"Law and Order: SVU" belongs to Dick Wolf and Universal Television. No profit is being made from this story.
Author's Note:
Certain aspects in this work are inspired by current true events, but names and locations are obviously fictional.
Also, please keep mind that this story is still unfolding and try not to lose heart too much once you've finished this chapter. *wink wink*
May 2011
Captain Cragen ordered every person in the bullpen to stay put as the paramedics raced from the room with Sister Peg and Jenna Fox on stretchers.
Then he shifted his gaze to the two partners near the far end of the room and walked carefully toward them.
Elliot had sunk down against his desk, his gun clenched in his hand, looking so pale that Cragen genuinely feared he was going to faint. Olivia was crouched next to him, so close that she was practically squishing him. Her face was stricken.
He looked up at the captain when he felt his approach. His eyes were wide and he started breathing fast and hard.
Olivia's face crinkled in panic. She jerked her eyes toward Captain Cragen, the despair in her eyes easy to see, and then looked back at her partner. She kept flexing her fingers, like she wanted to touch Elliot but was afraid to.
Cragen immediately prioritized the most important thing in his opinion at the moment. He kept his voice calm and his gaze steady.
"Olivia," he commanded gently. " Move back, if you will, please. Give him some room."
She scooted away as if she hadn't realized how close she was. Cragen kept his gaze fixed on Elliot. In a rare move, the captain got down and crouched next to him, too.
He closed his hand over Elliot's with a feather-light touch and steadily gripped the detective's gun.
"Give that to me, Elliot," he said evenly, taking it from him.
Elliot didn't try to resist. Cragen took his other hand and placed it carefully around the younger man's neck. He was starting to almost shake, nearly hyperventilating.
"Take it easy," Cragen said kindly. "Just breathe. Just breathe."
Olivia watched, almost crying. She had never, ever seen her partner so upset and it scared the hell out of her.
The captain gently put his hands underneath Elliot's elbows and urged him to his feet. Elliot rose with him as if he couldn't move without being directed.
He drew an arm around the detective's shoulders and began guiding him across the room.
"Come into my office," Cragen said. "Come on."
They went inside the room and the captain closed the door. Then he also shut the blinds.
Olivia swallowed thickly and shared a shocked look with Fin. The other detective shook his head slightly, obviously feeling the same way she did.
December 2019
"Did you get enough to eat?" Amanda asked.
The girl nodded. She seemed more animated being around the cheery atmosphere of the room. She seemed particularly interested in the basket of stuffed animals near the table, glancing at them repeatedly.
Kat nodded at her encouragingly.
"You want one of these?" she asked. She pulled the basket closer. "Here...you can have whatever you want."
The smile that came over the girl's face both warmed and hurt Amanda's insides. She reached in and pulled out a big grey elephant.
"So," Amanda said, smiling and trying to put her at ease. "Can you tell me your name now?"
The girl was brushing her hands over the elephant's ears.
"Melissa," she said.
Encouraged, Amanda nodded quickly. "Melissa what?"
Kat watched the exchange with sharp eyes.
"Miller," Melissa replied.
The detectives shared a glance over her head and Amanda nodded at Kat.
"How old are you, Melissa?" Kat asked.
"Ten," she said.
"Do you know your address?" Amanda asked. Melissa shook her head. "How did you get to the hospital?"
The girl played with the stuffed elephant's trunk. She was silent a minute before answering.
"I ran away," she eventually said.
Kat furrowed her brow. "Ran away?" she asked. "From who?"
Melissa's hands stilled on the elephant. Her battered eyes traveled up to look at the detectives sitting across from her.
"From the mean men."
April 2012
Elliot tugged against the zip ties that trapped his hands together and bound them to the iron bed rail. His bare feet were similarly lashed together at the ankles. He squirmed on top of the stripped mattress, breathing heavily through the tape wrapped around his mouth.
Scattered around the room with him, barely illuminated by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, six boys and seven girls also sat on bare beds. Unlike him, they could move somewhat and they weren't gagged.
Each child was manacled by their wrists and ankles, but not tethered to anything. They couldn't move very well, but were able to leave the mattress and hobble a few feet to a bucket that served as a toilet unassisted.
They sat and stared at him as he thrashed and struggled, his muffled heaves for breath as loud as explosions in the silence. They looked terrified.
The squeal of a door opening echoed suddenly. Heavy footsteps clomped down. The children cowered nervously as four Hispanic men entered the room and began looking around.
Elliot swallowed chokingly, still yanking at the ties and grunting. They paid him no attention.
One of them pointed to the bed of a Black boy.
"That one," he said.
Another man stepped close and the boy shrank back. The man yanked him up roughly and then punched him in the face, hard enough that they could hear the crack of his teeth breaking. The boy squealed and screeched as three of the men manhandled him, dripping blood, and dragged him up the stairs
Elliot yelled out nonsensically in horror and outrage at the treatment of the child, the tape making it impossible to speak. He glared murderously as the remaining man approached him.
He smiled coldly at Elliot's helpless state.
"You haven't seen anything yet, Detective," he said. "Just wait...things are about to get real in here."
He bent and stared into the face of their newest captive. His face twisted into a hideous, terrible look.
"You made a big mistake coming here, Elliot Stabler," he said menacingly. "You'll live just long enough to regret it. I can guarantee you that."
He narrowed his eyes. Elliot breathed noisely in frustration and anxiety as the man went back up the stairs and slammed the door shut.
He moved around even more and pulled on the plastic ties hard enough to break skin, to no avail. He eventually had to stop, a headache pounding at his temples from the exertion and adrenaline.
He gazed desolately at the children from behind sealed lips and tried to stop panic from overcoming him.
He had no idea how the Hernandez brothers had found out who he really was, but he held onto hope that everything would be ok. The U.S. Marshals had no doubt already figured out something was wrong and would be alerting Captain Cragen that he had missed his check-in.
They would probably be here before the end of the hour. Rescue would arrive soon, for everyone, but especially for the children who were their targets. Everything was going to be fine as long as he kept his head.
He kept telling himself that as he lay trapped in the basement of Raul Hernandez' walk up townhouse. And it almost worked-
-Right up until the moment that another of the brothers, Mario Hernadez, had come downstairs again, peeled the tape partway from his mouth, and forced him to swallow the yellow capsule of PCP at gunpoint.
Once that happened, he knew he was in for more trouble than he had ever experienced before.
December 2019
Even though it was dark and dismal in the holding cell alone, at least it was inside an actual building. After three months of barely surviving out on the streets, it was definitely an improvement over how Elliot had previously been spending his nights.
He was so upset and spent from bursting out at the officers that when he slouched stiffly against the bars, he ended up dropping off to sleep instantly. Amazingly, no one bothered him again and he actually managed to rest undisturbed for an entire night.
It had been years since the last time he had done that.
He was jarred awake in early morning by Officer McLaughlin, coming in to end his shift. He sat up slowly and rubbed his face.
The officer came up to the bars and stared at him evenly. Elliot looked hesitantly back.
After a moment, the young officer spoke.
"My sergeant would like for me to stick you with a trespassing charge, so that he has an excuse to keep you in Central Booking," he said quietly. "He thinks keeping the homeless locked up as long as possible is good for society."
He paused.
"But...my sargeant isn't here."
McLaughlin stared at Elliot meaningfully. Then he produced a set of keys and unlocked the cell, holding the door open, making it clear what his intentions were.
Elliot looked at him warily, but immediately got to his feet.
"Make sure you leave through the stairwell door," McLaughlin said. "Less chance that someone will bother you."
He seemed to be considering his next words.
"For what it's worth?" he finally said. "We're not all like my sergeant."
Elliot nodded gratefully at the young officer. He didn't know how to respond and McLaughlin didn't seem inclined to wait around for him to.
Rollins had volunteered to let her take the first shift of getting some rest in the crib after it became apparent that Melissa was becoming too exhausted to continue telling them what had happened to her. But after the story they had heard coming from that poor child's mouth for the last few hours, Kat wouldn't have been able to sleep if she'd tried.
The worst part, so far, was that the story wasn't even finished yet.
Kat sat on the floor of the interview room, leaning against the couch that Melissa was using as a bed, and watched over her while Amanda slept upstairs. The precinct was otherwise deserted.
She kept an eye on her phone, waiting for the SANE to return her call. Melissa had finally agreed to let the detectives take her back to the hospital in the morning for an exam. Hopefully, while they were doing it, someone would be able to find out if anyone had reported the girl as missing.
When the phone vibrated, Kat quickly strode out the door so as not to wake the child.
The SANE confirmed that she would meet them the next morning. She also informed Kat that she had gone ahead and ordered for a DNA sample to be extracted from the shirt that Melissa had worn in to the hospital.
October 2011
The night of the shooting at the precinct stuck out in Kathy's mind for so many reasons, but particularly because of how death had been happening while she was in the middle of talking to her oldest daughter about the joy of new life.
Maureen's best friend had just given birth to a girl and she had come from visiting the baby at the hospital. She had been so excited, telling Kathy that she couldn't wait to start her own family one day.
She hoped to have a daughter, Maureen had said, so that she could name her Eliza Bernadette, after both of her grandmothers.
The call from Don Cragen had come after her daughter had left, at around 9 p.m. He hadn't elaborated other than saying that though Elliot wasn't hurt, she still needed to come quickly to the E.R.
She had gotten there as fast as possible, her mind racing with questions and apprehension, and what she'd encountered there took her breath away.
Captain Cragen was in a curtained off section of the E.R. with Elliot, who was sitting in a bed still wearing his work clothes. The dress shirt and pants had blood all over them.
Elliot looked shaky and out of sorts. She went to him at once, taking his hands, and asked him gently what had happened.
He looked at her, tears wobbling in his eyes, and then puked.
He broke down into sobs so hard that Kathy had to hold him upright as she embraced him to keep him from collapsing off of the edge of the bed.
The E.R. had released him an hour later, giving her discharge papers indicating he had been treated for "acute traumatic stress" and a prescription for Ativan and Valium. Captain Cragen wouldn't tell her what had happened, saying that it would be up to Elliot.
He painfully suggested that she not leave Elliot alone that night and told her he would call them first thing the next morning. Then, in a hushed tone that indicated he didn't want Elliot to overhear, the captain pleaded with her to move any firearms that they might have in their home to a place where Elliot wouldn't be able to find them.
She called her mother on the drive home and asked her to come take Eli for the night. Then she sat up beside Elliot until dawn, letting him get drunk and holding him as he sobbed brokenly. He struggled to tell her what had happened and just kept saying in anguish that he had murdered somebody's baby.
Then, for the first time in the almost four decades that Kathy had known him, he had willingly swallowed an Ativan and laid in her arms while it took him into sleep.
That first night had been horrible. But they paled in comparison to what happened next.
When the captain had arrived the next morning to check on him, he'd had to tell Elliot that internal affairs was going to be launching an investigation that could have the potential to become a murder charge. He had assured her husband that he was going to be fighting in his corner, but that unfortunately, Elliot was going to need to submit to having every facet of his life examined to the point of intrusion.
She'd had to watch painfully while her proud, earnest husband had to allow investigators into their home, have his personal belongings touched and examined for signs that could point to premeditation on his part, and be subjected to interviews and accusations using his history on the force against him. He was forced to take leave from work while the investigation was going on, and to her knowledge, didn't speak to any of his coworkers at all during that time, not even Olivia.
He became despondant. He told her that he didn't think he could ever walk back into the Special Victims Unit again. He worried incessantly about losing his pension and not being able to take care of her and their kids.
She had tried to reassure him, tell him that the responsibility of providing for them was not all on his shoulders, but he didn't seem convinced. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened when his own father had gone up against the top brass back when he was a kid and the turmoil that had resulted.
And then, after all of that upheaval, Internal Affairs had hardly spared him a ten-second phone message five weeks later, letting him know that they would not be pursuing criminal prosecution against him and that he was officially cleared to return to duty. He had called Captain Cragen right afterward and told him that instead of coming back, he would be putting in retirement papers.
After that, something irreplaceable had gone out of him.
He barely spoke, wasn't interested in eating very often, and spent all of his time in the backyard shed, which he doubled into a workshop and home gym. He hardly ever slept and ran marathon-length sprints around the neighborhood for hours every single night, rain or shine. During the day, he was either working out with music blaring or fixing anything he could get his hands on using hammers and saws.
He wasn't handling things well. He had started retreating back into his old habit of walling off his emotions and shutting her out and it scared her. She loved him so much and it killed her to see how much he was obviously hurting, but she had no idea what to do. He seemed to have no one to turn to other than her and he refused to let himself do that.
And then, one day about six months into his retirement, she looked out the kitchen window as she was washing up after breakfast and saw Don Cragen and another man with a badge approaching Elliot as he worked on the lawn mower in the back yard.
Elliot wasn't sure how exactly he had managed to lift the riding mower and flip it, because that son of a bitch seemed practically as heavy as a small car, or why he had even thought it would be a good idea. It clearly wasn't, because then he was left to try and it get back over somehow without cutting the hell out of his hands in the process.
Movement flashed in his vision. When he turned his head, he saw Captain Cragen walking across the yard toward him. Another man Elliot had never seen accompanied him.
"Good morning," Cragen said. "How are you doing, Elliot?"
Elliot looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He had a feeling he knew why the captain was there.
Olivia had been calling him at least three times a week since the shooting and he never returned her calls. He wasn't ready yet. He had to give her points for her tenacity though, sending the captain after him like this. She knew he would never have the guts to send their boss packing.
"I'm not coming back, Captain," he warned, before his captain even started.
Cragen nodded.
"I know," he said. "That's not why I'm here."
He looked...hesitant, like he was weighing the implications of what he was about to say. It caused a spark of apprehension to ripple through Elliot. That couldn't be good.
Cragen gestured at the man with him.
"Elliot, this is Deputy U.S. Marshal Brent Woodhouse," he said.
The marshal held out his hand.
"Pleasure to meet you, Detective Stabler."
Elliot sized him up warily but reluctantly shook with him.
"I was wondering if the captain and I could talk to you," Woodhouse said. "I'm in need of some help and he strongly recommended that I ask you. "
Elliot crinkled his brow in confusion.
"Like for what, a consult?" he asked.
The marshal shook his head.
"Not exactly," he said. " More like...a job offer. "
December 2019
One of the most troubling effects of having been force-fed drugs for such a long time was what it had done to his memory. It was constantly frustrating him because he couldn't seem to make it better.
When he had first been rescued, he hadn't been able to tell F.B.I. agents who he was because he couldn't remember his own name. He could look at the photographs that he kept in his pockets and immediately know his daughters and Olivia, but couldn't recall phone numbers to call anyone.
He couldn't remember where Olivia's apartment was, but could recall the way to get to the 16th Precinct from anywhere in New York. When he emerged from the police station in Brooklyn, he went straight there without giving himself time to reconsider the idea and chicken out.
But when he arrived, he could only stand in front of the doors outside. He couldn't work up the courage to go in.
Someone walked past him and pulled open the doors to enter. He gaped and the word came out of his mouth instinctively.
"Fin?"
Sargeant Fin Tutuola looked over suspiciously at him. He could see the immediate self-defensive reach toward the gun that Fin wore and he realized his former colleague didn't recognize who he was.
"No, it's Elliot," he said quickly, holding out his hands. " Fin, it's me, Elliot. "
The other man gawked at him for a full minute. It was like he had just said that he was Christ Himself.
"Stabler?" Fin finally said, sounding shocked.
He nodded frantically. The other man looked like he couldn't believe his eyes.
"Jesus," he said, sounding equally stunned and a bit disgusted.
Elliot couldn't blame him. He knew what he looked (and smelled) like these days and it was definitely not pleasing. He had taken a razor, bar of soap and small pack of wet wipes with him from the hotel when he had left, but after two months, most of it was gone or had been traded for food when he had no other choice. All that was left was a few wipes and he had to use them sparingly in order for them to last.
He was still wearing the same clothes the F.B.I. had given him, too. The sweatshirt and jeans were not at all close to the color they originally been after months of street living, but he had remained fanatical about keeping his shoes dry and taken care of. Having no shoes definitely would add problems he didn't need.
He swallowed, absently scratching at his itching arms. The nausea was getting bad again and it caused a headache behind his eyes that felt like torture.
"Is...is Olivia in there?" he asked. He spoke in a rush like he couldn't control himself. "Can you get Olivia? I need to see her. I just need to talk to her, is she in there? "
Fin gazed at him in disbelief as he heard how unsteady the man was, took in his appearance, and came to a shocking conclusion. He still couldn't comprehend that this was the coworker he had worked beside ten years ago.
"Jesus, Elliot," he said again. He shook his head. " Are you-" He paused, hoping he was wrong, and kept coming up with the same evidence in front of him. "Are you high?"
The contempt in his voice and expression were obvious. Elliot started shaking, breathing tearfully through a vicious bout of queasiness.
"I'm not," he said, his agitated voice and demeanor contradicting his words. "I'm not, I'm not, I just...please, tell Olivia to come down here, Fin...please!"
Fin tipped his head slightly and then narrowed his eyes, obviously not believing him. He couldn't keep the distaste from his face as he studied the man in front of him who he didn't know at all anymore.
Elliot startled when he strode up close to him without warning.
"Listen to me," Fin said, his voice hard. "I don't know what kind of shit you're into these days, but Olivia Benson does not need you bringing it into her life now. Not after the last ten years you put her through."
He was almost glaring, he was so angry.
"She's been through more hell since you've been gone than anyone even knows about...and what she should have had was support from the person who watched her back all that time," he continued harshly. "I can't even believe that you have the nerve to show up here right now...and like this. "
Elliot couldn't keep the tears from coming into his eyes. He couldn't find his voice. He wanted to say something, anything...just make Fin understand. But he didn't know how.
Fin shook his head.
"No," he said. "No, Elliot...I'm not going to tell her to come down here. She has everything going for her now. She was promoted to Captain and she has a son. She finally got the life she deserves and there is no way in hell that I am going to tell her to come have a chat with the partner who left her to deal with it alone and didn't think twice about it."
He walked away from Elliot, turning his head as he prepared to go inside.
"You want to talk to her, Elliot, " he said. "You do it yourself. I'm not going to."
Fin disappeared inside. Elliot almost doubled over with the sudden anguish that overtook him and had to blindly turn the corner so that the building would support his weight.
He slid down to the ground, put his face in his hands, and sobbed more brokenly than he had in years. He had nowhere else to turn now and he didn't think he had anymore strength left in him to keep reaching for help.
Maybe...maybe this was the confirmation he needed that enough was enough and he should just end it.
After all, what could he possibly have to fear now?
He was going to Hell anyway.