Trials and Tribulations - [Bensler EO]

Part One - Prologue

This was all routine.

She knew that. She accepted that as fact despite her other appointments never going quite in-depth as this one. She could still hear the hidden worry behind the upbeat tone the nurses used as they told it was completely normal. She didn't want to think about the idea of this appointment being anything other than common or else the panic would set in and she wouldn't be able to breathe.

She could barely breathe as it was, sitting and waiting as the hands on the clock moved ever so slowly.

She had been feeling a little more run-down than usual. That was the job, she accepted that as well. But a small voice in her head had continued to remind her that she was much more run-down than usual. There hadn't been as many on-foot pursuits or logged hours of overtime. At least not more than she was used to. Things around the precinct were slowing down as they did every few weeks.

She had no reason to be feeling run-down.

Staring down at the polka dots on her faded blue hospital gown, she wondered if this was actually what she hoped it was; routine, that is. Her fingers played at the frayed hems and the loose stitching. The waiting room of the radiology department was empty and the only other company near her was the sound of soap operas playing quietly on the television across from her.

Was she supposed to call someone? Hell, did she even have anyone to call? Specialists always preached about moral support from friends and family during times of testing. Who did she have to call? It was far too much of a personal matter to call Elliot and maybe Casey wouldn't mind but she didn't quite feel the need to bother her yet... because this was routine. Nothing serious, just annual testing.

Or, at least it was when she had first arrived. Until the doctors asked her if she could spare another half hour so they could run one more test. The first one showed an abnormality — but they rushed to assure her that sometimes that happened. Sometimes the first scan showed something that needed to be seen better in order to be dismissed.

Routine — to some degree.

She felt naked. Alone in the quiet, bleak, and beige waiting room. Without her badge strapped to her hip or her gun in the holster of her belt, she always felt vulnerable, but never quite like this. With a scrap of a gown covering her body and hospital socks slipped onto her feet. She felt the urge to protect herself. To wrap her arms around herself as if everyone who passed by could see right through her.

Just by looking at her, they didn't know she was a cop. They didn't know her past or her present. They saw a patient. Just another civilian amongst them, just as vulnerable as the next person.

The panel-covered tube light above her head flickered, reminding her of the endless number of nights between the four cement walls of the interrogation room. Only this time, she felt like she was the one being interrogated. Her own thoughts, debilitatingly and fearful thoughts that came with the misfortune of being a patient in a hospital.

What if?

No.

Once she had gotten her annual checkup postcard in the mail, she had hesitantly taken the day off to get herself looked over. She was always hesitant about these things. It scared her. Being who she was, who and where she came from, she didn't have the luxury of having a full family history. She wasn't aware of what she was at risk for and what she wasn't. Which monsters were she supposed to look under the bed for? Against her greater fears, she listened to her conscience and made the appointment.

"Benson,"

She pushed herself out of the chair, the sticky pads on the bottom of her socks snapping quietly against the linoleum floors. Each step only made her grow more nervous, her breath becoming heavier as she followed the nurse back into the exam room. It was like walking to her doom, lead-lined walls escorting her and growing thicker as she ventured back. She was once again met with another beige and unwelcoming room. The paper that lay rolled over the table crinkled as she hoisted herself up.

There it was again. That sinking feeling of vulnerability.

"Sometimes tissue can be too dense for a mammogram to read properly, so we like to follow up with an ultrasound just in case." the nurse warned, but her words went in one ear and out the other. Olivia just stared up at the ceiling, counting the grooves on the textured ceiling panels until she lost her place and started again.

The cool gel on the ultrasound wand glided against her chest. If she looked over at the screen, what would happen? Closing her eyes wasn't an option, instead, they would open at their own volition. If she closed them, the over-stimulation of the world around her would dull and she would be left alone with her most unwelcoming thoughts. She couldn't keep focused on anything other than the energy emitting from the radiology technician beside her. From the corner of her eye, she managed to catch a glimpse of the woman's face.

And the concern she wore.

She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to look away and close her eyes before she became anymore anxious and nauseous. The machine whirred as it snapped photographs of the prime suspect. Even with her eyes clamped shut, a single tear managed to roll down her cheek and down into the cavity of her collarbone. Each silent moment that passed became worse than the last. She couldn't ask; she didn't dare.

In her line of work, it wasn't uncommon to have her life flash before her eyes. Each time it happened was worse than the last. She couldn't say that was the worst part; not really. Each time it happened, a small and simple message was delivered to her from her subconscious. A message of her deepest regrets, the things in her life she wished she had been able to do. Yet, she was still living... and she continued to ignore those messages.

Until now.

She wasn't facing the barrel of a gun, but her life was flashing right in front of her with, by far, the loudest reminder of everything she had failed to do before her time. In those moments, her brain was trying to tell her that it was possible that time was running out. Denial was her specialty though, so she'd make the best of it.

The nurse didn't have to say anything; neither did the radiologist and oncologist who sat her down after her appointment and left an explanation on deaf ears. Somewhere in the warbled speech that she didn't quite understand was an urge to seek support. Therapy groups, friends, colleagues, and family. She wasn't listening to a word either of them said. Her eyes never quite focused on the pamphlets that were handed to her. All she could think about was going home to lay on the couch in solitude. Maybe for a day, maybe for the rest of her life.

Did most women cry when they received news like this? She knew grief, she knew what it looked like when a father stood over his child's body and didn't even tick. Or when a family member unknowingly shows up at a murder scene and doesn't move a muscle out of shock. She knew that their emotions were boiling low. Was that happening to her? Why wasn't she crying? Why didn't she feel anything?

There was nothing. 

Nothing at all.