Trials and Tribulations - [Bensler EO]

Part Twenty Two - Desolation III

A day later, nothing had changed.

He hadn't really expected it to. She was going numb; shutting down as she prepared to hear exactly what she was expecting to hear from Doctor Keller. She was expecting her tests to come back positive for the gene mutations, she was expecting her entire treatment plan to derail.

She was expecting to lose more of herself.

Mentally. Emotionally. Physically.

He's waiting for her that morning as well, only he hadn't spent the night. She'd come into the kitchen once again with a little less of her soul. Next to her tea was the layout of the sterile needles and quickly emptying bottles of Menopur. For as long as she'd been doing injections, she had yet to do one herself. He was there, always. Sometimes it would be in the cribs during their break. Sometimes he'd be knocking on her door just as she was about to leave for work and he'd administer her doses.

She doesn't say much, or anything at all on the second morning. She rolls the band of her sweatpants down, opting for her bruised stomach to receive the day's first assault. He doesn't say much either. Not even one of his imbecilic jokes about making a baby.

He can sense her anxiety, even as it's deeply rooted beneath her new shellshocked exterior. The needle sticks her abdomen and she doesn't flinch anymore. He's gentle, and she's thankful for that. She mumbles something resembling a 'thanks' under her breath and grabs the mug of tea he's prepared for her.

He wants to ask her if she still wants him to come to her appointment, but he's afraid she'll recant her previous — well, he wouldn't call it an invitation, per se.

In silence, he watches her as she sits down on the couch. He's peering over the island, observing her blank stare. He'll make breakfast, and maybe it'll help. It won't, but he can think for at least a few minutes that it might. She's returned to not eating, he's barely seen her touch anything more than a mug of tea throughout the last day and a half.

The eggs fry in the skillet, the sizzling sounds merging with the blathering from the morning news that she's pretending to pay attention to.

He stares at her for a little while longer, taking in the sight in front of him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that she's given up. Except, he does know better. He knows Olivia Benson doesn't give up. She may sink all the way to rock bottom if the event calls for it, but she has yet to ever give up. She's fiercely resilient and she has a near ungodly persistence that stays within her at all times.

He wants to tell her that she will rise above the water again, as long as she just keeps fighting. Though, he doesn't say it. Instead, he prays that somehow, someway, she can feel it. He wants to release it into the air, to allow it to emanate from him to her.

The eggs on the pan are beginning to burn but he isn't paying attention. His eyes are glued to her as she lives in her own little bubble away from the world. The pain of the scene in front of him is decimating his own spirit, and he gulps away the persistent lump in his throat. Maybe it's witnessing her in such a low state or maybe it's the mountain of emotions that he's been shoving so far down, but it hurts. It's simple, it hurts, but it's not simple because it hurts in ways he would've never fathomed. She's slowly blinking as if her body has shifted into auto-pilot and he's blinking away the tears that are assaulting his eyes.

It takes every ounce of his strength to hold it together and he's mentally giving her more credit than ever for having held it together as long as she did. It's striking him that this is her life now. Irrevocable ups and downs that she couldn't run from even if she tried. But if she can't run, he won't either. He'll choose to stay in a situation that she has no choice but to stay in.