was approaching. She could still recall her mother lifting the wine glass to her lips, taking a sip, and then looking at her with a hint of disdain and pity as she said, “Don’t get too involved in this, Olivia. No man will ever be able to make you happy, and no marriage will last. They never do; it’s all just a grand illusion.” Those had been difficult words to hear when she was only weeks away from saying the long-awaited “I do” to the love of her life, but she had endured it, waited until she reached her apartment, and shed long tears in Elliot’s arms. And when, weeks later, her mother did not even dare to show up at the wedding, Olivia tried not to dwell on it and instead focused on how happy she was to finally marry Elliot Stabler, a detective she had met in her early days at the NYPD while working on a case.
A man who had transformed her life. A man with whom she had shared three years of dating and two more of engagement before finally saying “I do” and joining in marriage on the first day of summer in 1998. When she kissed him at the altar, she had no idea how different their lives would be from then on. Waking up together every morning and going to sleep together every night was the easiest part. What was difficult was when mornings and nights began with one of them at the hospital, visiting victims or the injured because of some case. There were cases that kept them working late, and then, four months into their marriage, the twins arrived; the one thing she had not been prepared for when she said yes to him at the altar.
She looked at the photographs she kept on her desk. There was a portrait of her and Elliot, but the picture of her children was what made her heart race and a smile form on her lips. The sweet, mischievous smiles, captured by Elliot’s old camera, showed their heads together while their hair was still wet, and the beach in the background reflected two summers ago, when they had spent the final weeks of the season at her mother-in-law Bernie’s beach house. Her children, Maeve and Atlas, were now eighteen, but in that photograph they would forever be sixteen. Maeve had a delicate, luminous beauty, almost suspended in time; her long, light blonde hair was soft and fell in gentle strands around her face in a way that highlighted her fair skin and fine features. She had large eyes that held a vast depth of emotions Olivia and Elliot had never fully understood; her lips were rosy and almost always painted with red lipstick, and her face carried subtle yet striking makeup. Their daughter was a blend of her kindness and Elliot’s intense, unpredictable nature; perhaps that was why she was always getting into trouble, almost always because she was trying to protect someone.
Atlas was her little boy; he and Maeve were twins, yet they could not have been more different in every way. He had a quiet beauty, lost between books and his camera, wandering the streets of New York and capturing the silent beauty of the city that never sleeps. His hair was light, just like his sister’s, slightly wavy and falling carelessly around his slender face, even resembling the haircut Olivia used to wear when she was thirty. His light, attentive eyes, like Olivia’s, carried a melancholy similar to Maeve’s. They had been children born into a difficult life and, even after twelve years of being Stablers, they still carried in their hearts and minds the pains of the past; even with the quiet pain they bore within themselves, Atlas maintained a restrained gentleness and a blend of fragility and introspection that made Maeve always defend him from bullies at school, but that also allowed him to see those who needed help that fists and shouting could never resolve.
“MOM!”
Her eyes widened at the sight of her daughter standing before her. Maeve’s blonde hair was softly tousled by the night wind; her clothes were low-rise jeans and a black T-shirt, which Olivia had seen her daughter slip into her bag two nights earlier, when she left to spend the weekend with her best friend. Even so, her presence there was an enigma until that moment. Maeve should have been at home, probably eating pizza with Atlas and watching some reality show on television, not in the middle of the precinct, with tears in her eyes and a terrified expression.
“Maeve? What happened? Is your brother okay? Are you okay?”
Olivia stood up and quickly walked toward her. Her fingers wrapped around her daughter’s arms, scanning her entire body, searching for any injury or bruise that might indicate something had happened, but she did not seem any different from two days earlier.
“Where is your phone? Atlas, Uncle Randall, and I have been trying to call you for hours.”
Olivia blinked for a moment before walking over to the desk, rummaging through the drawers until she found her phone, dead, inside one of them. She had tossed it there after returning from a domestic violence call with Fin and hadn’t even noticed it was low on battery. She lifted the device toward her daughter, showing that it was out of charge, and Maeve took a deep breath, knowing that this was a very common habit of her parents.
“Mom, Dad was in an accident at work. He’s in the hospital.”
A tear slipped down Maeve’s face as she remembered the call from her uncle, who was her father’s secondary emergency contact at the hospital and the one who had called her and her brother to inform them of what had happened. Atlas had gone to Mercy Hospital, but Maeve had come to the precinct looking for her mother, driven by the urgency to find her.
“Oh my God, I… I didn’t… come on, Maeve.”
She grabbed her bag and car keys before rushing alongside her daughter out of the precinct, heading toward the SUV parked in front of the building. Her hands trembled slightly as she unlocked the car, but she took a deep breath when she saw Maeve get into the passenger seat and fasten her seatbelt. She had been through this a million times; Elliot seemed to have a knack for getting involved in shootings and explosions, yet that still didn’t stop her eyes from burning with tears she struggled not to shed, nor her hands from trembling as they settled on the steering wheel.
“Mom, are you sure that…?”
Maeve’s brown eyes, so similar to her mother’s, carried a silent doubt about whether she would be able to drive. Maeve had witnessed situations like that enough times to know that her mother could push forward, but her hands were always shaking and her breathing unsteady. Over the years, she and Atlas had begun to wonder whether it was truly safe to leave their mother in control of the car in that state, although they had never voiced it openly. On some occasions, they would simply take over the car and say that their mother could make calls, notify their uncles, or contact their father’s captain to get updates on the situation, and she would agree. At that moment, however, Olivia simply took a deep breath, gripped the steering wheel, and said:
“I just need a minute.”
A long sigh escaped her lips as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel and took a deep breath before finally starting the car and driving along a route she had taken far too many times, partly because of the job, partly because of her husband, always involved in some kind of accident. The number of times Elliot had been caught in the middle of a shooting, a fight, or an explosion was countless, probably more than half the officers in the entire NYPD. Even so, she didn’t talk about it, didn’t argue with him, at least not as much as an ordinary wife might have, because she understood what the job demanded. Still, it became difficult to accept when there were other officers, other detectives, other people who could go undercover and take on such dangerous cases, yet Elliot was always the one in the middle of it, always the one putting his life at risk, and it was always her who ended up beside him in a hospital bed, praying for his recovery. A part of her was simply exhausted by it, but she reminded herself that she, too, had been injured in the line of duty, not as often as her husband, but enough times to try not to judge him for doing his job. Even so, there was still a small trace of anger growing inside her, burning within and making her take a deep breath as she parked the car in front of the hospital. How many more times would she have to go through this in her life?
“Where are they?”
She asked her daughter as she grabbed her bag, which she had carelessly tossed onto the back seat in her rush to get in with Maeve minutes earlier. The bag weighed on her shoulders, but nothing compared to the weight of not knowing what was happening to Elliot. She caught a brief glimpse of her phone inside it, still dead and useless, making her feel a quiet sense of guilt for not having paid attention and letting it run out of battery, missing the call.
“Atlas said they’re still in the emergency wing.”
And then she headed there, with no more words left to be said, only the sound of her heeled boots echoing against the floor, followed by the softer sound of Maeve’s sneakers. She could still feel her heart racing, her hands trembling, but her eyes were cold and focused as she moved through the hospital corridors, until she spotted Atlas’s light hair and the old brown leather jacket that had once belonged to Elliot, which the young man had worn almost constantly since he was fifteen. Beside him stood Randall, as always dressed in a suit and dress shirt, as if he were about to attend an important business meeting, and next to him, Elliot’s captain. A cigarette rested between the older woman’s lips; it was clear she would not respect any “no smoking” signs anywhere.
“ATLAS!”
She called out to her son, who, as soon as he heard her voice, turned and ran toward her, meeting her in the middle of the hospital corridor and wrapping her in a tight embrace, just as he used to do every night when she came home from work. Atlas had always been the sweeter one, with his blue eyes so much like Elliot’s and a gentle heart, always concerned about whether his mother was eating properly and whether his father was being careful at work. She had seen her son that very morning, when he had his headphones tucked into his ears, watching one of the many series he liked, sitting on the kitchen island, eating waffles and drinking some black coffee, so distracted that he barely noticed the soft touch of her fingers in his light hair, a silent goodbye before she left for work. With summer break, the twins had been spending more time at home. They had started their first year of college in September the year before, just days before turning eighteen. Now, they were back for summer vacation, dividing their time between staying at her and Elliot’s apartment, going out with friends, and taking short trips to their paternal grandmother’s beach house.
“Mom!”
He looked her over carefully, making sure she was alright. Maeve and he had been worried about their father in the hospital, and their mother, not answering their calls, had left them deeply anxious. That was why Maeve had offered to go look for her, saying that their mother was probably too absorbed in a case and hadn’t answered the many calls. But since his sister had gone after her nearly an hour earlier, Atlas hadn’t known what to expect, until his nerves eased when he saw his mother and sister approaching.
He pulled away from his mother, breaking the embrace, and moved closer to his sister, who gave him a small smile as she leaned against him.
“Finally, you’re here.”
Randall, Elliot’s older brother, said as she approached him. Her brother-in-law was a good man; he had made a living as a real estate broker. There wasn’t a celebrity, CEO, banker, or startup founder who hadn’t bought or sold a home with him. It was because of him that Elliot and Olivia had managed to get a good price on the apartment they lived in, something that hadn’t been in their plans when they were newly married, but when they had two children to care for and an apartment that only suited a couple without children, they found themselves needing something bigger. It was clear they would not have bought the place if it weren’t for Randall’s help in securing them a good deal. In addition, his work as a broker had earned him enough money for a country house, which they liked to visit for a few days during summer vacation and even in the winter.
“Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for hours!”
he asked, waving his phone in front of her, showing that he had spent the last two hours calling his sister-in-law after receiving the call from the hospital informing him that his brother had been admitted to the emergency wing, unconscious. He had probably racked up a few traffic tickets, driving at high speed to the hospital while trying to call Liv and his brother’s apartment, where the only answer had come from his niece, who had just arrived from the movies with her twin brother when she picked up the phone.
“We’ll talk later, Randall. I need to know what happened.”
She gave her brother-in-law’s shoulder a light pat before moving past him and walking toward the blonde-haired woman standing a few feet away, a cigarette in hand, watching her intently, already expecting what was about to happen. They had never gotten along, not even after all the years they had known each other. Olivia didn’t like her reckless methods in Organized Crime investigations and liked even less the way she was always involving her husband in all of it.
“Olivia, you’re late. I thought you still loved that idiot you call a husband.”
A deep breath escaped her lips as she faced Sonya Paxton, captain of the Organized Crime Control Bureau for over fifteen years. The woman was a complete bitch in many ways; she had no respect for others, was an unbearable smoker, and, from Elliot’s comments, was slowly becoming an alcoholic. There were many things about her that Olivia could criticize, but if there was one thing even IAB could praise, it was the number of bastards she had already put behind bars. OCCB had dismantled several prostitution rings, drug and arms trafficking operations, as well as countless cases involving corruption and even terrorism. SVU itself had worked alongside them and put sadists and monsters behind bars, but none of that stopped Olivia from rolling her eyes when she looked at Sonya.
“What happened to him?”
she asked without giving in to one of her toxic remarks; the woman might be good at her job, but she irritated Olivia just as much as she irritated Elliot, who always had some new complaint about his boss.
“We’re working a new case involving some arms traffickers, and we had a guy we could use as a witness, but when Elliot went after him, the guy just started running. Elliot chased him, and in the middle of the pursuit, the guy shoved him down a staircase; he lost his balance and fell down three flights of stairs and… hit his head.”
Olivia brought her hands to her head, her fingers sinking into her hair as she tried to keep her breathing steady and her nerves under control, though she could already feel a headache beginning. Images of Elliot lying on the ground, blood running down his face, made her stomach churn at the mere thought of losing him.
“Oh my God.”
They were the only words that escaped her lips as she rubbed her eyes and face, trying to wipe any image from her mind. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans, feeling them tremble once again. The way she became when her family was hurt was her most vulnerable side; she was strong for every victim and every survivor, but when it came to her children or her beloved, it was impossible not to falter, not to feel her hands shake, her eyes burn with tears, her head throb with pain, and her stomach ache.
“The team arrived at the scene shortly after. Even with the injury, he was still breathing and spoke to the agents on site. You know how it is, tough things don’t break easily.”
She let out a breath of relief, not much, just a little, at the fact that he had still been conscious when help arrived. She had seen many victims of domestic violence who were pushed down stairs and died; thinking of her husband meeting the same fate slowly tore her apart.
“And what did the doctors say?”
she asked. Maeve hadn’t mentioned anything about the doctors, and she hadn’t given Atlas and Randall the chance to speak about it, but she assumed that, since Sonya had likely arrived before her brother-in-law and her children, she had more information than the others.
“Nothing yet. Given how long we’ve been here, someone should show up soon.”
Both women knew how long that could take, and so Olivia simply nodded and let out a long sigh before sitting between her children, allowing them to settle beside her. Maeve held her hand while resting her head on her shoulder, and Atlas draped an arm over his mother’s shoulders.
“This must have ruined your plans for today.”
Maeve commented as her fingers, her nails painted in a shade of red that almost resembled blood, traced the delicate silver of her engagement ring and then the small stones of her wedding band. The rings had been a very special gift from her mother-in-law; they had belonged to Elliot’s great-grandmother, then to his grandmother, and finally to his mother, who had kept them to give to one of her twin daughters, Sharon and Dee. But when Olivia entered the family, according to Bernie, the plans changed. She had said that her daughter-in-law seemed destined to wear those rings, and Olivia had accepted them with great joy. Those rings had not only been the symbol of the union between her and Elliot, but also the symbol that she finally had a family.
“Plans? For today?”
Olivia asked, not understanding what her daughter was talking about. It was just an ordinary Monday; she and Elliot hardly ever went out for dinners or dates on a Monday. They had barely seen each other that day. He had already been about to leave the apartment when she woke up; he had only given her a quick kiss on the lips before heading to work, and they hadn’t even exchanged messages, as they usually did, probably because they were both too busy with work.
“Yes, for your wedding anniversary.”
Olivia fell silent as her eyes shifted between the ring on her finger and her daughter beside her. The words didn’t seem to make sense in her mind; her wedding anniversary should have been next week, shouldn’t it? Her eyes closed as she remembered exactly what day it was. A quick flash of the date in the newspaper Munch had been reading when she arrived: it was June 21… June 21, the day of her wedding.
“Our wedding anniversary…”
Her mind pounded with the realization that she had forgotten her own wedding anniversary. God, even Elliot had forgotten. Twelve years of marriage and, just like that, they had forgotten one of the most important days of their lives. God, Olivia hadn’t even been giving the date much thought. She had assumed it would be the following week and that she could buy something, like a new shirt for him, over the weekend when she had some free time. Elliot had been so focused on work lately that she assumed he didn’t remember the date either, especially since there had been no flowers or breakfast in bed, as he usually did every year.
“Family of Elliot Stabler?”
A young doctor, holding a clipboard and with blonde hair streaked with purple highlights, pulled her out of her thoughts about how she and Elliot had forgotten their wedding anniversary. Olivia stood up and walked toward the doctor, while the others followed close behind.
“It’s us! I’m his wife. How is my husband?”
she asked hurriedly. She had been in hospitals enough times to know how much they could stall, and the last thing she wanted at that moment was delay. Her mind raced with a thousand things: forgetting their wedding anniversary, Elliot being hurt, not even knowing he was involved in a new operation, the fact that he had hit his head and that it could mean something very serious. The possibilities ran through her mind, and her stomach twisted at the thought that something terrible might have happened to him. She felt the gentle warmth of Maeve’s hand on her arm, but nothing was enough to comfort her.
“Mrs. Stabler, your husband arrived at the hospital conscious, although somewhat confused. According to the report, he suffered a fall down a flight of stairs. After the examinations, we identified a fracture of the radius, in the distal region of the forearm, near the wrist, a type of injury common in falls when the hand is outstretched. He was experiencing intense pain and swelling, but the bone is well aligned. We have already immobilized the limb and, at this moment, there is no indication for surgery.”
Olivia let out a small breath of relief; it wasn’t as if it were good news, but she knew it could have been much worse. She also knew she would need to get on Elliot about taking it easier at work and with the training he had recently started, so he could recover properly. Atlas, beside her, gave her a gentle smile as he whispered, “Dad’s made of steel, hard to break!”, and Olivia returned a faint smile before focusing again on the doctor’s words.
“In addition, during the fall he hit his head, which resulted in a mild traumatic brain injury. He experienced a brief period of disorientation, which is common in this type of injury, but there was no prolonged loss of consciousness. The CT scan showed no signs of bleeding or structural damage to the brain, which is very positive. Even so, he will remain under observation for the next 24 hours so we can monitor any symptoms.”
Everyone breathed a little easier at that. Olivia even reached out to take her daughter’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and a relieved smile. The two had been standing side by side for the past few minutes, silently feeling each other’s tension. Olivia had never had a favorite child; she had always loved her boy and her girl equally, but she had always noticed that Maeve was closer to her father, while Atlas was closer to her. Her daughter was always with Elliot, going to shooting ranges because he wanted his little girl to know how to defend herself, going shopping with him because she had a good sense of style, and visiting Grandma Bernie; after all, their grandmother always asked about her. Meanwhile, Olivia and Atlas would stay side by side in the living room, absorbed in books, or go to the beach, where she would enjoy the ocean breeze and her son would take in the beautiful scenery to capture with his camera, or they would cook together, something Elliot was much better at than she was, but Olivia would always try her hand at a new recipe with Atlas.
“Your husband’s condition is considered mild, but this type of injury requires observation. That’s why he will remain under monitoring for the next few hours. So far, his condition is stable, and he may receive visitors, but one at a time. I assume you’ll be staying with him as his companion tonight, correct?”
Olivia nodded in agreement, and the young doctor simply murmured an “I thought so” before jotting something down on her clipboard and informing them where Elliot’s room was, then walking away down the corridors, already concerned with other patients. Olivia, along with her children, her brother-in-law, and Elliot’s captain, followed to the indicated location. When they reached the door, she said she wouldn’t take long, as she still needed to call Cragen to inform him of what had happened and let him know she wouldn’t be able to work the next day.
She took a deep breath before gripping the doorknob and slowly opening it, gradually facing the sight of Elliot lying in the hospital bed. For a few seconds, her slow, silent steps allowed her to observe him without him noticing. Elliot lay there with his eyes closed, his face slightly turned. The memory came to her of the countless times she had arrived at the apartment and found him in that same position, asleep on the couch. If only this were one of those days when she came home, woke him with a kiss, and then they would cook dinner for the kids. But since Maeve and Atlas had left for college, that happened less often. Usually, when she got home from work, he was already asleep in their bedroom, and her dinner sat cold in the microwave, waiting for her.
Now, she had gone from one of her late work nights and a microwaved dinner to a cold hospital room, watching her husband lying in that bed, with a cast around the fractured area of his arm and a fresh wound on his forehead. She hated seeing him hurt and hated even more the fact that she had seen him like that so many times before.
“El…”
As soon as his name echoed through the room, Elliot’s eyes opened. The sight of Olivia standing right there in front of him brought relief to his heart, but as he looked at her, at her expression, a mix of anger and sadness, he also felt the weight of his decisions. He hadn’t told her about the operation; he hadn’t thought it was important to mention. It was supposed to be a simple conversation, just trying to get some useful information out of the guy, but then he had snapped, started running, and Elliot had to chase him. Everything had spiraled, and now he felt like an idiot, lying in that hospital bed, knowing he had probably scared her and the kids.
“Liv…”
She took a deep breath before moving closer to him, taking his good hand and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, while her other hand slid along his face, caressing him gently. Elliot closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her hand and the sweetness of her kiss. He didn’t deserve that woman, he knew it, and yet he was still a miserable bastard who would never leave her.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
she said, giving his face two light taps, a quiet display of her anger. She loved her husband, that was true, a truth she could never deny, but she also couldn’t deny how irritated she was that he hadn’t thought about her and the kids, or about how much it had terrified them.
“I’m sorry, Liv, I didn’t mean for you to go through that and… where are they?”
She let out a long sigh, took two steps back, and rubbed her face, trying to steady her breathing. Her gaze lifted to the ceiling as she answered seriously.
“Out there, waiting with Randall.”
Elliot looked at her, not understanding why his older brother was there. He had ended up in the hospital many times before, but unless it was a life-or-death situation, his siblings rarely showed up. At most, they would call to check if he was okay, so it was almost instinctive for him to question his presence there.
“Why is Randall here?”
Olivia looked at him in silence for a few seconds, thinking about why Randall was there, about why all of them were in a hospital on a Monday night.
“The hospital couldn’t reach me because my phone was dead, so they called Randall, since he’s your secondary emergency contact.”
“Were you working late?”
It was meant to be just a simple question, an ordinary one, but it hit her like a punch. She had been working late while her husband was in an ambulance on his way to the hospital. That was what their marriage had been like over the past few months, maybe even the past few years: sharing the same bed, but living different lives. A humorless laugh escaped her lips as she began pacing the room, looking at him with anger as she spoke loudly.
“Actually, it’s what both of us have been doing these past few months, right? Working late, eating dinner alone, not answering calls, not talking to each other, as if we were two damn strangers instead of being married for twelve years.”
She pressed her temples, feeling her head throb with pain, while Elliot looked as if he were about to force himself out of bed to go to her. But she knew he shouldn’t do that. He needed to rest, and she needed a few minutes away from him. So she moved closer to the bed, stopping him from getting up, but not allowing him to take her hand as he wanted. A heavy silence settled between them before she glanced toward the door, knowing the kids and Randall were waiting to see Elliot, along with his captain.
“I need to call Cragen and let him know what happened, and the kids and Randall want to see you, and I assume Sonya will want to update you on the case.”
She spoke automatically as she adjusted her hair and tried to appear as normal as possible. She didn’t want the kids or Elliot’s captain to notice what had been happening inside that room. She didn’t need anyone commenting on the fact that she and her husband were arguing while he was in the hospital, but that didn’t stop him from trying to take her hand once more, making her entire body shiver slightly at his touch. She could be filled with anger, but he was still the love of her life and still made her body react with the slightest touch; even so, that didn’t stop her from looking at him seriously as she listened to him speak.
“Liv, we need to talk.”
She looked at his hand holding hers, at their wedding bands, so bright, yet they brought her no joy; they only made her heart feel heavier.
“We’ll talk when you’re not in a hospital bed.”
She looked once more at their hands intertwined. She felt that familiar warmth of his that filled her completely. All of it filled her, but in that moment, it didn’t seem to be enough to ease the weight inside her, and so she simply let go of his hand, taking a few steps back and looking at him one last time before walking away, ready to leave him alone in the room and use the excuse that she needed to call her captain to get a breath of fresh air and maybe have some coffee before returning to the hospital bedroom.
Before her fingers could reach the doorknob, her gaze fell once more on her own wedding ring, tracing the small, delicate stones. Then she looked over her shoulder, until her brown eyes met his blue ones, and there was a quiet need to say the following words.
“And by the way, today is our wedding anniversary, but I guess it doesn’t matter much if we both forgot.”
When the door closed, and all that remained for Elliot were Olivia’s words and the bitterness and anger within them, he realized that his marriage was in crisis, and he hadn’t even known it.