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Ayanna stares at her computer screen, unblinking, as she considers how she is supposed to write up the reports regarding this case. It had been a challenge right from the start, with unreliable intel, a violent mafia gang, and a shootout that has resulted not only in dead gang members, but with the blood of innocent women too.
She drops her head down into her hands, rubbing her temple in an attempt to stave off the headache that is threatening to blossom into a full migraine.
That had been one of the failures of their intel - their inside man had not informed them of the trafficked women, and their suspects had had no qualms in using the girls as shields to get to safety, and discarding them once far enough away from the range of the NYPD’s bullets. Three had used this technique - two had gotten away with it, the last man gunned down by Stabler.
She knows full well that Elliot is starting to build up more shootings on his file, and at the very least she’s going to recommend that he doesn’t just do the mandatory counseling session, but rather pick up further consultations when needed, if he deigns to actually listen to her. She hopes she won’t have to fight him on this, because she had seen him with one of the victims - a young girl, barely sixteen, whom he had gathered into his arms, holding her close whilst he tried to stop the bleeding. The paramedics had arrived too late to help her though, and Ayanna had been forced to drag him away from the body eventually so that they could load her into the mortuary vehicle. The expression on Elliot’s face had been worryingly blank as he watched them drive away.
So now she’s staring at her flashing cursor, wondering how to write up this case which has traumatized at least one of her Detectives, if not several, because they’ve managed for a long while in the Organized Crime Unit to avoid witnessing young girls die senseless, brutal deaths in front of them. She knows she’ll have to check in on Jet and Jamie especially.
There’s a knock at the door, and as if summoned by her thoughts, Jet’s head pokes through a moment later.
‘Hey…’ Jet begins hesitantly. Ayanna assumes she’s here to talk about the day, and waves her inside. Jet lingers by the doorway though, glancing back over her shoulder.
‘It’s Elliot,’ she says, fingers wringing together. ‘He’s…I’m not sure what he is. He won’t talk to me or anyone else - it’s like he’s in shock or comatose or something.’
Ayanna curses internally at herself, realizing now that she should have been paying more attention to his state of mind when they had arrived back at the bureau.
‘Where is he?’ she asks, standing up abruptly and rounding her desk. She considers calling the department shrink, but decides to see the state of Elliot first; he won’t appreciate being considered an emergency if she can just talk him through whatever is happening.
Jet leads her to the locker room, where they can see the hunched-over form of Elliot on one of the benches, his head hanging low and his elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t make any indication that he’s heard them enter, and when they approach, Ayanna can see he is still dressed in his blood-soaked gray hoodie he had been wearing earlier at the scene.
‘Elliot?’ she says softly, coming to sit next to him. ‘Elliot, what’s wrong?’
He doesn’t move, except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. His hands are clenched into fists, and she can see how white his knuckles are from the tension.
‘He just keeps muttering the name ‘Jenna’,’ Jet says, coming to sit on his other side, peering over his bowed shoulders at Ayanna.
‘Jenna..,’ she considers. ‘Was that the girl’s name?’
Jet shrugs.
‘We still don’t know her identity,’ she admits. ‘Just a Jane Doe, for now. Unless she told him her name before she died.’
Ayanna shifts closer to Elliot, pressing her arm against his to demonstrate some physical connection, but he still doesn’t twitch.
They’d been getting closer as partners, especially in the last few months, as she struggled from the grief of losing her wife and day-to-day access of her son, and he dealt with an empty nest after years of being a family man. They have had each other’s backs in tight spots, and stopped each other from making rash decisions they’d come to regret. He’s a good man, and she’s grateful to know him better, but right now she’s at a loss as to how to help him.
Perhaps she really should call the therapist, and ask him for advice.
‘It’s my fault,’ Elliot mumbles, and Ayanna leans closer to see if she heard him correctly. She glances over at Jet, confused.
Nothing about the girl’s death had been Elliot’s fault - in fact, he had shot the man who had been responsible, so now she’s even less sure what to do for him.
‘Maybe he’s confusing things?’ Jet suggests. ‘Could Jenna be someone else he knows?’
Ayanna places her hand gently on Elliot’s arm in reassurance, but at this he flinches away - the first sign of a proper reaction, but not a positive one.
She thinks for a moment, and then pulls out her mobile phone, instinctively seeking one contact she thinks may be able to provide better insight.
‘Captain Benson,’ Olivia’s voice is brisk as she answers.
‘Uh hi, it’s Ayanna…Bell,’ she says, even though she knows Olivia knows who she is.
‘Hello, Sergeant,’ Olivia responds, and then her tone quickly shifts. ‘How can I help you? Is Elliot OK?’
What she had failed to consider in all of this is how much Olivia’s mind may jump immediately to the worst-case scenarios; although, since she still doesn’t know what has triggered Elliot’s behavior, perhaps it really is one of those times.
‘He’s…alright,’ she says, carefully. ‘But I think he’s struggling with this latest case. Does the name ‘Jenna’ mean anything to you?’
There’s a soft curse from down the end of the line, raw and heartfelt, and not like the usually controlled and professional Captain Benson.
‘Where is he?’ Olivia asks, suddenly all business. ‘Can I speak to him?’
Ayanna switches her phone to speaker, holding it up so it is close enough that he can hear.
‘We’re at our offices,’ she explains. ‘But he isn't being responsive to anything we say. I’ve put you on loudspeaker.’
There are muffled noises from Olivia’s end, voices from far away, as if someone is holding a hand over the microphone, and then the swift click of heels.
‘Elliot?’ Olivia says, more gently than Ayanna has ever heard her speak before. ‘Elliot, it’s Liv. Do you know what year it is?’
He doesn’t move, just drops his head into his hands and shakes it from side to side, hiding his eyes.
‘I shouldn’t…’ he mumbles. ‘I shouldn’t speak to her. IAB.’
Jet is bouncing her leg anxiously on his other side, clearly wanting to help and concerned because there’s nothing she can feasibly do to improve the situation. Ayanna brings her phone back towards herself, biting her lip.
‘I don’t think he’s really present in the moment,’ she says, looking at Elliot with concern. ‘He’s mentioned IAB? I don’t know if I should call his therapist or not?’
She’s his superior officer, but in this instance, she’ll defer to whatever Olivia says, hoping that the other woman may know details of his past which can illuminate whatever is affecting him now. No matter the cause, she will need to know for the future, so they can avoid this happening ever again.
Olivia slams a door, and Ayanna realizes she’s in a vehicle when the rumble of the engine cuts across their connection.
‘It’s an old case,’ Olivia says tersely. ‘I’ll be there as soon as possible. Wait for me.’
She’s true to her word, marching through the doors within minutes, clearly having run the blue light to get there in record time. Ignoring both Ayanna and Jet, she swiftly reaches Elliot, crouching down in front of him and resting both hands on his knees.
‘Elliot,’ she tells him softly. ‘It’s Olivia. You’re in the Organized Crime Bureau offices, and it’s the year 2023.’
He finally raises his head, staring at Olivia with a blank gaze.
‘Liv..?’ he whispers. ‘It was my fault. She was just a kid and I shot her.’
Olivia glances over briefly at Ayanna, who shakes her head. She has a few of the case file photographs in her emails, and she pulls them up now, flicking through a couple to show Olivia the basic story.
‘The girl was trafficked, and killed by one of our suspects,’ she explains quietly. ‘Elliot shot the man who did that to her, but we were too late to save her.’
Olivia stares at the picture of the young girl lying in the cold, blue-lit morgue. Her round and freckled face, her brown hair…they had guessed she was sixteen when they found her, but seeing her again in this photograph makes Ayanna wonder if she had been even younger.
Olivia however looks as if she has seen a ghost, but she switches her attention immediately back to Elliot, squeezing his knees and leaning forward so she can place her forehead against his.
‘It’s not Jenna,’ she promises. ‘Elliot, none of it was your fault, but this girl especially…is not Jenna. That happened twelve years ago, don’t you remember?’
Elliot begins to cry, tucking his head lower until it is pressed against Olivia’s shoulder, and she pulls him in closer, hiding him from Ayanna and Jet.
He shouldn't need protecting from either of them, but at the same time, Ayanna feels as if she is intruding on a private moment. It is a reaction from Elliot at least, a sign that he is processing, feeling, and it actually makes her relieved to see him so upset, rather than sitting silently in shock. He isn't someone who suits being quiet and still - she's used to his loud, strong personality, his imposing figure striding out ahead of her, or standing firm at her back.
In Olivia’s arms though, he seems small. Ayanna gestures wordlessly at Jet, and together they slip off the bench, intent on giving the duo in front of them some privacy.
'Detective Slootmaekers,' Olivia whispers, releasing Elliot with one hand briefly, so she can dig in her pocket and throw across a set of keys. 'In my trunk…can you collect the hoodie?'
Jet races to do as she requests, while Ayanna exits quietly behind her, content to wait in her office until Olivia may have need of her again.
A while later, her cursor has still not moved on her screen, her attention instead focused on the photographs of her son, smiling and beautiful, on her phone. A knock on the door makes her lift her head immediately.
'I'm taking him home,' Olivia informs her, standing in the doorway with Elliot hovering behind her. His face is pale, with eyes rimmed with red, but he's present and looking much calmer, even managing to send Ayanna a tiny uptick of his lips. He's dressed in a gray hoodie, so very similar to his own, except this one is clean and without a stain of blood in sight.
'He'll be OK?' she asks, knowing that of all people, Olivia will tell her the truth. A sense of relief settles into her chest when the other woman nods.
She watches them depart, side by side, with Olivia’s hand placed firmly on his lower back.
'You think he'll be OK?' Jet echoes her own question, coming into her office to settle opposite her. She's still looking anxious, so Ayanna sends a gentle smile her way.
'He'll be fine, as long as he's with her,' she promises, shutting down her computer. 'Come on, Jet…it's been a long day. Let's go home too.'
Report writing can wait until tomorrow.