Darkest Nights

The session ended an hour later. George felt somewhat assuaged, but he also felt tense and despondent. He sighed as he followed Elliot to the car. Elliot turned the radio on and nothing was said on the ride home until Elliot's phone rang.

"Stabler."

"Elliot, it's Olivia. You have to come to a crime scene."

"Okay, but why?"

"There's another victim… Killed by the perps we're after," Olivia said.

Elliot almost froze.

"I'll be there soon," Elliot said quickly.

"You need to hurry. The feds are really getting impatient now that there's another victim."

"Okay, I'll be there." He turned the car and drove towards the location Olivia directed him to.

"Elliot, what is it?" George asked quietly. Elliot shook his head.

"Just something relating to your case," he said simply. After a few minutes they arrived at the crime scene; it was in a park-like area.

"Stay here," Elliot instructed. George leaned into the seat and closed his eyes.

Elliot walked over to Olivia. "Any ID?"

"No," Olivia said, shaking her head. They walked over to the victim's body. Elliot's stomach churned at the sight. The victim had the same injuries George had been found with, but they looked like they had been done over a shorter period of time. To make things worse, the man bore an uncanny resemblance to George.

"They must've got him right after they let George go," Elliot whispered shakily.

"I think so," Olivia said sadly.

"This is definitely a personal thing," Elliot noted.

"Definitely," Olivia agreed. They finished with the crime scene quickly.

George felt restless as he sat in Elliot's car. After a moment, he rolled the window down to get some fresh air.

And then he heard Elliot and Olivia. "Must've got him right after they let George go-" Cold shock came over him. Another victim…

He watched Elliot and Olivia standing over the body and piecing things together. Suddenly, a terrifying thought came over him.

"God…" he whispered. Now that the thought was there, it wouldn't go away.

He could just as easily been the one Elliot and Olivia were examining. He closed his eyes and tried to chase the thought away, but it only intensified to visions that he never wanted to imagine, let alone them actually occurring.

He saw himself, lifeless, being examined by the detectives… his body, being autopsied by Warner… Warner telling Elliot and Olivia what his cause of death had been…

He started shaking, his heart pounding in his chest, sweat breaking over his skin. He had to leave. Now.

He recognized that he was having a panic attack; his body was in fight or flight mode, but that didn't help anything. He'd heard his patients describing the feeling of panic attacks, but it didn't sound nearly as bad in words as it actually was.

He blinked and noticed his body was on autopilot; he was already running. He didn't get very far before he was gasping for breath, but it still wasn't far enough. He slowed, but refused to stop; he walked as quickly as he could.

Eventually he couldn't continue. His heart was racing, but his mind was racing even faster. Time seemed to be passing in slow motion.

He was gasping for breath, and he felt thoroughly sick to his stomach. He leaned over and vomited, and then he was trembling so violently that he couldn't stand. He sank to his knees, leaning against a tree for support. But it didn't stop there. He couldn't stop the flashbacks that presented themselves.

He was lying on the ground, groaning from pain. He heard a laugh, coming from far away, but he couldn't even focus. All he could do was force himself to continue to breathe. It was such a struggle. Another cut was made and he groaned as the sensations intensified. His body shook, breathing was practically impossible. And it never eased—it only got worse.

Elliot walked back to the car and saw that the passenger's door was open.

"George?" he called as he looked around. He saw George in the distance, leaning against a tree. He took off running.

George clutched at his chest. If he hadn't seen panic attacks so often before when treating patients, he'd be sure he was having heart failure. His lungs burned, too. He tried desperately to catch his breath, but what little air entered his lungs hissed and caught, causing him to cough.

He was being forced into a van. He wanted to fight back; the instinct was almost overwhelming, but he had to stop. Fighting back would mean death. He was sure the end result would be the same no matter what.

Elliot came running towards him. "George, what happened?" Elliot asked. He made to embrace the smaller man.

"No, don't do that! I'll suffocate," George said desperately. He coughed loudly.

"What do you mean?" Elliot asked, alarmed.

"Panic attack," he gasped. Elliot noticed how fast George was breathing— just short of hyperventilating.

"You'll make yourself sick. Take deep breaths," Elliot instructed.

"I already did… and I'm trying," George replied. Elliot set one hand on George's shoulder.

"Is this alright?" he asked. George nodded and coughed again.

"What happened, George?" Elliot asked.

"I heard you." George closed his eyes and continued to rub his chest. Elliot grabbed George's quivering arm and pressed down. The pulse was so fast; he could hardly count the individual beats. And George was still breathing too fast.

"George, you're going to pass out if you keep breathing like this. I know you're terrified but you have to calm down," Elliot said. He moved his hand and ran circles on George's back.

Eventually George started to breathe better—enough, at least, so Elliot wasn't afraid he'd pass out.

"Let's get out of here," Elliot suggested. George nodded silently. He tried to stand up but he was still trembling. Elliot helped George stand, and they moved at a snail's pace towards the car. George was only vaguely aware of being told to lie down in the back seat. Elliot drove quickly, looking back at him every so often, but George didn't notice. He was too absorbed in his panicked thoughts.

He could just as easily have been the body Elliot and Olivia were looking at.

The thought terrified him. As miserable as he'd felt ever since he'd been taken, he was sure that he didn't wish that his attackers or the infection had killed him. He had come so close to death: actually, he had technically died, for that moment in the hospital.

So close.

He shivered violently as he thought about his attackers. He wasn't complaining, but the fact remained that they'd killed all the other victims. Why not kill him? Did they have something else planned? He almost moaned from the new wave of fear the thought provoked. What if they tried to kidnap and torture him again? He didn't think he could survive if it happened again, his barriers had been broken, and he couldn't even bear the thought…

But no, Elliot wouldn't let that happen. Ever.

He blinked as he felt Elliot's arms around him. Now time seemed to be passing ridiculously fast. He was carried, and set on the sofa. Elliot knelt in front of him, whispering in his ear and running circles on his back, trying to calm him.

Elliot wouldn't let them attack again, right? He had said no one would hurt him, but it felt closer to a dream than reality. Reality had been the same as pain while love and protection were dreams. Now they were reversed, but he couldn't adjust that easily, even though he'd like nothing better than to forget what had happened or at least move on from it.

"I love you," Elliot whispered.

Love. Safety. He was safe now… so why didn't he feel safe? He felt as afraid as he'd ever been, possibly even more so.

He was too afraid to even formulate words. He vaguely registered that Elliot was asking him questions, but his mouth was impossibly dry, his brain too busy trying to keep him in safe and in one piece. His body was still in a protective stance: his hands were bunched into fists. His body was as convinced of the presence of danger as his mind was. "George, just tell me what you're thinking," Elliot begged. He shook his head. Elliot disappeared before coming back with a glass of water that he handed to George. His hand was shaking too much for that.

Elliot held his arm steady and he took a tiny sip. His swollen throat protested, but he continued drinking slowly. The water cut through his panic slightly- just enough to let his thoughts become words.

"I could have been that body," he whispered. His voice was laced with fear and agitation.

"But you aren't. You're safe," Elliot replied.

"I've never panicked like this before, even when I was there… and how can you be sure they aren't going to come back?"

"Because you're with me now," Elliot said. He walked to his closet and grabbed a blanket. He set it on top of him gently, and then he wrapped his arms around George.

As afraid as George still felt, he couldn't deny that Elliot's arms felt good. Elliot continued whispering reassurances in his ear and the panic gradually subsided to anxiety, the best he could hope for at that moment. Even with all his fears, Elliot felt safe to him.