Chapter Two:

Sliding his Tahoe into the space next to Olivia's Ford, his seatbelt was unbuckled and the door was slammed behind him at record speed. The adrenaline pulsing through his veins propelled him forward towards the stairwell, the most direct route to helping Olivia, and though he was unaware of the exact circumstances leading to tonight's breakdown he was comforted by the rationalisation that she probably wasn't in any immediate danger.

She had the presence of mind to call him and that counted for a lot in this kind of scenario.

Taking the steps two at a time, he tried desperately to reconnect the call she had disconnected groaning when he was met with her voicemail. In any case, he only had to make it up five flights of stairs and then he'd be by her side.

Coming to stand outside her apartment, he was alarmed to see the door slightly ajar. He shook his head as he automatically reached for the Glock which should have been holstered on his right hip. She was in need of a friend, not a police officer.

"Olivia, can I come in?" He asked with a knock which only opened the door wider. Taking a tentative step forward, he found her lying on the couch curled into a ball. Shutting the door behind him, he was quick to get himself to her side.

He winced a little as his knees hit the hard floor beneath him, but put out a hand for her to take. There had never been a time in over 20 years of knowing this woman where he hadn't found her the most beautiful woman in the room - sure, he hadn't been around for the last 10 years of her life but the sentiment stood strong. Olivia Benson was struggling today, that was abundantly clear, but to him she remained a picture of strength and beauty.

Her dark brown eyes were glazed over and there was dried vomit on her leggings, a smell which was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. But he managed to redirect his attention when he saw just how pale her usually olive complexion had become, the effect causing the dark circles under her eyes to become more pronounced.

How long had she been feeling so low? Was this a regular thing?

Her hand slips into his and she gives it a little squeeze, "'m sorry for making you come all this way."

"You don't need to apologise, Liv," he reminds her, laying his head on the sofa beside their hands, "I just want to make sure you're safe, then we can deal with everything else."

She barely moves, though she gives him a nod of agreement. His eyes scan hers carefully, but he has to admit that he can't read her quite as well as he used to. So he tries a topic which is a little more neutral, with the aim of working his way up to the bigger issues of the evening.

"Where's Noah tonight?"

"A sleepover," she replies simply. "I'd never let him see me like this. He's too young."

And it worries him how uncomfortable Olivia has always been with mental health. In light of her father's depression and subsequent suicide, and her mother's addiction, he's not entirely sure she realises what a prime candidate she is for the hereditary nature of mental illness. And if she's a candidate for it, that's a conversation she's going to need to have with Noah one day - a conversation he wished he's been more open to having with Kathleen.

"I doubt he'd think any less of you for struggling, Olivia."

Shaking her head, she adjusts herself to look more firmly at him, "You didn't think any less of Bernie for how she dealt with her bipolar? Because I hated Serena. And we might have been justified but still. How can we expect our kids to be understanding when we were so awful to our mothers?"

"I was embarrassed by my mom. She wouldn't get help and that put me at risk. You were neglected and abused by Serena because she was never given the support she deserved and she took that out on you. I hope you can see how those situations were different from you needing support and asking for it."

While Olivia stews on his words, Elliot decides to change track, "Do you want to talk about what's happened today?"

She shrugs, and he can see she's beginning to feel more like herself as the shame of her situation washes over her in waves. His hands tighten their grip on hers, though he can tell she's eager for an escape from this emotional vulnerability.

"I should be happy, right? I have a wonderful kid and a great squad. I win awards and there's even talk of me making Chief in the next few years. But the thing is, some days that's not enough. Some days when McGrath is breathing down my neck and Amanda tells me she's leaving to go back to grad school, when a victim commits suicide because she has no faith in the police to bring her justice - how do I possibly come home from the only job I've ever wanted to do and tell myself the entire day was worth it?"

"I'm sorry about your vic, Liv. And I'm sorry about Rollins, I know you guys are close. But Olivia, let me ask you; why do you do this job? If the personal costs are so high, why get out of bed in the morning and put your badge on your hip? And there are other ways to help victims of rape, so why do you keep on doing police work?"

She doesn't have to think long, "My mother. You know that-"

"No, there are other ways to help people like your mother. You could have become a crisis counsellor, a social worker. Why become a cop? Why join SVU?"

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she separates their hands and brings herself up to a seating position on the couch. He's not sure what this line of conversation really has to do with whatever's going on with Olivia today, but he figures that the more she talks it out, the closer they might come to finding out what's made her upset enough to call Elliot.

She could call him anytime, he hopes she knows that, but she doesn't (never has) and that's what's made him so concerned.

"I listened to my mom's statement to the police around 20 years ago, and you should have heard the way this guy was speaking to her. We're supposed to be advocates for people like Serena, but this guy? He couldn't have cared less. She could have been reading him the weather forecast for all he was interested in what she was saying."

And Elliot's worked with some great cops over the years, Olivia Benson aside, who did as much as they could for victims of the most horrific crimes. Olivia held everyone to a much higher standard than the typical commanding officer, but her squad were good people because of it. Good police. And Fin is a great guy, but Elliot thinks his decision to stay in special victims all these years is more to do with loyalty to Olivia and less to do with feeling called to work in sex crimes.

For all the good he's witnessed in Manhattan SVU, he's witnessed that same disinterest Serena Benson experienced in 1967, today.

And he gets how frustrating that must be to someone who has dedicated her entire life trying to atone for her mother's suffering - if he's honest with himself, it's frustrating to him, too.

"And yeah, I think that the culture has changed so much within my unit and I know that if a survivor walks into the 16th precinct, they're going to be treated with as much respect as they deserve because Cragen and I have worked hard over the years to make sure that's how our detectives behave. But Fin's going to hit mandatory soon and Amanda's leaving to make something of herself, and then what? I either spend the last few years of my career fighting the good fight with Velasco or playing politics with the good 'ole boy network down at 1PP."

"Have you looked into retirement?"

She scoffs, pushing herself up from the sofa and pacing by the window. Her pace is slow (God, she must be exhausted) but she pushes through, shaking her head as she moves.

"No," Olivia says firmly, voice hoarse from vomiting and ranting alike. "I've still got a lot of work to do. Anyway, that doesn't matter. I don't think that's much to do with why I got so upset earlier. God, I'm a mess."

Suddenly she's in the kitchen, pulling down wine glasses from a shelf and a bottle of red wine from the wine rack. He's by her side as she looks it over - 2010 Rioja- the bottle trembling in her grip, and he holds out his hand, offering to take it from her. Initially she looks offended, as though she thinks he's going to stop her from having a drink if she wants one.

Instead, he gives a light wave of the corkscrew in his hand and she concedes, handing it over. He wants her to sit down and relax for just a moment, but when he sees her hoist herself up onto the counter, he decides to make do with where she has decided she is most comfortable.

"I bet you don't let Noah do that," he smirks, attempting to pour two equal measures of wine into the glasses. Naturally he fails and resigns himself to the smaller measure. Placing the glass beside her, he joins her on the counter and nudges her a little with his shoulder.

"Damn right," she mumbles, sipping on the wine. "Elliot, I really don't know what happened today. I'm sorry for calling you so late."

"Olivia," he speaks tearfully, "You never have to apologise for calling me. Day or night. But I am concerned that you were… that upset."

She nods thoughtfully, "I can appreciate that. I think when you knew me I was a lot more rational."

"Hardly. You just never let anyone see that side of you."

Olivia takes a long gulp from her wine and replies to him only with a shrug. Bringing himself off of the counter with a thud, he brings the wine bottle over to the corner they've decided to sit on and rejoins her. He watches her carefully as she tops both of their glasses off and leans back.

"The thing is, El. I feel so damn empty all of the time."

"Okay. What does that mean?"

"I love my son, Elliot," she says firmly and he knows. He's never had any reason to doubt that. Even as he tells her as much, he sees her eyes fill quickly with tears. She glances at the wine and then back at him, begging him to understand what she's trying to convey without him having to say it.

He shakes his head at her, apologetic because he's wished so many times over the years to be able to understand what the hell is going on inside her head without her having to say it. The expression she reflects back at him is devastation at having to say, whatever this is, out loud. But he makes a silent vow to be patient with her and to help her deal with whatever this is, whenever she's ready to say it.

"My kid means the world to me, but my life can't revolve around him - he's going to grow up one day. And you know how much my job means to me, but it's just so much sadness all of the time that I can't help but wonder why I've let my life become defined by the worst day of my mother's life. And I just constantly feel so damn worthless and hypocritical because I spend every day telling women they can get through anything - but look at me! I've just been living amongst trauma my entire life and the worst part? I invite this shit in."

He's on his feet in an instant and standing firmly before her, one hand pressing into her thigh and the other combing through her hair. Her eyes are watery again and she's searching his expression looking for proof that she's wrong, that he's going to tell her she's done nothing to bring all of the heartache and nightmares into her life. She needs to hear from him that everything she's been through, everything she's ever bottled up and internalised has nothing to do with her.

But he doesn't even know the half of it.