Disclaimer: Law and Order: SVU does not belong to me. I couldn't come up with half their storylines, but I am nothing if not expert in exploiting them shamelessly.

In the Darkness of My Own Circumstance

Rage owned him, took him over. It was no longer a matter of control; Elliot Stabler had been caught in its inexorable currents, they governed his frenzied actions now. When he had seen Breslin thrashing his son, Stabler's first instinct had been to act in defence of the teenager- but once the punch had been thrown his way, he knew only rage. Rational thought was driven out of his head as he responded to the threat before him, as Breslin, a trained officer, turned his violent attention to Stabler for interfering in his discipline of the teen shuddering in the corner.

The red haze of the bloodlust settled over his vision as he traded blow for blow and managed to overpower the infuriated Breslin, but it didn't stop there as it should have. Adrenaline fuelled him, the energy pouring through his veins as blood pumped frantically around his body, raising a staccato beat that thumped insistently in his ears. He kept smashing his fist into Breslin's face, galvanized by demons he refused to acknowledge. It was too late to deny them now, eagerly intent on receiving their due. Trapped in the bloody cycle, Stabler cocked his fist once more-

-but it was a shock to him as someone stayed that final blow. A hand insinuated itself around his wrist, preventing him from striking the other man, and angered by this intrusion as Breslin had been before, Stabler turned on the presence that obstructed him. Strength enhanced by his state of battle readiness, he violently thrust the interloper against the wall, fingers latching onto their shoulders with bruising force as he smashed their head backwards. Stabler raised his fist once more to deliver the blow he had been denied.

"Elliot!" a voice pleaded with him.

It was that impassioned cry that finally penetrated the testosterone clouding his brain and Stabler paused, uncertain of himself, rational thought flooding back to him at last. He looked down at the delicate fingers that were wrapped around his wrists, attempting to keep him from striking- female, he realized, her nails digging into his skin and jolting him into awareness as he slowly raised his head to meet the familiar brown eyes that were huge in a face ashen and apprehensive before him.

His partner. "Liv?" Stabler whispered in a daze.

She let go of him carefully, watching his eyes transform from incensed fury to bewilderment. The brutality of the attack had shaken her- Benson was aware that every person had a breaking point, was vulnerable to snapping under provocation and there were certain circumstances could push a cop over the edge. She had seen the warning signs in her partner for a while, wondered how far to broach the matter with him, but this deliberate cruelty was new and unfamiliar to her, the manner in which Stabler had reduced Breslin to a bloodied, unconscious mass frightening to her. Not to mention his aggressive reaction to her…

But this was not about her. For the moment, she had to think of her partner and how he was coping. Running a shaking hand through her hair, Benson asked, "Elliot, what happened?" It was more to help him clarify matters than out of a need to understand- the situation was fairly obvious. After seeing both Breslins bruised and bloodied, she knew that Elliot's former partner must have been beating up on his son when Elliot intervened, only to involve himself in the commotion.

Her words were faint and distant in his ears as Stabler braced himself against the wall, head lowered near hers in confusion, still in shock over what had happened. Raw emotion clamped over his throat, not allowing him to speak. How could he, after what he had done? Stabler shoved himself away, just as the police officers charged into the room, weapons raised.

"Sir, put your hands up!" they ordered him, just as the lawyer that had alerted Stabler to the bashing rushed in to his defense.

"It wasn't him, not him," the man cried, gesturing towards the unconscious Breslin. "It was the other guy that was beating up the kid."

As voices clamored around him, with the distracted officers arranging for medical aid and transportation for the two Breslins, attention fell away from him and Stabler swiftly left the room, intent on being alone.

Knowing there was nothing she could do to help him now, Benson watched him go.

-------------------------

Later, needing to resolve the distance between them somehow, she made the trip to his place. Elliot had not been involved with the investigation after his tussle with Breslin, but she wanted to apprise him of the discovery they had made and, Olivia admitted to herself, she wanted to check up on him. It didn't do to leave Elliot to brood for long- he usually ended up doing rash things, and as his partner, she took her responsibility to look after his well-being seriously.

"Well?" Benson said nonchalantly as he opened the door to gaze wordlessly at her. "Are you going to invite me in?"

Stabler opened the door wider and walked away. Taking that as invitation, she shrugged and followed him in.

"What are you doing here?" he asked at last, not meeting her eyes.

"I wanted to tell you that you were right about Luke," she said in answer. "He wasn't himself when he attacked Pamela- he'd been on steroids, and was going through withdrawal. Wong says that explains the unnatural aggressiveness he displayed."

"Great. So he has an excuse," Stable said flatly, body tense and restless as he fidgeted.

"Elliot," she said helplessly, wishing she could find the words that would miraculously heal him, yet realizing the futility of such a desire. The pain etched on his face would not disappear with any carefully chosen platitudes she may supply.

"What? Are you going to tell me it wasn't my fault?" he asked cynically.

Benson shook her head decisively. "No. I'm not going to lie to you. We both know you snapped, it didn't have to go that far. That's why cops are put through training so that they are aware of what amounts to reasonable force. But Elliot…" she moved closer to him, wanting to convey the depth of her sincerity and belief in what she was saying, and feeling the distance between them undermined her message, "You didn't start that fight- Breslin was beating his son up, and because of your intervention, you saved Luke from serious injury. Yes, some might agree that you used excessive force, but I know the type of person you are, you couldn't stand by and let him bash the kid senseless. And we've all been in situations where we get caught up in the action and just can't stop ourselves- it doesn't make you a bad cop, it should make you more careful the next time."

"You know what the shrink said?" he asked, the non sequitur leaving her bemused at his change of topic. "Unresolved issues with my father. It's always one of your parents that seem to be responsible for screwing you up later in life."

"Uh-huh," Benson said with a perplexed expression. "You went to the shrink, Elliot? Voluntarily?" her tone was dubious. Cops tended to rate psychologists about as highly as snitches and internal affairs officers, which was to say that they did not think very highly of them at all, and certainly did not go to them for advice. Wong was a different case, of course, he worked with them; it wasn't his job to try and diagnose them. But this…

"Thought it was about time I got professional help," he said with a trace of dark humor lacing his tone, though his expression remained grim. "Of course, it didn't fix me up good as new…I just got a dose of Freud that Munch could have lectured me on. At least I didn't hear anything about session fees…"

"It may not seem like it, but the fact that you're feeling conflicted about this is a good sign," Benson offered. "It would worry me more if you brushed it off like nothing had ever happened."

"But Liv," he looked up at her with an anxious expression, "this could be a latent manifestation of repressed hostility towards my father. How can that be a good thing at all?"

She gave in to the impulse to snicker at the dry, professional tone he had adopted and at last, a smile quirked the corner of his lips as his expression lightened. Still, Benson watched him with concerned eyes, thinking that none of this had been the typical Elliot Stabler response- his mood was all over the chart, monosyllabic and morose one moment, cracking jokes the next. It didn't make sense…

Stabler saw his partner's reflective gaze, and understood what she was thinking. "You're still worried, aren't you?" he said flatly, the smile erased from his face. "You think I'm going to flip out on you any second now." He ignored her refutations of that contentious statement, instead reaching out in an abrupt gesture, fingers lightly brushing her throat. Olivia blinked, he noticed, but didn't flinch from his touch.

There was warm sincerity in her eyes as she assured him, "Elliot, I'm not afraid of you. I don't think you're a threat, so stop-"

"Beating myself up about it?" he interrupted, voice bleak as he thought back to the incident- all he could remember were her eyes, wide and worried as he shook with barely restrained rage, trapping her against the wall. And when he'd snapped out of it… "I didn't- afterwards, you know, I didn't say…"

Benson knew the words of apology must be choking him, the fact that he needed to make amends for turning on her unsettling. "Elliot, it's fine, all right?" she adopted the soothing tone she generally reserved for the victims or families thereof that she interviewed during the course of their investigations.

"No, it's not," he said roughly, but his hands were gentle as he pulled the fabric of her top to the side, examining her shoulder. Benson was startled, but permitted him to continue- if it would help with the closure, she would not object. There was a hint of bruising, Stabler saw remorsefully, her soft skin showing up the rough contact- his doing. He moved to the other shoulder, thumb absently smoothing over the marks he had left, as though trying to erase them. "I'm sorry, Liv," he said to her softly.

She placed her hand over his in comfort, "It's fine," she repeated. "Look at me, Elliot," Benson waited til he complied, then went on, "I'm fine. Now, are we good?"

He regarded her solemnly, felt the crushing weight of his burden ease slightly in the face of her compassion and caring. "I'm good. Are you good?"

"I'm good," she grinned at him light-heartedly as he rearranged the fabric on her shoulders, then stepped back. "I'll see you later, Elliot."

"See you," he echoed, seeing her to the door.

As she strode back to the car, Benson's spirits remained high. Mission accomplished, she thought with satisfaction.