Flight 432

                                    

                                          
She looked gorgeous at the funeral. That's all I can think about. All I've been thinking about for all these months is her. Her and the goddamn letter. 
                          
Everything that was laid out on the fake casket, that was supposed to be buried with me, was given to me when the sent me into Witness Protection. 
                          
The shot that had supposedly killed me only went through my shoulder. Through and through. I was fine. 
                          
I sat in the empty apartment that was supposed to be my home, thinking about her, hoping that they would catch whoever did it, so I could finally see her. 
                          
I saw her at the funeral, I watched the whole thing. She looked beautiful. Beautiful and broken. I listened to her speaking about me, and watched the tears pour down her face. 
                          
I hoped she meant what she said about not wallowing in her sorrows. I needed get to be okay. She really needed to be okay. 
                          
I never got the chance to tell her how I felt. Tell her how much I loved her. And now I might not ever be able to tell her. 
                          
I'm not exactly sure when it was during my stay in the crappy apartment in downtown Chicago, but I decided that if they didn't find whoever shot me soon, that I was going to New York whether they liked it or not. 
                          
I was restless. I didn't know what to do with myself. I was selling shitty medical supplies to doctors in office buildings. I worked from 9-5 everyday. I would go home to the apartment and I would sit in the living room and think about her. 
                          
She had put a copy of that picture I loved so much in with the letter. And I was forever thankful to her for that. 
                          
They hadn't let me bring any pictures because they were afraid it would blow my cover. 
                          
But when I pulled that letter out of the box of stuff from the funeral I had the biggest smile on my face. I recognized her handwriting immediately. 
                          
I opened it and pulled the picture out first. 
                          
I started to tear up just looking at it. And I was hoping to God that I was able to go home and see her in person again. 
                          
I wanted to know how she was doing. 
                          
I would often fall asleep with a bottle of scotch in one hand and that picture in the other. It was my only comfort in Chicago. 
                          
The first time I read her letter I was an absolute mess. And I felt like an asshole. 
                          
Her letter told me how much she needed me, how much she loved me. The part that broke my heart was when she said she knew I didn't love her in the same way that she loved me. Because God I do. I love her. I never wanted to hurt her. 
                          
She talked about the family she thought we'd have. The kids. The wedding. And I wanted all of it. I want the kids. I want the wedding with the squad and our entire family. 
                          
I can't say a part of me wasn't mad at her for running. But that was before the letter. Before I had to leave, possibly for good. I always knew she was going to come back. Hell I even thought for a second that I was gunna fly to Oregon to be with her. But then I got shot. I got shot and she thinks I died. She thinks I died and I'm never coming back home to her. 
                          
I hope everyone's taking care if her. If I know her at all, she will have put on a brave face for the funeral and the burial, and then gone home by herself and had a complete meltdown. She won't have been eating or sleeping enough. 
                          
I missed her so much at one point that I googled old press conferences we had done together during cases. And it didn't matter that she was addressing New York City, asking them for information on a rapist, I got to hear her voice again. 
                          
I replayed the same couple videos over and over again. Not bothering to listen to the actual words she was saying, but just the sound of her voice.
                          
 I miss her more than I can put into words.
                          
And then I got the call. The ringing of my phone woke me up. 
                          
At first I was going to ignore it. I let it go to voicemail. 
                          
But when it started ringing the second time I was so annoyed by the ringing that I picked it up. 
                          
"Stab- shit, Masterson." I said into the phone. 
                          
I kept doing that. I would start to say Stabler. I had to be more careful. 
                          
"Elliot, it's Captain Cragen." He says. 
                          
"Captain?" I ask. 
                          
"We caught him Elliot." He says, "Your on the first plane home." 
                          
I thanked him and hung up. 
                          
I was about to go pack but then I realized none of this stuff was mine. 
                          
I ran into my room and grabbed the letter from Olivia, as well as the picture. 
                          
That ten minute cab ride seemed like the longest ten minutes of my life. 
                          
I got up to front desk to buy my ticket and the woman stared at me while I studied the board. 
                          
"Maybe I could help you sir?" She asks, "Where are you looking to go?" 
                          
"Manhattan, preferably landing at JFK." I say without hesitation. 
                          
"That's flight 432." She says, taking my card and handing me a ticket, "But you'd better run, it leaves in 5 minutes."
                          
I got through the airport as fast as I could. Sprinting to the gate. 
                          
I got on the plane just in time. 
                          
I was seated on the plane next to some ass who was using both arm rests. But I shook it off. I was 4 hours away from seeing Olivia.
                          
The woman who sat down next to me smiled happily. 
                          
"Nervous flyer?" She asked, noticing the tapping of my foot. 
                          
"No, I'm on my way home." I say, trying to be polite, but also trying to ignore her. 
                          
"Where you from?" She asks. 
                          
"Manhattan." I say, hoping she'll notice my short answers and stop talking to me. 
                          
"Me too." She says smiling, "Maybe we should meet up sometime." 
                          
"No thanks." I say, returning my attention to the random movie. 
                          
"Oh come on, I won't bite, unless your into that..." She says, whispering in my ear. 
                          
"Could you not?" I ask, this time visibly irritated. 
                          
"Oh, are you married or something?" She asks. 
                          
"Or something..." I say, looking back to the movie. 
                          
"She's gotta be somethin' special of your ignoring me." She says. 
                          
"She really is." I say, smiling at the thought of seeing Liv again. 
                          
The woman to my right ignored me for the rest of the plane ride, which I was pretty happy about. 
                          
As soon as the plane touched down, I was up and out of the plane. 
                          
I ran through JFK and hailed a cab. Giving him the precincts address. 
                          
When he pulled up to the building my heart skipped a beat. 
                          
I ran up the stairs hoping to see her inside.