Author's Note: Ahem. I have no excuses for this one. Just trying to drown my sorrows in the hopelessness of ever having any conceivable E/O action on the actual show in poorly-written fanfiction late at night. Also trying to make up for the flagrant lack of in-characterization of poor Stabler and Benson in the SVU genre. Not saying that I am the master, but a little effort I would say goes a long way. I tried to keep them as true as I could, because that's what they deserve.
Elliot Stabler was dimly aware that there would be no redemption today. There was no backup, no SWAT squadron moments away, no one even remotely aware of what was taking place.
There was, however, sweat running down his forehead like the bone-chilling recollection dripping through his mind. Gitano. Elliot could see the monster's face now, his beady little eyes furtive as he pressed a gun against the policeman's head. He could see Olivia, his longtime partner, colleague, and friend, almost shaking as she made a decision that could have cost her everything.
"Did you really expect me to cause your death?"
This wasn't supposed to happen. It was all wrong, all reversed and terrible. It was Elliot who held the gun now, and Olivia who was in the grips of yet another psychotic killer who took pleasure in making women scream.
He was another perp, a known rapist and a sadistic killer who had persistently slipped the grasp of the law. They had followed him that day on a tip. Olivia had gone undercover to lower his guard, and Elliot had been tailing not far behind. The killer had taken the bait, but he was no ordinary criminal. He'd somehow known the ruse, and he'd grabbed gunless, badgeless Olivia and shoved a pistol against her head, screaming for the cops to come out. It was a scene Elliot had been begging God since that incident years ago that he would never have to endure. It had seemed so cut and dry then; Elliot had been ready and willing to die in the name of justice. Now he realized everything important far too late.
"…what about me?"
"El." Olivia's voice was soft and quiet. She knew the decision Elliot would make. She knew everything about him; she'd been with him for over eleven years. She'd seen his blood, sweat, and tears, and knew the man underneath the hard eyes and the cut muscle. She was his friend, dear to him in more ways than even Elliot knew. And now she was in trouble, but Elliot had no deviation from rules to follow, only rigorous training. There was only one option. That was what all his education on the force was saying.
"El," she said again. "It's okay. It's all right. Just take the shot."
Elliot swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat, felt the regret pool in the pit of his stomach. "No, Liv. No. Don't…don't ask me to—"
"Stabler, look at me. Look into my eyes." Those brown eyes that could cut into criminals like they were tissue paper and that could ease away the sorrow of every victim. Those soft eyes that looked back at him meant every word. She was okay with the decision they both knew he would make, and it scared the hell out of Elliot all the more.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
"No. No, no!" The blood was roaring in Elliot's ears. All sounds were clogging in his skull, dimming out rationale and the flood of emotion that threatened his wellbeing. He could hear himself swearing like a sailor.
"Buddy, hey, don't do it," the perp was saying, half-hysterical, "I'll blow her head off before you even have the chance. She's dead, buddy, she's dead! Don't do it!"
Olivia's eyes were closing, accepting. There was just one more thing she had to do.
"Elliot," Olivia was saying, admitting her final secret, "I love you." The words left precisely at the moment the bullets did.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
"Aghhhh!"
Three shots rang out, and two bodies fell, dead before they hit the ground. A third one followed soon after, slumped to the ground in absolute horror. A serial criminal was dead and would go unmourned. The other, however…
Blood pooled around the body of a spectacular police officer, her kind brown eyes filled to the brim with forgiveness. They continued to gaze at Elliot, half-lidded, still trying to reach out to him even when she was gone. Even when she'd been killed with his own gun, by his own volition.
No, it hadn't been his choice. There had been no other options, right?
This wasn't supposed to happen.
"No," Elliot was whispering, his hands shaking. He dragged himself to her side and touched her cooling hand. This couldn't be happening; it was all too much. The last confession out of his partner's mouth had destroyed him. Soundless screams were wrenching out his throat, emerging as stifled groans coming from somewhere deep in his core.
She was gone.
They found him like that, holding her hand. They had to physically remove him, and they couldn't get a word out of his mouth as a statement. When they were zipping up her body bag, they had to restrain him. He left in cuffs, and there were murmurs from the men on the force. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was a shame, she'd been a good cop. There was still hope for Stabler, though. There was a good egg, there.
They didn't know. It was too late. Like an eggshell, he was broken.
This wasn't supposed to happen.