Title: Pandemic
By: nancy
Fandom: Law & Order: SVU
Pairing: Alex/Olivia & Elliot/George
Rating: R
Warnings: slash and femslash in this one, violence, rape, beatings, language, WiP?
Summary: In a world devastated by a deadly virus, New York is split into two camps: civilized and chaotic. The violence hits home when George is kidnapped and the SVU team crosses the bridge to Queens. xover with CSINY.
***
“I hate the frickin’
Unions,” Elliot snarled, kicking the tire. “God damn useless
sons of bitches!”
Olivia snorted and asked,
“How’s that different from any other form of government?”
“I didn’t say it was
different,” Elliot replied sharply.
Holding up a hand, she said,
“It’s not the end of the world, El.”
“No, that happened twenty nine
years ago,” Munch commented, joining them.
Elliot gave him a warning look,
but it went unheeded.
“You know, I’ve always been
partial to the theory that the Unions were behind the whole pandemic in the
first place. There’ve got a secret society and used the
public transportation systems to facilitate the spread of it.”
Olivia shook her head. “Not
now, John.”
“If not now, when?” he
countered, wry.
Baring his teeth at his friends
in an impotent gesture, Elliot stalked away to one of the street vendors. Maybe
a sausage would help calm him down.
“Afternoon, Detective. What can
I get you?” the man asked.
“The works,” Elliot answered.
“George is going to kill you if
you keep him up all night breaking wind,” Olivia pointed out, joining him.
Taking the sausage, Elliot held
it up to her, then took a big bite.
She laughed. “Don’t come crying
to me tomorrow because he made you sleep on the sofa.”
Elliot sighed and complained,
“Can’t you just let me eat in peace? Just one thing.
That’s all I ask of this bad fuckin’ day.”
Olivia held up her hands, still
chuckling, and walked over to Munch at the car.
Sighing again, Elliot looked at
the sausage and then tossed it in the barrel beside the vendor, apologizing,
“Sorry, man. I’ll make sure someone knows you’ve got good stuff, okay?”
The vendor grinned. “No
problem. I know what it’s like to have to sleep on the couch.”
They shared a commiserating
look before Elliot walked back to his partner and said, “Happy now?”
“Thrilled,” she replied, dry.
“Can we head back now?”
He made a face at her, but
climbed in the car. It didn’t take too long to get back to the precinct, which
was too bad because he’d been half looking forward to cursing out the traffic.
That outlet gone, he followed Olivia and Munch up to the unit. Once settled at
their desks, he asked, “You really think that O’Malley’s guilty?”
“You don’t?”
Shrugging at her surprise, he
replied, “I don’t think he’s got real motive.”
“Motive is in the eye of the
beholder,” Munch announced, holding out a folder.
Elliot took the folder and
flipped through it, jaw tightening as he found pictures of kids in various
states of undress. Olivia leaned over, holding out her hand, and he passed it
over to her.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered.
“I didn’t think he was into kids, just murder.”
“Plenty of motive right there,”
Munch pointed out.
Pinning the skinny man with a
hard look, Elliot demanded, “Just where did these come from? How do we know
that they belong to O’Malley?”
“We know because his wife just
brought them in,” Munch told him, nodding in another direction.
Elliot followed his gaze to
find the young and not-so-pretty Mrs. O’Malley standing over by the door. She
looked nervous and upset, not a big surprise considering her find. Looking back
at Munch, he mused, “So O’Malley is leading his happy little perv life when Boxter finds out
about it. O’Malley leads him into the alley with a lure of money and/or drugs,
then pops him one in the head. Makes sense, but aside from the pictures, what
do we have for evidence?”
“No gun or casings at the
scene,” Olivia agreed. “No fingerprints. No sign that their lives intersected
at any other point than the murder.”
Munch wagged a finger at her.
“You were ready to convict him ten minutes after meeting him and now
you’re complaining that there’s no evidence?”
“Now I know he’s guilty and I
want to make sure it sticks,” she countered.
“Would somebody care to tell me
why the wife of a homicide suspect is standing there unattended?” Cragen questioned, coming up to them.
Munch turned on a dime and
headed over to Mrs. O’Malley.
“Now, what’s going on?”
Olivia held up the folder.
“O’Malley’s into kiddie porn.”
Surprised, Cragen
said, “Well there’s the motive. Bring him in and break him.”
“What about evidence?”
Cragen
thought about it a moment, then said, “Be creative and you won’t need any.”
Elliot hid a grin at Olivia’s
irritation. She was the only cop he knew that went overboard finding evidence.
Everyone else was more than happy with the relaxed rules and regs.
“C’mon, let’s go round him up,”
Elliot said, standing.
Olivia grimaced, but also
stood, and they headed back out.
* *
* *
“He was surprisingly easy to
crack.”
George half-smiled and replied,
“Maybe you’re just getting better at it.”
“Gee, thanks,” Elliot retorted,
tweaking a nipple under the t-shirt. “You’re all heart.”
Taking hold of Elliot’s belt,
George tugged him in closer and murmured, “I’ll show you what I am, if you give
me a few minutes.”
“Just a few
minutes?” Elliot teased, before kissing him slow and deep.
Opening his mouth to his
lover’s, George hummed in approval as Elliot wrapped his arms around him,
pinning him in place while he devoured George’s mouth. They didn’t get a lot of
time together, with Elliot pulling double shifts a lot of the time, but when
they did, they more than made up for it.
Elliot backed him up against
the wall and murmured against his lips, “You hot for it, baby? You want to feel
me in you?”
“God, yes!”
George groaned, spreading his legs. “Fuck me.”
When Elliot’s hands slid down
to his ass and lifted, George wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist.
Sometimes, especially when it came to sex, he loved the differences in their
height and weight. Elliot walked over to the sofa and sat him on the back of
it, all the while devouring George’s mouth. His pants and briefs were gone in
short order and Elliot moaned on feeling the present that George had left for
him.
Breaking off the kiss, George
grinned fiercely and told him, “Now we don’t have to wait.”
George gasped in unexpected
surprise when Elliot yanked him off the sofa and spun him around, bending him
over the couch and pulling the plug from his ass. Seconds later, George moaned
with his own pleasure as he was filled with his lover’s cock. Elliot’s rhythm
was hard and fast right from the start, the burning sending shudders of feeling
through George. Ruthless fingers pulled and pinched at a nipple while the other
hand twisted around George’s cock, overwhelming him with need.
“That’s it, that’s it baby take
my cock, take it good,” Elliot groaned against his ear, humping into him almost
savagely.
George’s moans were more or
less constant by then, his prostate hit almost every other stroke and his dick
very happily thrusting into the tight grip of Elliot’s hand. It was over
brutally fast, the orgasm slamming through him on one vicious twist of his
beleaguered nipple. Elliot rutted into him as his hole clamped down, giving
even more friction, and came, grinding down in him as deep as he could go.
Completely wasted from the
sexual release, George couldn’t bring himself to care that he was going to be
sore in the morning, even with his preparation.
* *
* *
Sore didn’t even begin to cover
it, by the time George woke up around ten the next morning. There had been
three more times after the sofa, and only one had been comfortable and slow in
bed. The other two had included hard and wet in the shower, and bent double on
the kitchen table.
All the more reason to keep
going to yoga, he thought with a groan.
“Don’t move,” Elliot ordered.
“I’ve got juice and drugs right here.”
Blinking at his lover, George
took his advice not to move and opened his mouth to accept the pills and the
juice to wash it down. That taken care of, Elliot returned to his spot stretched
out along George and slid an arm under his head as additional pillowing. As one
of his lover’s hands rubbed slowly over his stomach, George sighed in
contentment and asked, “So how did the meeting go yesterday morning?”
Elliot snorted. “Those fatheads
don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“I hope you didn’t call them
that to their faces,” George questioned, amused.
Shaking his head, Elliot
replied, “No, but I wanted to. You know, I know that they run things, I really
do. And most of the time I got no problem with that, it’s just…”
“The freedom run goes slow?”
“If at all.”
George laced his fingers with
Elliot’s and said, “It took a lot of strength and ruthlessness for them to keep
order during and after the pandemic, Elliot, it’s only to be expected that
they’ll be reluctant to give it up.”
“This isn’t a friggin’ dictatorship, you know. The other unions want a
vote, too!” Elliot exclaimed.
George brought their hands up
to kiss the back of Elliot’s hand and soothed, “I know, I know. It just takes
time. Did you talk to your friend at the FBI office?”
Elliot snorted. “Lotta good that did me. As long
as the city’s running, they don’t really care who runs it, especially not now
that they’ve been connected to DC for the last couple of years.”
“I’ve…heard some troubling
stories about DC,” George said hesitantly.
Elliot looked at him in
surprise. “What about?”
“About
homosexuality being against the law. That all viable adults are to
reproduce at least four times with four different partners by the time they’re
thirty. That marriage isn’t really marriage any more. That the Church, or any
religion for that matter, is practically forbidden, and certainly not
encouraged.”
Sighing, Elliot kissed George’s
temple and said, “It’ll never happen here, baby. Count on it. We got too many
different kinds of people here for that to ever make a go.”
And yet, George couldn’t help
but wonder. If enough creature comforts were offered, would the Union
sell out the city? God knew that the PD Union was having a damn hard time
getting their voice heard, and they were one of the more powerful ones.
“Hey, stop worrying so much,”
Elliot scolded. “This is our day off, remember? Get some more sleep and when
you wake up, I’ll suck you off.”
George laughed in spite of
himself, meeting the merry, bright gaze of his lover with a smile of his own.
“And with an offer like that, who could resist?”
“That’s right,” Elliot agreed,
rolling onto his side so he could curl close. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, El,” George
sighed.
He would worry about it later,
not on the precious, short time they had together.
* *
* *
Elliot grimaced as he
stretched, then grinned at the thought that George was probably worse off than
he was. And it wasn’t that he wanted his lover to be uncomfortable, exactly,
but the fact that it was because of him did satisfy that annoyingly possessive
nature he had. It bothered him sometimes, that he
wanted to leave his mark on George, but the other man seemed to enjoy it just
as much.
“You look like the cat that ate
the cream,” Olivia commented, coming back from her stint as a witness. “Do I
want to know?”
Elliot grinned at her.
“Probably not the details, but I definitely got the cream this morning.”
“Gee, thanks for not sharing,
Elliot,” she replied, eyes rolling.
He chuckled and said, “You’re
welcome.”
“Hey, where’s George?” she
asked, looking around. “Didn't you say he was coming in today?”
Elliot looked at his watch,
suddenly realizing that his lover was overdue. Picking up the phone and dialing
the hospital, he said, “He probably stayed late with a patient.”
“St.
John’s, how may I direct your call?”
“Hey, Jennie, it’s Elliot Stabler.”
“Elliot! Hi there! What can I
do for you?”
“Is George still there?”
“I can check, hold on.”
Elliot’s finger beat
impatiently against the desk as he waited.
“Elliot, he left over an hour
ago, closer to an hour and a half,” Jennie said.
Worry rose with a vengeance and
he said, “Thanks, Jennie. If he checks in, tell him to call the precinct,
okay?”
“I will.”
Hanging up, Elliot caught
Olivia’s gaze and said, “He should’ve been here an hour ago. I’m going out to
look for him.”
Olivia nodded and stood with
him, attaching her gun and shield to her belt. “Let's go get him.”
“Liv,
you don’t have to come,” Elliot protested. “I know you and Alex have that thing
tonight.”
Half-smiling, Olivia answered,
“Getting me out of formal-ware is a favor, believe me. And I want to know he’s
okay, too, El.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the
help,” Elliot replied, grateful.
“Help with what?”
They both turned towards Munch
and Olivia explained, “George is an hour overdue.”
“Count me in.”
Elliot didn’t bother
protesting, glad for the extra help.
* *
* *
Danny squinted at the
Brotherhood bastards dragging someone down the street. It was hard to make out
what poor slob they’d grabbed this time with the big crack in his glasses. He
was lucky he could see at all, never mind across the street. Biting his lip, he
looked around for Flack, but didn’t see the other man anywhere in sight. He
thought about Mac’s fury vs. the pain whoever this was would be in once the
Brotherhood got him somewhere out of sight. Not that they needed privacy to
dish out pain, but they liked to go to town somewhere they wouldn’t be
interrupted by do-gooders.
Not that there’s
many of us left, Danny thought, jogging across the street once they were
out of sight. And once Mac kills me, there’ll be one less.
But he couldn’t let these guys
kill whoever they had. If the Brotherhood got hold of you, you were dead,
raped, and beaten, and sometimes in exactly that order. If
you were lucky. Danny had seen the results of their victims too many
times to let them get away without at least seeing where they went so a raid
could happen later to save the poor sap they’d got hold of.
He climbed up the fire-escape
of the warehouse into which they’d gone and peeked in a window, but couldn’t
see shit. Making a face at the filthy glass that was as good as a wall, Danny went up to the next level and had better luck.
The window was long since gone, so he simply climbed inside and waited a few
seconds to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.
Walking to the edge of the
catwalk on which he stood, Danny looked down to see what was going on. There
were lots of torches and a host of people that hadn’t been in the original
group, which had to mean that he’d discovered their hideout. Plenty
of women, most of who he wouldn’t dare touch without disinfectant of some kind,
and lots of weapons. Danny even saw some semi-autos, which were primo on
the market and he wondered how they’d bought them.
Probably just killed the
owners, he thought in disgust.
It took a few minutes for him
to find where the captive was being held. When he did, Danny sucked in a breath
at the condition of the Asian man. This was one guy who wasn’t walking out
under his own power, no doubt about that, and he seriously doubted being able
to get the man out on his own. No, this was definitely something that he had to
get Mac and the others for.
Silently wishing the unknown
man luck, Danny turned and climbed back out the window. He slid down the fire
escape rails all three levels and landed with jarring impact to his knees.
Grunting in pain, he ran across the street to relative safety and went in
search of the others.
* *
* *
Mac spun and pulled his gun
free, aiming at the body that came barreling through the door in one, smooth
movement. Danny skidded to a halt and Mac scowled, snapping, “That’s a good way
to get yourself killed, Danny!”
“I know, I’m sorry, but Mac, we
gotta go! They got someone else now! We gotta save him!” Danny exclaimed, practically bouncing up
and down with impatience.
Holding up a hand, Mac
demanded, “Who has who?”
“The Brotherhood got another
poor slob who’s gonna be dead if we don’t get him
out! I know where they are and how many and…”
“How the hell you know that,
Messer?” Don interrupted harshly, joining them.
That brought Danny up short and
he visibly deflated. Glancing between the two of them, Danny bit his lip and
confessed, “I might’ve maybe followed them to their hideout.”
“You what!?”
Danny flinched at the simultaneous
shout and held up both hands, placating as he
explained, “I had to! You know what happens to the people they get hold of!”
“So help me Danny…” Mac
threatened, even as he checked the rounds in his pistol. Striding across the
room, he grabbed Danny by the hair and yanked him forward, hissing, “We will
talk about this when the dust has settled, understand?”
“Yowch! Yeah! Yes, Mac, I get it, leggo!”
Mac let go and glared at Don,
when the other man gave him a grin. They’d had plenty of talks on how to curb
Danny’s natural enthusiasm, both afraid it would get
him killed, but so far nothing had worked. It didn’t help that the younger man
had grown up without any boundaries whatsoever. There weren’t any laws or rules
for kids to learn discipline anymore. Not outside of Manhattan
and parts of Brooklyn, anyhow. Being that they were in Queens,
the only civilization they got came from the guns they carried. Every day, Mac
was reminded of the black and white Westerns he’s watched on television growing
up.
Falling into step with Don,
Danny scrambling to follow, the three men left Mac’s ‘office’ for the common
room. Close to a dozen men and women sat around, reading, chatting, and playing
card games while the nearly twenty children did their studies under Stella’s
watchful gaze. The children who were to be protected at all
costs, which was why so many adults were present. Mac might’ve grown up
on his own, scrounging and fighting to survive the same way Danny and Don and
so many other adults had, but these kids would not.
Nodding to Stella and catching Aiden’s gaze as well, Mac continued out of the large room
to the kitchen beyond. It was a kitchen because of the massive fireplace. None
of the gas lines worked well enough to be trusted not to explode, and there
damn sure wasn’t any electricity. With his top people in place, Mac said
bluntly, “Danny knows where the Brotherhood’s hiding out.”
“What!?”
Aiden exclaimed angrily, pinning Danny with a glare.
Stella’s disappointed, “Oh,
Danny,” was far more effective, though.
Mac hid a triumphant grin when
Danny ducked his head and practically toed the floor in embarrassment. Keeping
his voice stern, Mac questioned, “How many, Danny?”
Clearing his throat and not
even looking in Stella’s general direction, Danny reported, “At least sixty to
seventy people, maybe twenty-five women skankin’
around. And one hostage who’s not in walking condition.”
Mac’s jaw clenched and he said
flatly, “We go tonight. Get everyone together and ready for a battle. I’m sick
of these bastards. It’s past time to wipe them out.”
There were nods all around and
the group dispersed. Mac snagged Danny’s shirt before the young man could
disappear. Hauling him in close, Mac reminded him, “We need to talk.”
Danny nervously licked his
lips, deep blue eyes growing wide behind the cracked glasses. “Uh, now?”
“Now.”
* *
* *
Elliot’s finger tapped out a
syncopated beat on the worn countertop as he asked again, “You sure this guy
can help?”
“Positive,” Olivia told him.
“He knows everyone on the other side of the bridge and the ones he don’t know, don’t count.”
It had been a long two days
without any sign of George. There’d been no witnesses to his disappearance,
therefore, no leads to where he was being held. Elliot had just about gone
crazy with worry as they checked in with snitch after snitch, all to no avail.
Finally, when the very fact that no one would talk struck her a couple
of hours ago, Olivia had announced that she knew who to talk to. That had
brought them to the faded diner in which they now sat.
Waiting.
The man was fifteen minutes overdue and Elliot was about ready to tear up Manhattan
to find him and beat some answers out of him.
“Elliot. Hey. He’s here,”
Olivia murmured.
Elliot followed her gaze to a
black man with slicked back hair and rough aura that clearly said, ‘don’t fuck
with me.’ He was fair skinned, for a black man, and slightly rounded, but no
less weak for the extra weight. And Elliot was willing to bet the house the man
knew how to fight dirty better than he knew how to fight clean.
Olivia stood and smiled a
greeting, holding out her hand. “Fin. It’s good to see you again.”
“Same here, Liv. This the guy?”
Elliot met the dark eyes
without flinching or showing any sign that he even cared the man was there.
“I’m the guy. Elliot Stabler.”
“You might want to think about
cutting your losses, Stabler,” Fin told him. “When
the Brotherhood get hold of someone, they don’t let
go.”
“The Brotherhood’s a myth,”
Elliot snapped.
Flashing a gold tooth at him,
Fin countered, “Not for anyone on the other side of the bridge.”
Elliot leaned forward and
demanded, “Just tell me where he is and let me worry about who’s got him.”
Lips pursed, Fin glanced at
Olivia and told her, “This boy’s eager to get hisself
killed. You want to go down with him? Because if you charge into The
Brotherhood’s territory, that’s what’s going to happen. These dudes are not to
be messed with, got it? They run hard and heavy, armed to the teeth and
ruthless enough to make the mob look like lightweights. There’s only one group
that’s got any kind of power to keep them from dominating and they’re a bunch
of do-gooders who won’t do nothin’
except the occasional rescue job.”
“I’m getting him back,” Elliot
stated. “You just tell me where.”
Fin shook his head and said,
“All right, but I think I’ll come with, just to watch the show.”
* *
* *
Olivia took a few minutes to
call Alex, not sure if she was going to make it back from whatever they met up
with.
Picking up on the second ring,
Alex greeted, “ADA Cabot speaking.”
“Alex, it’s me,” Olivia replied.
“Olivia! Did you find him? Is
George okay?”
“We don’t have him yet. We’re
going to get him now.”
There was a pause before Alex
prompted, “But?”
“But it’s going to be a fight,
and a bad one,” Olivia admitted. “I just wanted to call and tell you how much I
love you.”
Alex drew in a sharp breath,
but her voice was calm when she finally replied, “I love you too, Olivia. Get
him back and get back here yourself, or I will never forgive you. Understand,
my love?”
Olivia smiled and answered, “I
understand.”
Alex hung up without another
word, but the action didn’t upset Olivia. She’d heard the important things, good-bye might turn out to just be a jinx. She
turned and rejoined the men, now including Munch and Cragen.
Giving them a blood-thirsty grin, she announced, “Ready when you are.”
* *
* *
Mac watched as a group of
people walked down the street a little too casually. Because he was looking for
it, he saw the bumps under the coats that said they were armed. Curious, he let
them make a couple of trips up and down the street, giving Don a ‘wait’ signal
while they did. He had a strong hunch that they’d come for the man being
pummeled into broken bones inside the warehouse.
Standing, he walked over to
where they stood on the corner, recognizing Fin on sight. Giving the black man
a nod, he asked, “Deciding to give that death wish another try?”
“Not tonight,” Fin answered.
“I’m just here to watch.”
“Didn’t know I was selling
tickets,” Mac said.
Fin went still. “We’re here on
unrelated business. You doin’ it
tonight?”
“Isn’t it about time?”
“Damn straight, it’s about
time! You want some extra hands? I got friends.”
“I can see that.”
The tall, broad-shouldered man
stepped forward, inching Fin out as he demanded quietly, “Who the hell are
you?”
Mac decided that he liked the
way the man held himself; posture straight and eyes
without any hint of deception meeting his. Holding out his hand, he answered,
“Mac Taylor. We’re the ones about to bring the sons of bitches in that
warehouse down.”
“My lover is in there,” the man
snapped. “You can’t go in without getting him killed.”
Shaking his head, Mac told him,
“He’s being held in the basement right now, which is as good as it’s going to get,
if you want him back alive. And you are?”
“Elliot Stabler,”
the woman announced. “I’m Olivia Benson, this is Don Cragen, and John Munch.”
“So what’s the plan?” Elliot
questioned.
Mac walked back to where his
team waited, knowing the would follow. It gave him
time to revise his plan, with the help of five trained cops. Well, four and Fin,
which was close enough. Most of his people knew how to use guns, they had to,
but they weren’t trained like these people had been.
That bridge is a bitch of a
divider line, he thought in dark amusement. When they reached Don and Stella,
he gave a quick round of introductions and looked at Elliot, asking, “Think you
can create a diversion to get them to open the doors?”
Because the large doors were
metal and they wouldn’t be able to break through without explosives, which they
didn’t have.
Elliot gave a thin smile. “Oh,
I think I can manage.”
“Good. So here’s the plan.”
* *
* *
Watching Taylor
work was like dealing with another cop; he was thorough and quick-thinking,
able to adapt on the fly. Which, given the conditions that they’d walked
through to get there, Elliot thought was a survival trait. Flack was quiet and
had cold eyes that made him think the young man had seen way too much for his
age. The girl, Aiden, was placed in the same category
as Flack, while Messer was a disaster waiting to happen, spilling out all over
the place with the kind of energy that George sometimes displayed, though never
as openly. Stella and Mac were two peas in a pod, which meant that he could
relate to her and that he instinctively trusted her.
The plan was simple. Elliot
made a big stink outside the warehouse and got them to open their doors. Once
that happened, Taylor’s people
would storm the place and Elliot would do his best not to get killed. From
there, all out war was expected and Elliot gratefully took the extra rounds
Stella held out, as the rest of his friends.
Taking a breath, Elliot
squeezed Olivia’s hand and said, “See you later, partner.”
She squeezed back and nodded,
not saying good-bye. She never did. He was sure that it was something she’d
picked up from Alex.
Walking across the street,
Elliot pounded on the door and started shouting for them to open the fucking
door. He continued with variations of the demand, as well as kicking the door,
for a good minute before the door opened and a gun was shoved in his face.
“You got a death wish, man?”
Elliot spat in the man’s face
and snarled, “You’ve got something that belongs to me in there and I want him
the fuck back now!”
Wiping the spit from his face
as he cocked the hammer back, the kid holding the gun glared at Elliot with
dead brown eyes. “He’s ours now, old man. Find another toy.”
Elliot grabbed the gun and
hauled the kid out into the street, kicking him in the head to send him
sprawling. Turning back to the door, he strode forward, shouting, “Get your fuckin’ leader out here, if you got one! I’m not waitin’ on no God damned, boot-lickin,’
pissant!”
A few seconds later, a man
about five years younger than Elliot stepped outside. It said something about
the group that this man, too, had eyes as emotionless as a snake’s, though his
were a pale blue-green. All of Taylor’s
people were alive and vital, if messed up in various ways. Not so the two from
the people who had George. Even if they hadn’t taken his lover, Elliot would’ve
helped to wipe these fuckers out.
“What do you want?”
The quiet question was
something of a surprise, given the first kid’s words. Elliot crossed his arms
over his chest and snapped, “You have something that belongs to me. I want him
back now.”
A faint twitch of the lips
showed the man almost knew how to smile, but it wasn’t any more pleasant than
the lack of emotion from before. “Are you sure about that? He’s pretty…used
up…by now.”
Teeth baring
without him realizing it, Elliot had his gun out and aimed at the man’s head in
a split second. “Now, before I blow your fuckin’ brains out.”
For the first time, something
like wariness entered the pale eyes. “I can’t do that, not now that you’ve
called me onto the street. If you’d come quiet, offered me something in return,
maybe then. But not now. Now, you’re dead and
he still gets used for a party favor.”
Whatever Taylor had been
waiting for, must’ve happened, because they were suddenly surrounded by
shouting people who streamed towards the open door where other people waited,
watching the spectacle. Elliot didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger and blew
a hole in the center of the man’s forehead.
Gunfire erupted. Shouts of pain
and rage filled the air. Elliot ran forward with the rest of the mob, grabbing
hold of Olivia when she ran by and almost getting shot by her for his trouble. They
aimed for the back, eastern corner of the warehouse where Taylor
had said the stairs led to the basement.
It was complete and utter
chaos. Only the fact that they were wearing orange flags around their upper arms
saved them from getting shot by friendly fire, since hardly anyone in Taylor’s
people knew them. They had to stop and take cover several times, making
achingly slow progress across the floor. Olivia went down, which was the only
thing that stopped him from continuing forward. He hauled her back, behind some
crates, and made a tourniquet of the orange bandana around her thigh, where
she’d been shot. The artery hadn’t been hit, thank God, and she waved him on.
“I’ll stay right here,” she
promised, shouting over the noise. “Go get George!”
Kissing her on the cheek,
Elliot looked through the mass of bodies fighting hand to hand, now that most
of the rounds had been spent. Orienting himself, he ran through the crowd
towards the eastern corner and shoved and fought his way there. He reached the
stairs with only a knife slicing along his ribs for injury. Taking four steps
at a time, he slammed into the guard at the bottom of the steps, crashing them
both headlong through the door.
Rolling into a somersault and
propelling himself to his feet, Elliot’s mind went blank as he found two men
raping George, one at each end of his already broken body. Probably a last
hurrah before they were killed. Cold, implacable fury lit through him and
Elliot aimed and shot one in the back and one in the shoulder, sending both
spinning away from his lover.
He strode the rest of the way
to them, pulling out his bowie
as he did so. Holstering the gun, he stared down at the men moaning in pain and
kicked the nearest one onto his back. Feeling nothing except the driving need
for retribution, Elliot sliced the balls off the first and left him a screaming
wreck. The second, who was only shot in the shoulder, tried to fight back, but
was no match for Elliot. Divested of his balls as well, the second man was left
a crying, piteous heap. Moving back to the first rapist, Elliot severed his
dick and watched as the blood poured out, between the man’s legs. Elliot jumped
in surprise when a gunshot rang out and he didn’t die.
Glancing calmly over at the
second rapist, he found a hole in the man’s head and looked right, towards the
door, to find Aiden standing there. Her face was
bruised and there was a bloody gash on her upper arm, but she looked otherwise
unhurt. Brown eyes met his calmly as she said, “Take care of your man, Stabler. He’s going to need you.”
The words cut through his fog
of rage. Kneeling immediately beside George, he reached hesitantly for a pulse,
then sagged in relief on finding one. There was so
much blood everywhere on George’s body, that he didn’t know how long that would
remain the case. He’d been badly beaten, on top of the multiple rapes. There
had to be internal injuries from both forms of assault. Looking at Aiden, he asked, “I need blankets and some kind of
stretcher. We have to keep him from shock and get him to the nearest hospital.”
“That would be on your side of
the bridge,” Aiden answered matter-of-factly. “Stay
put. I’ll get what you need.”
Left alone with his lover,
Elliot pressed his forehead to George’s and whispered, “Don’t leave me, baby,
please don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you.”
“El?”
George whispered.
Pulling back enough to look at
the eyes that were open only a crack, thanks to the swelling, Elliot nodded and
assured him, “It’s me, baby. Everything’s going to be okay, now. I’m here now.
No one’s ever going to hurt you again, George, I swear.”
George lifted a hand to Elliot’s
face and said through puffy, split and bloody lips, “You shouldn’t have killed
them, El, not like that.”
And Elliot cried softly to find
any kind of compassion left in his lover for anyone, let alone for his
attackers.
* *
* *
Having seen what Stabler did to the men he’d found raping his lover, Mac was
just as glad there was a bridge between them. He didn’t want that kind of violence
anywhere near his people, no matter how well-founded the provocation.
Hypocrite, he called
himself silently. He knew that if anything like that happened to Danny, even
though he didn’t have a lover’s right, he would do the same or worse.
“Time for mop up,” Stella
murmured, nudging him.
Shaking himself out of the
reverie, Mac nodded and looked at the bloody mess left by the battle. It had
been a battle indeed, with neither side giving quarter. There’d been too many
deaths, he’d lost too many good people, but couldn’t honestly say that their
sacrifice had been in vain. Sighing, he stepped forward to deal with the
aftermath.
* *
* *
Everything hurt, especially in
places that he didn’t want to think about. The drugs were slowly wearing off,
enough for him to wake up, at least, and he opened his eyes. Elliot sat
sprawled in the chair, looking very uncomfortable and as brittle as George had
ever seen. Given the extent of his injuries, George knew that he’d probably
come close to death on the operating table. Maybe he had died. It was all very
far away at the moment and he was inclined to leave it that way. A breakdown
could wait until his body had healed enough to handle it.
“El,” he managed, clearing his
throat.
Elliot was instantly awake. He
scrambled to his feet and over to the bed, sitting gingerly on the side of it
to take George’s hand. “You’re awake.”
There was a wealth of relief
and need in his lover’s voice and eyes, causing George to momentarily close his
eyes in weariness. This was who he was, though. Taking care of others,
especially Elliot, was second nature to him, instinct.
George brought Elliot’s hand to his mouth, kissing it and then holding it to
his cheek. Opening his eyes again, the guilt and pain in the pale blue eyes
staring back at him caused him to say, “It’s not your fault. It’s not the fault
of anyone except the men who took me, and you made sure they wouldn’t do this
to anyone else. You did what you could.”
“It wasn’t enough. Oh God,
baby, what they did to you,” Elliot whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Knowing the other man had to
say it, and be forgiven even though there was nothing to forgive, George tugged
him down close and kissed his temple, murmured, “You’re forgiven, Elliot, I
promise. I love you, Elliot, that’s never going to change.”
As Elliot shook with repressed
sobs, George held him and sighed, his own emotions so far gone he couldn’t even
feel them. They were both going to be a while healing from this, but he knew
that it would happen.
He wouldn’t let there be any
other outcome.
***
Next story Pandemic 2.