A/N: This is part 2 and the finale of my post-episode story for Wrath. Enjoy the angst!

Night terrors. They were frequent visitors of anyone who spent time in the Special Victims Unit. Olivia had endured so many in the past three years that normal dreams had become the rarity. The visions that materialized after a deadly force incident, though, were rumored to be on a distinct level of horror so as Olivia drifted into limbo, she was sure, beyond a shadow of doubt, that she was bound for a traumatizing night.

A night in which she was haunted by her deceased victims… Clayton Derricks… Carmella Barrantes… Peter Cordell… Bruce Derricks… Eric Plummer. Primarily, Eric Plummer… the blood patterns splattered upon the plaster of Janice Kendrick's walls…

And then, the next thing Olivia knew, beams of sunlight were shining through her living room windows, coating her apartment with warmth and remedy. Olivia's neck was aching and she felt a bit hungover, emotionally, like the previous day had consisted of a particularly heinous case. She shifted, slightly, attempted to roll over in bed, and then came to the conclusion that she was not in bed at all. Olivia was on the couch, and her head was resting on not a pillow, but another human.

The thoughts registered in her mind and simultaneously, a familiar voice echoed from nearby: "Hey… morning, sunshine."

Olivia's breath hitched; she flew into an upright position. Elliot Stabler was resting on the sofa, adjacent to her, and apparently Olivia had been sleeping… on him? With him, in the literal sense?!

"W-What are you doing here?!" Olivia asked, frantically. "What happened?!"

"Nothing happened. You're fine. You just slept in a little. How are you feeling?"

"I… what?! Am I late for work?!"

"No," Elliot said. "No, Cragen gave you the day off, remember? And I'm going in late, if at all. You'll need to go talk to the shrink in a couple hours but that can wait."

Olivia paused. Her memory was foggy, thanks to acute hibernation, and it temporarily failed her. And then, like a bomb, the events of Friday came flashing back into existence… the revengeful homicides… the shooting… Olivia's overwhelming guilt and subsequent panic attack. She moaned aloud and leaned her head into her hands. "Oh, God…"

"Yeah, but it's okay," Elliot said. "You need some time off, Liv. Cragen agrees. Don't worry, your job is waiting for you whenever you want to come back."

If I want to come back, Olivia mused, internally. The concept of quitting her job, of leaving the Special Victims Unit was extreme, and she was aware of this. If an individual had presented the idea to Olivia one week prior, she would have laughed off their remark. Olivia was bred for this occupation. The career was written in her blood.

Eric Plummer had damaged her, though, in more ways than one, and from what Olivia could recall of the anterior twelve hours, her behavior in the presence of Elliot had been unforgivable. She had never felt so utterly humiliated… so absolutely weak. Superior to all, had been the total loss of control. It was terrifying, immobilizing.

"Yeah, okay, um… well, thanks for staying but you should probably get going now," Olivia said, staggering off the couch. She walked towards the door, hoping that Elliot would catch her hint. "Come on, Kathy's probably wondering where you are."

"Kathy knows where I am," Elliot said, not budging from his former position. "And relax, there's no reason to rush. Let's at least have some breakfast first. Do you have any food in this house?"

Olivia narrowed her eyes, gazed at her partner. He was not easily intimidated. All the same, Olivia was going to give it her best effort, because the claustrophobic sensations were intensifying. She needed her privacy, her space to… do what? Succumb to her anguish, plot her suicide?

"Um… yeah, I should have something."

She maneuvered through her miniature kitchen. The breakfast supplies were minimal. Olivia typically skipped the meal altogether, or grabbed something meager in route to the precinct. There was half a box of oatmeal remaining, though, and she displayed the package. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah, I've got it," Elliot said; he took the container from Olivia's hands. "Why don't you get cleaned up? Drink some water, make sure your stomach's okay."

It was not a suggestion as much as an order and while Olivia could have refused, she was still feeling uneasy and Olivia's culinary skills were questionable on their best day. She escaped into the bathroom where, twelve hours earlier, the mental breakdown had originated.

One day later, she was unsure if her outlook differed. The rapid, suicidal ideation was gone, so that was an obvious improvement, but Olivia was conflicted in regard to other principles. Her mind persisted in recalling an instance immediately following Plummer's death.

He had collapsed against the wall, fluids pooling around his figure. Involuntarily, Olivia had inclined her head, examined the deceased perpetrator. There was a horrifying, gut-wrenching moment of realization… I did that. This man was alive and now he's dead and it's my fault. I killed him.

Olivia was thankful that Internal Affairs had confiscated her gun, grateful that Elliot's weapon was briefly out of sight.

But then the vicious cycle commenced. What was Olivia doing, working in law enforcement, if she disintegrated like this after one turbulent case? It was nothing she could confess to the SVU shrink, not if she wanted to keep her job. The dilemma was, Olivia was uncertain whether she should remain employed at SVU. Could she point a gun at another suspect? Could she cope with the everyday trauma without eating her revolver?

Her hands were quivering. Olivia inhaled deeply to steady them, and then washed her face and donned a light blue hoodie over her neutral tank top. By the time that she exited the lavatory, Elliot was spooning oatmeal into two bowls from Olivia's cabinet.

"That um… that smells good," Olivia lied. The food was not uninviting; it was better than anything Olivia could have cooked, but her appetite had not fully returned.

"Well, that's a good sign. Feeling better?" Elliot beamed and Olivia smiled, tightly, in response. "Okay, well… you got any toppings for this or do you just eat it plain?"

"Um… there might be some blueberries and raspberries in the fridge, and maybe some peanut butter in the cabinet to the left."

Elliot continued snooping, and found the necessary ingredients. He decorated his oats with every morsel available, and then carried his bowl into the living room. Olivia joined him, albeit timidly, and perched herself on the contrasting end of the sofa. She blended her food quietly, swirled her spoon idly in the basin. She did not consume any oatmeal.

"So," Elliot said, following a brief interlude, and Olivia startled. "Did you know you speak different languages in your sleep? You were mumbling half the night, something in French I think."

"Oh… um… sorry," Olivia said; a pink flush was creeping up her cheeks.

"No, don't apologize," Elliot said and grinned. "It was cute."

"Cute?!"

"It was… just don't apologize, okay?"

Olivia was scowling. Similar to her quirk about being called sweetheart, she loathed being described as cute. The rationale behind this preference was unknown, but tension was building in Olivia's chest. "Look, did I… did I sleep here all night, like… on you?"

"I… maybe," Elliot admitted, his own complexion was reddening and thus, revealing the truth. "It's okay, though. You were scared last night; I could tell you didn't wanna be by yourself."

"I wasn't scared," Olivia said. She racked her brain for a new subject, one that preferably did not involve her atrocious meltdown. "So, um… so I guess you're gonna get going once you finish eating all my food?"

Elliot smirked. "You're really trying to get rid of me, aren't you?"

"No, I just… it's Saturday. You should probably get home, spend some time with your wife and kids," Olivia said.

"Yeah, and I will. It's only 9:00 though. I guarantee you they're all still in bed."

Of course they are… Olivia sighed. Her limbs were trembling anew; the vibrations were announced by Olivia's spoon. It rattled against her bowl like a reptile's sly warning. She thrust her breakfast aside, any degree of famine abruptly drained from her body.

Elliot surveyed his partner. "What's wrong; aren't you hungry?"

"No," Olivia said, honestly.

"Are you feeling sick again?"

"No."

"Well, then tell me what's going on," Elliot pressed. His features shifted into a worried contortion. "Liv, you're shaking."

"Just go home, Elliot," Olivia begged.

"No. I'm not going anywhere, not until you tell me what's wrong and don't you dare say I'm fine."

Olivia scoffed. It was almost frightening, how thoroughly Elliot perceived her. There had been no one, not in her entire life, that could predict Olivia's words and mechanisms. Yet still, she found herself elusive. How could she tell Elliot that she was cowardly, too much so for this job? How could Olivia add to the chagrin she had imposed upon herself the night before?

She sat on her hands to lull the convulsions and professed reality, barely above a whisper: "I… I don't think I can do this anymore, Elliot."

It was difficult to miss the expression of horror on Elliot's face, regardless of his effort to conceal it. "What's that supposed to mean? That you're gonna quit your job?"

"I… I don't know. We don't even know if I'm gonna have a job to quit when this is all over, but… yeah, maybe," Olivia said.

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because… because like I said… I don't think I can do this anymore," Olivia repeated. "I know I'm an emotional person and I've always been told that's what makes me a good cop but… is it? Does a good cop get this torn up after one case?"

Elliot frowned; his eyes appeared to have darkened, significantly. "I… I don't know, Liv but to be fair, this wasn't a normal case. This was your first time using deadly force and it was a fucked up situation."

"Yeah, but there are no normal cases, Elliot," Olivia said. "It's SVU; nothing is normal. And I just… I don't know if… if I could point a gun at someone again. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," Elliot said. His tone was casual, understanding, and it surprised Olivia, who assumed her opinions were ludicrous. "Yeah, I get it, Olivia. And actually, it's my turn to talk now. Is that okay?"

That's more than okay, Olivia thought but she did not voice this statement aloud. She simply nodded.

And so Elliot launched into his tale. "The first time I used deadly force was in 1993. I'd just started at SVU and we'd just found out that Kathy was pregnant with the twins. By all accounts, everything was great in my life. I had my dream job, a perfect family. And then we had this case… a kidnapping case, where this kid's biological father was holding her hostage. He had already killed his ex-wife and eventually turned his gun on the kid. I had to shoot him. He was a sick bastard, but he was still a person, and if that wasn't enough, as soon as I fired the shot, his kid started screaming, asking why I'd killed their dad."

Elliot halted, his pitch had begun to waver. Olivia shook her head, torn between disgust at the perpetrator and pity for her friend. "That's not your fault, El."

"Yeah, I know," he agreed. "I had to do it. If I didn't, he would have killed his daughter. But the fact was, I'd taken human life. I went home that night and drank myself into oblivion. Kathy was mad, because she couldn't drink, being pregnant, and she'd wanted me to stay sober with her. She wanted me to be happy and excited about the twins. But I couldn't help it… I felt like a murderer."

Olivia stared at her partner. How did he manage to rearrange her jumbled thoughts into comprehensible structure?

"Anyway," Elliot continued. "I was a wreck for days… weeks. I thought about quitting… not just SVU, but I thought about quitting being a cop, period."

"What made you change your mind?" Olivia asked.

"I don't know. I had some days off, while IAB investigated the shot. And then I just… I knew I had to go back. I couldn't let my reservations get in the way of helping the victims."

Olivia nodded again. It was the idyllic way of thinking. Elliot's attitude was clearly valid, healthy, and Olivia was ashamed at herself for failing to share that mindset. She pinched off a segment of the skin covering her wrist, squeezed until it was painful, and then squeezed some more. She attempted to force the mantra inside her brain. The victims. The victims are more important than your pathetic trauma.

But Elliot's speech persisted. "That being said, Liv… as much as I'd love for you to stay, I can't make that decision for you. You know the average lifespan of a SVU detective is two to four years. You've been here for three. If you feel like it's taking more than it's giving you… maybe it's time to move on."

"Move onto what?" The Manhattan Special Victims Unit was all Olivia had ever desired. She couldn't envision another career. In fact, two years ago, when a psychiatrist had visited the precinct and assessed each of the SVU employees, Olivia was inquired about her backup plan. What would she do, if being a sex detective was no longer viable? She had been unable to answer the shrink.

"I don't know," Elliot said, quietly. "Like I said, I can't make that decision for you. You know what's best for you."

"I really don't," Olivia said. "That's the problem. I've always known what I wanted to do but… if I fail at this, at the one thing I've always thought I could do…"

"You haven't failed at anything, Liv," Elliot interjected. "You need to remember that. You're having a rough time dealing with the fallout but you did the right thing yesterday, shooting Plummer."

"I… I've been trying to tell myself that." Olivia's windpipe was constricting, her lower lip, quaking. She bit down on it, penetrating the membrane. More waterworks were unacceptable.

"Yeah, because you know it's true," Elliot said; he inched closer to Olivia on the sofa and slipped a gentle arm around her shoulders. Olivia did not have the stamina, mental or physical, to resist. "Come on, Liv… stop kicking yourself. What if, when I shot that guy, the kidnapper, we found out afterwards his gun had been unloaded?"

"D-Don't do that, Elliot; don't use reverse psychology on me. It's not gonna work…"

"No, I want you to answer the question," Elliot demanded. "What if I shot this guy, killed him in front of his daughter, and it turned out his gun was unloaded?"

"THEN I DON'T KNOW!" Olivia shrieked. The emotions were coming now, bubbling through her surface, and Olivia was powerless against them. "WHAT IF THE GUY HAD BEEN FALSELY ACCUSED OF KIDNAPPING AND IT WAS YOUR TESTIMONY THAT PUT HIM IN PRISON WHERE HE GOT RAPED?! WHAT IF HE KIDNAPPED THE GIRL NOW TO GET REVENGE ON YOU?! WHAT IF YOU WERE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MOTHER'S DEATH?!"

So much for an absence of waterworks… Olivia was sobbing again; she doubled over in her seat, shielding her distraught face from Elliot.

Elliot, whose palm returned to its former motion, tenderly massaging Olivia's back. "Shh… stop. You don't really believe that, do you?"

"D-Do you really think I'd… I'd be acting like this if… if I didn't?!" Olivia snapped.

"I don't know but that's crazy, Liv," Elliot insisted. "You can't put this on yourself. Plummer was given a fair trial. Your testimony was just one piece of evidence the jury took into consideration and everything you said… it made sense at the time. Please… don't do this to yourself."

Olivia elevated her head. She sniffled, subtly and scrubbed at her corneas. Elliot's phrases were nothing new. She had heard identical guidance from Cragen, from Alex, from Munch and Finn. Olivia's psyche had not improved. But she could not cry, not for one second longer. She couldn't live with herself, her dramatic blubbering, the constant mortification.

The tears were evidently wearing on Elliot, too. He sighed. "Come on, Liv. Come on, let's get you up to the station to see the shrink. It's almost 10:00. Huang or someone will be there."

"Right, and I'm sure that'll fix things," Olivia quipped, bitterly. "Cause I know you're a huge fan of psychiatrists."

"Hey, I've had some bad experiences but I've had some good ones, too," Elliot allotted. "It might help, you know… it helped me a little, after my first deadly force."

That was a falsehood. Elliot knew Olivia well, but the latter could sense her partner's conscience, too, and Elliot's fib was obvious. The odds that he had found his mandatory therapy session beneficial were slim to none. He was spewing madness in an attempt to rid himself of Olivia's burdens.

The comical aspect, though, was that Olivia advocated for counseling on a daily basis. She told her victims that therapy was essential, if they wanted to heal and Olivia had a lengthy document in her squadroom desk that listed accredited psychologists in Manhattan.

Throughout the final years of Serena Benson's life, Olivia had presented her with the numbers of those counselors. She had pleaded with her mother to seek help, because recovery was possible. But now that she was confronted with the task herself, Olivia was hesitant. What could she gain from therapy? Olivia wasn't going to talk. She couldn't talk, not about Eric Plummer and certainly not about her violent heritage.

"Leave me alone, Elliot," Olivia said.

His feedback was short and concise, yet undeniably firm. "No."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I know how I felt after using deadly force. And that situation wasn't even as complicated as this one. And like you said, you're an emotional person, Olivia. I'm not saying that's a bad thing; I'm just saying it as a fact so… so no, I'm not leaving you alone, not until you get assessed by a real shrink."

Olivia looked at Elliot; she felt a crease develop between her brows. Was her partner a psychic? That was the only logical explanation for his bizarre comments. Elliot seemed to interpret her suicidal ideation.

Unless… no…

"Elliot," Olivia breathed. Her voice was unsteady.

"What?"

"I… I don't really know how to ask this. But… but the way you're treating me… it's like… it's like you think I'm gonna hurt myself or something. And I'm not, but… but is that how you felt? After your first deadly force?"

Olivia anticipated a beat, perhaps a comeback tainted with rage as Elliot denied the accusations. But she received neither. Elliot smiled, good-naturedly, as if Olivia had complimented him.

"Nah… nah, I wouldn't do anything like that. I'm Catholic, remember? Suicide's a sin."

"Yeah…"

Elliot was Catholic but his religious standpoints were far from traditional. In the three and a half years that Olivia had known him, Elliot's beliefs had matured, drastically. He was open to the idea of abortion, in cases of rape and incest. Elliot supported the LGBTQ community, and did not consider divorce immoral.

"Look," Elliot said; he rearranged himself on the couch, uncomfortably, as if he was inaugurating a complex revelation. "Remember what I said yesterday, about how I trust you? How I don't want you to think otherwise?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, that's true. That's completely true, and the only reason I came over here last night was… well, obviously I could tell you were upset but I wanted to make sure you were okay because… because of my old partner."

This was unfamiliar territory. Olivia faintly recalled the name she had heard floating around the precinct on various occasions. "Alphonse?"

"No, Alphonse was only here for about a year," Elliot said. "Before him, it was Dave Ruzzetti. I was with him for years, for… for like, four years, I guess. We were friends. Really good friends and then one day… do you remember the Debbie Cooper homicide?"

Olivia signaled the affirmative. She had not been at the Special Victims Unit in 1996. The Debbie Cooper case, however, was impossible to neglect. The child's brutal murder was broadcast nationally, and her assailant was never identified. It was a cold case, one that consistently haunted Elliot.

The agony was palpable in his irises as he spoke. "Yeah… Dave made himself crazy over Debbie. One night, he invites me out for a few drinks. I said no… I was tired, and Kathy had been up with the twins so she needed me. I went home, and the next day, Dave's not at work. Cragen calls me into his office…"

"No…" The trajectory of this narrative had struck Olivia like a runaway truck.

"Yep… Dave ate his gun. He ate his gun and I know it's not my fault, I know he was fucked up in a thousand different ways but… dammit, Liv… I won't ever forgive myself and I can't let it happen again."

It was a rare occurrence; Olivia was rendered speechless. She gaped at Elliot, who was hurting in a way she had never witnessed. What was the appropriate course of action? Was Olivia supposed to hug him, comfort him?

No, Elliot wouldn't want that. Elliot required one thing from Olivia and that was for her to remain alive. Safe. Mentally healthy. Silently, Olivia fashioned a vow. She would starve off any suicidal tendencies. She would fight the demons, battle the deadly forces that threatened to consume her, and stay, stay, stay… for Elliot.

For Elliot, for the victims, and maybe someday, for herself.

"Hey," Olivia said; she brushed her fingers across Elliot's forearm, returning the compassion he had offered her for the past twelve hours. "Listen to me… I'm not gonna do anything like that, okay? You don't have to worry about me."

"I know," Elliot said. Like the notion had never occurred to him. Like Olivia hadn't been eyeing his weapon on the coffee table last night, praying for the opportunity to stop the misery.

A physical cramp emerged in Olivia's stomach; she felt like she had been punched in the gut.

"Okay, um… well, I guess I'll get ready, then, if you're gonna drive me up to see Huang or whoever."

Elliot's eyes had been focused on the living room carpet; he lifted his head and gazed at Olivia. "Hold on… are you sure you're ready? Are you sure there's nothing else you need to talk about… with me?"

"No, I'm done talking," Olivia said. She nudged a feeble smirk onto her rectified face. "And can we make a deal, Elliot?"

"What kind of deal?"

"We never discuss anything that happened last night ever again."

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please don't forget to review. Please do not forget that you are loved and that if you are struggling with mental illness, help is available. Your life and your future is worth it. XOXO, Madison