A/N: I have been working away at this for a bit now. I'm liking it, so far, but not entirely sure yet where it's going (if anywhere in particular). That having been said, let me know if you guys enjoy it. For anyone wondering, yes – I am still working on Equinox, I promise. Sorry it's slow. I just don't want to fuck it up, and it's gotten to an important point. If you're patient, it will come! If you read, please review. Thanks!

Rating: T, so far, but will eventually change.

Spoilers: Payback, A Single Life, Wanderlust, Stalked, Closure, Taken

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never were. Money is generally not mine either, so don't sue me.

Partners Almanac

May, 1998

It was a slow, rainy mid-day in Sex Crimes – the patter of raindrops on the one-six's windows, and the sharp, strong coffee in his stained mug were the only things keeping Detective Elliot Stabler grounded in the world.

"I hear the new partner they found you is supposed to show up today," Munch called from a nearby desk.

Elliot glanced across from his seat, to the empty desk where his most recent partner, Alphonse, had sat. "Yeah, that's what they tell me," he nodded, non-committal. The older Alphonse had finally retired, high-tailing it to Florida and the endless expanses of golf courses there.

He wasn't much for golf, himself, but if there was anything he was even less a fan of, it was change. He had tried convincing Cragen to let him continue on as a lone wolf, or the squad swing-man, but the Captain wasn't having it. Soon, El would have to start over again: getting to know a partner, developing a working rapport, building a relationship. Just thinking about it made him tired. Sex Crimes had a notorious turnover rate, due to its nature, so the real job was probably resigning himself to having to do this kind of relationship work often.

Because who would ever choose to stay?

The sound of footsteps drew him back to the room from his thoughts. Looking up, he saw a brunette, shaking out an umbrella in the doorway to the bullpen. Raindrops on her heavy coat caught the light as she stepped inside, finger-combing her shoulder-length dark hair. Elliot got to his feet, taken with her presence. At the sound of his chair rolling backwards, the woman stilled her hands and looked directly at him.

Her eyes were as dark as her hair. A shock of energy thrummed through him.

Elliot came around the desk to meet her, extending a hand. "I'm Detective Elliot Stabler." Every male eye in the room was on her, and he found himself compelled to stand close, blocking their view. "Can I take your coat?"

"Uh . . . sure," she smiled, shrugging out of the damp garment. Her voice was deeper than he had expected, with a hint of a 'don't fuck with me,' attitude that impressed him.

He hung her coat, motioning for her to take a seat in the chair beside his desk. El sat back in his own, taking up a pen and a pad of paper. Her umbrella was folded, slowly dripping a puddle beside his desk, near her feet. "How about we start with your name?" he smiled.

"Oh - I'm Olivia," she said, with a hint of a chuckle.

"Olivia," he echoed, glancing at her tidy, business casual attire and petite figure. He imagined that maybe she sold make-up, or high-end jewelry. "How can I help you today?"

She raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. "What?"

"It's okay," Elliot assured her, "whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. I'm here to help you."

Her dark brows furrowed, her mouth turned down. "I'm . . . "

"Detective Benson!" Captain Cragen's voice boomed from behind them. "You made it!" He came to a stop alongside Elliot's shoulder, eyeing Olivia in the chair. "And you two have already met – even better."

"Hello, Captain," Olivia smiled.

Elliot cleared his throat and sat up straighter, discarding his pen.

"Elliot, Olivia's going to be your new partner," Cragen announced. "She's spent five years with Peter Griffin, so you've got a lot to live up to," he ribbed.

"Olivia," El nodded, avoiding her eyes, which were sparkling with amusement. "Good to meet you."

"Likewise," she replied, and he could hear the grin in her voice. "I'm looking forward to it, Stabler."

August, 1998

It had been three years since he'd worked with a woman, and Elliot wasn't so sure, at first, that going down that road again was the best idea. He had a reputation as a hot-headed, shoot-first-and-ask-later cop. It had a tendency to keep other cops at a distance, and once Alphonse had headed off into his Golden Years, El sort of enjoyed being alone.

But Olivia was a great detective. It was a lesson he learned very early on, one that continued to impress him as their first months passed. Her instincts were sharp, always on point, and she was quick on her feet in the field. Elliot was relieved to realize that he didn't need to babysit or lead her.

He looked up as she pushed back from her desk, stretching her arms behind her head. "That's it," she declared, "for today, anyway. How about you?"

"Yeah, I'm just about done," El nodded. "Didj'you want a drive home?"

"Actually, I was thinking of stopping for a drink beforehand. You're welcome to join me," she offered, rifling through her purse.

"Works for me." He shuffled the papers on his desk together, and got to his feet.

El took her to a cop bar near the 16th Precinct that she had never seen, and they found an empty booth in the back, with a wooden tabletop, stained deep into the grain from years of abuse. The cracked leather seats they dropped into were bleeding tufts of stuffing. Elliot's bottle of beer was cold enough that beads of condensation were forming on its glass. Olivia sighed as she settled into the seat, her hand wrapped around a Screwdriver topped with a cherry. He had pictured her drinking wine, or bottled coolers, not hard liquor – she was decidedly difficult to predict, this new partner.

"Ugh," she groaned, plucking at her shirt, "I like the Summer, but this past week has been too much for me." Absently, she unbuttoned a couple of the shirt's buttons, until her cleavage was visible at the top of the tank top underneath.

El took a long, cool drink of his beer and swallowed hard. "So, Benson –"

She laughed. "Jesus. Just call me Olivia – or better yet, Liv."

"You grow up in the city?"

She nodded. "Manhattan born and raised."

"You got family here?"

"Just my mother. She's retired."

"Oh yeah? From what?"

"She was an English professor."

"Huh. No cops in the family?" he mused.

"Just me."

Elliot eyed her, tipping back his beer, curious about what had closed her off and made her so cautious. "Did you like working with Peter Griffin?"

"He's a good cop. Definitely had my back," she replied. "But I'd had my eye on Sex Crimes for a long time, so it was an amicable parting. What happened to your partner?"

"Alfie?" Elliot grinned into his beer bottle. "The jerk retired. He's gone to Florida to putt golf balls into the ocean."

Liv chuckled, popping the cherry from her glass into her mouth. "No other partners?"

"What can I say?" he smirked, "I'm pretty loyal."

"Who trained you?"

"Jo Marlow."

Liv shook her head, indicating she didn't recognize the name. "Sorry," she shrugged, "I'm just not as interesting as you, Stabler." She plucked the cherry stem from her mouth, placing it on the tabletop. It was tied in a knot. "I'm not an ex-Marine, and I'm not happily married with four kids. But – we did both volunteer for a unit that nobody else usually wants to work." Liv slid from the booth. "I gotta run to the ladies room."

He watched her until she disappeared around the corner, then turned his gaze back to the cherry stem. He doubted very much that she wasn't interesting.

September, 1998

They were magic in the Interrogation Room. Everyone, including Elliot, walked away surprised. It came so effortlessly – playing off each other, trading roles, hatching schemes to trick the perps. They were smooth, as if practiced, and it gave him a rush. It was powerful, new, something he had never had with a partner before. He began walking out of the box like a fox leaving a henhouse. It was ridiculous, but addictive.

Which, naturally, made the first time it fell flat all the more hurtful.

"Sonofabitch!" Liv came flying out of the box, fuming, hands on hips.

Elliot followed, surprised by her defeat. "Hey! Where're you goin'? We almost had 'im!"

"Bullshit, El! He's laughing at us," she shouted, waving her hand at the two-way window.

"Relax, relax - c'mere." He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and steered her out a back entrance. The day was hazy, the pavement hard and warm under their tired feet. "Why is he getting to you?"

"He raped Georgia Haynes, and she has to live with that for the rest of her life, every time she looks into the eyes of that baby!" Olivia turned away from him, crossing her arms. She was heaving out exhales, and he watched her shoulders moving up and down.

"Ok? We've seen this before; it happens. So what's different?"

Taking a deep breath, she spoke without turning around. "You know how you asked about my family?" There was a pause, but El didn't speak. "My father . . . was a rapist, Elliot. I was the result of my mother's attack."

Thick silence fell all around them in the alley, until his pulse receded from his ears and he acknowledged traffic, and the shouts of people on the streets. "I'm sorry, Olivia."

"Forget it. Look – only Cragen knows, so keep it between us, ok?"

"Of course."

"I don't want your pity," she warned. "I just thought you might get it, if you knew."

"Hey, I don't pity you," he told her. "You impress me too damn much for that." He watched the temper blow out as the compliment washed over her. "Now let's go get this prick, alright?"

Elliot swung the door open and held it for her, letting her lead the way.

December, 1998

"Is it true that you volunteered to work Christmas?" Elliot leaned in over Liv's shoulder as she sat at her desk, speaking conspiratorially next to her ear.

"Why not?" she shrugged. "It's no big deal, El."

"You don't spend it with your mother?"

Olivia chuckled. "Oh, yeah. We exchange perfunctory gifts and then I babysit her while she drinks the entire bottle of wine. That doesn't require an entire day, though."

He frowned. "Oh. Well . . . why don't you come over to our place, then? There's plenty of food to go around, and Kathy's parents aren't so bad."

"Look, Elliot – I appreciate the concern, but Christmas is a family holiday, and the cheese stands alone. I'll be alright. The day usually goes quick, anyway."

He conceded, but reluctantly, returning to his desk. His thoughts churned, trying to devise a solution to such an unacceptable problem.

/

Five days before Christmas Day, it came to him. "Liv," he announced across the desk, "I want you to take Christmas off."

She groaned. "Elll, we've been over this!"

"No, no hear me out. Take Christmas Day off; I want to meet your mother."

"Did you – are you out of your mind?"

"Not at all. I'll stay home in the morning, watch the kids open presents, then I'll come by your mother's for a . . . a Christmas brunch. Then I can be back to my place in time for dinner, and you can do your thing with your mom."

For a moment, he could tell that she was touched, that he had gone out if his way to think of a plan that would work. But then her dark eyes clouded again. "No, Elliot," she shook her head, "you don't get enough time with your kids as it is, and my mother sees me plenty."

"Please," he insisted, leaning forward in the chair. "I'd really like to do this."

Liv eyed him with half-hearted annoyance for a few moments longer, then threw up her hands. "Alright. Okay! If you want to waste part of your time off on meeting a well-read drunk, I'll get Cragen to change my schedule."

"Good. Great!" he grinned. "I can't wait."

/

December 25th dawned cold, but bright, lacing even the dirty city snow with sun sparkles if you dared to look. Elliot left his kids, engrossed in their new toys, to pick up Olivia by 11am. They drove to Serena's as he told her about the kids' gifts and his yearly tie that the kids presented him with. Liv listened, smiling politely, but fidgeted with the hem of her dress.

The woman who answered the door seemed, to Elliot, an artifact of a time gone by. She was worn about the edges, maybe even a bit dusty, but underneath, her elegance was still there. It was not hard to see where Olivia had gotten her killer looks from. Somewhere, beneath makeup that failed to hide the circles and map of tragedies on Serena's face, there was a stubborn, intelligent professor that wouldn't have had any trouble captivating a classroom.

"Mrs. Benson," he smiled, and kissed her hand, "the pleasure is mine, to finally meet you."

"Miz Benson," she corrected, drawing her hand back in suspicion. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Likewise."

"Liar," she said calmly. "Olivia hates to talk about herself."

"Mother," Liv scolded as they followed Serena inside, deeper into the deliberate shadows that the older woman kept in the home.

"No, it's ok," El laughed. "You got me. Maybe you can tell me about yourself, Serena."

In the kitchen, she picked up a glass of what looked like vodka and lime, her long fingers hugging the glass like a lover. "Mm. We'll see."

"Smells good," El praised.

"Yes, well, lucky for you a turkey dinner is the one dish I can't fuck up, sober or otherwise," Serena drawled.

Sighing, Olivia shot Elliot a look that was the clearest, Don't say I didn't warn you that he had ever seen.

/

After Elliot had made a polite escape, Olivia joined her mother in the kitchen, stacking and washing dishes. Her partner was a diplomatic, Catholic gentleman when he needed to be, and had managed to get onto her mother's good side, after all.

"My, my, my!" Serena exclaimed, watching her current drink swirl in her glass. "He is a handsome one, that new partner of yours. Certainly nicer than five years of going in to work with Peter Griffin."

"Elliot's married, mother. Four kids, remember?"

"When has marriage ever stopped a cop from having some on the side?" she scoffed.

"It's not the 50s anymore."

"Men are the same, regardless of the decade," Serena murmured.

Olivia rolled her eyes and blew an errant lock of hair from her forehead. "I'm finally in the department that I wanted. I'm not about to mess it up – certainly not for a man."

"It's beyond me why you want to deal with sex crimes day in and day out," her mother said. "And don't dare say it's about me! It's your life to live. I've dealt with my demons."

Liv watched her mother drain her glass. Yeah, she thought, sure you have, mom.

April, 1999

"Listen up, folks!"

The bullpen quieted, turning toward Cragen. With him, in the middle of the room, stood a new detective that none of them recognized. He looked younger than he probably was, and cocky as hell.

"This is Detective Brian Cassidy," the Captain announced. "Munch, he's going to be your partner from now on – "

"Jealous'a watchin' me work alone, Captain?"

"No, John, 1-PP was concerned you were a liability without someone to keep you in line," Cragen returned. He turned back to Cassidy. "Go easy on him."

Chuckling, Cassidy dropped a box onto the desk across from Munch's and began pulling out his belongings. "How's the coffee around here?" he asked his new partner.

"It's crap, kid."

Cassidy smirked. "Wouldn't have it any other way. "

Munch rolled his head on his neck toward Olivia, giving her a pained look. Following Munch's gaze, Cassidy seemed to notice the brunette for the first time. Smiling brightly, he walked to her desk, holding his hand out to shake hers.

"Hey. Cassidy," he said, shaking her hand enthusiastically.

"Olivia Benson," she replied, trying not to giggle at Elliot, who crossed him arms and leaned back in his chair.

"Pleasure."

"Where were you before Sex Crimes, Cassidy?" she asked.

"I was trained at the 4-1. Thought I'd volunteer here first, gimme a chance to decide where I wanna go permanently." There was an awkward pause, as Cassidy waited for Liv to say more. When he realized that nothing else was coming, he returned to his box at the desk.

Stabler sat up, looking back to his paperwork. "I give him six weeks," he said quietly. Across the desk, Liv grinned.

September, 1999

Another day, another opportunity to be disappointed by humanity. Olivia turned from the less-than-helpful witness who was walking away, only to be approached by a couple.

"Excuse me, how long does that girl's apartment stay a crime scene?"

"Why?"

"We're next on the list for a one-bedroom," the man replied.

Elliot had joined them on the sidewalk in front of the building, and now he eyed the man. "What's your name?"

"Jason Cargill."

"Mr. Cargill, I'm with the real estate board," Stabler told him, "you're now off the list."

With a scowl, the couple moved off.

"Half of them admitted they couldn't tell their neighbors from the perp," Liv told him in frustration.

"Could you?"

"Could I what?"

"Tell your neighbors apart?"

"Why, because I live here? I'm never home. I'm always with you."

"And people say the suburbs are anonymous," he smirked.

"Oh, now Queens is a suburb? Since when?"

"Since we got a little space, some trees, grass to mow . . . "

She laughed openly. "Yeah - I got a regular 8x10 of you, mowing the lawn."

"I do . . . sometimes."

"Admit it, Kathy does all the housework 'cause you're never there!"

"Okay, I admit it, Kathy's the man of the house," El shrugged.

"Exactly."

"Till Dickie's old enough. You're lucky, you got nothing to worry about. Definitely got no lawn to mow," he teased.

"Yeah, I'm a regular monk," Olivia snorted.

"Monkette." Elliot leaned on the driver's side door that he'd opened, looking at her.

Of course, in a year of working with her, he had looked at her every day. He had looked at her when he was pleased by her clever work, looked at her in frustration when the job was wearing them down, or with sympathy when he knew that she'd spent a long night with her mother. But lately, he had caught himself looking at her in more than those ways – even caught himself gazing at her, when she wasn't paying complete attention.

Now, he was caught in the act. He held the look just a beat or two too long.

"What?" Liv asked him.

His mouth ran dry. He swallowed. "Nothing," he managed.

But he was beginning to worry that 'nothing,' was something.

October, 1999

"The mom had a revolving door of boyfriends. Virginia learned at an early age that men were just a commodity. That, and as arcane as it sounds, there is some truth to the notion that every girl wants to marry her father."

Elliot hurried to keep up with Liv's irritated pace "Most of them outgrow it."

"When a father is absent, it is not unusual for a younger girl to be attracted to an older man."

It surprised him, although he supposed it shouldn't have. "That's what this is about?"

"It happens a lot more than you think," she replied indignantly.

"How old were you?"

"Almost 17."

Elliot struggled to picture his partner at that age. He dredged up an image of a mouthy, lonely brunette. "And he was?"

"Older than 17," Liv smirked, pausing deliberately. "About as old as I am now. And I'll tell you something, I couldn't have loved him more."

She rarely spoke about her life before the Academy, but Elliot couldn't swallow his discomfort on the topic, even as an effort to keep her talking. "I don't care how you look at it, it's an unequal relationship. Being in love, that does not absolve an affair."

"I'm not saying that love is ever an excuse. I'm saying that soul mates come in all shapes and sizes and ages."

"Soul mates? Come on, Olivia."

"Elliot, she didn't remember the position of the body. Have you ever seen that?" she demanded, but he still wouldn't give. "What are you trying to protect in her?"

"Her. I'm trying to protect her," he snapped.

"No, you're trying to protect your daughter, and you can't."

His eyes flared with anger, unused to her mixing his family with their work. "Don't bring her into this."

Liv held her ground, motioning a hand in the direction they had been walking. "Well, just wait and see," she huffed. "I'm right, and I'll let Virginia tell you, herself."

November, 1999

Olivia's morning routine consisted of running late, not eating enough breakfast, and grabbing coffee before making it to the office. She was unused to her routine being interrupted by a knock at her door.

"Who is it?"

"Elliot." She opened the door to his lopsided grin. "One of your neighbors let me in. I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd give you a lift."

"Elliot, what's going on? Last night Munch offered to give me a lift home."

"Munch did that?"

"Yeah, that's not like him, is it? Then this morning you're offering to drive me to work. 'In the neighborhood?' "

"I was."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You have a sedan with you?"

"Yep."

"Which means that you drove all the way uptown from the Queensboro Bridge, dropped off the car, picked up the sedan, turned around, all the way back downtown to get here." She smirked. "That's a lot of neighborhood, my friend."

Elliot stepped out of the doorway and into the apartment. "Stop acting like a cop," he chided.

"That's what Richard White would like me to do. Look, I appreciate everyone's concern. But we don't know that White's coming for me. He may have gone out of town."

"Okay," El nodded, unconvinced.

"I sure as hell wouldn't drive to Queens to save your ass," she grinned.

"Yeah, you would," he told her, grabbing her glass of juice from the counter and taking a drink. It was his first time seeing her at the top of the morning, fresh and showered, before the office's fluorescent lights colored her skin. He admired her a moment, without her catching him.

"That's only because you have a wife and kids," she relented.

"Yeah," he laughed. It was good, and it was easy. He felt his smile all the way to his toes, just as his phone rang.

January, 2000

Another Christmas Day with her mother had come and gone, with New Year's Eve right on its heels. Harboring no fear of the coming millennium, Olivia chose to go out for a change. True to form, however, she went somewhere familiar: Maloney's. Just her and a few old, ragged cops, drinking in another year.

That was, until Cassidy showed up.

He was the only guy in the place under 50 by the time it was midnight, and Liv had enough drinks in her that she let him convince her to kiss him at the countdown. It had been long enough for her that just the thrill of contact - that wasn't with a victim or Elliot – shut down her decision-making center. For all she knew, it was 1989 again, and all she wanted was a little fun.

By the time she woke to her beeper the next morning, she didn't even remember how they had gotten to Cassidy's place. Everything was a blur, of lips, of hands, of hips and the glide of skin. But she recognized the look on Brian's face, the tone of his voice as she hurried to dress.

And she remembered, then, why she didn't do nights like this anymore.

Somehow, Elliot's knowing was worse.

"How long have you been sleeping with Cassidy?"

"Uh, I'm not." The hot creep of her embarrassment at the base of her neck surprised and intrigued her.

"Your stomach just dropped two floors, Olivia. The unconscious doesn't lie."

"I'm not lying." Liv sighed and turned to him. "Not much."

"Um-hmm."

"Is it that obvious?"

"I'm your partner. For better or worse. Everybody knows too much about everybody else in this office, anyway."

He was not father, or husband, or confessor, yet she felt caught out in a way she couldn't recognize. "I broke a rule, Elliot - a personal one, and now he wants to see me again."

"Can you blame him?"

It was as close as he'd ever come to calling her attractive, out loud, and they both knew that personal rules had exceptions. For better or worse. Perhaps these were the only love vows they would ever take together.

"I can't do it right now. I didn't mean for this - " she sighed, angry with herself, "I mean, I guess you never do."

"Sometimes you do," he said lowly. He took a pause that was swollen with wordless meaning between them. "Be nice to him, maybe even over-nice. He'll be cold, but he'll get over it. It happens."

"Really?"

"Really. Cragen's waiting for us."

I now pronounce you partners for life.

September, 2000

The bounce of raindrops off of her umbrella had Olivia entranced. It appropriately darkened the fresh earth and the headstone that she'd paid to have installed. Even the caress of cool Fall air against her hands and neck was befitting.

Serena had been cremated, so the plot need only be four feet wide by four feet deep, but it still seemed cavernous to Liv. It was a lightless place, where her only parent and her biggest denigrator would be laid to rest, as if history could be planted - covered over in Death's garden.

Olivia let out a deep, slow breath and shuffled her feet. She tried to pay attention to the minister that the funeral home had sent over to the gravesite. Neither she, nor her mother had ever been particularly religious, but the thought of putting her mother in the ground without a few words seemed like too much silence.

"Hello, Liv."

Before she'd heard him, she was aware of his body heat, shifting the damp cold away from them. He had come from work, she could tell, and in the hand that wasn't holding his own umbrella, there was a bouquet of flowers.

"Hey, El," she said softly.

"I'm sorry about Serena," he told her. "I liked her."

From him, it wasn't a lie, and so she allowed herself to be grateful that he had said it. "Thanks." Elliot held out the flowers – yellow roses, interspersed with colorful hyacinths – and she took them into her own free hand, which ached with the chill.

They stood, side by side, as the minister finished speaking, and the cemetery attendant began to fill in the small plot. The funeral had been well-attended, but Olivia had insisted on a private burial, knowing her mother would have wanted her to herself, for this one last time. When the dirt had been shovelled, and the attendant silently nodded, stepping off into the rain, Liv knelt and laid the flowers at the stone.

"'She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies,'" Elliot read the inscription aloud.

"It's Byron," she said, with a sad smile, "her favorite." Finally, she broke, her face contorting into a tight frown as her eyes welled up.

At the first shake of her shoulders, Elliot leaned in, offering her his hand up. Liv took it, despite her embarrassment, and crowded under his umbrella, putting her head to his shoulder.

"It's alright, Liv," he whispered.

"No . . . "

"It is. It will be."

"No," she said, more forcefully. She lifted her head, meeting his eyes. "You don't understand. I loved - love my mother, but she was . . . you know, my childhood, and – "

"I know," Elliot nodded.

"I feel – " her voice broke.

"You feel free."

Olivia nodded with relief, and the sound of the rain rushed back in.