Disclaimer: If you've seen them on the show, they belong to the amazingly brilliant Dick Wolf. Not me. Too bad.

This takes place after Loss from Alex's point of view. This is A/O and they are in a fully established relationship; if you don't like it, don't read. Pretend Conviction never happened.

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I'm dead.

Legally, that is. Last night I had to say goodbye to the life I used to know. I wasn't afforded the luxury of saying goodbye to my friends, my colleagues, or even my mother. They all think I'm dead – except Elliot and Olivia, my closest friends. I refused to go anywhere until I saw them and the marshals had better things to do than argue with me. They probably knew how stubborn I am and figured telling two detectives and swearing them to secrecy wouldn't hurt.

They tell me my name is Emily now. I'm from Tulsa. We're on a plane on our way to Wisconsin, which will be my new home. They tell me to forget my old life, forget who I used to be. They tell me to forget my friends, my job, my family. They tell me I'm never going to get it back and I'm won't be doing myself any favors by dwelling on the old Alexandra Cabot. Alexandra Cabot is dead. In her place is Emily Richardson. The things Emily shares with Alexandra are purely physical; height, weight, and shoe size. That's it.

We arrive in Wisconsin and the marshals take me to my new house. It's nice – probably nicer than the apartment I had in New York. But I can't help but think that this is only temporary. I only have to play the role of Emily Richardson for a short period of time before I can go back to Manhattan, to the DA's office, to SVU. I only have to play the role of Emily Richardson for a short period of time before I can go back to Olivia.

It's impossible for me to accept that I'll never see my best friend again. Now I truly understand how mothers of missing children and husbands of missing wives can go on, even for years, living on the hope that one day their babies will be returned to them. I always thought I was above this "living on a prayer" crap, but clearly I'm not. It's easier to think that one day things might be different than to accept that this is my life.

The marshals leave me at my new house and tell me they'll be around to check on me tomorrow. I bite back the, "That's nice," that I would have said had I still been an ADA. Instead I say, "Thank you," and watch them get into their car and drive away.

I've been awake for almost forty hours straight and I suddenly realize how exhausted I am. I tried to sleep on the plane but I was too wound up. I spent the airplane ride going over images of my best days at SVU. My days with Olivia. Even though we had the good, the bad, and the ugly, I wouldn't trade one day of that job for anything. I remember the Roy Barnett case. That was the day I crossed a line and truly gave myself up to the job. The reputation that had been so important to me from day one went out the window and I was suddenly one of them, just like Elliot and Olivia and John and Fin, who would sacrifice themselves to put away the bad guys without a second thought. From that day on, Olivia and I were best friends. It was the day we realized what kindred spirits we truly were.

I try to force all thoughts of Olivia from my mind. I have to accept that I may never see her again. She was my best friend, and more than that. She isn't anymore.

Suddenly feeling more alone than I've ever felt in my life, I shiver and walk around turning on all the lights. The house seems so large and empty and I can't stand it. No one knows where I am right now except the marshals, who mean nothing. I truly am alone in the world.

I flop down on my couch, trying to commit to memory the image of Olivia, the way her chocolate eyes dance when I tell her she's beautiful, the fiery determination when she's trying to find a child abuser or rapist, the gentle, patient compassion she uses when she talks to the victims. The way she smiled when I gave her that necklace, the one she never showed anyone but wears every day under her shirt. It was a gift in honor of our anniversary, to mark that we'd been together, however unofficially, for a year. She'd given me a pair of earrings with diamond studs. But I'm supposed to be dead, so the marshals couldn't take me back to my apartment in Manhattan to get anything. Not the earrings, not even a photo album with pictures of my friends and I.

I want so badly to call Olivia, but I know I can't. I pick up the phone and dial the number, then hang up the phone, knowing if I press the talk button, Zapata will hear about it sooner or later and come back to kill me. Then Olivia will be in danger too.

Instead, I call her apartment. I know she won't be there and the phone will go straight into voicemail. I press *67 on my phone so they won't be able to trace it and hold my breath as her voice comes over the phone. Hi, you've reached Olivia. Sorry, I'm not here right now. If it's an emergency, call my cell. Otherwise, please leave a message and I'll get back to you ASAP. I wonder briefly if severe emotional distress counts as an emergency.

I call three or four times, my body tensing and then relaxing each time I hear Olivia's sweet voice. Even though she's a million miles away, doing this makes me feel closer to her.

I cradle the phone in my arms, curl up on my couch, and cry as I haven't cried since my father died when I was fifteen. I miss Olivia so much that it physically hurts.

Now I know what a broken heart feels like.

Sorry, I know that the first chapter's short, but I thought this was the right place to end it. Review if you want to read more!