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.

Olivia heard the crash and was on her feet in a heartbeat. More grateful than ever that Elliot hadn't latched – or even locked – the bathroom door, she didn't hesitate to push it open. What she saw on the other side nearly broke her heart in two. The mirror was obviously beyond repair, but that was the least of her concerns at the moment. More worrisome was the sobbing, broken man on his knees at her feet – especially now that he was bleeding from not only a fresh wound, but a self inflicted one. Not caring in the least about her own limitations or whether or not her ankle might protest in regard to the position she was about to twist her body into, Olivia dropped down beside her partner and wrapped her arms around him.

Not exactly expecting her gestures of comfort to be openly welcomed, Olivia hadn't been anticipating for Elliot to react like wounded animal, either. But the more she considered it, that was exactly what he was. Anyone else would likely approach him with caution, treat him with the barest minimum of necessary aid, and send him on his way, not wanting to incite any anger. But she wasn't just anyone. She had seen him at his worst before, and she had never once been afraid of him. She wasn't going to run away now, not when he needed her more than ever.

"Okay, El, okay. I'm just going to wrap that hand up with a towel to slow the bleeding. We don't have to move if you don't want to."

Olivia worked as she spoke, wrapping the rough cotton around Elliot's torn and tattered knuckles. The bleeding wasn't actually as bad as she had initially thought, but until she could assess the damage and see if there were any slivers of glass still in the cuts, she didn't want to take the chance of him injuring himself further. Knowing there was no way she would have the strength to lift her partner, Olivia settled herself back on the floor beside him, surprised but no less welcoming when Elliot wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his nose into the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

It was reminiscent of the way he had fallen into her body in the hospital hallway after Kathy had died. Olivia was well aware that Elliot would not have been comfortable showing his vulnerable side to many people, and despite the fact that she hated he had been reduced to this, she was deeply honored to know that he trusted her enough to allow her to be his rock at a time when he was falling apart. Feeling the warmth of her partner's tears bathe skin, Olivia clung to him tighter, desperate to give him something to hold onto. She still didn't know all the details about what he had endured, but whatever it was, it had shaken him to his core.

After a time, Elliot seemed to come back into himself. When he did, Olivia recognized that, for the first time, her partner actually registered her presence – even if he had been clinging to her up until that point. It was almost as if Elliot were convinced he had imagined her into existence.

"I'm sorry, Liv."

"You have nothing to apologize for. But do you think you can get up off the floor? With your ribs, it probably isn't the best place for you to be sitting."

Managing a nod, Elliot allowed Olivia to help him to his feet, not even bothering to hide the wince in his expression from the discomfort he was feeling. He expected her to lead him back out to the main room and deposit him back in the bed, so he was surprised when she closed the lid on the toilet and made him sit there instead.

"I'll be right back, I just want to grab something from my bag. Will you be okay for a few seconds?"

"Yeah. I promise I'm not going to punch anything else."

True to her word, Olivia returned shortly, bringing with her a first aid kit. Elliot already knew the peroxide would burn like a bitch, but he just chocked it up the punishment he knew he deserved. It certainly wasn't the first time his partner had ever treated some of his wounds – even not in recent history – but the memories that came swarming back as result left Elliot with a myriad of emotions surging through him. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful, he just didn't feel deserving of the tenderness he was being shown. Though he was anything but a stranger to Olivia's kindness, everything that was happening felt a bit too surreal. As his partner gently examined his damaged knuckles, removing any stray bits of glass, then cleansed the area with peroxide, Elliot barely flinched. The antibiotic ointment with an additional pain relief component added seemed to work almost immediately to soothe the broken skin, and Olivia also carefully wrapped his hand in gauze. It was loose enough so it wouldn't restrict his movement, but covered the wound to prevent infection.

"Come on, El. You must be exhausted. Why don't you try and get some rest?"

Moving like an automaton, Elliot allowed himself to be led back to the bed he had previously occupied. Since he was already wearing comfortable clothing, there was no need for him to change. It felt strange laying down in the middle of the day, but there was no denying the persistent exhaustion that had consumed both his mind and his body. The one thing he was most terrified of was going to sleep and waking up alone. Thankfully, Olivia was able to intuit the unspoken question on his mind and calm him before he could speak his fears into the room.

"I'm not going anywhere. Just sleep. I'm sure the hospital kept you awake most of the night with their concussion protocol as it was."

She was right, of course. But there was something else holding him back. Ever since Rita had died, he'd been living a waking nightmare. Not even his constant drive for justice could bring him a moment of peace. His dreams were as equally haunted as his waking thoughts, and there was no escape.

Just when he was about to abandon all hope, Elliot glanced up at his partner – still standing beside him where he sat on the bed – with pain filled eyes. It was then that he noticed the compass nestled at her throat, the gold pendant shining like a beacon of hope. Even though they had moved from the bathroom, Elliot could recall another time when he had been on his knees in front of this beautiful woman, looking to her to save him when he had truly believed all else had been lost. And now, even though he hadn't gone to her, she had come to him.

Elliot's thoughts continued to wander as Olivia fussed about, moving the various items from the bed in order to afford him more space to sleep. There was no doubt that his faith in himself was nonexistent at this point, and given what he had experienced, he had no clue what to do with the Catholic beliefs that had been instilled in him since birth. One thing was for certain – he trusted his partner. Even given the many times he'd failed her, she had never deserted him.

The bedside lamp to his right was turned out, and with the curtains still drawn, the room was plunged into relative darkness. Darkness was something Elliot could relate to right now, it enveloped enough of his soul. But a bright light still remained – in the form of his partner - and he felt that he could close his eyes without fear of being consumed by the nothingness that threatened to destroy him – at least for now.

"Did you want me to sit with you, El?"

"Please."

Digging in her bag for a moment, Olivia brought a tablet over to the bed, and made herself comfortable. She also set an alarm on her phone, something that made Elliot confused, until she explained that she didn't want him to nap for too long, so his sleep that night wouldn't be disrupted. Inhaling deeply, Elliot let the scent of his partner's perfume soothe him to sleep.

When he next opened his eyes, he was back in his loft apartment, standing in the kitchen. The light on the answering machine was blinking, indicating an unheard message. With a pang in his gut, Elliot stepped toward the counter, already anticipating what he was about to hear. It was going to be Rita, calling him her Count of Monte Cristo, asking for his help. He wasn't sure he could bear to hear her again. However, instead of the young woman's accent, it was another – more familiar voice – that reached his ears.

"Elliot. Help me. I don't know where I am. I think he's going to kill me."

It was Olivia, but not the woman he knew now. This sounded more like the partner he had left behind, the one who had endured an unimaginable terror that he had known nothing about. Had she tried to reach out to him in the aftermath of her ordeal? Why hadn't anyone ever called him? If he had known, nothing would have kept him away, he'd have swam across the Atlantic if necessary in order to reach her side.

The phone on the counter rang again, and once more Elliot tried to answer, but his feet were rooted to their spot. Unable to do anything, he was forced to listen to yet another message, this one not from Olivia herself, but instead from Fin. Informing him that his partner had been greenlit by BX9 and was currently in the emergency room of Mercy hospital.

Closing his eyes, desperate to block out the pain and heartache of it all, Elliot covered his ears with hands. The next time he chose to recognize his surroundings, he was in a diner in Ohio, and he fervently wished he had remained at his apartment – even if somewhere in his subconscious, he knew that he was trapped within a nightmare in a shitty motel somewhere in Long Island. The last thing he wanted to see were any of the other potential outcomes of what could have happened that fateful day, never having been able to shake the guilt over the fact that Olivia had been the one to get a hip full of birdshot and not him.

Elliot felt Olivia's hand close around his wrist, and in his mind, he believed she was helping aim his weapon so they could both take down the man who was trying to murder them. It was only when he felt her palm soothe over his head and heard her speak his name that he recognized she was trying to call him home. Opening his eyes, found himself staring into his partner's concerned expression, and his skin felt clammy with sweat. A harsh cough rattled his chest, and Elliot realized that the reason he couldn't take in air properly was because he was holding his breath. Inhaling and exhaling rapidly, he was well on the verge of hyperventilating when Olivia took his hand and placed his palm flat against the center of her chest.

"Breathe with me, El. In for a count of four, hold it for a just a second, then out for a count of four. Good. Now again."

She worked with him, the two of them repeating the process a few times until his respiration had returned to normal. That still didn't change the chasm of shame that threatened to swallow Elliot whole, nor the fear that wanted to consume him. He wasn't sure now what had been a dream, and what was reality, and all he wanted to do was dive headfirst back into that bottle of whiskey.

For all the many times Elliot had scoffed at Olivia in the past, had believed that she didn't have the ability to diagnose his PTSD, her efforts at calming him were remarkable. Now that he knew different – even if it wasn't aware of all the details, he was ashamed that he had ever taken her for granted when she had first tried to encourage him to seek help.

Trying to slow down his racing mind, Elliot attempted to center his focus on the here and now, before the traumas of the past mixed with the ones of the present and overwhelmed him entirely. Beneath his fingertips, he could register the feeling of Olivia's heartbeat, and he allowed himself to concentrate on the steady rhythm. Gradually, his breathing also began to slow and match the pace his partner had set.

"Are you with me, El?"

Was he with her? Elliot wasn't sure. He wanted to be with her, but a part of him still felt trapped in the living hell that the dream had trapped him in. Even though he no longer wore it, the crucifix that used to be an ever present fixture around his neck felt as though it still lingered, burning the skin of his chest. As he rubbed the area where the pain was most prevalent, Elliot realized that the sensation of discomfort he recognized was from where Bonner had struck him with the stun gun in order to immobilize him. Belatedly, he also realized that he had yet to answer his partner.

"I'm with you. I think."

"Here, have some water."

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Elliot begrudgingly accepted the plastic bottle, taking a few halfhearted sips. He thought again to himself about how much he'd prefer to be drinking the liquor by his side instead, not having realized that he'd actually vocalized his internal monologue. It was only when Olivia gave him an answer that he understood what he had done.

"I'm sure you would, but we both know that's not going to help the situation any."

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Elliot knew Olivia was right. He had very nearly fallen down that rabbit hole before. He didn't want to develop any bad or dangerous habits now. The last thing he wanted was to give up one vice only to replace it with another.

"Were you able to get any sleep at all?"

Again, Olivia's voice reached him. Elliot tried to cling to it with everything he was worth. If anyone else would have asked him that question, he would have felt placated, but he knew that wasn't what his partner was trying to do.

"If by sleep you mean 'torment', then yes. It's been awhile since I've had dreams that bad."

Elliot felt his partner's touch before he saw her hand envelop his in her own. Glancing to his side, he was able to see the way she was looking at him with – as he had previously called them – 'dime sized pupils'. Now, though, he was able to recognize the expression as pure empathy, and allowed himself to welcome the warmth radiating from the woman sitting beside him.

"I know you're probably not in the right space to start talking about therapy yet, especially when it comes to what you've just gone through. But, when you are, I want you to call me. I've recently started seeing someone new for a different sort of technique. I think maybe you'll find it might be beneficial for you, too."

Just as she had been doing ever since she arrived, Olivia was showing patience and understanding. Elliot knew that she was right, that he would inevitably need to contact his therapist – if the man even still remembered what he looked like, as it had been so long since he'd been to an appointment. He wasn't sure what his partner was referring to in regard to the new method of treatment she had mentioned, but he was aware that she was being vague on purpose so as not to overwhelm him. All the more reason she had his appreciation.

Since drinking wasn't an option, what Elliot needed more than anything else right now was a distraction. He knew Olivia wasn't going to make him talk before he was ready, but he also wasn't in the mood to fill the silence in the room with idle chatter. What he could do, however, was listen to his partner share stories – especially if they were about her son. He had missed entirely too much time to witness her as a mother, and more than anything, he wanted to hear more about the life of the boy she had rescued and made part of her family.

"Liv? Will you tell me about Noah? Anything you want. I just think I need to hear something positive right now – anything that will bring some light into all this darkness I feel around me."

"Of course."

Making himself as comfortable as he possibly could, Elliot settled in to listen. He didn't take his eyes off of Olivia's face for a second, aside from those times when his gaze drifted down to the compass she wore around her neck. Right now, that was where the majority of his hopes were held. That this woman who had come to save him still believed in the possibility of something more, still trusted that he was a good man despite all of his numerous faults. Maybe, if he could let her help him heal, he'd find his way back home.

Though it hadn't been his intention, Elliot had drifted back to sleep from the sound of his partner's soothing cadence. This time, his dreams were nonexistent, something that was more infinitely preferred compared to the alternative from earlier. But even in slumber, Olivia's voice still reached him. It wrapped around him as effective as an embrace, and offered a source of comfort that Elliot knew he had spent quite a long time searching for. There were still many sins that he needed to beg forgiveness for, but at least his partner had absolved him. They were finally finding their way back to one another.

The dreamless sleep Elliot had been enjoying did not remain that way for long. However, rather than be haunted by the images of his many faults, he was instead transported back in time forty eight hours, to the point where he was once again splayed out like a human sacrifice – a living representation of the tattoo that was inked on his skin. It was funny the memories that resurfaced when you believed you were about to die. In Elliot's case, being a part of his very own crucifixion had called to mind the doubts from his childhood. Not just of Jesus, but the many other tales in the bible where fathers had been asked to sacrifice their sons as a test of their faith.

Joe Stabler, his own father, hadn't exactly been a great example of who he wanted to live up to as a parent. When he'd had his own children, Elliot had vowed to do better. Any time those readings came up at church on Sundays, he'd never understand, even as an adult, because he knew he would fail the test immediately. Given the choice, he would lay down his life to spare any of his kids. As both a Marine and a police officer, he'd lay down his life to spare the life of just about anyone.

But it appeared that his life wasn't a fair trade. Instead he was made to watch as those he loved and cared for suffered, though he would have gladly switched places with any of them. Even now, when he was finally the target, it was only because he was trying to get justice for Rita and the others.

Elliot felt a hand close around his wrist, and believing it to be the ghost of Eric Bonner, come to drag him back to hell, he swung out with his fist. The only question he was uncertain about was whether it was to fight the other man off or grab on tight so he wouldn't be left behind yet again. It was only when he heard a feminine cry that he startled back to consciousness, remembering where he was and who was with him, and feeling even more desolate than ever before.

Never before in his life had he ever put his hands on a woman in anger, and now, he had just hit Olivia. Of all people, he had just hit his partner. There wasn't even an excuse for it, not like the time Olivia had slapped him multiple times in a desperate attempt to save his life from Dale Stuckey when he had been bound to a chair and both of them had been held at gunpoint. What he had just done was unforgivable, and she was going to leave him now, and he couldn't even say he blamed her.

"Elliot!"

Of course she was yelling at him. He deserved it. Elliot couldn't even bring himself to open his eyes, too ashamed to see the damage he had inflicted. He knew the strength he possessed behind one of his punches, having broken enough weight bags over the years. The thought that he could have marred Olivia's beautiful skin made him physically ill.

"El, listen to me. You didn't hurt me. I need you to look at me."

The voice was gentler now, but no less insistent. And she was still holding on to him. Deciding to take a chance – the only thing he had to lose was a broken heart – Elliot cracked open one eye. Olivia was still sitting with him on the bed, her fingers wrapped gently around his bandaged wrist, which she held in her lap. Her palm was cradling the side of his face, and she was regarding him with a worried expression. There were no visible marks that he could see, so maybe she had been telling him the truth. Even so, he still needed confirmation.

"Did I hit you?"

"No. I promise you, you didn't. You were agitated in your sleep, but you didn't come near me."

Still not entirely convinced, Elliot searched his partner's brown eyes to determine whether or not she was telling the truth.

"I could have sworn I heard you cry out."

"You did. I'm sorry if that woke you. I was coming back from the bathroom and I stubbed my toe on the bottom of the dresser. I didn't mean to be so loud, but I almost lost my balance as a result."

No matter how many times she had told him she was fine when she hadn't been over the years, Olivia had never been able to convincingly lie to him. That wasn't going to start today. Satisfied, and relieved that he hadn't actually struck out with his fists and injured the woman he loved, Elliot continued to allow himself to be comforted.

"Do you think you can get up? I couldn't help but glance at your aftercare instructions from the hospital, so I know a shower is off the table until at least tomorrow, but you've already sweat through your clothes and the sheets. I thought maybe it might make you feel better to freshen up a little."

Nodding his agreement, Elliot tried to use his abdominal muscles to pull himself into a sitting position. It was clear after only a moment of struggling that his body was not on board with that particular arrangement. It was then that he remembered the injury he had sustained to his ribs, likely part of the reason why moving was so difficult. That was when Olivia got to her feet and walked around the bed, regarding him with an amused glint in her eye.

"Do you remember the second year in our partnership, in particular the case with Richard White? You said something to me one night when you dropped me off during that time when I was being stubborn, something about me not being a superhero. I'm going to remind you of the same thing right now. It's just you and me within these four walls, El. You don't have to be a tough guy for my sake. Let me help you."

With a resigned sigh, Elliot nodded his consent. Slipping an arm under his shoulders, Olivia helped to ease him until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Once he had his bearings, she guided him to his feet. At first, he was hesitant to let his partner bear the majority of his weight, but eventually Elliot allowed his body to sag into Olivia's. Together they made their way back into the bathroom. Without even having to say a word, Elliot was given a few moments of privacy to tend to his needs, with the promise from Olivia that she would return shortly. Trying his best to ignore the broken mirror, Elliot relieved himself, washed his hands, then resumed his previous position from earlier on the closed toilet seat as he waited for his partner to come back.

When Olivia reappeared in the bathroom, it seemed as though she had taken it upon herself to go through his bag, as she was armed with a fresh pair sweat pants and a clean tee shirt. With a determined look on her face, she stepped closer, and it was then that Elliot noticed what else she held in in her hand.

"These rinse free cleansing cloths aren't perfect by any means, but they helped me a great deal when I couldn't shower for a few days last year while waiting for my hip to heal. I had a couple packages left over, and I thought maybe you could benefit from them, too."

It made sense, but Elliot was lost in his own personal hell that he didn't even know if he could manage any form of self care at this point. That didn't exactly cement his decision to stay at this motel alone as one of the smartest choices he'd ever made, so it was probably a good thing his partner was just as stubborn as he was.

Not exactly expecting Olivia to tease him right now, but relieved that she was treating him normally and not with kid gloves, it took a minute for Elliot to register the next question he was asked.

"Were you wanting to do this with your clothes on, or have you found some new way of getting clean that I don't know about? If you're uncomfortable with me helping you, just say so, El, but I want you to remember this wouldn't exactly be the first time for me to see you in your underwear."

Despite everything, Elliot was unable to hide the smirk that played over his own lips as a result that particular comment. He recalled the occasion Olivia was referring to well, and had it not been another near death experience, it would have been a better memory. Knowing he couldn't argue against the fact that he needed help – his ribs were still hurting like a bitch, and that didn't even count the numerous wounds that littered his body – Elliot crossed his arms over his midsection to grab hold of the hem of his shirt. He was not successful in hiding his wince at the discomfort that movement caused him, and yet again received a gentle admonition from the woman by his side.

"What did I tell you about not trying to be a superhero?"

Resigned to his fate, Elliot dropped his arms back down to his side. He knew it was pointless to argue – especially when she was giving him the Captain voice and look. But, despite the authority with which he was being regarded, when Olivia helped him undress, there was nothing but gentleness in her touch.

Standing there in that small space, wearing only his boxers, Elliot tried not to focus on the way his partner was washing him. Much as when she had tended to his bloodied and torn knuckles earlier, she was treating him with nothing but care and compassion. He knew he didn't even have to worry about the antiseptic solution on the cleansing cloths touching any broken skin, and even though he still felt he was deserving of pain and punishment, Elliot knew none would come to him by Olivia's hand.

Before he fully realized what was happening, Olivia was helping him get dressed once more. Clad in only the sweatpants that she had brought in for him to use, Elliot stood patiently while he waited to see what would happen next. What he hadn't been expecting was for Olivia to run one of the washcloths under cool water and bathe his face and neck. Where the the wipes she had used previously had cleansed him, this was soothing him. After she was finished, a shirt was eased over his head, and with minimal effort, he was able to get his arms into the sleeves.

"You can go on out, El. I'll clean up in here. Just be sure to use the spare bed, the one that will be sure to have the fresh, dry sheets."

"But where will you sleep?"

"Don't worry about that. We can always figure that out later. I just want you to be comfortable."

Still not one hundred percent certain, but not willing to risk refusing the instructions he had been given, Elliot eased his aching body into the other bed. Apparently, Olivia had already planned ahead for this actuality, as what items she had previously been keeping here had been moved to another location.

In no mood to try and sleep any more, Elliot instead held an imaginary conversation with himself in his mind, trying to figure out how to best bring up the subjects that he wanted to discuss with his partner. It wasn't that they couldn't talk to one another, but they had both certainly shied away from it often enough over the years that it made him wonder. But there were things he needed to know, and out of anyone else on the planet, it would be Olivia who could give him the answers he was looking for.

As though he had wished her into existence for a second time – even though Elliot was already well aware of his partner's presence in his motel room – Olivia emerged from the bathroom. She wandered over to the small fridge in the corner, presumably under the pretense of helping herself to a bottle of water, but Elliot soon saw her intentions for what they were.

"Can I bring you a bottle of water, too?"

"Please."

It definitely wasn't a substitute for the whiskey that he wanted, but it was certainly the better option. Plus, if he was going to open up a topic like the one he intended, Elliot knew it would be better off if they were both sober. Somewhere deep inside, a voice was screaming at him – that these were questions he should be asking a priest or someone else who subscribed to the Catholic faith, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was set foot in a church. Whether that had to do with what had happened to him the last time he was in one, or something else entirely, he needed to find out.

With as much patience as he could possibly muster, Elliot waited until Olivia had situated herself by his side. Much like when they had been sharing the other bed before, their positions were mirror images of one another, and the knowledge of that gave Elliot the courage he needed to voice his concerns out loud.

"Liv? Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course."

Licking his lips, Elliot dared to go all in.

"I can remember when we were partners, and how many times we'd find ourselves on opposite sides. Mainly because my faith was telling me one thing, and your – I don't want to say lack of -"

Olivia reached out and rested a hand on her partner's forearm.

"You can say it, El. I was admittedly more agnostic back then. You won't hurt my feelings."

Nodding, Elliot continued.

"I don't even know if you can even give me an answer, but I feel like I'm drowning on dry land. How did you know there was nothing to believe in, and at what point where you able to find something to hold on to?"