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~~~~~
The rumble of thunder outside Olivia’s window wakes her in the early morning hours on a Friday in late July. Even though the sun hasn’t yet risen, humidity still permeates the air causing condensation to fog up the inside of her bedroom window.
A sweltering heat wave has taken NYC by storm this week making everyone cranky and miserable. Thankfully today the weather forecast predicted morning thunderstorms, which would allow for a much needed break from the blazing oven that had been roasting the city for the past week. Olivia has never been more grateful that her apartment has central air.
She rolls onto her side, grateful to see that her alarm won’t go off for another hour. One more blissful hour of much-needed sleep in her bed. But as she shuts her eyes to try to drift back off her lower belly suddenly cramps. It’s abrupt and sharp enough to make her suck in a quick breath of air between her front teeth. Maybe it wasn’t the thunder that woke her after all.
That cramp eases, but a few seconds later another one builds and she curls in on herself. It’s the kind of cramps that you recognize immediately, their cause undeniable. But it’s only when she rolls onto her back, hand cradling her stomach, that she’s suddenly very aware of the damp stickiness between her legs.
Her period. Fuck.
She knew it was coming soon, but it's a few days early if she’s calculating correctly, though she’s not always the best at keeping track. It catches her off guard more often than it should for a forty-something year old woman, she thinks.
She does remember that she’s out of tampons and needs to stop at a store. She hasn’t re-stocked since last month, but she’s fairly certain she has a couple spare ones floating around the bottom of her purse. It should be just enough to tide her over until she can make a quick run to Duane Reade later.
It’s been days since she’s had a chance to breathe, rest, or even sleep in her own bed, let alone set foot in an actual store or think about buying even the most basic of necessities. They’ve been slammed with a case the entire week and she’s slept in the cribs, squeezing in little cat naps here and there, for the past three nights.
As much as this shouldn’t be a big deal for someone who’s had their period for over thirty years, she dreads the inconvenience it will bring to her day.
She’ll handle it, she always does: Advil, a stop at the drugstore, a few well-timed bathroom breaks. It just adds another layer of thought and planning to her day that she doesn’t feel like dealing with, especially in the middle of a tough case.
Her lower belly feels heavy and bloated as she swings her legs over the side of the bed to sit upright and get her bearings. She needs a shower, clean underwear and to find her purse to fish out one of those tampons.
A memory from a few years ago pops into her head. She was UC as Persephone James and was blindsided by an early period while staying at one of the communes she’d infiltrated in Oregon. One of the girls had tried to get her into using something called a Diva cup. She had a stash of them that she handed out like party favors. It was more ecofriendly, she had insisted.
But Olivia could never seem to get the hang of it enough not to turn the bathroom into a crime scene each time she emptied it. Given her line of work she didn’t feel the need to see any more blood or handle any more messes than necessary, so she’d given up on that pretty quickly and tossed it in the trash as soon as she’d gotten back to Manhattan. It was a nice idea in theory, but she really didn’t care that much about the environment. At least not enough to stop using her tried and true, old-school Tampax, though right now she could see the appeal of always having the cup on hand instead of having to run to the store every month.
She’s about to muster up enough energy to get out of bed and handle things when her phone vibrates on the nightstand.
Elliot flashes on the screen.
“Hey,” she answers. “What’s up?”
“Got a body dump in an alley - Amsterdam and West 95th Street. Possibly related to our case. Cragen wants us on it.” He sounds tired, none of the squad has gotten much rest this week. But she can tell he’s already up and moving. She can hear the jingle of his keys and the sound of the front door closing behind him.
“Ok I’m up, just give me twenty to shower and get dressed. Meet you out front?”
“Sounds good, I’m getting in the car now. I’ll go grab the sedan and then some coffee.”
She ends the call as another strong cramp rolls in, doubling her over the side of the bed as she tries to take in a steadying breath through her nose.
“What the fuck, “ she mutters as the cramp tightens harder around her entire pelvis.
It wasn't like she never had cramps, she’s had her period since she was eleven, she’s had cramps plenty of times. But these cramps, somehow they seem meaner. They’ve got bite to them, rolling in faster and digging in deeper than she’s used to. Her stomach feels off too, uneasy in a way she isn’t used to feeling.
She doesn’t have time for wallowing now though. She’s got work to do. She’s got crimes to investigate and solve and no time for her body to be uncooperative and inconvenient. She takes another deep breath and climbs out of bed, stripping the sheets off and tossing them near her hamper as she heads to find her purse.
~~~~~
Twenty two minutes later she’s dressed in grey slacks and a matching light blue blouse. It’s literally the only outfit she can find that’s clean and matching in her closet. Another item on her to-do list today - stop by the dry cleaners and pick up her clothes. Yet another thing she hasn’t had time for in days.
Her hair is still damp, pulled back into a quick half up, half down look with a claw clip. Her purse and blazer are hanging over her left arm as she exits her building and steps onto the sidewalk.
She finds Elliot in the sedan two spots down, engine running, steam rising from the hood. The rain is holding off for now, but the humidity has thankfully been dialed down a notch so that it’s no longer suffocating as the thunderstorm lingers nearby.
“Morning,” she greets him, settling carefully into the passenger seat.
“Morning,” he replies, handing over a cup of coffee he picked up from their favorite street cart vendor on the way.
“Thanks.” She smiles, pulls the lid off the cup and takes a whiff of the rich aroma wafting up at her. It smells heavenly.
She takes a hesitant sip, careful not to burn her tongue, then replaces the lid and sets it down in the center cupholder between them to cool for a minute.
He pulls away from the curb and starts off toward the crime scene.
They’re used to early mornings like this, being dragged from their beds at ungodly hours. Neither of them mind the early call time when they’re in each other's company. They have a rhythm now, it’s second nature all these years in. He knows exactly how she takes her first coffee of the day: black with two sugars, strong enough to wake her up. And he knows just the right amount of conversation she’s capable of handling at this early hour, which is very little. She’s not a morning person and it takes her a while to wake up, but once she hits the crime scene, she’s full-throttle, operating at one-hundred and fifty percent, no matter the time of day.
She pulls her purse into her lap from the floorboard of the car and digs out her trusty bottle of Advil. She never goes anywhere without it anymore. Once she hit forty a couple of years ago she felt like she suddenly needed a never-ending supply of anti-inflammatories for every random ache and pain that seems to announce itself on a regular basis now.
Today, it’s definitely for the cramps, still nagging at her belly.
She shakes out two pills into her palm, then reconsiders and adds a third, trying to keep her face neutral when another cramp starts squeezing her uterus.
Elliot glances over, one eyebrow raised.
“You good?” he asks casually.
“Yeah, just a headache,” she downplays it, swallowing the three pills with her coffee.
He doesn’t push and she’s grateful for that.
Elliot is a grown man and a professional. He has a wife and three daughters and he’s also been working in close proximity with female victims for well over a decade now. He knows all about how the female body and the menstrual cycle work. And though she’s not the least bit embarrassed to mention it to him occasionally, she likes to keep some air of privacy about her bodily functions, even now, twelve years into their partnership. It’s just how she plays things in general, keeping everything close to the vest. In a male dominated field, she doesn’t care to go around announcing the details of her menstrual cycle at work, not even with Elliot. He might understand it, but there are plenty of men in the NYPD who still belonged to the good old boys club and would only use that information in a desperate attempt to demean and belittle her with their snide remarks. She’s dealt with plenty of those type of men before.
So the two of them have an unspoken understanding. They spend upwards of fourteen hours a day together many days and she gets a period approximately every twenty eight days, give or take. It was only natural being in such close proximity to one another, he started to learn her body’s rhythm, no matter how discreet she was. He knows it happens, but they don’t really discuss it unless there’s reason to and there’s almost never a reason to.
She sips on her coffee and tries to force her brain into work-mode as they drive.
There’s not much traffic on the streets yet. It’s that eerie quiet time in the pre-dawn hours before the city is awake. Before everyone starts their morning commute piling up the streets with traffic, so it only takes about ten minutes to arrive at the crime scene.
Elliot pulls up to an empty spot by the curb. Uniformed officers have set up a perimeter with bright yellow tape. A few squad cars are parked nearby, lights flashing red and blue. The CSI techs and medical examiner are already hard at work as they scramble to collect the necessary evidence before the imminent downpour as thunder continues to rumble nearby.
They’re both immediately occupied with the scene as they speak to Melinda, who is kneeled next to the body. They examine the evidence being collected by the techs, walk the entire scene to see if anything has been missed and finally, they interview a witness. They’ve got their routine down to an exact science. It’s a whirlwind, but it’s also organized and perfectly orchestrated and Olivia forgets all about her cramps for the time being, the Advil having taken the edge off.
The sun is finally starting to peek over the horizon, though it’s half covered by storm clouds, as they’re wrapping things up and climbing back into the car.
Before they even have a second to take a breath Elliot’s phone rings in his pocket. It’s Cragen calling them back to the house, TARU’s got some video footage pulled from nearby street cameras that they need to see right away, so they head that direction.
The roads are congested now, traffic creeping along slowly with commuters heading to work and Olivia stares out the window in a daze.
Now that the adrenaline of the morning at the crime scene is wearing off, she feels the cramps starting to creep slowly back in. It’s only been two hours since she took the Advil and she knows it’s another two hours before she can take more.
She wants to ask Elliot to make a quick stop at the drugstore by the precinct, but Cragen seemed anxious for them to get back and Elliot’s got his determined face on. He’s ready to wrap up this case, they all are, so she doesn’t ask him to stop now. She doesn’t want to be an inconvenience, especially for this.
She’s got one more tampon in her purse. She'll run out to grab more during lunch, no big deal.
~~~~~
She feels off when they get back to the precinct and step onto the elevator, a level of discomfort that she’s not used to during her period. Her lower belly feels so heavy, like there’s a boulder sitting right on her uterus, but she also feels like someone is intermittently wringing her uterus out like a wet paper towel. It’s an uncomfortable and distracting combination, one that she’s used to soldiering through. But this intensity level isn’t normal for her. Plus it’s only been around two hours and she already feels like she needs to change her tampon which doesn’t bode well for the rest of the day or for her quickly dwindling sanitary supply.
She leans heavily against the back corner of the elevator as her mind starts to wander. It’s days like these that she wishes she were the type of person to call out sick and rot on the couch while her uterus wages an internal war. But she doesn’t do that, she never does that. She always pushes through, always manages somehow. It’s really never been bad enough that she couldn’t, even on days when she didn’t feel like pushing through.
Today though, she’s starting to question every single choice she’s made as the elevator doors open to their floor and she exits, trailing a few steps behind Elliot. The walk down the hall feels endless as her thighs ache with each step.
“Give me two minutes, then we can head to TARU?” she says to him, sidestepping towards the ladies room on the left.
“Yeah,” he nods, continuing to head toward his desk, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He seems completely oblivious to her internal struggle at the moment. Or maybe he’s just playing along for her sake, either way she’s grateful to not have to explain.
She tries to keep things quick in the bathroom - switch out her tampon, clean up, breathe. Her knees wobble as she sits on the toilet and she feels a little bit lightheaded. Things are heavier than normal, that’s definitely new too.
Something comes to mind as she digs her last tampon out of her purse. A few years back, an older friend of hers, an ADA that she had coffee with from time to time, was talking to her about perimenopause and sudden periods from hell.
Is that what this is, she wonders. If so, fuck that, she thinks, but brushes away the thought because she has no time to dwell on it right now.
She finishes up, splashes some cold water on her face and heads back out, squaring her shoulders and putting on her game face.
Elliot’s waiting a few steps down the hall, not directly outside the ladies room, thankfully. He’s leaning against the wall munching on a peanut butter protein bar and just the sight of it turns her stomach. He holds it out, offering her a bite as she approaches. She wrinkles her nose as her stomach rolls and her uterus cramps up again. She can’t hide the grimace that slides over her face this time. He sees it, she feels him see it, feels him start to react and she cringes internally.
“You sure you’re ok?” He narrows his eyes in concern, looking at her carefully.
“I’m fine, El. Just not hungry right now,” she insists. “Come on.”
Meanwhile her mind is screaming, please drop it, El, as they step back onto the elevator.
~~~~~
They head upstairs to TARU to review the video footage with Morales, then immediately back down to Cragen’s office for a briefing with the entire squad, all the while Olivia’s trying to keep her inner turmoil subdued. The cramps keep amping up, coming in waves, some more intense than others, and she feels sweat beading up at her temples and the small of her back. She shakes it off and rolls her neck and shoulders as if that will do anything at all for her aching abdomen.
She tries to pay attention to what’s being said in Cragen’s office, she really does, but the cramps feel like they’re clawing at her insides, turning her uterus into ground meat. She stares straight ahead and tries to look normal, tries to unclench her jaw and act as if she’s following the conversation taking place around her.
She thinks she’s doing a terrible job at keeping up the act of looking normal and she knows it’s true when Elliot catches her eye across the room.
‘You ok?’ he mouths silently, eyes shining with worry.
She closes her eyes for a second, feeling caught, exposed. She huffs out a sigh and nods a dismissive ‘yes’ his way.
She knows he doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t push any further right now as Cragen forces his attention back to the case with a question.
Between the witness at the scene and the footage from TARU they’re able to get a solid identification on two perps using facial recognition and Cragen puts out a BOLO.
Now they wait - could be minutes, could be hours or even days until the perps are spotted. Meanwhile there’s more evidence to review in order to make their case, forms to file, and a litany of paperwork to start filling out.
She’s grateful for the break, for a chance to get off her feet, sit down at her desk and give her cramping, aching body a rest… at first. But it really doesn’t help much. It almost makes things worse because now it’s all she can think about. She shifts restlessly in her chair trying to find any comfortable position to relieve the ache, but nothing seems to help. She tries everything short of curling into a ball on the floor. She’s afraid that might be the only thing that would actually help, but it certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed in the middle of the squad room.
Elliot can sense the tension in her from across their desks, but he bites his tongue and keeps quiet, allowing her the privacy she needs.
She shakes three more Advil into her hand and this time decides to add a fourth. He doesn’t comment on that either, but he definitely notices. Realization dawns on him as he mentally counts back the days, but he keeps up his end of their unspoken agreement and doesn’t bring it up.
They’re reviewing witness statements and notes from the ME when a tip comes in on the perps, who were just spotted near a coffee shop uptown. The BOLO specifies: do not approach, contact SVU immediately, so the call is routed from the patrol office straight to SVU.
Cragen motions for them to take it and they grab their jackets, bolting for the door immediately.
She curses under her breath, regretting the fact that she hadn’t run to the drugstore for tampons when she had a brief window of opportunity, and now there’s no time. No time for that, and no time for a bathroom break either. She sprints next to Elliot downstairs and to the sedan, keeping stride with him, barely.
Duty first, she scoffs in her head.
~~~~~
A uni is keeping watch on the perps from a short distance away and they show him some photos to confirm - it’s definitely their guys.
They’re sitting on a bench maybe a hundred feet down the street, sipping on what appears to be a bottle of beer in a brown paper bag, passing it back and forth. It’s obvious they aren’t the brightest criminals sticking around to show their faces in broad daylight after committing a serious crime. One of them appears visibly intoxicated as he sways unsteadily on the bench.
They approach the clueless pair slowly from the left side but the second they’re spotted the perps jump up from the bench and bolt in opposite directions. Olivia takes after the one heading north, Elliot after the one heading south. Somehow they instinctively know who will take which. She steps carefully as her feet pound the pavement beneath her. It’s still slick out from the rain that had finally decided to come down a little while ago, puddles ringing the sidewalk in glistening halos.
Elliot’s guy, who turns out to be the more intoxicated one, is wearing cheap sandals and he slips and falls in a puddle allowing Elliot a quick grab and handcuff. He hands him off the uni with the awaiting patrol car.
Olivia’s not so lucky. Her guy is sporting sneakers and isn’t nearly as drunk and he’s fast. He spots an alley up ahead, takes a left and then descends a dimly lit basement stairwell as she continues pursuit. The running has dredged up more cramps and they’re spreading through her belly like hot lava, but she doesn’t stop. If anything it makes her push harder and run faster. She isn’t about to let some stupid bodily thing slow her down for one damn second.
She follows him down the shadowed stairwell and loses sight of him at the bottom for a brief second before she turns and suddenly he’s lunging at her from a side alcove she hadn’t seen yet, taking her down at the knees.
Elliot is flying down the stairs just as Olivia and the suspect come crashing to the ground and a scuffle ensues, but Olivia comes out victorious. She pins him to the ground with her knee, holding his hands behind his back and slapping some cuffs on him just as Elliot gets to the bottom of the stairs.
Elliot’s already radioed for backup and another pair of uniformed officers is peering down from the top of the stairwell.
“Down here,” he calls to the officers and they come barreling down, grab the perp under the arms and haul him up the stairs to the awaiting patrol car.
Olivia is still kneeled down, head bowed. He can see her brow is creased in pain.
“Are you hurt?”
“No - I mean, yes, but no, not like that. No.” She stutters and stumbles over her words.
Running has kicked everything up a notch. What was pain coming in waves is now just one giant cramp gripping her uterus like a vice and it’s radiating around to her lower back and down her thighs too.
She hates it when an involuntary groan escapes her lips for a brief second. She feels dizzy and squeezes her eyes shut, bright spots popping behind her eyelids.
He crouches down next to her, looking her over for any obvious injuries.
“Do you need me to get the EMT’s?”
“No, I’m fine,” she brushes him off, but it’s lacking any real conviction as nausea flares in her stomach.
“You don’t look fine, you look like you can barely move and like you might pass out.”
“Really, I’m all right, just - just help me up,” she insists.
He offers her his hand and she grabs on, leaning into it for support with a little more weight than she’d like as she pushes herself to her feet.
She hadn’t anticipated that standing would make things worse, but as she gets her footing, she feels it - an unmistakable warm gush. Like the opening of a floodgate. She goes completely still, all the color draining from her face at once.
She’s definitely just soaked through her tampon and her underwear. She can feel warmth creeping down her inner thighs, spreading and soaking into her pants and if only the ground could open up and swallow her whole right now, that would be the only right and fair thing to happen to her today.
In twelve years of being a detective and two years being in uniform before that, she’s never had a period this bad. Never this heavy or this painful. She’s never bled through her pants on the job.
Elliot’s looking at her like she’s a broken piece of fine china, like he’s about to scoop her up off her feet and run her up the stairs to an ambulance, because his brain has already begun going over a checklist of every single injury that Olivia could have sustained from the altercation on the stairs.
But debilitating menstrual cramps and bleeding through her pants are nowhere on his radar of possibilities on that mental checklist.
“I’m ok,” she says again. She tries to make it sound convincing, despite the embarrassed flush that’s now spreading to her cheeks that says otherwise.
He knows her better than that. He’s spent twelve years studying every facial expression she’s ever made in enough detail to know that something is definitely not right. She is definitely not ok.
“What do you need?” he asks quietly. He’s itching to do something, anything to help, if only she would tell him what that something was so he could jump into action.
The only thing going through Olivia’s head is how in the hell she’s going to get from the dimly lit stairwell they’re standing in, all the way to the sedan two blocks down the street while a crowd of people lingers around. She’s pretty sure she’s bled all the way through her pants, it will definitely be noticeable. She curses the fact that she isn’t wearing black slacks today. Things would be much less noticeable on black.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s the only word going through her head as she starts to mentally spiral.
Her palm falls to her lower belly, applying gentle pressure in an attempt to relieve the ache that’s lodged itself there and that’s when he notices the blood. He might not have seen it if he wasn’t examining her so closely for injury, but as her hand falls there, his gaze follows.
“Liv, you’re bleeding,” he says, panic spreading across his face.
She shoots him a death glare, but then her face softens almost instantly and she feels like she’s about to crumble into a heap right at the bottom of the stairs. She wants to beg him, somehow send him a telepathic message that says: please don’t notice this, please don’t make me say it.
But it’s too late for that.
“It’s fine, El. It’s my period,” she sighs, wishing she didn’t have to say it out loud but knowing she has to explain.
“It’s just…” she exhales loudly through her nose. She hates every single thing about this. She hates that her body is betraying her right now and that it’s happening so publicly.
“It’s just really bad today,” she says quietly.
“Jesus, Liv. That bad?” He nods down to her ruined slacks. He’s not sure, but he doesn’t think that’s normal and he wonders for a second if it’s always this bad for her and he’s just been too God damn self-absorbed for twelve years to notice. But no, that’s not possible, he shakes his head.
“It’s fine,” she repeats again, because she doesn’t really know what else to say. If she keeps saying it then maybe it has to be true. She thinks she’s trying to convince herself of that now more so than him.
She turns away from him to brace her palm against the scratchy, red brick wall at her side for support, trying to breathe through the pain. She actually thinks she might throw up for a second, braces herself for it when she feels the acid start to rise up in her throat, but she’s able to swallow it down and regain some miniscule amount of composure. Sweat trickles down the small of her back.
“Is it normally this bad?” He asks gently, but his heart is hammering erratically against his ribcage.
“It’s - um… No, not really,” she shakes her head. “But, it will pass, I think. I just need… “ she trails off, because what does she need? She doesn’t even know.
She takes a second to mentally pull herself together and formulate a plan.
“I need a jacket or something to tie around my waist until I can get back to my locker and change my clothes.”
“I’ve got my windbreaker in the backseat. Will that work?”
She nods yes.
“Ok, stay here, I’ll be right back.”
“Not going anywhere,” she quips sarcastically, in an attempt to lighten the situation. The corner of her mouth lifts in the tiniest hint of a smile and that settles his erratic heartbeat a tiny bit. It’s still her in there, despite the fact that she looks downright traumatized and hell, he can’t blame her.
He jumps into action, ascending the stairs two at a time and returns with his jacket a few moments later. After some careful consideration she decides wearing it is the most tenable option. It’s long enough on her to fall just past her thighs, covering her stained pants. So what if it’s two sizes too big and nearly ninety degrees out today.
They take the short walk back to the car side by side in silence. She’s moving slower than normal, he can tell. Her normal pace is just a fraction of a step behind his own, mostly due to the fact that his legs are a few inches longer. But now, she’s lagging, though she’s trying her best not to. He slows his own pace considerably hoping she will too.
He pulls open the passenger door for her as she shrugs out of the jacket.
“I think I’m gonna have to sit on this,” she looks at him hesitantly, eyes wide.
“Go ahead, it can always be washed or thrown out. I don’t care about the jacket, Liv. Use it however you need, please.”
He trots over to the driver's side, sliding in behind the wheel and giving her a minute to get situated.
She settles next to him and tries not to look as utterly mortified as she feels inside. She tries to pretend like she’s not on the verge of tears, blinking in earnest to keep the tears at bay and turning her face to stare out the passenger window to avoid eye contact with him.
He doesn’t need to see her face to know this - he’s good at reading body language. It’s part of his job after all.
He wants to ask questions. Not because he’s nosy, but because he’s genuinely concerned about her, but he already knows what her response will be - she doesn’t want to talk about it. So they ride in silence for a while.
“I uh- I need to stop at a drugstore, I need more supplies,” she speaks softly when they’re just a few blocks away from the precinct.
She’s still not looking at him. She wants, no she needs, to look at anything besides his face because she knows she might actually fall apart if he looks at her with any ounce of concern or care. And she can’t do that right now. Not sitting in the sedan next to him, in the middle of a work day.
He pulls up to the curb of the first drugstore he sees and reaches for his doorhandle.
“No,” she turns away from the window abruptly and stops him with a firm hand on his forearm.
She really doesn’t want him to go in for her, but she looks down at herself in disbelief and defeat, because how in the hell does she actually think she can go traipsing up and down store aisles with blood leaking down her thighs. Even with the jacket for cover it’s an utterly ridiculous notion.
“Liv, I’ve got this.” He says emphatically, waiting until she really looks at him.
Let me do this, let me do something to help, his eyes plead to her silently.
“Have you forgotten I have a wife and three daughters? This is not my first rodeo.” He offers her a sympathetic smile and a wink, hoping to bring some levity to the situation and put her at ease.
He’s pretty sure it works, when she smiles back.
“Do you want to tell me exactly what you want or do you want me to use my best judgement?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, because she doesn’t want to be having this conversation with him.
“Just … grab a variety, please?”
“Got it. I’ll be right back.”
He peruses the aisle as quickly as he can, adding some of everything, but especially anything that says super, ultra, extra long, and maximum absorbency.
~~~~~
Once they’re back at the precinct, parked by the curb, she gathers herself together as best she can, cramming down any embarrassment that’s trying to claw its way out. She musters up just enough energy to get to her feet as she slides her arms into Elliot’s oversized windbreaker and pulls it tight around her frame.
Elliot’s carrying the large, but discreet brown paper bag. It’s packed to the brim and she wonders if he bought half of the menstrual aisle, but she’ll at least be glad to have options. He hands the bag off to her when they finally get upstairs and reach the locker room door.
“You sure you’re gonna be ok?” he asks hesitantly. He’s trying to get a read on her but she’s got her impenetrable walls erected again.
She avoids looking directly at him, instead fixing her gaze on a crack in the drywall just behind him. She's afraid of what she might find staring back at her. She hates being pitied, hates being looked at like she’s weak. But when she finally does lock onto his eyes, because she knows he won’t leave until she gives him an honest answer, she doesn’t see pity at all, just genuine concern. And something else - protectiveness, she thinks. He’s always been protective of her, but this time it’s something deeper, more fierce, almost primal in the way that he wants to shield her from anything bad.
“I’m fine, El. I just need a few minutes.” She assures him, trying to look normal, despite the cramps still gnawing away at her insides.
She’s said she’s fine so many times, she’s pretty sure the word has lost all meaning at this point. She gives him a tight smile as she disappears behind the door.
~~~~~
He’s pacing the floor by his desk, chewing his bottom lip while he waits for her to return.
“You’re gonna wear a hole in the linoleum,” Fin gripes.
Elliot glares at him.
He can’t help it. Worry makes him restless, worry makes him pace, worry makes him feel like he needs to do something to not feel so completely useless.
She looked really weak and unsteady, what if she passes out in the locker room? His mind is already spiraling, but then she slips out the door and starts in his direction, slowly, which doesn’t ease his worrying mind at all.
She’s walking too carefully, like every step costs her something.
When she finally manages to get to her desk, she takes one look at the uncomfortable office chair, and her brows pinch together in pain as she mutters, “I can’t do this, I need to lie down.”
She hates the way it sounds to her ears - completely pathetic. She’s grateful that only Elliot seems to hear. Fin and Munch have moved towards the coffee maker, giving them a wide berth.
He can see any fight left in her leaking out little by little, like someone deflating a balloon.
“Go,” Elliot insists softly. “Lie down in the cribs for a while.”
And when she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t protest even the tiniest bit that she’s ‘fine’, just turns and starts a slow, careful shuffle towards the cribs, his blood runs cold.
She doesn’t even make it to the cribs before she’s detouring to the ladies room as the nausea flares again, an ugly lurch in the pit of her stomach. The acid crawls up her throat again and she barely makes it to the first stall, falling ungracefully to her knees on the hard tile floor before she heaves violently.. With each new heave she feels a gush and she would be worried about leaking through her pants again if she wasn’t wearing the thickest, largest pad known to mankind.
God bless Elliot for including that as an option.
Her whole body is trembling now as she tries to suck in a few breaths.
Elliot is hovering just outside the door, having seen her take the detour to the ladies room. He’s trying not to listen too closely to the sounds of her being sick. She’d probably kick his ass if she knew he was close enough to hear.
Cragen turns down the hallway, returning from a meeting at One PP, just as Elliot is loitering outside the bathroom.
“Did you and Liv start to interview the perps yet?”
“Actually… I handed it off to Fin and Munch.”
Cragen’s eyebrows raise towards the ceiling in suspicion. It’s definitely not like either one of them to pawn off the interview to another squad member. He knows it’s their favorite part - playing good cop, bad cop. Trying to divide two suspects until one flips on the other.
“Olivia’s sick, she needs to go home.”
Elliot’s standing like her guard at the ladies room door, Cragen realizes.
His eyes flit to the door, then back to Elliot.
“I know you wouldn’t say that unless it was true. And I know she wouldn’t agree to it unless it was really bad. Go on, get her out of here. Just keep me posted.”
Elliot nods.
Cragen disappears down the hallway to his office.
Elliot waits a few more minutes as the bathroom falls silent. He contemplates barging right in, but settles for a hesitant knock on the door instead.
“Liv?” He cracks the door just a sliver to make sure she can hear him. “You ok?”
She doesn’t even bother with words, all she can do is groan miserably.
“Are you decent? I’m coming in.”
When she doesn’t object he steps inside. He spots her folded up, hugging her knees, a boneless heap on the floor of the bathroom stall.
He grunts as he kneels down next to her, laying a warm, gentle hand between her shoulder blades.
“Jesus, Liv,” he sighs softly.
She doesn’t say anything at first, head buried. Then, she speaks so quietly he almost doesn’t hear it.
“I can’t go back out there,” slips out, muffled through her arms.
“Nobody expects you to. Cragen wants you home already.”
“You told him?” She looks up at him.
“I just told him you were sick, which isn’t a lie. You are.”
She’s got no energy left to argue with him.
“What about the case?”
“I handed things over to Fin and Munch, they’re perfectly capable of wrapping it up.”
“I know that,” she sighs, closing her eyes. “But why do I still feel like I should be out there finishing the case instead of curled up in here feeling like death?”
“Because you’re you, Olivia Benson. Because you forget how to let yourself be a human sometimes.”
That pulls the faintest trace of a smile to her lips, because she knows it’s true.
“Let me drive you home.”
She frowns.
“Fine,” she gives in.
“And if this gets worse I’m driving you to the hospital or calling a doctor.”
“Elliot, please don’t overreact,” she begs.
“You think I’m overreacting?” he asks incredulously. “I think you’re under-reacting.”
“Let’s not argue about it, just take me home, please.”
“Come on,” he offers her his hand.
She folds herself awkwardly into the front seat of his car. Everything still aches - her abdomen, her thighs, her lower back - and no matter how she sits she’s in agony.
She tries to close her eyes and focus on breathing, in through her nose, out through her mouth in a steady, calming rhythm. Anything to keep herself from throwing up in Elliot’s car.
She doesn’t say anything when he follows her upstairs to her apartment, she just kicks off her boots inside the front door and lets her purse drop with a dull thud to the ground as he follows two steps behind her.
She should tell him he doesn’t have to stay, but she doesn’t. Instead she just collapses onto her couch and curls in on herself, pulling a throw blanket from the back of the couch over legs.
She doesn’t have it in her to make small talk with him as the cramps tighten their grip again and again.
He busies himself in her kitchen, setting the kettle on to boil water for tea as he digs through her pantry until he finds her stash of tea bags. He pulls out chamomile, which he’s pretty sure is supposed to be soothing. He remembers Lizzie mentioning it having something anti-inflammatory in it.
“You need something in your stomach, you haven’t eaten all day,” he insists, crouching down in front of her.
She manages a few sips of tea and a nibble or two on the corner of one of the crackers from the sleeve of saltines he brings over.
She knows he’s right but she can barely stomach anything right now. She gives up on eating after a weak attempt and curls tighter around herself, a low moan escaping her lips.
He’s at a loss on what to do, how to help, but worry is gnawing in his belly.
He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but he ends up dialing Kathy of all people. This will probably cause a fight between them later, or maybe not, because Kathy’s new MO is to give him the silent treatment. He doesn’t care.
He knows she’s given up on ever understanding their intimate bond as partners. It’s just something that is. And she’s grown to begrudgingly accept it, even while admitting to him that she feels like she’s his second choice.
“What else can I do for her? I don’t know what to do.” He says after explaining the situation in as much detail as he knows. There’s a desperation lingering somewhere in the question that Kathy’s never heard in his voice before.
She could so easily hang up on him. But some tiny ounce of solidarity in womanhood keeps her from shutting down completely, so instead she starts going through things clinically, her nursing schooling coming out in full force. She begins asking questions, trying to gather more information so she can better assess the situation.
Is she bleeding through a pad or tampon more than once an hour? He’s not sure, he hadn’t asked her in that much detail and he’s not sure she would give it even if he did ask.
Is she feeling faint or nauseous? Yes, she’s already thrown up and he’s pretty sure she’s been lightheaded off and on, but not enough to pass out.
Kathy takes in every bit of information he gives before she offers the best advice she can: a hot bath and 800 mg of ibuprofen every four hours. If she starts bleeding too much he should take her to the hospital.
Heat will help, she told him, despite the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach at basically telling her husband to get his partner in the bathtub. If there was one thing she knew about him it was his fierce determination and loyalty. He wasn’t going to give up until he had somehow done something to make her feel better. Elliot Stabler did not give up easily.
She’s probably perimenopausal, Kathy added. He has no idea what that even means, but he thinks maybe he should.
It’s pretty common and might start happening to her more often, she explains. Hormonal changes are very normal in your forties. She relays it all clinically, trying to keep herself detached from the reality of the conversation.
It’s happening to me too sometimes, you’re just never around to notice, she wants to say, but she bites her tongue. Now’s not the time.
He thanks her, like everything is normal. Like he hasn’t called his wife for advice on taking care of his female partner in a very intimate moment.
He lets her know he’ll be home late, if he even makes it at all, because he’s going to stay with her.
And Kathy accepts it, because what else is she to do? He’s a good man, he loves his family, he’s committed to her technically, but Olivia will probably always be the third person in their marriage. Someone Kathy sees as an unwanted intruder who has never actually done anything wrong. Someone who has never actually crossed any lines. Someone Kathy actually fucking likes, if she’s forced to admit it. She feels like she has no choice but to accept things for what they are, and for what they probably always will be.
He’s ducked into her bedroom to make the phone call out of earshot from the couch.
He sets his phone on the coffee table when he emerges, crouching in front of her again.
“Liv, Kathy says you should take a hot bath. Do you think you can get up?”
“Ugh, you told Kathy?” she groans and it comes out whinier than she intends. She doesn’t know why but somehow Kathy thinking she can’t handle a case of period cramps makes her feel weak and foolish.
“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently.
She huffs out a noisy, dramatic sigh.
“I know,” she concedes. She does know. He is just trying to be helpful, she just really hates anyone knowing that something so trivial has taken her down.
She sits up slowly.
“She said a bath will help?”
“Yeah, something about heat.”
“Right, why didn’t I think of that?” She shakes her head feeling like an idiot. She’s used heat plenty of times before for aches and pains – heating pads, those stick-on patches for your back, hot showers. Heat relaxes muscles, she knows this. The uterus is just one large muscle.
“My brain isn’t working right today,” she admits sheepishly.
“That’s allowed,” he offers her a sympathetic smile. “Also, you need more ibuprofen. She said you can take 800 milligrams every four hours.”
He snags the bottle from the corner of her kitchen island where he knows she keeps it and shakes four pills out into his hand.
She swallows all four pills at once with her tea, which is now lukewarm.
“Ok, bath,” he says, helping her to her feet.
She makes it all the way to her bedroom doorway before she turns to look at him in her kitchen where he’s rinsing her mug in the sink.
“Elliot, you can go. Really, you’ve done enough for me and I’m sure I’ll be fine-”
“There’s not a chance in hell that I’m leaving you like this,” he insists, shutting off the kitchen tap and drying his hands on a towel hanging over the oven handle.
“I’m serious, El. You’ve probably got things to do. Kathy probably needs you at home for the kids…” she trails off, trying to think of more reasons.
“She doesn’t and I'm staying,” he says firmly.
“If you insist.” She rolls her eyes jokingly, but somewhere deep down she sighs with relief. She does want him here and the fact that she doesn’t even have to ask means something to her, more than she can begin to express with words.
He reclines back on her couch and flips through the channels on her tv while he waits, settling on a late afternoon Yankees game to pass the time. She’s gone for longer than he expects, although he really has no idea how long she’s supposed to be in said bath for it to help.
He wants to go in and make sure she’s ok, but somehow that feels like crossing some imaginary line in the sand. So he waits and finally around five minutes later she emerges from her bedroom. She’s dressed in fresh clothes - black yoga pants, a grey NYPD tee and a grey hoodie overtop, zipped up halfway. It’s two sizes too big and he recognizes it immediately. It’s his, or actually, it’s theirs, he thinks. It seems to get passed back and forth between them every so often. Once upon a time it was his and somewhere along the way they began sharing it.
The ends of her hair are damp and her cheeks have a warm pink flush across the apples, but she looks better somehow. The lines on her face that were drawn tight and pinched in pain earlier are smoother now. She looks much more at ease, like she no longer wants to crawl out of her own skin.
“You look a little better,” he surmises.
“Mmm,” she hums. “I feel a little better.”
She moves to sit down on the couch and he starts to get up.
“Here let me get out of your way so you can lie down.”
“No, it’s ok. You’re fine right there. Please,” she says softly.
She curls up next to him, close but not quite touching. Again with the invisible lines and boundaries between them.
“What are we watching?” she asks, eyes on a commercial playing on the tv.
“Yankee game. We’re up, three to one.”
“Ok,” she sighs quietly, burrowing deeper into the couch until her cheek comes to rest against his shoulder. She’s flirting with said line.
This feels more intimate than they typically allow themselves to be, and yet, neither of them seem to mind the closeness or make any attempts to move.
Olivia closes her eyes. She’s so tired now, she feels like she could sleep for a hundred years. This day has sucked the life out of her. But she finally feels like an actual human being again instead of a pumpkin having its insides scooped out on Halloween. The worst of it seems to have passed, for now. She hopes for good.
“Thanks for being there today, El and not making me feel stupid during a really embarrassing situation.”
“You had absolutely no reason to feel stupid or embarrassed. And I’m your partner, I’m always gonna be there to help. I’ve always got your six, literally and figuratively.”
She smiles.
“Yeah, you do,” she chuckles and crosses her arms around herself, curling up even more.
He pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and spreads it over her before settling next to her again.
“Promise me something though?”
“Hmm?” she hums, she’s about to nod off any minute.
“If this happens again, tell me before you almost pass out or throw up on the street?”
“I will,” she promises. She’s not sure if she means it, but she wants to. She’s going to try. Maybe this month was a one off, or maybe this is her normal for now, either way she feels safe and grounded in the fact that she’s got a partner she can trust with everything, even this messy unpredictability of her aging body.
He props his feet on her coffee table as she begins to drift off, cheek to his shoulder, the sounds of the Yankees announcers and the crowd cheering echoing off the walls of her apartment, lulling her into a restful sleep.
~~~~~