Disclaimer: I do not own Law & Order: Special Victims Unit or its characters, I do however own the storyline because my imagination is pretty fucking awesome...ly horrible.
A/N: I'm back from a very long hiatus, and if any of you still remember me or my stories, well, here's a new one. Short, sweet and to the point.
It wasn't until well passed midnight that he awoke. Sweat; trickling down his forehead and sides of his face. He'd been crying in his sleep, which wasn't a change from his new norm – but this time it was different. It was his gut telling his subconscious to wake up, because she was in trouble. He could feel it in his flesh, his bones, his organs. They were all telling him, "Go to her, go now!" and with good reason.
There were few things he brought with him. A gun. A knife. Car keys.
He'd long forgotten about a jacket, his wallet – something a person would actually think about bringing on a normal day, in normal circumstances. Yet he knows all too well that their relationship was nothing normal. There was no consistencies, patterns, in partial to habitual characteristics they had developed over the course of their partnership. On the bad nights she would drink coffee with nothing in it, and in their down time he would catch her experimenting with herbal teas. Him? Coffee. Straight up, nothing fancy, no double pump sugar free crap – just freshly brewed and in a cup.
Her apartment smelt nothing of coffee. He could actually smell the sweat and unfiltered, humid air from outside the door. His stomach had churned but he reverted back to his old days of policing and pushed aside his emotions, literally leaving them at the door. Or so he had thought. His knees were too full of adrenaline to protest when he kicked down the only entrance into her place. His eyes were too full of hate as he fired two rounds into the man who had her taped up, beaten up and bloodied in her own apartment.
Once in the stomach, hoping he would die a very slow, painful death, and the other in a place he'd never actually shot a man before. The crotch. It wasn't as if he was out of practice, he still visited the firing range every second day, but for some reason, with the New York Times article running through his mind, "LEWIS ACQUITTED OF ALL CHARGES" and the harrowing accounts of those who had been subjected to his sick, sadistic ways, the bullet just ended up there. Lewis had fallen to the floor, clutching for the little life he had left.
He had stormed further into her living area, kicked the gun out of reach and watched silently as Lewis choked and struggled for life. If he could smile, he would have, but the moment hadn't called for it – there were too many things to still take care of.
"I'll be with you always, Olivia." The sick bastard had gasped out, and all the breath left him as his body shut down, once and for all.
His emotions hit him all at once – guilt, anger, so much anger, sorrow, and relief. That's where he found himself at this very moment. Caught up in the chaos, aching for his old partner, wishing he could have turned up earlier. Christ, he could have saved her. He should have been there for her, he should have...
He turns around, facing the woman who was his entire life. She gave it meaning, depth, worth – everything. "Liv," Elliot whispers, half caught in the lump in his throat and the tears welling in his eyes. "You're gonna be okay," his chin trembles and he straightens up, putting his weapon on the counter behind her. Olivia's eyes are red, filled and brimming with tears. He finds his thumb tracing the swollen, red skin under her eyes and chasing the tears away. She leans into his touch, his comfort, his safety.
"Elliot," Olivia cries, beginning to tremble. This was the start of a very long road ahead. Not just for her, but for them. There was no way he was leaving her side again.
Partners for life.