A/N: I wasn't a fan of the ending of Smoked. You probably weren't either. Here is my interpretation of what should have happened over the last few minutes of the finale. The chapters proceeding will be my twisted little version of season 13. Enjoy! Or don't... it's up to you.

Disclaimer: I regret to inform you that I do not own Law & Order: SVU. My summer would probably be much more interesting than it is shaping up to be if I did. But, hey, Dick Wolf! If you're looking for cheap help, you could totally offer me a job.

_
Smoldered
A Law & Order: SVU FanFic by
LifeLoveLoathing

He had to do it

He had to.

He felt the cold metal, covered in a sheen of his own sweat, slip against his hand as it shook. His hand was shaking. His hand never shook. He'd always had steady hands.

"Elliot, put it down."

The voice was far off, and in his deluded state, he couldn't tell who it was coming from. He decided, though, that whoever was speaking was probably of a sounder mind than he . He let the weapon slip from his loosening grasp, onto the floor.

It had already done too much damage.

But he had to do it.

He had to.

Right?

"I got it on the street. It was so easy." She said the words from her position sprawled on the floor next to him. She choked the desperate words through a mouthful of her own blood.

Blood that was shed at his hand.

His shaking hand.

They were so innocent, her words; her confession of the most striking kind of guilt. They were so pure, so ignorant - yet chillingly conscious - of the horrors of the world. He knew at once that she didn't deserve her fate.

Jenna did not deserve her tragic fate because her mother did not deserve her fate either.

But neither did Olivia.

Olivia.

From his place on his knees, he lunged across the floor of the squad room in an attempt to move from one laying figure to another. He lacked the strength necessary to move his frame, though, and he fell, frantically grasping for the life he knew was not there.

He watched her. She lay on the hard linoleum. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted. Her chest heaved. Her hair was fanned across her face. She was absolutely beautiful, he thought.

Save for the small pool of blood rapidly growing in size beneath her.

He had to do it.

For her.

He screamed a low, strangled sound that presented itself as a deep sob as it fell from his throat.

He looked around the room, trying to find someone on whom to place the blame. It was the fault of the officers downstairs, who neglected to search her when she entered the precinct? Why wasn't she subject to be checked by a metal detector?

It was Jenna's fault for purchasing the gun and losing control. It was the illegal street vendor's fault for selling the gun to Jenna in the first place, without a permit - without any care for anyone else.

It was the officers' fault again, for not removing that piece of scum from the streets sooner, for not removing him at all. Why weren't they on top of things?

It was Luke Ronson's fault. For raping Jenna's mother and starting all of this shit. It was Eddie's fault for killing her. It was that damn ATF agent's fault. He was to blame for giving Eddie the gun that scarred Jenna just as much as his own did.

It was Jenna's fault, again, for thinking she could solve her problems with violence. For subscribing to the belief of an eye for an eye. For not getting the help she needed.

It was everyone's fault, for not giving that help to her.

It was Olivia's fault, for escorting the girl into the squad room, for introducing her to the men who had so savagely ruined her young life. It was 0livia's fault for assuming youthful innocence in the wake of pain. It was Olivia's fault for her ability to trust. It was Olivia's fault for her natural tendency to be so nurturing.

It was his fault.

It was his fault for believing. It was his fault for ignoring what occurred all around him. It was his fault for being so blind. He should have seen the pain in the young girl's eyes. He should have known that such a loss would cause her to become so unhinged. He should have predicted her actions.

He should have turned around just one second earlier than he did. He should have seen Jenna walk back to the center of the squad room from the elevators. And if he had, he would have seen her wielding her illegal pistol without abandon to avenge the wrongful death of her mother.

And it was his lack of attention that caused the deaths of three suspects, an innocent nun, and - at his hand - a young, hurting girl. All because she dared to point the gun at his innocent partner and fire.

Olivia.

Why Olivia?

Olivia, who did nothing but try to help, protect, and nurture, was bleeding out on the cold linoleum of the squad room with a bullet in her chest. And it was all his fault.

And because of her - because of his undying need to protect her - he shot the one who hurt her.

A little girl, who reminded him so much of his own daughters, who was just trying to gain vengeance for the sake of someone she loved.

And in thinking about it, he did the same.

He should have shot himself.

Another sob escaped him. This time, it hailed from his mangled chest; the one that also housed a broken heart. He propped his body up on his forearms, trying to gain leverage over the situation and a view of the massacre he helped to create.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, accompanied by a voice in his ear: "Elliot," it was Fin, this time he was sure. "The buses are on their way. They're almost here."

He spoke to the floor when he responded. "Just one," his voice was low and guttural. "We only need one." There was no hope for the others. "Just for Liv. Make sure they get Liv. She needs help."

And he had chosen her again.

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A/N: I have the next few phases of this story plotted out, but there is no concrete plan for it in the long run. I'm totally opened to interpretations and suggestions. Any and all feedback will be considered and greatly appreciated, either via review (reviews are fun!) or Twitter (andemilywrites).