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I haven't proof read this chapter, apologies for any mistakes.
Elliot lays in bed, a cold cloth over his face. He has caught the flu. He feels like shit. As per when any male gets the flu, he is very dramatic. "Soup for the poorly baby," Olivia says as she walks into her bedroom, a bowl of tomato soup in her hands. "Sit up, I don't want you spilling this on my bed." she says seriously, watching as he dramatically pulls himself up, a pout on his face. It takes all of her strength to not laugh at him.
"Do you need me to feed you?" she asks sweetly, sitting next to him in the bed.
"P-please," he says. "My bones hurt, I don't think I can lift my arm."
"Poor baby," Liv says, stroking his sweaty hair and stirring the soup with the spoon. She blows on it and holds it to his mouth. "Open," she says, sliding it into his mouth.
"You're the best," Elliot mumbles, "You take such good care of me."
"Well, you can make it up to me when you inevitably get me sick," Liv says, feeding Elliot again.
"I hope I don't get you sick," he says seriously. "I feel like I'm dying."
"Oh, El," Liv smirks. "Even if you do get me sick, I will handle it much better than you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he pouts. "This isn't fun."
"Oh, I know, baby," Liv says gently, "I know."
***
"You feeling better?" Olivia asks, waking up from her nap to find Elliot in the kitchen.
"Much better," He says, stirring a pot of food. "What about you?"
"I feel rough," Liv says seriously. "I'm so mad at you for making me sick."
"I'm sorry," Elliot says seriously. "I am making chilli for dinner. That should help clear you up a bit."
"I love chilli," Olivia says, and Elliot smirks.
"I know you do," he says. "Go watch some tv, I've got this. You need to let me take care of you now."
"Okay," Liv sniffles, grabbing the box of tissues and walking to the couch.
***
Fluorescent lights stab Olivia Benson's head with every blink. Her stomach churns in rhythm with the flickering overhead, threatening to erupt with each cough that wracks her thin frame. A pile of case files sits untouched on her desk, a silent testament to her waning focus. She shouldn't be here. Her body aches, begging for the warmth of her bed, a cup of tea, and a mountain of tissues. But the Special Victims Unit doesn't stop for sniffles and shivers.
Cracking open a file, Olivia forces her eyes to focus on the grainy witness sketch. A young girl, eyes wide with fear, stares back. The details blur, the words swim. She closes her eyes, willing the nausea to subside.
"Rough morning, Benson?"
Olivia cracks open one eye to see Munch hovering beside her desk, a concerned wrinkle etched between his brows. She manages a weak smile. "Just a little under the weather, Munch."
"Understatement of the century," he murmurs, then lowers his voice. "Cap said you could take a sick day, you know."
Olivia shakes her head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness crashing over her. "This case... It's bad, Munch. A missing kid, and every hour counts." Her voice comes out raspy, a mere whisper. Shame burns in her throat. She hates showing weakness.
Munch pats her shoulder, a gesture surprisingly gentle from the gruff detective. "You pushing yourself won't help anyone, Benson. Rest. We'll hold down the fort."
The thought of leaving the case, of letting down this scared child, is agonising. But Munch's words resonate. She can barely hold a pen, let alone chase leads.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Olivia pushes herself out of her chair. "I... I need a minute, Munch. Tell Fin I'll be back as soon as I can."
Weaving slightly, Olivia makes her way to the bathroom, the sterile white tiles doing little to soothe her churning stomach. Splashing cold water on her face, she stares at her reflection. Pale, drawn, eyes rimmed red. This isn't the picture of a strong detective.
Suddenly, a flicker of defiance ignites in her gaze. She may be sick, but she's a damn good cop. Taking another deep breath, Olivia straightens her rumpled suit jacket. They need her on this case, even if it's just from behind a desk, handing out orders, pushing the investigation forward.
Returning to her desk, Olivia grabs a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitiser and a fresh stack of files. Maybe she can't run the streets, but she can still fight. With a renewed determination, she dives back into the case, fuelled by a stubborn strength that wouldn't be deterred by a mere flu. She wouldn't let a virus win. Not today.
"Hey," Elliot says, walking into the squad room. "You still feeling rough?" he asks her worriedly. He has spent the day out at a crime scene, hoping that Olivia might feel better if she stays at her desk.
"Like shit," Liv says, twisting her neck to crack it.
"You should go home," he suggests, and she shakes her head, opening the case file again.
"No, I'm not going home. Everyone stop pestering me, I am FINE," she snaps. "Let me work in peace, please."
"Sorry," Elliot says, holding his hands up as he backs away from her.
"Damn, Stabler, way to go. No one ever tell you not to poke the bear," Fin says, walking past him and over to the coffee machine.
"I can't focus in here," Olivia says, the smell of freshly brewed coffee making her feel nauseous. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in interrogation one."
I have hit a major writer's block, sorry for the short chapter but it is all I could turn out today.
