Disclaimer: SVU and all of its characters were created by and are the property of Dick Wolf. I make no profit with this story, which is my own original work.

Stigmata. For as long as he could possibly remember, Elliot had been fascinated with that particular phenomenon. Even as a child, in the days when he served as an altar boy during Mass for the church, the tales he would hear of the saints from the bible who had experienced mirror images of the same wounds as Christ on the cross had always captured his interest. It wasn't until recently when he'd encountered a case involving a madman masquerading as a zealot that Elliot had learned that the markings were not always a miracle, but a method of torture. At a time when his own faith was already being tested to its very limits, he found himself hunting a serial killer as evil as the devil himself.

Rita Lasku's death had nearly broken him. Elliot had been desperate to find her, hoping against hope that he could rescue the young woman for a second time. Never in a million years would he have imagined that when he had spared her in the past, and given her the means to reunite with her son that she would choose to remain in the United States – let alone feel the need to sell her body in order to earn a living. Not that Elliot was judging Rita for her choices, but he had prayed that she would have been able to break free from that world entirely.

During his time in the Marines, and throughout his years working as both a patrol officer and as a Detective, Elliot had experienced several brushes with death. More than he'd like to admit to, and certainly more than he'd ever shared with his family. There had even been a few occasions during his time in private security when he'd had close calls. But nothing like this. If someone had told Elliot that one day one of the monsters he was hunting would not only try and turn him into a living representation of the crucifixion of Christ, but make the image of the tattoo on his bicep a reality for his entire body, he'd never have believed them.

In truth, Elliot was impressed he'd only been kept in the hospital overnight. He hadn't expected to be rescued at all – having anticipated to meet his demise at the hands of Eric Bonner. Even now, he still wasn't sure what had prompted his squad to check on him, but he was extremely grateful to them – and to Chief Bonner. It hadn't been easy to shake off everyone's concern, but he just hadn't been ready to go back home. Not that staying here, holed up in this motel room in Long Island was the healthiest decision he could have made, but Elliot had too much he needed to process first before heading back to the life he'd left behind to pursue justice for Rita and those other girls.

As he sat propped up against the headboard, a bottle of whiskey on the bedside table and his laptop perched on his legs, it occurred to Elliot that perhaps drinking right now might not be the wisest of ideas – especially considering he hadn't had much to eat today. But he didn't have much of an appetite, and he'd rather dull the pain with liquor than take any more of those stupid pills that the hospital had given him. The puncture wounds Eric Bonner had left him with didn't ache that badly, but the bruised ribs he had sustained in the struggle hurt like a bitch.

Although he knew he needed to get home sooner as opposed to later, the last thing Elliot wanted was for his Mama to see him looking like this. Even now, he was still putting the needs of everyone else ahead of himself.

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment, but Elliot was currently spending his time surfing the internet looking for news articles about what had happened to him. Not that he was in particular need of a refresher course, but rather for the correlations that were connected with his name. In addition to all the latest updates regarding his own abduction and torture, the search results had yielded details he'd never noticed before about the explosion that had taken Kathy from him and their children. Likewise, some of the media opinions were somewhat skewed, referring to a vendetta on his part against the Wheatley family, thus pinning the responsibility for everything that had happened solely on Elliot's shoulders – as if he didn't bear the weight of that burden already.

The more he scrolled down, the more dated the news became. While he wasn't drunk, Elliot knew he wasn't exactly sober, either. With what little remained of his sound judgment, he promised himself he would stop before he reached a certain date, knowing he was not in the headspace to relive Jenna Fox's death – not so soon after he had failed Rita. There were only so many ghosts he could encounter before the demons that were haunting him consumed him whole.

The last thing Elliot had been expecting was to see a familiar moniker among the pages he was scanning. He wasn't sure why he had been so surprised, as for thirteen years, his name had been synonymous with Olivia's. They had been 'Benson and Stabler' – one complete unit, one collective breath. Until he had blown their partnership to pieces by walking away without a word, too devastated and too much of a coward to say goodbye, but believing that she would be safer and better off without him.

But that hadn't been the case. The words and images flashing before Elliot's eyes – taunting him with the reality of the horror behind them – informed him that he had failed the woman he loved more than he had even realized. Not long after he had left her behind, she had endured an untold hell, and come face to face with her very own brand of evil. It made sense now why Cragen had said to call her – but Elliot knew he didn't deserve his partner's compassion or comfort. Not now. Maybe not ever.

A knock at the door pulled Elliot from his disruptive line of thinking that was leading him further and further down a destructive rabbit hole. Not expecting any visitors, and still very much on edge after what he had been through, he reached for his off duty weapon. Limping over to the sole entrance and exit to his motel room, he braced himself for another fight, having no clue what awaited him on the other side.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, El. Open the door."

Now, more than ever before, Elliot was convinced he was hallucinating. Either the alcohol he had consumed was causing his mind to play tricks on him, or the minor concussion the doctors had informed him that he had sustained was more severe than they had initially thought. Whatever the case, there was no way that Olivia Benson was actually standing on the opposite side of that door. She just couldn't be. Why would she come to him? Especially when all he'd done in return is fail her time and time again.

"El. I know you're there. Don't make me show my badge to the manager in order to gain a copy of the key. You know I'm stubborn enough to do it."

It certainly sounded like his partner. Deciding to take a chance that he hadn't completely lost his mind, Elliot undid the chain latch and disengaged the dead bolt. Gun still clutched in his palm, he swung the door open to reveal a formidable looking but no less beautiful Olivia Benson on the other side. She had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and in the other hand a few reusable grocery totes that appeared to be laden with food. For all his earlier insistence that he didn't have an appetite, whatever smells were emanating in his direction made Elliot's stomach growl.

"Are you going to let me in?"

Realizing he was standing there like an idiot, Elliot muttered an apology and stepped to the side, granting Olivia entrance into his modest surroundings. He felt a flush of embarrassment, knowing these were not the kind of accommodations his partner deserved, but there wasn't anything more he could offer her at the moment. Not that it would matter. From the looks of things, she had come with every intention to stay.

Elliot watched as Olivia set the totes down on the table, then deposited her duffel on the spare bed. Still feeling like he were living in a waking dream, he stood unmoving as she crossed the room – stopping only when she was directly in front of him.

"I'm going to take the gun now El."

It had been a statement, not a question, and Elliot didn't flinch as Olivia gently pried the weapon from his aching fingers. She expertly disarmed it, tossing it to the bed. Then, with the utmost care, Olivia turned his hand over in her own, and began inspecting each and every one of his wounds with the most delicate touch Elliot had ever felt in his life.

"I'm not going to ask you if you're all right. I know better than to do that. What I am going to want from you is for you to just let me stay. Don't shut me out, and don't make me leave. The last thing you need right now is to be on your own."

Managing a nod, Elliot faltered slightly when he swayed on his feet. The next thing he realized, he was being guided back to the bed by his partner, and helped to lie back against the bank of pillows he had created for himself earlier.

"When was the last time you had something to drink other than alcohol? Don't get me wrong, I'm not shaming – I'm just wondering."

It had been on the tip of Elliot's tongue to get defensive, to say that she didn't understand what it was like, but visions of those headlines still swam in his brain. Even though he didn't know any of the details, he was well aware that what he had been impulsively thinking couldn't have been farther from the truth. Olivia did know, and that was what made her presence here so very humbling. He hadn't been there for her – hadn't even known what had happened – yet she was still here to help him pick up the pieces of his tattered life. She had been doing that ever since he set foot back in the States. The only thing was, Elliot wasn't certain how much of him was left to save. Pushing those darker thoughts to side for the time being, and knowing Olivia wouldn't be satisfied until he had given her an answer, Elliot tried to think of something to say.

"It probably wouldn't hurt me any to drink some water."

"That's what I thought. Do you think you can eat?"

Again, Elliot's first instinct was to say no, but much like when he had smelled the food when Olivia had first entered the room, the suggestion of eating made his stomach rumble involuntarily. Still, he was hesitant to try anything too heavy.

"Depends. What did you bring?"

"Just some soup and sandwiches. I thought if you handled that okay, we could always order something more substantial either later or tomorrow."

As if he hadn't been certain of it already, that statement confirmed Elliot's theory that his partner wasn't going anywhere. But instead of being annoyed with the intrusion on his self imposed solitude, he felt comforted. Olivia wasn't pressuring him to talk, and he knew that she wouldn't – not unless he initiated the conversation. Deciding to accept the companionship for what it was, Elliot leaned further back against the headboard, giving a nod of agreement.

"I think that sounds like a good place to start."

Once he had agreed to eat something, Elliot had expected Olivia to immediately start portioning out the food. Instead, what she did only served to make him more confused that ever. With a million questions running through his mind, he watched as his partner grabbed one of the spare blankets from the closet and draped it over the mirror above the dresser, covering it completely. It was only then that Elliot noticed that a visible tension had lifted from Olivia's shoulders – one that he hadn't picked up on before. Seemingly satisfied, she returned to the table, and began sorting out the contents of one of the bags.

Elliot was fully prepared to go over and sit at the table in order to eat – even if the rest of his aching body may not have been on board with that decision. Thankfully, it seemed that Olivia was in agreement, and within minutes, she was bringing over a bottle of water and a container of soup for him to start on while she finished sorting the sandwiches.

"Don't worry about waiting for me. It will do you good to get something in your system."

Knowing that his partner was speaking the truth, and if he were being honest with himself, more than just a little bit fearful of what would happen if he didn't heed her advice, Elliot dipped the spoon into the steaming broth. Blowing on it once so he wouldn't burn his tongue, he took what was his first bite of sustenance in as long as he could remember, and was even more grateful that Olivia had remembered what his favorite kind of soup was, even after all these years.

Not having realized how hungry he actually was, Elliot was halfway through the bowl by the time Olivia joined him on the other side of the bed, a clamshell container in each hand. Turning his head to face his partner, Elliot could tell that she wanted to ask him something, but he was also aware there was no expectation written on her face.

"Were you wanting some company while we ate, El? Or, are you in too much discomfort and prefer to have the bed to yourself?"

"Sit."

Placing the items in her hands down on the mattress, Olivia grabbed one of the spare pillows from the other bed, and placed it against the headboard so she'd have something soft to lean against. Then, using the utmost care to not jostle Elliot too much, she took up her position next to her partner, swinging her legs up to stretch out beside his. Once she was settled, she passed over one of the deli containers, and when Elliot saw exactly what she had done, a ghost of a smile played over his lips.

"You already swapped out halves of the sandwiches."

"It seemed like the thing to do. But if you'd rather I hadn't -"

Elliot reached out, resting his hand on top of Olivia's where it lay on the bedspread.

"No, of course not. What I meant to say is 'thank you'. It's great. Just brings back a lot of memories, is all. I think that's exactly what I needed tonight."

Olivia turned her wrist so her palm was facing upwards, linking her fingers with her partners. She squeezed gently, mindful of the wounds Elliot had sustained.

"Why don't you eat? I'm not going anywhere. We've got all night to talk, if that's what you want."

Much like it had been with the soup, Elliot's sandwich – both halves – disappeared in record time. He also found that he'd lost his taste for the alcohol, even if the self loathing deep in the pit of his gut remained. Olivia had mentioned talking, but again, hadn't been pressuring him. Elliot knew that his partner would be happy if he talked at all, even if it wasn't about what he'd been through. Right now, he was just relieved she hadn't seen his computer screen, especially considering the search history was still displayed. That was definitely not a conversation he wanted to get into, even if he knew he owed her an apology – more than a decade of them.

As though he had wished it into existence, Olivia's gaze shifted, landing directly on his laptop. Even though she wasn't wearing her readers, it was obvious she recognized the articles from the thumbnail images that were shown beside them. Elliot held his breath as he felt the woman beside him inhale sharply, and he braced himself for the wrath that he was sure to come.

"Elliot?"

There was no anger in his partner's tone, only a quiet curiosity and hesitation, a hint of waver. Maybe even a smidgen of disbelief. Knowing he owed her an explanation, and wanting to be able to look her in the eye as he gave it, Elliot shifted, wincing against the pain as he did so.

"It's not what you think. I swear to you, I didn't know I was going to find that. I was looking up what the news had to say about what happened to me – drinking glass after glass of whiskey, intent on punishing myself. Read some about the explosion that killed Kathy, what went on with Wheatley, you get the idea."

"El -"

Elliot held up his hand, his eyes pleading, practically begging to be allowed to finish.

"I just kept scrolling down, and found an article talking about parallels about two partners from the same precinct having been targeted more than a decade apart. Other than what I saw in the headlines, I never read any further, I swear. That's your story to tell. But you have to believe me, Liv. I didn't know. I've never known."

Olivia's eyes were damp with unshed tears, and it was obvious she was struggling with her own share of resurfaced emotions. But, first and foremost, her priority was her partner.

"I believe you, and I promise you we will have that conversation someday – but not now. I'm not going to lay all of that on you when you're already trying to deal with what you've just been through. Just know that I survived, and I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Elliot knew Olivia wasn't trying to avoid talking to him. She was one hundred percent correct in guessing that he wasn't in the right headspace to hear about what she may have been through, but the reassurances he had been given went a long way in helping put his restless mind at ease.

"I get it. But can you explain one thing to me? Only if you want to, I don't want you thinking I'm pressuring you talk about something you're not ready to."

"What is it, El?"

Gesturing toward the now blanket covered mirror across the room, Elliot raised an eyebrow.

"Does that have anything to do with what you want to wait on telling me? Or is there another story behind it? I know I don't look the greatest right now, but I figure if you can handle the sight of me firsthand, then my reflection can't be that bad."

Olivia forgot about the remainder of her food. Reaching out her hand, she rested it on top of her partner's, knowing that a deeper connection would be necessary for this next part. It wasn't something that she was uncomfortable with sharing, and she likely would have told him before now, had other disasters not kept happening.

"I can tell you about that. That is more because I experienced something recently that destroyed my trust in humanity for a bit."

Arching his eyebrow again, Elliot couldn't help but prompt for more information.

"More than what the job already does?"

"If you can believe it, yes."

With a deep breath, Olivia launched into her tale. Vaguely, Elliot could recall about the time when she told him about Noah first getting in touch with his half brother Connor, and how his partner had driven her son up to Woodstock so the two could meet in person. What he hadn't been aware of was that it had turned into an overnight stay, and that Olivia had gotten a room for herself at an area motel. It had been difficult to quell his rage when he learned that someone had been violating the privacy of guests by filming them without their consent – even moreso knowing that his partner had also been a victim. But knowing that Olivia had managed to bring down the men responsible – even if it meant that images of her dressed only in a towel wound up in evidence – allowed Elliot himself to breathe a bit easier.

"So, you'll understand why I have trust issues when it comes to staying in certain establishments."

"Of course. You can keep the blanket up as long as you like. And for what it's worth, I'm glad you got the bastard."

With a succinct nod, Olivia suggested that Elliot try and eat some more. Already full herself, she offered him what little remained of her own food. He was about to refuse, but realized that now that he had gotten some soup in his system, his appetite had been encouraged to the point that attempting more of the sandwich actually seemed possible.

The distractions had helped, too. Ever since his partner had arrived, Elliot had been able to pull himself out of the pit of his self imposed despair. Yes, he was still a mess, but he didn't feel as alone as he once did – and he was extremely grateful for the company.

A short while later, Elliot had a full stomach and the feeling of nausea that had plagued him ever since his discharge from the hospital earlier in the day had mostly dissipated. The ache in his body and his heart – as well as his soul – he knew wouldn't go away as easily, but given that less than twenty four hours had lapsed since his encounter with Eric Bonner, he wasn't necessarily surprised with his current state of mind. His head was also just a little bit clearer, enough for him to recognize that it hadn't been the wisest decision on his part to drink as much alcohol as he had while taking the prescription strength painkillers he had been given. Thankfully, Olivia had opted not to admonish him for that particular poor choice, although Elliot was well aware that his partner had definitely noticed both bottles on his bedside table.

Now, Olivia was cleaning up their mess from lunch, and had apparently thought ahead enough to bring a trash bag with her. It was as though she had anticipated that Elliot wouldn't have wanted any interruptions – not even from housekeeping. He didn't know how long she was planning to stay, but it was then that a more immediate concern sprang to mind.

"Liv, where's Noah?"

"He's staying with Fin and Phoebe for a few days. I'm sure he'll be more than thrilled to have an endless supply of screen time, and that Fin will love having someone to play video games with – when he's not holding down the fort at SVU, that is."

Immediately feeling a wave of guilt wash over him, Elliot tried to get his partner to reconsider, even if he knew his efforts would fall on deaf ears.

"If you need to get back to him, I understand. I don't want to keep you from your son."

"Where I need to be right now, Elliot, is here with you. I'm not letting you deal with this on your own. I'd invite you to come and stay at my place, but something tells me you're not ready to go back to the city just yet. So, we'll wait here until you are - however long it takes."

Given everything that had happened, and the mix of alcohol and pain killers in his system, it wasn't surprising that Elliot had fallen asleep not long after eating. Also not a shock were the nightmares he found waiting for him almost as soon as he had closed his eyes. It seemed everywhere he turned, Rita Lasku's lifeless face haunted him, reminding him of the way he had failed to save her. Burning that book and his crucifix pendant hadn't been enough penance to atone for his sins. Maybe nothing ever would. So many times he had failed the people who looked to him to be their safety, while he still got to continue on in the aftermath and carry the heavy burden of guilt on his shoulders.

Now, though, Elliot's dreams taunted him with something else. Not of his own trauma, but rather images of the untold torment his partner went through. Even though he didn't know the details – and Olivia had been right to keep them from him – his vivid imagination was more than capable of filling in the blanks. He had believed that in leaving her behind, she would be safe, that without the weight of his burdens holding her back, she would be happy.

Maybe Kathy had been right – all those years ago. The words had been shouted at him once in anger, but looking back, Elliot saw a world of truth in the weight of them. Maybe he was a martyr at heart. Someone who went looking for suffering, needing to fix things for everyone else, but totally incapable of dealing with his own messes. No, when it came to his own shit, Elliot just behaved like an ostrich, stuck his head in the sand and hoped the problem it would go away on its own without having to face it head on.

Unaware that he was calling out in his sleep, Elliot shouted again. He'd already gotten Olivia's attention, and his partner was trying to calm him, but not having any luck getting through. He woke suddenly, sitting up with a start, and wrenching his already tender ribs in the process. Breathing rapidly, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Even though he was disoriented, Elliot recognized Olivia immediately. The other thing he was aware of was the pit of shame embroiling deep in his gut and as fast as he could get his aching body to move, he rushed to the bathroom, closing but not latching the door behind him. Bracing his hands against the sink, he tried to get his breathing under control.

"El?"

"I just need a minute"

It was a pitiful excuse, as far as lies went, and Elliot was fairly certain that Olivia knew it. But, she wasn't pressing the issue, and for that he was grateful. He was also relieved that the food he had consumed appeared to be staying put. How he wished his restless mind would settle as easily. Part of him longed to go back out to the other room and down a few hearty swallows of the whiskey he had bought, but Elliot knew it was likely he'd never get away with it. Not that Olivia would consider him to be an alcoholic, but she would merely be concerned. She'd likely have a point – drinking in his condition wasn't the wisest idea.

Even now, he could still feel the phantom weight of that cross around his neck, like a noose growing ever tighter. It didn't help any that he'd felt like a fraud wearing it as long as he had – a traitor to the Catholic church hiding behind a veil of instilled beliefs even though his own faith had long since been shaken. Now, after everything, his ideals had been completely shattered. He wasn't sure where to go or who to turn to. He may not even have a job anymore. The badge, something that had always supported him in times when he had nothing else, was going to betray him, too. And not even for his own sins – but the ones passed down to him by his father. He'd been deemed guilty by association by his family name alone. No matter how much he had vowed to be nothing like his old man, the ghost of Joseph Stabler Senior still haunted him at every turn, even all these years later.

Elliot knew he should go back out to the main room, knew that Olivia would be worried, but he just couldn't compel his feet to move. With more force than he intended, he turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face until even his beard was saturated. The residual droplets sliding down his cheeks reminded him of the tears he couldn't bring himself to shed. Shaking his head, he tried to free himself from the cacophony of echoes that resounded inside his brain. It was all closing in – too much, too fast, to the point where Elliot wasn't even sure if Olivia was actually here or if he had dreamed her into existence. At this moment, he was too scared to step outside that door, too afraid to learn that her presence wasn't a reality at all.

More than anything, Elliot longed for the ability to shower, the chance to wash himself clean – physically if not spiritually. But that was an impossible ask, a forbidden in the short set of rules and instructions he had been given. For at least another twenty four hours, he had to deal with the feeling of grime and residue on his skin, as though the shame he carried didn't make him feel unclean enough. The pitiful excuse of cleansing wipes the hospital had allowed him to use had gotten nowhere.

"El? Are you okay? I'm not trying to rush you, by all means take as long as you need. I just need to know you're all right."

Maybe Olivia hadn't been a hallucination. After all, it would certainly explain his full stomach, Elliot knew he had a vivid imagination when he was spiraling, but there was no way he could have conjured an entire meal into existence, at least not one that would have staved off his hunger to this degree. Plus, if he concentrated hard enough, he could smell the familiar scent of his partner's perfume, still unchanged after all these years. The light jasmine fragrance was one he easily recognized, and had always brought a familiar pull to his heart when he'd noticed it during the decade they had spent apart. Kathy had attempted to buy something similar once, and Elliot had needed to dissuade her, turning her direction into a different brand entirely. He'd never had the heart to explain why, but he had always suspected she had known his reasons.

The reminder of his wife brought back to Elliot's memory one of the reasons why he had secluded himself in this tiny bathroom in the first place. He shut his eyes again, unable to bear the look of his own reflection. Behind closed lids, images danced before him – all the victims and loved ones he'd failed over the years, including his own mother. The rage and self loathing continued to build until he was desperate to lash out at anything – but knowing that only he himself was an acceptable target and deserving of pain. It was why Bonner had chosen him to punish. With a feral cry, Elliot drew back his fist and punched the mirror, splintering the glass into a spiderweb pattern. Spent, he collapsed to his knees, choking back sobs as bitter tears were at last able to fall.