FRACTURED

Set two years after the shooting in the season 12 finale. In a world where Eliot had chosen not to put in his papers but instead accepted a transfer to another department. He and Olivia have remained friends, but much of the rest of his life has subsequently unravelled. As Eliot battles his demons, Olivia is harbouring secrets of her own...

He answered the door, head hanging. Without a word, I walked into his lair, helped myself to a beer and planted myself on his couch - in my usual spot, of course.

He sat opposite me, in his throne. As he sipped his poison of choice, he avoided all eye contact. He'd been unusually absent for over a week now. Something was wrong.

He had always been the quiet type. A silent poet. What would take some thousands of words to covey, he would express in a single look. And so our relationship resembled somewhat of an excavation at times, with me, the knowledge hungry discoverer, digging for answers in his muted stares, and him, the rock, with a hard and tough exterior covering a rather volatile core. While I rarely got the words I was looking for, I became an expert at reading his eyes. He could lie, but his eyes never could. They were the purest part of him. Sometimes, if I looked deep enough, I swear I could almost see through all the darkness and pain. The darkness and pain that had corrupted his once pure heart. Deep into those eyes, I could see the man I knew he still was.

'You don't write. You don't call. Some might say you're avoiding me, Stabler.'

'Sorry. I've been off the grid,' he said, taking his newly smashed phone from his shirt pocket and placing it on the table. Nothing was unfamiliar about this scene. Destructive. Distracted. Detached. Elliot was always at least one of these things, but, more often than not, he was a combination of all three.

'Dare I ask?'

'What can I say? It's been a long week.'

'It's only Wednesday, El.'

'Exactly' he sniggered. That was the defence mechanism that he'd perfected over the years. The ironic, cover up snigger. The laugh that said 'I'm okay' when the reality of the situation was anything but okay. But, as I said, I could read his eyes and those blue pearls certainly weren't finding humour in anything.

'So, are you going to tell me what's wrong? Or are we going to sit here and painfully dance around the issue for the next few hours? Either way, I know you'll tell me eventually - so the choice is yours.' As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I had nailed it. He gave me one of those love/hate stares. On one level I could tell he was happy that I understood him, but on another, I could tell he hated how vulnerable that could make him.

'Just life things. Work is… Well, you know. And my kids are… Well, not kids anymore. And I'm about to be officially single for the first time in thirty years. And… I just… I don't know' he said as his initial eye contact faded into a thousand-yard stare. This was textbook, Elliot Stabler. It happened every time. That man has shot me a thousand different looks over the years, but ask him to put his feelings into words and he just dries up. Every time.

Maybe he sensed my disappointment and frustration, or maybe he genuinely wanted to talk. While ordinarily, these conversations were like drawing blood from a stone or waiting for that first drop of rain after a summer drought, this exchange seemed much easier. I can't explain it, but for whatever reason, he lifted his head, reinstated eye contact and said, 'and then, at the weekend… Well, my mother died.' He paused, but before I could comfort him, he closed his emotional doors. 'I'm not really sure how I should feel. All I do know is that everything is changing, and I don't know how I feel about it.'

'I'm so sorry Elliot. Are you okay?' I regretted my words as soon as they left my mouth. Are you okay? Was one of those stupid questions that you asked strangers to make them believe that you cared, it wasn't something you asked your best friend. Especially when the answer was so obvious.

'Not really,' he uttered.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'Not really,' he said while simultaneously exhaling through his nose. I almost expected there to be flames. With that breath, I knew that the moment had passed. Any small window I had into his heart was now out of reach, and no ladder in the world could help me. His emotional doors were filmy closed for business.

While it felt like he was creating an unbridgeable distance between us, I thought I'd try. I stood up from the comfort and safety of my nest and invaded his. As I sat down beside him, I put my hand on his knee, waited for him to look me in the eye and said, 'It might feel like everything is changing, but remember, I'm still here. This will never change.' I wanted him to know that even though we hadn't been partners in years, we were still partners for life.

Still maintaining eye contact, he placed his hand on top of mine as his top lip curved into the faintest of smiles. This was how 'the man with no voice' thanked me in his own way. It meant more to me than any words I had heard before.

And in that moment, Eliot was no longer the only person in the room who didn't know how they felt.