a/n: so this is a post-episode story i wrote for "wrath", the second episode of the third svu season. i'm not gonna lie, i am really proud of it but just a warning, this story is DARK. topics discussed include ptsd and suicidal ideation. as much as i would love for you to read and review my writing, i don't want to trigger anyone so please proceed with caution.

also, quick disclaimer… in this story, i have eric plummer being olivia's first kill, not her second because it just worked better for my svu universe. and i'm sorry if anyone has written a similar story for "wrath" already… it was not my intention to copy anyone. i do not own svu or its characters. that all belongs to dick wolf and wolf entertainment. enjoy!

Deadly Force

The potent scent of Eric Plummer's blood remained dominant in Olivia Benson's senses, even though the medical examiner had long since collected his body. If she was being honest, Olivia didn't think she was ever going to forget the scene that had ensued today… not the plasma, spilled upon the carpet of Janice Kendrick's living room, not the gunshots, still echoing in Olivia's eardrums.

As of this day, Olivia had matured into something she never desired to become… a killer.

The previous twelve months had been, without a shadow of doubt, the worst, most emotionally draining of her existence, and that spoke volume. Last December, Olivia's mother had succumbed to a lifelong battle with alcoholism. Multiple cases at work had scarred Olivia beyond repair. Now, the season was autumn and barely sixty days had passed since terrorist attacks altered the New York skyline forever.

If there was one notion that stabilized Olivia's psyche throughout the turmoil, though, it was the fact that she was skilled at her job. Empathetic yet objective, Olivia was a good cop and she was particularly talented as a detective in the Special Victims Unit, her place of employment for the antecedent three years. Perhaps Olivia's gift stemmed from her personal experience in the field. Her unique circumstances… that was why she had volunteered for the sex squad, although she did not share that element with an abundance of individuals.

Actually, there were only three people living, other than Olivia, that knew the motivation behind her joining SVU. One of those humans was her partner and best friend, Elliot Stabler. He had accidentally disclosed the secret to a colleague, John Munch, in the midst of defending Olivia, and then their captain, Donald Cragen, had been informed privately.

But other than that, no one was aware of Olivia's history, and that was best. She preferred to keep her intimate life separate from her profession. In Olivia's opinion, this strategy was part of what helped her excel in law enforcement. She valued morality, and rarely, if ever, displayed emotions outside the comfort of her own home.

Come to think of it, Olivia did not even like to outwardly express grief there, in her apartment. It was a segment of her identity, molded over decades of trauma and abuse. Thanks to her childhood and her chosen line of work, Olivia's head was a dark place, and she had a choice when it came to coping with the dwellings of her mind- distraction, or confrontation.

She could sit and think about the horrors witnessed on a weekly basis, or Olivia could divulge herself into strenuous workouts at the gym, reality television, and impulsive haircuts. One option was clearly healthier.

So then why was it that at 8:45 on Friday night, Olivia was perched inside her quarters, the television spotless and the fluorescents veiled? Why was every ounce of energy paramount to preventing fluids from saturating her irises?

Well, the explanation was evident. Olivia was cracking, her soul shattering, because this week, she had not been competent at her job. Cragen insisted that his junior detective was not to blame for the bizarre series of events, but that was obviously some lie fabricated to boost Olivia's morale. Who else could be at fault for the quadruple homicides?

The perpetrator, now deceased, had been wrongfully convicted of rape and murder, partially thanks to Olivia's specific testimony. When his innocence was proven, seven years later, Eric Plummer had become determined to seek revenge, not by killing Olivia, but by murdering victims and mentally torturing her.

His plot worked. Plummer's end goal, whatever it had been, was successful. Olivia's brain, ambushed for months without so much as an intermission, was unable to withstand another crisis.

None of that was an excuse, though, for Olivia's actions. There was no reasoning in the world that could justify her use of deadly force.

Sure, it happened sometimes, as a police officer. Olivia was aware of the statistics. But the twisted aspect was that she never needed to shoot Eric Plummer. The gun he had pressed to the temple of Janice Kendrick was unloaded. It was all a game… one distorted, corrupt, abhorrent hoax.

In summary, Olivia had executed someone, terminated a life, not out of necessity, but because she had allowed Eric Plummer to slink inside her head. Now, he was never going to vacate the premises.

Olivia's limbs were shuddering; her chest, heavy with guilt. She wished Plummer had targeted her, poisoned Olivia with potassium chloride… it would have reduced the casualties, significantly. She had no family; no one would mourn the solo detective.

And the fallout was unbearable. Flashbacks were bombarding Olivia, the images brutal and relentless. She pulled the trigger… bullets pulverized Eric Plummer's torso… Olivia froze, petrified, and Elliot materialized out of thin air. He pried the weapon from his partner's hands…

"Olivia… it's okay… it's okay; give it here…"

Upon exiting Janice's condo, Olivia had fought the urge to empty her stomach contents on the sidewalk. She delivered a statement, albeit everything had become a blur, and then hailed a taxi, all the while dodging Elliot Stabler.

He was trying to help. That was Elliot's excuse, anyway. But what he didn't comprehend was that Olivia did not need Elliot's assistance and she certainly did not require his protection. How couldn't he understand, following three and a half years of companionship? Olivia had explicitly instructed him to abstain from protective details, and what did Elliot do? Order one to shadow his partner.

The data was unmistakable; Olivia was unable to be trusted. She had failed at her profession, and it was impossible to decipher whether she was angrier at Elliot, or at herself.

No, that was inaccurate. It was feasible to make that distinction. Olivia was mad at Elliot, but she was furious at herself… for permitting herself to be manipulated… for sending a virtuous man to prison, in the first place… for becoming the monster she had always feared. Maybe Olivia had surpassed her former generation in terms of violence. Her father was selfish and cruel, yet he had never murdered anyone… or maybe he did… how was Olivia supposed to know?

The dark thoughts were coming now; they were advancing far too quickly. This was an ideal example of why Olivia never surrendered to her demons. She was incapable of processing one memory, one trauma, before the next was colliding with her conscience like a freight train.

Any attempt at upholding her honor was futile. The burden of the week's affairs was sitting on her thorax; it was like Olivia had been slaughtered, rather than Plummer. Her throat was constricting; Olivia's nose and eyes were prickling, and suddenly, there was a sharp, sturdy knock from the region of her door.

Three hours ago, this act would have spooked Olivia, or at least startled her. Plummer was dead, though. Olivia had slayed the dragon. There were minimal individuals capable of reaching her apartment and Olivia fancied seeing none of them.

The rapping persisted. Olivia swallowed hard, felt a single teardrop cascade down her cheek, proceed over her lips; she tasted saltwater. It was a sickening reminder of Olivia's falter.

The phone began chiming. The list of potential visitors had been narrowed down to one and Elliot Stabler was refusing to yield. When Olivia let his plea to roll to voicemail, her partner hung up and immediately called back again.

He dispensed a message on the recording device: "Olivia, it's me. I know you're in there. I know you're mad but listen… I need you to pick up the phone or answer the door, okay? I need to know that you're alright. Come on… answer the door or the phone or…"

Or what? You'll break in with your gun drawn? Olivia mused.

"...Or I'll bust this door down and I don't think you want that."

There was a pause; Olivia lingered, stationary. Even if she had originally planned on speaking with Elliot, which she had not, doing so now was out of the question. In the three years that Olivia had worked with Elliot, she had never once cried in his presence. And if that barrier was breached, if Olivia recanted her armor, then everything would change. Cops did not cry. Olivia, especially, relied on no one but herself.

She was almost convinced that Elliot had abandoned his mission when the door was atomized, anew; a frantic voice was perceived from outside. "OLIVIA! Come on, open the door! I'm not going anywhere. Are you alright?!"

It was never going to stop. Olivia erased the drizzle from her skin and ran to the gate, which she fractured only enough to communicate. "I told you to leave me the hell alone."

"Olivia, wait," Elliot said; he jammed his foot between the crevice to hinder a proper seal. "I'm sorry. Look, it's not that I don't trust you. Please… you've got to know that it wasn't my intention at all, to make you feel that way."

"Yeah, fine… note taken, I don't care. Just get the fuck away from me."

Elliot did not comply. "No… not until you show me you're okay. Am I going to see you at work tomorrow?"

"I doubt it." Internal Affairs had temporarily confiscated Olivia's badge, but regardless, she knew better than to believe Cragen would permit her in the squadroom.

"Okay, well… well, what are you doing? Did you eat dinner?" Elliot pressed. "Want to come over to my place?"

"Why the hell do you think I'd want to go anywhere with you?!"

"I don't know… because I'm your partner, for better or worse, remember? And deep down, underneath all the shit we went through this week, I know you still care. And you need to eat dinner…"

"I'm not hungry." Olivia's statement could not have been less fictional. Difficult cases often expunged her appetite and Olivia's stomach was currently churning with revulsion. This conversation was not improving matters.

Elliot sighed. "Okay, well… dammit… just let me in, then! I won't stay long. I'm getting the sense that you could use a venting session and…"

"Well, you're wrong!" Olivia snapped and instinctively opened the door, exposing her person. Olivia watched as Elliot absorbed her eyes, tinged pink from crying; shock registered on his own features.

"Oh, God, Liv…"

"Stop it!" Olivia demanded; she flinched away from Elliot's encroaching arms. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Did you talk with Cragen and Alex, decide I need some kind of intervention or… or rescuing?! I'm fine. Everything is fine. You need to turn around and… and…"

Olivia trailed off. Her stomach, queasy and nauseous for the past few hours, had reached its limit. Leaving the door ajar, Olivia spun around and rushed through her apartment to the lavatory. She staggered to the floor, hunched over the toilet, and despite not having eaten in 24 hours, Olivia's stomach ejected bile. The despicable flavor saturated her taste buds.

She was retching violently over porcelain, her slim frame convulsing with stress, when a familiar, tender hand rested on her quivering shoulders. "Liv… shh, you're okay. You're okay…"

The younger detective wanted nothing more than to slug her partner, to pummel him into oblivion. That was impossible, though, at least at the current moment. Olivia's disgusted system would not subside. She continued vomiting, and then eventually, when there was nothing left for her body to expel, dry heaving, her entrails rolling, her universe imploding.

Elliot patted her ribcage, gently. "You're okay… breathe. Breathe, Olivia; I'm right here…"

Olivia's useless gagging tapered. She gasped for oxygen. She yearned to disappear.

"Yeah… there you go," Elliot said; he massaged Olivia's back, soothingly. "Are you done?"

She didn't answer. She simply flushed the toilet, raised her neck, weakly. A cool, pacifying towel was immediately pressed to her forehead, and Elliot was there, his concerned demeanor masking what had to be utter revulsion.

Olivia was a mess, and there was no other description adequate. Snot was flowing from her nose; water had leaked from her eyes, a result of the intense coughing. Unless she was mistaken, there was still saliva dangling from her chin and this was the last portrait that Olivia wanted Elliot or anyone else to witness. She wanted to disappear, to vanish from the surface of planet earth…

Elliot plucked a wad of toilet paper from the nearby dispenser; he wiped the tissue across Olivia's mouth, and mopped all traces of emesis from her exterior. "Okay… how are you feeling? Any better?"

"I-I'm fine," Olivia whispered.

She moved to stand up yet Elliot held her in place. Olivia glowered at him. She couldn't have been intimidating, between her blanched skin tone and body fluids running liberally.

"No, you're not, so just stop it," Elliot said. "Look, I don't know what's going on but you're not gonna fool me with that I'm fine shit. Talk to me. What are you feeling?"

She parted her lips, prepared to holler. But what could she say? There were no words in the English language that could excuse this behavior or illustrate Olivia's emotions. She closed her mouth, afraid that if she spoke, she would disintegrate completely.

"Liv?" Elliot prompted.

It was hopeless… she had already reached her summit. Olivia began trembling. Her heart was rising in her throat. The sensation wasn't a sickening one; it was overwhelming, obstructing, terrifying. Her vision was distorting, as if she were peering through a magnifying glass, and breathing was hard. Really hard. Her airway was narrowing, the bathroom walls along for the ride. Olivia was hyperventilating. Maybe she was dying. Death would be a welcome relief from this unrelenting shame.

"Liv," Elliot repeated. "Liv, can you hear me?"

That was the last straw, the unequivocal breaking point. Reality crashed upon Olivia like a tsunami. Sobs burst through her chest, radiated among every inch of her anatomy.

Elliot instantly dropped to the ground, and from what Olivia could see, through her tears, his face was stunned, borderline frightened. "Oh my God… Liv…"

A pair of strong, faithful arms enclosed Olivia. For a split second, she fought Elliot, squirmed away from his touch, because all Olivia had ever done was resist solace. She had no clue how to go about being comforted. But she had lost every measure of control.

"Liv… Liv, you're okay," Elliot stammered, his voice strained with worry and perhaps, bewilderment. "I'm right here, Olivia. I'm right here with you. Shh… shh, you're okay…"

Stop saying that! Olivia wanted to scream. It was not her own safety for which she feared. It was Clayton Derricks and Carmella Barrantes. Peter Cordell and Bruce Derricks. The perspectives could be skewed, but the truth didn't lie and the truth was, that Olivia was responsible for all of their deaths. And then today… today she had eliminated human life. Directly. There was no evading that fact, no escaping the diabolical beast that Olivia had become…

How was she supposed to construe that, though?! Olivia couldn't go there, not with Elliot Stabler. The prospect was melodramatic, even for a less prideful woman.

But pride was nearly irrelevant. Olivia was immobile on the bathroom floor, her eyes allocating tears into the soft, blue fabric swathing Elliot's shoulder. She was inconsolable, panic and humiliation splintering her core like bullets. Like Eric Plummer's bullets…

From what Olivia could tell, Elliot was distressed, too. He was soliciting anything to calm his partner. With one arm wrapped tightly around her, Elliot coursed fingers from the other hand through Olivia's short, spiky hair. He spoke in a low, soothing pitch: "I know, Liv… I know… you're gonna be okay, though. You're gonna get through this, I promise. Shh… you're okay…"

All of Elliot's efforts were for naught. Olivia was edging towards hysterics. Her already ailing stomach was blasting shockwaves of nausea through her system; suddenly, Olivia pulled herself free of Elliot's arms, afraid that she was going to throw up again and further decorate his garments.

She choked on her own tears for several seconds; Elliot tensed. "Liv, you need to breathe. Come on, you're making yourself sick… just breathe…"

"F-Fuck off!" Olivia cried, lamely.

"Nope, sorry. You're stuck with me," Elliot said. "Come on… show me you can breathe or I'm taking you to the hospital."

It was an empty threat. Olivia knew that her partner should never do such a thing, not unless the emergency was genuine. All the same, she managed to quiet her respirations, slightly. Olivia wiped the moisture from her face with the spare washcloth.

"There you go… you're okay," Elliot said. He brushed Olivia's bangs aside, lightly. "How are you feeling?"

Olivia was unsure whether Elliot was referring to physical or mental health. "Like shit…"

"Well, at least you're being honest," Elliot replied. "How's your stomach? Do you still feel sick?"

"Yeah but… but I'm okay…" Olivia had just noticed the stain, vast in size and produced via tears, on the corner of Elliot's shirt. She tried to avert her range of vision, but somehow, this only seemed to exemplify the damage.

"Okay… do you think you can get up? Do you want some water?"

"No."

"No, what? No, you can't get up or…"

"NO! NO, I'M FINE! I don't want water and… and I can get up and I'm FINE!"

Something had detached inside of Olivia. She hauled herself into a standing position, ignoring the vertigo that endured. She dragged Elliot to his feet as well. "I need you to leave. I need you to… to get the hell OUT of my apartment!"

"Hold on, stop…" Elliot argued but again, Olivia interjected.

"NO! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT BEFORE I CALL CRAGEN AND HAVE YOU ARRESTED FOR HARASSMENT!"

She stormed out of the bathroom, an unchained inmate, and grabbed the first item she encountered, a candle. Olivia was unaware of her intentions until Elliot was clutching her arm, impeding his partner from hurling the object directly at his head.

"OLIVIA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Oh my God," Olivia whispered. The disbelief in her own conduct was growing. Why would Olivia try to hurt Elliot? Elliot was the first man, the only man that Olivia had ever trusted.

She was going insane. Olivia was spiraling, completely, and she just wanted everything, everything to… stop. For one fleeting instance, her eyes traveled to Elliot's waist, to see if he was armed.

And then the bubble popped. The fantasy exploded. Olivia recognized the ludacris in her thoughts. Since when was suicide a possibility? Ideation had patronized Olivia's mind in the past but that was a contrasting lifetime. She had been an immature teenager, trapped in a hopeless cycle of angst and loneliness. She had never intentionally harmed herself.

Why now? How had Olivia fallen so far, so quickly?

Eric Plummer. The gunshots. The blood. The empty barrel… Olivia was a murderer.

Elliot's gun was secured in its holster.

"I'm sorry," Olivia said. She retreated, hastily, putting ample distance between herself and the weapon. "I don't know what's happening. Something's happening to me and I just… I need you to…"

To leave? To throw your gun out the window? To give me your gun?

"Olivia, you need to sit down," Elliot said.

The order was fairly simple, yet to Olivia, everything was complicated. The world swayed; she froze up, and only managed to sink onto the sofa when Elliot physically guided her to the chesterfield.

"Stay there. I'm going to get you some water, okay?"

Elliot did not stall for acknowledgement. He tore through the apartment, rummaged through the kitchen, and returned with a glass of water which he eased into Olivia's hand. The routine was absurd, being waited on in her own residence.

"Just take small sips," Elliot instructed and with one palm steadying her cramping stomach, Olivia did as she was told.

"Does that feel okay?"

Olivia failed to respond. She set the beverage on the coffee table, and drew her knees up, folding her bodice in half. Tears persisted in leaking from her pupils, more out of shock than sorrow.

She just wanted it to stop.

"Olivia, listen… I don't know what's going on but I need you to tell me what you're thinking," Elliot said, interrupting the rapid, sinister images circulating through Olivia's brain. "Please, I… let me know what I can do to help."

"N-Nothing," Olivia said. "Nothing, just… just go. Please…"

"No, I'm not going anywhere," Elliot said. "That's not an option, Liv. I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because… because look at you. You're sick to your stomach. You're a wreck. And trust me, it's normal to feel like this after making a kill, especially your first but…"

"It's not normal," Olivia said. "It's not normal to feel like this."

"To feel like what? What are you feeling?" Elliot asked but Olivia shook her head. The definition was illegible.

Elliot sighed again; he was becoming frustrated and Olivia didn't blame him. She was being difficult. Olivia was typically easy-going, readable, a solid partner… and now all of that had dissipated.

"Look… Internal Affairs is gonna make you see a shrink before you come back to work. You know that's protocol when you use deadly force," Elliot said. "If you want, I can make a call… see if someone's available right now. Would you feel better talking to someone professional?"

"No," Olivia said.

"Okay, well… I've never seen you like this, Liv. I've never even seen you cry, much less…" Elliot floundered; he was worsening affairs.

He exhaled, deeply, tackled a new angle. "Olivia, what if you were a victim?"

"What?"

"What if you were some random victim and I just responded to the scene and you were throwing up and crying and throwing shit at me… would you expect me to just walk away? Or would you expect me to stick around and help?"

Olivia glared at her companion. "That's different and you fucking know it, Elliot. If I were a victim, there would be an investigation. You would be required, by law, to take me to the hospital to get a rape kit done and… and describe the incident. I'm not a victim. If anything, I… I'm the perp."

The senior detective reacted just as Olivia knew he would; Elliot scoffed and rolled his eyes. "The perp? Really? How are you anything close to a perp?"

"I… I killed someone today," Olivia admitted, her trachea constricting with every syllable. "And I… I know that's part of the job. I know it happens but… I didn't need to…"

"You didn't know that. You thought Plummer was about to kill that woman. Trust me, you are not the first cop to be fooled by some evil genius. Internal Affairs knows what happened; they're not going to suspend you…"

"I know," Olivia said. She was not intimidated by the idea of suspension. If anything, Olivia wondered whether avoiding the precinct was a prudent alternative.

Elliot nodded; he could seemingly predict where this discussion was going. "Okay, well… victim or not, try and take the advice you give everyone else, Liv. You don't have to go through this alone. We all love you."

The words were simple, casual, yet they took Olivia by surprise. We all love you. She had never been the recipient of love, not authentically. Olivia's mother claimed to love her daughter, but Serena Benson's actions failed to match up. There had been guys, in the past, that declared love for Olivia, but that sort of thing was trivial when the relationships ultimately died.

The dampness in Olivia's corneas was blinked away. "I'm… I'm sorry…"

"Shh, no… don't apologize," Elliot said and smiled. The sheer brilliance of his grin bestowed a rejuvenating effect. "Remember when we first started working together? We agreed that if either of us ever needed to talk, we could call a venting session, no questions asked, and let it out… you know, cause not many people understand what we do on a daily basis. That's all you're doing now. You just need a venting session."

"I'm not talking anymore," Olivia said. "I'm… I'm really tired. I think I just… I need to go to bed."

And it wasn't like Elliot could assist with that, not when he had a wife and four children awaiting his homecoming. Olivia took a profound, stabilizing breath, feigning serenity, and waited for Elliot to stand, to bid her goodnight.

He was hesitating. Olivia sniffled, delicately. "Do I need to walk you to the door or can you show yourself out?"

"I can stay, if you want," Elliot offered.

"Stay where? Here, all night?" It was Olivia's opportunity to roll her eyes. "I'm not sure Kathy would like that."

"She doesn't have to know," Elliot said and subsequently, cringed. "Okay, that came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that. I just mean… you look like you could use a friend. Besides, I'm really tired, too. I'm not sure if I'd be able to make it home without falling asleep."

The excuse was pathetic; Olivia was a bit offended that Elliot even dared apply it. "Do I need to call Kathy, tell her to come get you?"

"No, you don't," Elliot said. "I'm not trying to pry, Liv. I'm not trying to invade your space. I'm not gonna hurt you or do anything that Kathy has to worry about… you know that. I just want to be here for you tonight as… as your partner. I want to make sure you're safe."

"I am safe. Plummer's dead, remember?" Olivia did not mention the theories of suicide that continued to richocet off her cerebellum. She never had less authority over her own body, her own brain.

"I know," Elliot agreed. "I know but I also know you're stubborn as hell and probably not telling me even half of what's going on right now."

Had Olivia not been in the midst of a mental breakdown, she likely would have smirked. Elliot was not wrong. The sky was falling, though, so Olivia merely prevailed in her silence. This was a confirmation in itself.

Elliot took out his cell phone, and pressed the device to his ear. When the receiving line picked up, the elder detective spoke calmly. "Hey, Kathy. Hey, it's me. Look… I'm probably not gonna be home tonight… yeah, everything's fine. You know, Olivia had a stalker this week and she was… she was actually almost killed today so I need to make sure she's okay and then give some statements, do some paperwork… no, that's okay… yeah, I will. Thanks, baby. I love you, too… bye."

The connection was adjourned and Olivia scowled at her partner. "I was almost killed today?! Really?!"

"It's the truth. You had a gun pointed at you. I don't think Kathy realizes just how often that happens in our line of work and I don't intend on letting her find out," Elliot said.

"Yeah, well… that's not what it sounded like. She probably thinks I got shot, that I'm in the hospital or something…"

"Nah, she doesn't think that. She knows I would be losing my mind if that happened. Trust me, Liv… everything's okay. I'm not lying to her. I have no reason to lie to her; there's nothing to hide."

"Except that you're spending the night in another woman's apartment," Olivia countered.

Elliot shrugged. "Just being with my friend, who I know would do the same thing for me if I had something rough going on."

He was not incorrect. There was a terse hiatus, an interval that insinuated a shift between the colleagues. Olivia, at least, could sense the fluctuation, and she was unsure whether her heart palpitations were generated by anxiety, or something else.

Elliot broke the silence, seconds later. "Okay, so… you said you wanted to go to bed?"

"I guess," Olivia said. Sleep had been penciled into her agenda, but now that Olivia was faced with the task, leeriness had conquered her. Slumber was difficult to come by, even on benign evenings, thanks to Olivia's occupation. Tonight would inevitably be ruthless.

What would be worse… staying awake for hours, growing increasingly paranoid or falling unconscious quickly, and then rising to vivid, intense nightmares?

Olivia would postpone that decision indefinitely. If Elliot was going to stick around, the first priority was his sleeping arrangements. Olivia moved off the sofa, tentatively; she retrieved two spare pillows and a comforter from her miniscule linen closet.

"Here. If you're really going to stay, I hope you know you're sleeping on the couch."

"Of course," Elliot agreed, accepting the bedding. He remained vertical. He unbuckled his holster, leisurely, and dumped his gun onto the adjacent coffee table.

Olivia found herself gazing at the weapon. She didn't want to kill herself. She wasn't sure why the revolver was so intoxicating, the premise of suicide, inviting. All Olivia knew was that she was never going to sleep, not with Elliot's gun in the general vicinity.

She settled herself back on the loveseat, curled into a defensive orb. Elliot glanced at Olivia. "You want to watch TV for a little bit, get your mind distracted?"

Confrontation had been the obstacle from the genesis of Olivia's panic attack… being alone with her destructive thoughts. Yes, distraction was likely a good solution. She nodded and passed the remote to Elliot. "You can put on whatever you want."

"I'm sure we can find something we both like," Elliot said and flicked through a few channels until he located a repeat episode of The Amazing Race. "Is this okay?"

The program was one of Olivia's usual selections. She nodded again, and curled up on the end of the couch, her vertebrae resting against a fluffy cushion. Couples in India were rowing boats towards the famous Jah Mahal palace. It was one of many destinations worldwide that Olivia wished to visit someday… despite her bilingual abilities and interest in various cultures, Olivia had unfortunately never traveled outside of the United States. It was difficult enough to maintain a life in New York City, much less on a detective's salary.

The Amazing Race progressed and Olivia's eyelids grew heavy. Whenever she was on the verge of losing consciousness, though, Olivia lurched back to vigilance. For some, intangible reason, the concept of falling asleep seemed immoral. Dangerous. Olivia was brimming with agitation and Elliot's presence on the futon was worsening the project.

What if Olivia awoke, screaming with nightmares? She would be incapable of ever showing her face in the SVU squadroom again. Besides, Olivia needed to go to bed; there was nowhere except the sofa for Elliot to sleep… yet a small portion of the tough, confident detective dreaded isolation.

She would never admit it, of course. Olivia's intention was to retain any shred of dignity she had left. But the ego didn't lie and Olivia's intellect was speaking to her, loud and clear: she was scared.

Scared of being alone. Scared of her own vulnerability. Scared of living through another experience similar to that of Eric Plummer, and scared that, if Elliot departed, Olivia would do something stupid, something permanent that couldn't be retracted.

When The Amazing Race concluded, Elliot switched off the television. "Okay… time for bed, I think, Liv."

"No, don't turn it off yet," Olivia begged. "I'm… I'm watching…"

"You've fallen asleep twice," Elliot chuckled. "And this show that's coming on is dumb."

"I like this kind of shit. It's stupid, I know, but it's a nice change… you know, seeing people whose only problem is how much money they're about to win."

"Okay, fair point. Let's at least cover you up, though," Elliot said, grabbing a folded blanket off the couch's arm. "You've got to be freezing."

Honestly, Olivia had been feeling hot most of the night, maybe due to her ongoing nerves and queasiness, but she had entirely forgotten about her attire, a white tank top that barely concealed her cleavage. Olivia glanced down at herself, briefly, and then stared at Elliot, who was watching, too. "What are you looking at, Stabler?"

"I… nothing. You just look cold," Elliot said and draped the quilt over Olivia. The motion sent tingling vibrations through her spine. "Look, it's okay if you want to fall asleep here. I won't take your bed, don't worry."

"Yeah, but where would you sleep?"

"I'll figure something out. Don't worry, Liv. It's not your problem."

Olivia blinked. She was unsure if it was her imagination, or her severe sleep deprivation, but it appeared that Elliot had scooted significantly closer to her on the divan. He was being respectful; Elliot knew better than to touch his partner without consent… but yes, the gesture was definitely there…

The young man featured on the game show was jumping around like an idiot; he had won something substantial. Outside, rain was falling; droplets could be heard smacking the windows and the noise seemed to drown out the chaos of Manhattan. Olivia sunk deeper into the cocoon of warmth surrounding her… she was unable to combat the encroaching darkness… Elliot Stabler was at her side and for one singular moment, Olivia was at peace.

a/n: okay, so yes, i am aware that that was very dark. please don't send hate because i am very nervous about publishing this in the first place but as someone who has struggled immensely with mental illness (including ptsd) myself, i firmly believe that anyone call fall victim to these dark thoughts and that first responders like olivia and elliot probably struggle more than movies and television shows.

i had originally planned on this just being a one-shot but i think there might be a chapter two, because i would like to expand on this a bit and write olivia's thoughts the morning after this incident. it definitely will not go beyond a chapter two though. please don't forget to review and let me know what you think! thank you all so much for reading. xoxo