A/N: I'm taking a break from writing Akin to work on this short piece which is my version of what happens after the last episode of Season 12, Smoked. Many thanks to Christina (munchkin_79) for letting me bounce ideas off of her and reading it through. This should be short, about three chapters total, and I hope to get it all posted before the new season begins.

1

He woke with his head pounding and his stomach churning. His mouth felt as dry as cotton and tasted like a thousand Marines had been marching through it with dusty boots. I must be coming down with something he thought but then his groggy mind began to recall the events of the night before and he remembered why he felt so miserable: shot after shot of whiskey, chased with pint after pint of beer, feeling so desperate for oblivion that he ignored the bartender's concerned looks and the stares of the people on the stools around him. Shot after shot, until he felt a gentle hand on his arm and turned to see the clear blue of his wife's eyes, full of sympathy as she came to take him home to the comfort and safety of his family.

His mind drifted back further to the reason why he'd been in the bar drinking alone and trying to achieve oblivion. The shooting. It hadn't been a bad dream. He gave a low, anguished groan and rolled over; burying his face in his pillow as the images came flooding back.

He crouched beside Jenna, supporting her head with his hand as the light drained from her eyes and the life from her body and a pool of her blood formed on the floor next to her. "I just bought it on the street," she choked out, her sweet face a collage of shock and confusion. "It was easy."

She bought a gun and came to finish the job they'd only just begun to do: bring her mother's killer to justice. Except that it hadn't been just one killer, it had been a clusterfuck of warped men with their own agendas that added up to one terrible crime. Olivia had led her right to them, walked her to the holding cell and pointed them out like specimens in a zoo. Why had she done that? You never gave grieving victims access to perps, not even when they were sweet, seemingly innocent teenagers like Jenna. The girl had taken a long look at them, nodded and let Liv walk her back to the door, but Liv hadn't escorted her out, hadn't followed through to make sure she was okay, just let her go. Who could be okay after just seeing the men who had killed her mother? A minute later the girl was back, the gun firing from her shaking hand as all hell broke loose.

He looked across the room to where Liv was bent over the still, bloody body of Sister Peg. Sister Peg! Another innocent life lost.

His eyes locked with Olivia's as they each bent over their respective victims-that-shouldn't-have-been. She looked as stunned and confused as he felt, but he thought he also caught a glimpse of doubt. She knew she'd screwed up.

"Elliot, she's gone, come on, man," said a gentle voice beside him and then Fin was helping him up, leading him to the other side of the room, away from the bodies. Distance didn't matter; it was a sight he was never going to forget, a child dying in his arms, shot by his own hand.

He fell back against the wall hard, suddenly unsure if his legs would hold him. His body was shaking, vibrating like a tuning fork. I just shot a kid. All around him people were talking and phones were ringing off the hook, but all he could hear was Jenna's soft voice. "It was easy."

The door to the squad room flew open and four EMT's rushed in, eyes darting around the room to assess the scene. One, seeing the look of shock on his face, started toward him but he shook his head, waving him toward the other side of the room where the one perp who wasn't dead was moaning and carrying on. There's no help for me.

Why hadn't he just let her shoot the scum and then disarmed her? Even as the thought ran through his head, he knew the answer. His years of training and experience had kicked in. It was automatic. A gun in the hand of an unstable person was a volatile situation and had to be defused by any means, even lethal force. Second guessing only leads to more deaths. Shoot for the biggest target, the torso, for the best chance of immobilizing an armed perp.

But Jenna hadn't been a perp; she was a victim, the child of a victim. A child. The word kept running through his head and he thought he might vomit. Acid churned in his stomach and rose to fill the back of his throat.

Cragen came over to lead him to his office, his arm around his shoulder. He was talking, but Elliot couldn't make out the words, didn't even try. Jenna's soft whispers still filled his head. "It was easy."

Just as they got to the office door, the squad room swung open again and Tucker was there. Goddamn rat squad. The man had a sixth sense for trouble, or perhaps just a direct line to Elliot's soul. Before the investigator could even open his mouth, Elliot was reaching to his belt to unclip his holster and badge. Fin had taken his gun when he'd led him away from Jenna's still body. So still.

"Here," he said, thrusting them into Tucker's hands, noticing the flare of surprise in the older man's ice blue eyes. He knew the routine by heart and he didn't give a damn anymore. "You can have them. I quit." He waved his hand in the general direction of the others in the room. "They can tell you what happened."

He turned and headed to the crib. He stopped at the sink to splash water on his face, taking deep breaths in an attempt to slow his racing heart beat, avoiding looking in the mirror. He couldn't face himself, literally or figuratively. He wanted to be as far away from this place of death and destruction as quickly as possible. As he was pulling jacket out of his locker, Olivia came into the room, still looking pale.

"Elliot, are you okay? Did I hear you say you quit?"

He held up his hand to stop her voice, her questions, her need. "Don't Olivia, just…don't." He pushed past her to the door but as he walked by, she reached out to grab his arm. He took a step backward to be out of her reach, noting the hurt and confusion that flashed across her face. He didn't, couldn't care. "I can't do this right now, Liv. I can't."

"Can't do what?" Her voice was low, plaintive, on the verge of tears.

He turned and took a step back so he was almost in her face. "I can't hold your hand right now, Liv. I can't comfort you. I just shot that girl because of you. I shot a child."

"Because of me?" Her voice sounded angry but he could see in her eyes that she knew what he meant. "You think this is all my fault?"

He held her gaze for a long moment; sky blue eyes locked with chocolate brown, and then shook his head and repeated "I can't do this right now." He turned abruptly and left the crib, left the squad room, ignoring the people calling out his name. At the door he was held up momentarily by a gurney being wheeled out. The body bag was zipped shut but he could tell by the size that it was Sister Peg. How many cases had they worked together? Now she was dead, all because she'd decided to drop by at the precise moment when a grief stricken young girl had chosen to take the law into her own hands and no one had been on top of their game to stop her. Sister Peg. Where was God's hand in that?

Once on the street, he realized he'd left his car keys in his desk. There was no way he was going back up there and he realized he was in no condition to drive anyway. He needed to be moving, to be expending energy. He needed a drink, something to help him lose himself and drown out the thoughts that were already crowding his mind. I just shot a child. She was Lizzie's age, for God's sake! He made a choking noise and began walking, barely aware of his surroundings.

When he finally tired enough to slow down, he was in an unfamiliar neighborhood of working class bars interspersed with run-down store fronts, Mom & Pop places struggling to stay in business. Perfect. He randomly picked one and entered. Not waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, he made his way to the bar and sat at an empty stool.

"A beer," he demanded when the bartender, an older man with white hair and beard, stopped in front of him. "And a shot of whiskey." He pulled out his wallet, extracted a fifty-dollar bill and laid it on the bar in front of him. "Keep them coming."

Now Kathy was standing at his side. He had no idea how long he'd been here but all that remained of the fifty was a few singles and some change. "Let's go home," she said softly and he could see in her eyes that she knew everything. He was both shamed and comforted by her knowledge.

"How did you know where I was?" He asked, his words so slurred that even he could barely understand them. In the whole time he'd been there, he hadn't spoken a word, despite the bartender's best attempts to engage him in conversation. He wasn't there to talk, but to forget, to erase, to rewind the clock.

Kathy nodded toward the back of the bar. He turned to look, the room spinning at the sudden movement. Squinting, he could see Olivia, Fin and Munch sitting in a booth, looking at him with anxious faces. He felt a rush of anger at the thought that they'd been here all along, spying on him as he tried to erase himself.

"Olivia was worried, so she followed you," his wife said. "She called me a little while ago and told me what happened." Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, El. What a terrible thing."

She took his hands and tugged at him to get him off the stool. "Let me take you home," she repeated and never had a word sounded so appealing. Home. He stood and almost fell. God, he was drunk. He hadn't been this drunk since he'd been a teenager, partying on the dunes on Long Beach and puking behind the grass only to start over again. Kathy slipped her arm around his waist and began moving him toward the door. He felt rather than saw her give an imperceptible shake of her head and turned to see Fin half standing at the booth, ready to come and help. Turning his face away from his co-workers, the last people on earth he wanted to see, he concentrated on making it to the car.

The cool night air helped revive him a little. Kathy unlocked the passenger side and helped him inside, but as she was reaching across him to fasten his seat belt, he pushed her roughly back and away to avoid splashing her as he bent over the curb, coughing and retching. The whiskey burned coming up as much as it had on the way down and in some perverse way he welcomed the raw heat. He'd take physical pain over mental anguish any day.

He heard footsteps as Kathy made her way around to the other side of the car and then she was back, handing him tissues so he could wipe his face. He remained hunched over the curb for a long minute, his elbows on his knees, head in hands, waiting for the heaves to subside. He could hear people coming in and out of the bar, but thankfully, no one approached them.

When his stomach finally felt empty, he eased himself back into the car, resting his head against the back of the seat.

"Do you want to lie down in the back seat?" Kathy asked. He shook his head and she climbed in and started the car. As she reached for the gear shift to put the car into drive, he put out a shaking hand to stop her. She turned to look at him, confused.

"Kath," he whispered. He didn't want to say it out loud, but he had to get it out here, before they left He didn't want to pollute their home with this conversation. She waited, her eyes soft and full of love. "I killed…I had to shoot…a girl. A girl Lizzie's age."

Her eyes filled with tears again. "I know, babe, Olivia told me what happened. I'm so sorry."

"I didn't have a choice," he said in a low voice. "She was out of control, she was shooting everyone. I had to do it. I didn't have a choice."

"No, you didn't," she agreed and at this expression of understanding he moved across the seat to bury his head in her shoulder. She cradled his head in her arms as his body shook with violent sobs. "There was nothing else you could do."

Olivia stood in the window of the bar, watching as her partner brought his guts up on the side of the street. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw him move into his wife's arms. Even from this distance she could see his shoulders moving and realized he was crying. Never in the twelve years of their partnership had she seen Elliot Stabler show this much emotion.

"I just shot that girl because of you." His words echoed in her head. Was he lashing out because he was upset or had it been her fault? She'd been reviewing the events that led up to the shooting in her head all evening. When Jenna had shown up, she'd been so happy to finally be able to tell her they had someone in custody. The arrangement of the new squad room had the holding cells front and center where everyone could monitor them, unlike the old place where they were off to the side. It wasn't standard operating procedure, but she'd walked Jenna over and shown her the three men, the pieces of the complicated puzzle they'd finally begun to unravel that explained why her mother had died. It had never crossed her mind that little Jenna, so fragile and injured, would be capable of such violence.

Always be vigilant; expect the unexpected. The words of her instructor in the Academy echoed in her head. She hadn't followed that most basic of rules today and now her partner sat in a car six feet away from her, his life shattered and wanting nothing to do with her.

Tucker had been furious when Elliot left the station and wanted to send uni's to pick him up, but Cragen had insisted he let him go. When Olivia had started to go after her partner, she'd thought the top of the IAB investigator's head would explode. Cragen had interceded again, reminding Tucker that he had plenty of other people to interview.

"Go, Liv," he'd told her, motioning with his head to the door. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

She'd gotten outside just in time to see Elliot turn the corner and had hurried after him, taking care to stay far enough behind that he didn't spot her. Her precautions were unnecessary; she could have been walking alongside him and he wouldn't have noticed. His face was dark with emotion and his pace was relentless. Not sure she could keep up, she'd been about to radio for a squad car to help her tail him when he finally stopped and went into a bar. Standing outside, she watched as he took a stool and laid a bill on the counter. Satisfied that he intended to remain here for awhile, she pulled out her phone to call Cragen. He promised to send Munch and Fin over as soon as they were finished with IAB. "Just keep an eye on him." He'd advised her. "He needs to be alone right now."

"Let me drive you home, Liv." Said John, coming up behind her. "There's nothing more we can do tonight. Kathy will take care of him."

Olivia nodded slowly but remained at the window, watching as the car pulled away from the curb and drove down the block. Elliot was understandably upset, but he'd calm down and they'd talk tomorrow and get this all straightened out. He just needed a little time.

If she'd realized that this would be the last she'd see of him for almost six months, she probably would have run screaming after the car, begging him to take her with him.