A/N Hello everyone! I know I've been a bad girl and haven't updated Benson Betrayal in a while. I have actually been working on several one shots and I just couldn't focus on it. You know what I mean? Anyway, this is something that I've wanted to write for a while now. Not sure if I'm going to add more or not. Let me know what you think! Please review! Also, you should check out like every story that you see updated frequently. I have been in love with all of them but I am far too lazy to list them all.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I would not mind owning a Christopher Meloni clone but ya know…

He hadn't been able to shake the feeling of dread that encompassed his whole existence since… that day. Years of therapy and time off were of no help to him. After a while he started to search the bottom of the bottle for the answers he so desperately needed. But that only made it much worse.

He lost everything because of that day, his job, his wife, his kids, his home, but worst of all, his best friend. His depression made him unbearable. Kathy kicked him out, made him get his own apartment and then divorced him. He only saw his kids once or twice a month. They didn't deserve to have a murderer as a father. He knew that as his partner, Olivia would have taken him back, but how could she stand to be his friend after he killed a victim? Their friendship had always been more important than their partnership. No one wanted to be friends with the man that killed a mentally unstable teenager. Jenna was a child that dealt with too much stress in a short amount of time, not a serial killer. He could have talked her down but instead he held her as she bled to death. His bullet causing her to die was something that he could not handle.

The nightmares were the worst part. Every night he was forced to relive that day in the precinct. He couldn't avoid the nightly terror due to his all too human need for sleep. The images of Jenna in his arms dying over and over again, or Olivia dead on the floor in a pool of her own blood visited his sick mind every single night. Most nights he would wake up, sweating and struggling to breath before drinking until he passed out.

He shot a young girl and broke his own rule. He put Olivia first. She was too exposed tending to Sister Peg, too vulnerable. She was a big girl and a damn good cop, but she wasn't invincible. He had to keep her safe, but he killed a child. The Gitano case had done a number on their relationship and he wasn't even the one that killed Ryan. She hated him. There's no way that she could even stomach to look at him. He made sure of that by cutting her off. She called and called for the whole first year, but he never answered. He was not good for her.

Seeing her face on the news and in the papers had hit him like a ton of bricks. No amount of AA could help him. The numbness that came after several bottles of cheap vodka could. She was not safe. Some man had kidnapped her. He broke his own rule to save her and now it was very possible that she was lying cold and dead in the trunk of a car. He wanted to call Cragen, to help find her, but he couldn't. He wasn't good for back then and he wasn't good for her now. If he hadn't left her she might be safe at home watching a movie and eating Chinese food with him. God he missed those nights. Now she hated him. The last thing she needed was his pity, his help. As a child murderer, he was no better than the man that took Olivia.

He hated the man he saw staring back at him in the mirror. That was not the man he remembered being. This man was tired and emotionally drained. Bags and wrinkles creased his face around his eyes. The little that he had left of his hair was thin and mostly grey. His eyes had gone from a nice pale blue to red and bloodshot. He sighed as he adjusted his tie. He never did like wearing them. It had to be straight, it was the last time he would ever wear one. He took one last look at himself in the mirror. He hadn't worn a suit for years.

He made his way into his small, lifeless bedroom. He grabbed his phone off of the dresser. He had to send one last text to his kids. They deserved that much. Much to his dismay, his phone started to ring. He hated that sound. After working at the Special Victims Unit for years, one learns that a phone call is never a good thing. He didn't recognize the number. He went to press the "end" button but accidentally answered the phone. He groaned before lifting the phone to his ear. "What?" he asked with a slight bite to his voice. There was little sound coming from the other end, he didn't want to deal with this now. He was about to hang up when a familiar yet haunting voice brought his thumb to a halt.

"Elliot? El…" he felt his heart break and speed up at the same time. Maybe he could just die of a heart attack.

"Olivia" he said barely above a whisper.

"El, I can't do this alone. I need you! Please Elliot come help me" she was crying as she plead.

Elliot's mouth hung open as he looked at the rope he earlier used to make a noose just sitting on his bed. This is not real. This is not real. This is not real. He repeated in his mind.

"Please, please El. He ra- he ra" she tried to explain, but her voice failed her.

He knew what he had to do.

"Tell me where and I'll be there".