Fic: Please Hold Out Your Hand (1/1) Law & Order: SVU (Huang/Stabler)
Title: Please Hold Out Your Hand
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Pairing: Huang/Stabler
Rating: PG
Summary: Delicious, delicious angst and a touch of h/c.
Dis: Bullshit and lies.
Author's Notes: For
alex_axle, who requested it. I hope you like it! The title comes from a random country music lyric I found. Also, self-betaed, so there may be typos (a point for each one you find!).
Please Hold Out Your Hand
By Perpetual Motion
Elliot sits by George’s bed and stares at the crossword in his hands. He’s supposed to be working his way through it, a way to keep his mind occupied as he waits for George to wake up, but the crossword is mostly empty, and when Elliot looks at the clues, all he sees are a jumble of letters that don’t combine into coherent ideas. He looks up from the crossword and at George, who’s laid on the bed, a heart monitor beeping steadily and a bandage wrapped around his head.
Elliot forgets sometimes that George is a field agent. He’s a fully trained FBI operative, and sometimes he leaves his office and walks into buildings with his gun drawn.
And sometimes parts of those buildings are rigged with bombs.
No one will give Elliot details. It’s been two days, and all he knows is that George opened a door to clear a room and something exploded, knocking him backwards. George has three broken ribs, a stitched up gash on his inner left forearm-a defensive wound, Elliot thinks every time the nurse changes the bandage on it; George had thrown an arm in front of his face as the blast went off-and he’s been unconscious since they brought him to the hospital.
Elliot stares down at his crossword again. He fills in the boxes with nonsense and tries not to count the beeps on the heart monitor.
“Hrrm.”
Elliot’s head snaps up. He drops the crossword as he practically jumps out of his chair and leans over the bed. “George?”
“Hrmm.” George’s eyes twich.
“George,” Elliot says, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing, “Can you hear me?” He reaches up with his free hand and pushes the button for the nurse. “George.”
George’s eyes open. They’re foggy and unfocused. He turns his head a little. “Hrmm.”
“George?”
The nurse bustles in, looking to Elliot for an explanation.
“His eyes are open,” Elliot says, and he moves to step back.
“You’re fine,” the nurse says, walking around the other side of the bed and checking the heart machine. She pulls a penlight from her pocket and shines it into George’s eyes. “Mr. Huang?” she says.
“Dr.,” Elliot corrects.
“What?” the nurse asks, not looking away from checking George’s pupils.
“Dr. Huang,” Elliot tells her. “He’s a psychologist.”
“Oh.” The nurse says as she straightened. “His pupils are responding well,” she tells Elliot, “but he’ll probably be in and out for awhile still.”
“Okay,” Elliot replies and backs towards his chair.
“His vitals are good,” the nurse says, pausing next to Elliot. “the doctor will be in in a few minutes to double-check everything.”
“Thank you.” Elliot leans his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling, counting the tiles. George moves again, and Elliot sits up straight. George’s eyes are still unfocused, but they’re looking right at Elliot.
“George?” Elliot stands up again and walks back to the bed. George follows his movement. Elliot slides his hand into George’s. “Squeeze if you can hear me.” George squeezes. The knot in Elliot’s chest loosens, and he curls over the bed, brushing his mouth just under George’s eyebrow. George’s eyes flutter closed. “God, you scared the hell out of me.”
George squeezes Elliot’s hand again. “It’s okay,” Elliot says. He pulls away, but George’s eyes are still closed. “Are you falling asleep?” George’s squeeze is weaker, but it’s still there. “It’s okay,” Elliot says. “You can go back to sleep. I’ll be here.” He rubs his thumb over the back of George’s hand and watches his face relax as he slips into unconsciousness again.
Elliot sags against the bed rail, pressing his nose into George’s hair above the bandage. “Thank god,” he mutters. Someone clears his throat, and Elliot turns around. The doctor gives him a small smile and moves forward.
“This looks promising,” he says, stepping to the end of the bed and opening George’s chart. He reviews it and steps forward, pulling a penlight from his lab coat pocket. “It looked like he was responsive,” he says.
“He squeezed my hand when I asked him to,” Elliot says. “And in response to me saying things to him.”
“Good.” The doctor checks George’s eyes and presses a button on the heart monitor to get a printout. “His pupils are responsive, which Myra told me she told you. How long would you say he was awake?”
Elliot shrugs. “Two minutes? Three?”
“That’s great,” the doctor says with a wider smile than before. “Most people wake up for a few seconds-ten maybe fifteen-and then they’re out again.”
“He looked at me,” Elliot informs him. “His eyes were unfocused, but he looked at me, and he watched me walk over to him.”
“After a head injury, it’s pretty common for patients to have unfocused vision at first. The brain has to…” the doctor shrugs, “reboot, basically. It’s like a system update on your computer. Everything acts buggy when you restart it the first time, but if you restart it again, everything’s fine.”
Elliot raises his eyebrows. “What?”
“He’ll be fine,” the doctor clarifies. “When he wakes up again, he might still be fuzzy or unfocused, but all signs point to a strong recovery.”
“Okay,” Elliot replies, and he watches the doctor finish his exam before he leaves with a nod to Elliot. Elliot reaches behind him for the chair, pulling it close to the bed. He sits again and pulls his phone from his shirt pocket, dialing by memory as he watches George breathe. It’s not the deep, overly steady breathing of a man in a possible-coma. It’s the comfortable, uneven breathing of a man who is sleeping deeply. Elliot’s come home late at night and watched George breathe just like this.
“Hey,” Olivia says over the phone. “How is he?”
“He woke up for a couple of minutes,” Elliot reports. “He’ll be fine.”
“And you?”
“I’m fine, too.”
Author: Perpetual Motion
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Pairing: Huang/Stabler
Rating: PG
Summary: Delicious, delicious angst and a touch of h/c.
Dis: Bullshit and lies.
Author's Notes: For
alex_axle, who requested it. I hope you like it! The title comes from a random country music lyric I found. Also, self-betaed, so there may be typos (a point for each one you find!).
Please Hold Out Your Hand
By Perpetual Motion
Elliot sits by George’s bed and stares at the crossword in his hands. He’s supposed to be working his way through it, a way to keep his mind occupied as he waits for George to wake up, but the crossword is mostly empty, and when Elliot looks at the clues, all he sees are a jumble of letters that don’t combine into coherent ideas. He looks up from the crossword and at George, who’s laid on the bed, a heart monitor beeping steadily and a bandage wrapped around his head.
Elliot forgets sometimes that George is a field agent. He’s a fully trained FBI operative, and sometimes he leaves his office and walks into buildings with his gun drawn.
And sometimes parts of those buildings are rigged with bombs.
No one will give Elliot details. It’s been two days, and all he knows is that George opened a door to clear a room and something exploded, knocking him backwards. George has three broken ribs, a stitched up gash on his inner left forearm-a defensive wound, Elliot thinks every time the nurse changes the bandage on it; George had thrown an arm in front of his face as the blast went off-and he’s been unconscious since they brought him to the hospital.
Elliot stares down at his crossword again. He fills in the boxes with nonsense and tries not to count the beeps on the heart monitor.
“Hrrm.”
Elliot’s head snaps up. He drops the crossword as he practically jumps out of his chair and leans over the bed. “George?”
“Hrmm.” George’s eyes twich.
“George,” Elliot says, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing, “Can you hear me?” He reaches up with his free hand and pushes the button for the nurse. “George.”
George’s eyes open. They’re foggy and unfocused. He turns his head a little. “Hrmm.”
“George?”
The nurse bustles in, looking to Elliot for an explanation.
“His eyes are open,” Elliot says, and he moves to step back.
“You’re fine,” the nurse says, walking around the other side of the bed and checking the heart machine. She pulls a penlight from her pocket and shines it into George’s eyes. “Mr. Huang?” she says.
“Dr.,” Elliot corrects.
“What?” the nurse asks, not looking away from checking George’s pupils.
“Dr. Huang,” Elliot tells her. “He’s a psychologist.”
“Oh.” The nurse says as she straightened. “His pupils are responding well,” she tells Elliot, “but he’ll probably be in and out for awhile still.”
“Okay,” Elliot replies and backs towards his chair.
“His vitals are good,” the nurse says, pausing next to Elliot. “the doctor will be in in a few minutes to double-check everything.”
“Thank you.” Elliot leans his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling, counting the tiles. George moves again, and Elliot sits up straight. George’s eyes are still unfocused, but they’re looking right at Elliot.
“George?” Elliot stands up again and walks back to the bed. George follows his movement. Elliot slides his hand into George’s. “Squeeze if you can hear me.” George squeezes. The knot in Elliot’s chest loosens, and he curls over the bed, brushing his mouth just under George’s eyebrow. George’s eyes flutter closed. “God, you scared the hell out of me.”
George squeezes Elliot’s hand again. “It’s okay,” Elliot says. He pulls away, but George’s eyes are still closed. “Are you falling asleep?” George’s squeeze is weaker, but it’s still there. “It’s okay,” Elliot says. “You can go back to sleep. I’ll be here.” He rubs his thumb over the back of George’s hand and watches his face relax as he slips into unconsciousness again.
Elliot sags against the bed rail, pressing his nose into George’s hair above the bandage. “Thank god,” he mutters. Someone clears his throat, and Elliot turns around. The doctor gives him a small smile and moves forward.
“This looks promising,” he says, stepping to the end of the bed and opening George’s chart. He reviews it and steps forward, pulling a penlight from his lab coat pocket. “It looked like he was responsive,” he says.
“He squeezed my hand when I asked him to,” Elliot says. “And in response to me saying things to him.”
“Good.” The doctor checks George’s eyes and presses a button on the heart monitor to get a printout. “His pupils are responsive, which Myra told me she told you. How long would you say he was awake?”
Elliot shrugs. “Two minutes? Three?”
“That’s great,” the doctor says with a wider smile than before. “Most people wake up for a few seconds-ten maybe fifteen-and then they’re out again.”
“He looked at me,” Elliot informs him. “His eyes were unfocused, but he looked at me, and he watched me walk over to him.”
“After a head injury, it’s pretty common for patients to have unfocused vision at first. The brain has to…” the doctor shrugs, “reboot, basically. It’s like a system update on your computer. Everything acts buggy when you restart it the first time, but if you restart it again, everything’s fine.”
Elliot raises his eyebrows. “What?”
“He’ll be fine,” the doctor clarifies. “When he wakes up again, he might still be fuzzy or unfocused, but all signs point to a strong recovery.”
“Okay,” Elliot replies, and he watches the doctor finish his exam before he leaves with a nod to Elliot. Elliot reaches behind him for the chair, pulling it close to the bed. He sits again and pulls his phone from his shirt pocket, dialing by memory as he watches George breathe. It’s not the deep, overly steady breathing of a man in a possible-coma. It’s the comfortable, uneven breathing of a man who is sleeping deeply. Elliot’s come home late at night and watched George breathe just like this.
“Hey,” Olivia says over the phone. “How is he?”
“He woke up for a couple of minutes,” Elliot reports. “He’ll be fine.”
“And you?”
“I’m fine, too.”