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Darkest Nights	By : Bucken-Berry Category: G through L > Law & Order Views: 1449 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own SVU or it's characters and I'm not making money from this.

Chapter List
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He was shivering violently, teeth chattering so hard that they cut his bottom lip. The temperature was subfreezing, and he was lying exposed, with not even a sheet to cover him up.
He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Elliot would take care of him when he got out of here. After he got discharged from the hospital, George decided, he'd drag Elliot to his favorite restaurant and eat until his stomach felt like it was going to explode. Then they'd go to Central Park and take a carriage ride together, and he'd fall asleep on Elliot's shoulder. Then Elliot would wake him up and half guide, half carry him to the car, and they'd go home. He'd take his meds, and then Elliot would lay with him…
His attackers walked back in the room, and George bit back a groan of dread. He just wanted to go home. He was so tired, he just needed someone to rescue him...
The leader pulled out a lighter and lit it, and the others held George still while it was dragged across his chest and stomach. He whimpered, moaned, fought frantically against him, but the only movement he managed made the lighter burn a larger area of skin instead.
He closed his eyes, trying to breathe slowly when he realized he was hyperventilating. Elliot, he thought again. Any time now, Elliot would burst through those doors and save him, scoop him up in his arms and carry him to an ambulance. He'd protect him, stay by his side through the questioning and the rape kit, the painful treatments, being given the sedatives. Elliot would hold his hand and whisper that it was okay, even though it wasn't at all. He'd hold him as he fell asleep and make him feel safe again. And then Nora would fly in and she'd sit with him, stroking his forehead like she'd done when they were little. They'd stay with him and make him feel safe again.
But the pain... The lighter was being dragged over his back now, the skin burning and blistering, and he barely held in his cries, barely managed to keep his moans quiet. The attackers liked it when he showed them that he was in pain, as long as he didn't ask them to stop, so he tried to keep as quiet as possible. It was the best revenge he could give right now.
He gasped, feeling a sharp object slicing his burned skin. Tears formed in his eyes and he cried out, flailing his arms to try and knock the men away. They reprimanded him severely, slicing off a large ribbon of skin from his back, and he whimpered quietly. The blood helped to soothe his skin just a little, but not enough to make the pain tolerable. It was overwhelming.
This was too much- he wasn't going to survive. Everything hurt. Every sinew in his body. He was weak and dizzy, and he was close to passing out from hunger. He was dangerously dehydrated and his wounds were becoming infected.
"I'm going to die here," he thought in dismay. "Elliot won't come in time..."
They hauled him to his feet, another groan slipping from his lips in protest, and pushed him against the wall. One of the men took off his belt and-
And his whole world dissolved into pain. A blow that hard would have been unbearable to begin with, but they targeted the same part of his back that they had just burned. Lights flashed in front of his eyes, a tortured scream ripped from his throat, laughter echoed in his ears, he was going to pass out from pain, he was sure of it-
But they caught on. They stopped, and as hard as he tried to find his balance, the room was spinning violently around him. He dry heaved, but there wasn't anything in his stomach.
His vision was blurry; he was on the verge of collapsing. When his knees buckled, legs giving out from under him, they let him fall, then one of them tugged him up again. George moaned faintly, the sound weak even to his own ears. The moan sent pain flaring through his throat, and the air caught in his chest and made him cough.
As close as he was to passing out, and as much as he wanted to at this point, the attackers left him alone just long enough for the pain to get below that threshold.
They whipped his back again, and a whimper escaped him. Inside his mind, he cried out for Elliot and Nora. The need to see them again, just to see their faces and hear their voices, was so overwhelming that it made him cry- along with the pain.
"Elliot, I can't do this anymore!" he screamed silently. "I'm going to die! The pain is too much and even if that doesn't kill me, they're going to stop giving me water and let me dehydrate anyway!"
"Just hold on!" The Elliot in his mind screamed back. "Just stay strong, we'll find you soon. You're so brave, George, just hold out a while longer. I'll find you, I promise."
Another lash. Another order from his attackers to say he deserved it. His body complied automatically, and he barely heard himself saying, in a hoarse croak, "I deserve it, I deserve it…"
"Elliot," he whimpered. "I can't, Elliot, I just can't hold on anymore! I give up, Elliot, I'm going to ask them to kill m-"
"Don't you dare!" Elliot yelled. "Don't you dare give up! Just tell them what they want to hear and do what they tell you. When we find you, I'll be here for you and you can start to heal, I promise."
George would have retorted, but then the pain spiked and he could no longer form coherent thoughts. His body was completely limp and his back was a bloody mess, the skin shredded and broken.
He moaned again, leaning against the wall for support and giving in to the overwhelming fatigue. He almost fell asleep standing up, but then they pulled him off the wall. They made him lie on his throbbing, stinging back, and one of them growled, "Don't even try that shit. You know you deserve this."
The words went right over his head. He gazed uncomprehendingly at them, wanting nothing more than to sleep. A red flag went up in the back of his head, but he couldn't for the life of him connect the dots to figure out why.
He turned his head to the side despondently as one of them moved between his legs. The pain of intrusion, especially without any lubricant or preparation, was causing him more pain than he could bear, but he managed to bear it anyway, somehow.
But before he even realized what was happening, his body gave in and he was enveloped by darkness.
"You don't know to eat with chopsticks?" George asked, laughing.
"Hey, don't laugh!" Elliot said indignantly. "It's not like it's the easiest skill in the world!"
"Actually, yes, it is," George said, grinning. "How about I teach you how?"
Elliot smiled back at him, hugging him tightly and kissing him. "I," he said, pulling away, "Would be delighted."
"Okay, then," George said. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"
"What do you want to do?" Elliot returned.
"Just being here is enough," George said. He sighed and leaned back into Elliot's arms, eyelids heavy.
"I love you," Elliot whispered, kissing his forehead.
"You too," George replied fuzzily.
Elliot shifted George's form so that his head was resting on his shoulder. He ran his hands down George's back, rubbing the muscles gently. George knew he was safe, protected, and he felt so comfortable. He sighed again and closed his eyes. Elliot's soft voice filled his ears as he drifted off. "I'll protect you, George, I promise. You're safe here."
When he woke up, he was in bed, covered by a thick blanket and lying next to Elliot, who was asleep. Careful not to wake him, George slid out of bed and walked to the window.
The night sky looked so pretty. There was something about the city lights, George thought contentedly. He inhaled slowly and watched the city, more relaxed than he could remember feeling in a long time.
Eventually, he crawled back into bed, nuzzling into Elliot's neck. He watched the older man sleep, running his fingers over his face.
Why did his body ache and burn so badly?
George floated towards consciousness, giving a quiet moan of pain. The memories crashed into him, and he almost stopped trying to wake up, but he knew what they would do to him if he didn't wake up soon.
He knew something was wrong the instant he opened his eyes. He could barely see, everything was so blurry, and he just didn't have the strength to move. His head pounded and his heart seemed to flutter instead of beat.
He heard several vague voices, but he couldn't make out a single word of it. A brutally hard slap fell on his face, but it did no good.
"Starvation and resulting low blood sugar," his brain filled in. His body just didn't have enough fuel to do anything.
"Come on, you pathetic piece of shit!" One of the men screamed in his ear. George flinched as the man cut into his stomach.
He tried so hard to get his body to do something, but he just couldn't. He felt himself being yanked into a sitting position, and his head lolled forward. Dark spots invaded his vision; he slumped, on the verge of unconsciousness.
He just couldn't move. He was so helpless. He wouldn't even be able to fight if they decided to kill him right then and there.
Something was set close to his face and he parted his lips, just enough to accept whatever it was. It was some sweet-tasting liquid. Why were they giving it to him? He wondered. He couldn't come up with a reason. Still, he swallowed it gratefully. It felt nice on his parched throat, and his energy slowly returned. It must've been something with a lot of sugar. Soda, maybe, or an energy drink like Red Bull.
He still felt shaky and weak, only semi-conscious. But at least he could move now. His eyes fluttered open, and his attackers' faces hovered above him.
"Nnngh… sorry…" he whispered, remembering what they had ordered him to say the first time this had happened. "Don't… deserve… Sorry for…" His eyes slid shut again.
Something hot was set on the bottom of his foot. He whimpered, trying to get his body to cooperate. "Didn't deserve… M'sorry…" he whispered desperately.
But that wasn't enough for them. They continued burning and cutting him until he was incoherent, and when he blacked out again soon after, it was only a temporary break. It continued for several hours; he'd wake up, receive a little food, apologize for it, continue to be tortured, then lose consciousness again, until finally he'd had enough to eat to stop the shaking, blurry vision, and overwhelming weakness, and they stopped feeding him. But the burning and cutting never stopped.
Through it all, he never stopped dreaming of being back home with Elliot, and seeing Nora again.
Alex and Elliot jolted when they heard a loud cry coming from the kitchen. They rushed into the room and found George on his knees, trembling violently and whimpering, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I deserve it- you're right, I deserve it! Elliot, Nora, please, I need you, please help me, get me out of here, please…"
Elliot's heart didn't just break. It shattered.
He closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to calm down, knowing that he couldn't afford to become upset until George was okay. "Alex, could you get him a glass of water?" he asked, kneeling next to George and setting a hand on his shoulder.
"Y-yes, of course," Alex stammered, grabbing the same cup George had just filled a few minutes earlier and joining the two on the floor. She'd seen enough victims have flashbacks on the stand or during a line-up to be able to recognize the signs of a flashback immediately. And from what she could tell, it was one of the most intense she'd seen in a long time.
"George," Elliot said, gentle but firm. "George, it's me, it's Elliot. Alex is right here too. You're safe in our apartment; they can't hurt you anymore. No one is going to hurt you. Listen to me breathe, okay?" He took several deep, slow breaths and rubbed George's back. "See, you're okay. I promise, you're not in danger anymore and they can't hurt you. They're all in Rikers."
George's gaze went right past them, eyes wide and distant. That told Elliot that George was too far gone to be brought out of the flashback quickly or easily; the worse and more intense a flashback, the more distant he looked, like he was staring at something far away. That was why the earliest mentions of PTSD called it the thousand-yard-stare.
Elliot felt George shaking violently under his arm. The smaller man whimpered, giving a choked sob and squirming against the men who had hurt him so badly.
"I'm going to grab your hand, okay, George?" Elliot said, moving slowly. He reached his free hand out and grabbed George's, squeezing it gently and massaging his palm. He leaned forward and started to whisper in his ears. "Remember the time we got caught in a blizzard at a café? It was one of the first times you and I talked outside of work. It was snowing, and we had been at a diner to talk about a case. But instead, it turned into a blizzard and the power went out. We were stuck there for an hour without light or heat. And you just pulled out your laptop to let it light the place up a little and talked like nothing was going on. You never opened up about yourself that much, but you told me a little and let me see some of who you really were. When the power came back on, we were so hungry that we were ready to storm the kitchen," Elliot laughed quietly. "The got the food to us eventually, but not nearly soon enough."
"You're so kind, George, and I know this is hard, but you're safe now. You're with me and I'm going to protect you. Keyes and the other assholes are going to spend the rest of their lives in Rikers for what they did to you and the others. Just give it time, keep talking to Rebecca, Nora and me, and things will be okay. You're not there anymore, George, you're okay," Elliot murmured.
George finally began to relax. The tension in his muscles eased just a little and he seemed to be listening to what Elliot was saying. Elliot nodded approvingly. "See, you're okay. No one's going to hurt you anymore. I'm going to wrap my arm around your shoulder, okay?" Elliot squeezed George's shoulder gently with his arm.
George snapped back to awareness, giving a small gasp. "El," he choked, shoulders going limp.
"Here, drink this, okay?" Elliot requested, handing the cup of water to George. George's hand trembled a little, but it steadied, and he took a few shaky gulps, gradually calming down.
"Are you back with us?" Elliot asked softly, stroking George's hair.
George shuddered, nodding. He blinked, and his eyes seemed to refocus again, though he still looked dazed and distressed. But the flashback was over, at least.
He looked around the room, swallowing hard. When his gaze fell on Alex, he bit his lip and lowered his head, ashamed.
"Shh, George, she's not going to judge you," Elliot soothed, though he knew that that wouldn't help much. He was already convinced that everyone despised and scorned him, and he was also convinced that being tortured had reinforced his contemptibility. He only barely trusted Elliot and Nora, and Elliot knew that nothing he said would be able to convince George that anyone else liked and respected him. Elliot could tell that George was already losing what little trust Alex had coaxed out of him.
"I'm sorry," George whispered, still staring at the tiled floor. "I'm so pathetic. You shouldn't've had to see that."
Alex started to protest, but George just shook his head, pulled Elliot's arm off him, and whispered, brokenly, "I'm going to lie down. See you tomorrow, Alex."
And with that, he stood and walked away, looking dejected and thoroughly ashamed. His shoulders slumped, every bit of his body language radiating defeat and depression.
Elliot watched him retreat, feeling his heart breaking yet again. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and took a deep breath.
"I don't understand this, Alex," Elliot choked. His eyes were wet. "How could anyone do that to someone as sweet as George?"
"I don't know, Elliot," Alex said, looking at the empty doorframe. "I ask myself that with every victim. There are never any answers and George's case is no different."
She sighed deeply, straightening as she stood. "I'd better get going. I'll see you two tomorrow."
She walked to the front door and exited, leaving Elliot alone and lost.
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Darkest Nights