She thumbs through the papers, in the manila case file. She sits on the couch. The file sits on the coffee table. She reads every single word, line for line. She didn't really need to look at it, she had it memorized. She gets off the couch, and heads to the kitchen. She has grabbed a glass, and is looking for a bottle of alcohol, when someone knocks on the door. She sits the glass down, and makes her way to the door. She looks out the peephole, and rolls her eyes. She unlocks the door, and pulls it open.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, bitterly.

"Olivia, you know what I'm doing here," he answers.

"Detective Benson," she corrects him.

"We're not in a court of law," he reminds her.

"You shouldn't be here."

"You shouldn't be alone," she points out.

"And, since when do you know what is best for me, counselor?"

"Let me come in," he begs.

"Fine," she huffs, stepping aside. He enters the apartment, and closes the door.

He notices the file, laying on the coffee table. It's lying wide open. He looks at her.

"Why do you do this, to yourself?" he wonders.

"You know why."

"Stop," he suggests.

"You know that I can't."

"I understand."

"No," she shakes her head, "Trevor, you don't understand."

"Do we have to do this, every single year?"

"You don't have to do anything. I don't even know why you're here."

"You know why I'm here."

"I wish that you would leave."

"I am here to save you, from yourself."

"Just leave me alone, Trevor."

"Why don't we, not do this? Let's break the cycle."

"I just want to be left alone."

"I am not going to leave you alone, you know that."

She takes a seat, on the couch. He takes a seat, on the arm of the couch. He looks at her, and he looks at the file.

"Just put it away."

"Unlike you, I can't just put it away."

"That isn't fair."

"I think that it is."

"Do you remember the first case we ever worked on, together?"

"It wasn't together," she argues.

"Your perp, my client."

"You lost."

"I remember."

March 22nd, 1993- She's sitting at a bar, after work, with her partner. It was long before she was in sex crimes. It had been a long, grueling case. They sit at the bar, waiting on the verdict. After the call comes in, her partner leaves. She sits there, for a few more minutes, watching the news. A young, tall prosecutor takes a seat, next to her.

"Can I buy you a drink?" He wonders.

She looks over at him, "Why would you buy me a drink? You lost your case."

"Nice to meet you too. I was just trying to be nice," he responds.

"In my experience defense attorney's aren't that nice," she tells him.

"My name is Trevor, can I buy you a drink, and try to change your opinion?"

"It wouldn't work," she argues.

"Can I try?"

"Fine," she nods, "I'm Olivia, by the way."

"I know who you are. You're the cop who is responsible for putting my client in jail."

"I thought it was your job to keep him from going there."

"It is, but you made my job very difficult. What are you drinking?"

She looks at him, and shakes her head. "Trevor, I don't want to take a trip down memory lane, with you," she argues.

"Why not?"

"Because I know how it ends."

"After all of this time, you still won't talk about it? Even to me?"

"Especially to you."

"I am not the enemy."

"Most of the time, you are."

"Why is it so hard for you?"

She furrows her brow, and looks at him, with rage, "How can you even ask me that?"

"I'm not leaving, so you might as well talk."

"We try this, every year, and it never works," she reminds him.

"Maybe, this time it will."

"What makes you think that?"

He reaches into the pocket, of his jacket. "I have a present for you."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Yes, you do."

"I hate you."

"I know that," he replies, as he pulls the object out of his pocket. He places it in front of her, in the middle of the papers that are strewn across her coffee table. She looks at it, and then to him. She swallows hard.

"Where did you get that?"

"I had it made."

"Why?"

"Because you're not the only one, who needs closure. I was there too."

"I know."

"Have you ever told anyone?"

"Told them what?" she raises her eyebrow.

"The whole story."

"No. I have never told anyone."

"Why not?"

"Because something's are not meant to be shared. Have you?"

"No," he admits.

"You act like you're better than I am, but you're not."

"I know that. Are you ever going to let anyone in?"

"Are you?" she throws his question back at him.

"I can't change the past."