|Seven Deadly Sins
Author: Fool-Saint PM
George Huang, Elliot Stabler. Slash. A collection of short works of fiction written to the themes of each of the seven deadly sins. 2. Sloth. George and Elliot seem to never have time for anything, particularly not each other.Rated: Fiction T - English - Chapters: 2 - Words: 867 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 02-20-08 - Published: 10-11-06 - id: 3194543
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
For His Own Good
PG-13, Law & Order, SVU
George Huang, Elliot Stabler
Live Journal 7 Deadly Sins Prompt #7 Pride. 404 Words
George took it upon himself to fix Elliot. It never occurred to him that he might not need fixing.
I suppose I knew Elliot was never going to talk to me, but I had to try. I had convinced myself, somehow, that I could, and would, change everything; that somehow, through some action on my part, Elliot would be fine once and for all and hopefully never be the wiser.
That's not what happened. It worked for a little while, when there was precious little talking and a fair amount of sex and a great deal of secrecy about the whole affair. Sometimes though, he'd leave an emotional back door open for me to sneak through—I'm good at that—and, all in the name of Elliot's well-being, I'd tweak something.
It wasn't even very hard to do; loosen up that heartstring a little bit, tighten that loose screw a little, and be out before Elliot ever knew the difference. It was a brilliant plan and, for a while, Elliot seemed better. Naturally, it had to be my doing, though I suppose deep down I knew better all along. It didn't matter to me; I tried to do more for him each time. Slowly, one little adjustment at a time, I stopped helping and began to remake him into someone else, certain that I was good enough. Certain that I couldn't possibly fail.
In all my preoccupation it never occurred to me, not even for a second, that it might not work. It never occurred to me, either, that that Elliot knew what I was doing to him all along. Never, not for an instant, did I consider that Elliot might know enough about himself or that he might not agree that it was 'for his own good'.
I was so preoccupied with it all that when he finally fell apart, shouting and screaming, and hurling a framed photograph of his daughter at the wall, it took me weeks to figure out why. I spent weeks in silence, careful to avoid him unless the case absolutely demanded it, trying to figure out what I had done that had caused him to burst at the seams. I'm not sure I do even now, except that it was my fault.
I'm not sure what possessed him to forgive me; I didn't think it was in him to do, not for anyone and least of all me after what I did to him. Then again, what do I know about anyone anymore, least of all Elliot.