"What's wrong?" Olivia asked. As she tried to open Elliot's fly, she realized there was no reason to continue.

Elliot sighed. "Nothing," he replied. "I've had a really long day. I'm exhausted. Can you just drive me home?"

"Fine," Olivia said, taking her hand off Elliot and fishing for her car keys. At least her car responded as she expected it to. She turned the keys in the ignition, the car, started, and it didn't stall out. She turned the radio to a classic rock station and turned up the volume, eliminating the need for conversation. She glanced over toward Elliot and saw him leaning back with his crossed across his chest. She wondered if he'd been born that way. By the time they arrived at his apartment, twenty minutes later, Olivia was shaking him awake.

"You ok?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Elliot responded.

"You don't look fine. You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," Elliot repeated. "I'm really tired. I just want a shower and some sleep." He paused. "About what happened in the garage," he muttered. "That's never happened to me before," he said. "Guess I don't find hospital garages sexy," he added.

You did at first, Olivia thought, but she kept quiet.

"Don't worry about it," she said, trying to keep the disappointment and frustration out of her voice. "I know you've had a rough week." So have I, she thought, but again kept her thoughts to herself.

Elliot started the awkward process of unbuckling his seatbelt with his left hand. Olivia noticed his grimace.

"Want some help?" she asked, leaning over towards him.

"I'm fine!" Elliot snapped.

Olivia drew in a deep breath and kept her silence. She was trying to make allowances for Elliot's pain and embarrassment, but she was starting to feel angry on her own behalf, as well. He finally released the latch and opened the door.

"See you tomorrow," he said, starting to climb out of the car.

"You're coming to work tomorrow? Are you sure that's a good idea?" Olivia asked.

Elliot sighed. "See you tomorrow, Liv," he answered, and leaned back into the car to kiss Olivia lightly on the cheek. Olivia watched him shut the car door and disappear into the apartment building. For such a straightforward guy, she thought, he can be pretty damn complicated. She'd been hoping to spend the night, but if Elliot could sleep off his bad mood, she was all for it.

o o o o o o o o o o

As soon as Elliot got home, he shrugged out of his jacket, dropped it on the floor, and, after a couple of unpleasant minutes, managed to get out of the rest of his clothing. He left his clothes in a pile on the kitchen floor and headed toward the bathroom.

The first thing Elliot did was open the medicine cabinet and take out a bottle of Advil. He almost cried out in pain as he absentmindedly tried to open it with his left hand. "Fucking childproof tops," he muttered. He tried holding the bottle with his left hand, but it kept he kept dropping it. Finally he put the bottle in his mouth and after a lengthy struggle managed to get the top off with his teeth. He swallowed a couple of pills and turned on the water.

Elliot had been so eager for a shower, he hadn't stopped to consider how difficult it would be. He figured out immediately that he should have thought to remove his bandages first, and then realized that removing sopping wet gauze with extremely painful hands was not a pleasant process. He was pleased to find that the cuts were pretty much healed. The water barely stung. The pain must be internal, he thought, not knowing if that was god or bad. He didn't care. The hot water felt wonderful. He had a hard time keeping the soap from slipping out of his hands, but he eventually emerged clean, if not exactly refreshed.

Toweling dry proved almost as annoying as undressing and washing. He decided that damp was good enough. Now might be a good time to grow a beard, he thought, glancing at his razor and immediately thinking better of it.

Elliot was astounded when he walked into the bedroom and saw that the window had been repaired, the floor had been vacuumed, and night table returned to its rightful position. He turned on the bedside lamp, and realized that someone had even replaced the light bulb. He'd have to find out who to thank when he returned to work tomorrow. In fact, he'd have to thank everyone for having visited him, even if he didn't remember them coming.

Elliot's left hand was throbbing so painfully that he had trouble setting the alarm clock. He gave up in frustration, trusted himself to get up on time, and crawled under the covers, thankful to be in his own bed, knowing that no one would wake him up in four hours to confirm he hadn't died. Although he wished that he could ask a nurse for some painkillers. The Advil he'd gone through such an order to take wasn't doing anything. He wondered if there was a prescription for pain pills in the packet of discharge papers he'd shoved in his jacket pocket in his rush to find Olivia. Olivia. Not a topic he wanted to think about. Elliot realized that there was something wrong with his telling his partner he loved her and wanted their baby, and then wanting nothing more than to push all thoughts of her out of his mind. But he was too tired and in too much pain to worry about it. He pulled the quilt up to his chin, rolled over onto his side, and fell into a deep sleep.

Elliot's internal alarm clock woke him up on time, but every step of getting ready for work, from brushing his teeth to tying his shoelaces, took twice as long as usual. Driving to work would have been excruciating if he'd driven a stick shift. Instead, it was merely extremely painful. Fortunately, he'd found a prescription for strong painkillers with his discharge papers. He filled it on the way to work. The label said to take one to two pills every four to six hours. He asked the pharmacist for a non-childproof top, opened the bottle with his teeth again, and swallowed three pills in the pharmacy. By the time he got to the precinct room, he was in a foul mood and wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back home before anyone saw him. But he wasn't about to do that. He tried to force a grimace into a smile and sat down at his desk.

"The prodigal son returns," said Munch, walking over to Elliot with a cup of coffee.

Olivia looked over her shoulder and smiled cautiously.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a casual tone of voice. Elliot turned toward her and nodded, grateful that she was acting as if nothing had happened between them.

"Much better," he lied, picking up his coffee with both hands and taking a sip. "Thanks," he said, looking at Munch. "Thanks for visiting me, too," he added, moving his head to nod to include Fin as well. "And for fixing up my place."

"No problem," Fin said. "You look like shit. Sure the doc told you to come in today?" he asked.

"Elliot!" a loud voice boomed as Cragen walked out of his office. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Glad you're all so happy to see me," Elliot said. He took another large drink of coffee and carefully set the paper cup down on his desk, afraid he might drop it. Even with the painkillers, his left hand was throbbing and his right hand wasn't back to normal yet either.

"No way I'm letting you out in the field like that," Cragen said, looking pointedly at Elliot's left hand.

"I'll do deskwork for a couple days till I'm better," Elliot answered.

"You can do deskwork when you can hold a cup of coffee without spilling it," Cragen barked.

"With all due respect, Captain, I really want to start working now."

"You'll start working when you're ready to work," Cragen replied. "Take the rest of the week off and I'll see you on Monday. And Stabler," he added over his shoulder, as he walked back to his office to answer the phone. "We're all glad you pulled through."

Elliot frowned and got up to leave. He suddenly felt faint, and instinctively put his hand on his desk to stabilize himself. The weight of his body on his hands was so painful he nearly passed out. Oddly enough, however, it didn't seem to bother him that much.

"Are you ok?" Olivia asked. She sounded very concerned, but Elliot didn't really care if it was "partner" concern or "more than partner" concern. In fact, he didn't really care much about anything. In fact, he felt almost giddy. If Cragen wanted him out till Monday, fine, he'd come back Monday. He leaned against his desk for a moment to make sure he was all right, then walked out of the squad room.

Olivia followed him out.

"Are you sure you can make it home?" she asked. "You looked like you were about to faint."

"Stop worrying about me," Elliot said. "I feel fine."

"Benson, get back in here," Cragen called. "I need to talk to you."

Olivia gave Elliot a long, hard look, then turned around and walked back into the squad room.

Elliot walked down the steps of One Police Plaza, slightly unsteady on his feet, barely noticing the rain dripping down his face and into his eyes. It took him a minute to remember where he'd parked his car. He finally found it, cranked the radio up loud, and drove home. For the first time since he'd moved out, he didn't mind coming home to his dark and depressing apartment. He took a beer from the fridge, set it on the kitchen counter, and used his right hand to open it with his pocket knife. He took the beer into the bedroom, lay down, and turned on the small TV he'd bought to watch sports and news. He channel surfed till he found a game, took a large swig of beer, and nodded off while the TV recounted play by plays.