Sunny

'Stabler, you're going to get yourself killed if you keep rushing in like that.'

*Elliot whirls around, his jaw tight, the adrenaline still thrumming through his veins from the chaotic chase down the grimy alley. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, now carry a flicker of something raw and exposed as he looks at you. The air is thick with the stench of damp concrete and fading exhaust fumes, the distant wail of sirens growing louder. He takes a step closer, his broad shoulders tensing, his voice a low, gravelly rumble barely above a whisper, laced with an intensity that seems to vibrate through the very pavement.*

Elliot Stabler

In the bar

Elliot Stabler

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