Detective Olivia Benson walked into the sixteenth precinct carrying two cups of coffee. She brushed a strand of limp brown hair behind her ear.
She was a mess. Her face was pale, her eyes bloodshot, and the foundation she'd hastily applied to her face that morning didn't do much to conceal the dark purple bruise on her right cheek.
Her partner, Detective Elliot Stabler, looked up as she entered the room. "Hey, Liv," he said gently. He could tell there was something wrong. She'd been acting oddly these past few months – ever since she'd started going out with Trevor Langan, actually. There was something different about her, something more than the fact that she insisted on leaving right after her shift was over rather than joining the rest of the squad for a drink, claiming she had plans with Trevor. "Liv, you okay?"
She shrugged and neatly evaded the question. "Brought you coffee," she said instead.
"You look like hell," he told her, not wanting to drop the subject.
Olivia gave him a wry grin, but it didn't meet her eyes. "Always the charmer." She set a cup of coffee down on his desk and took a swig of her own.
Elliot watched her carefully as she made her way to her desk and sat down. It was slight, but he couldn't help but notice her wince as she leaned back in her chair.
"Stop staring at me!" Olivia snapped, burying her head in a stack of papers as thick as the Bible, maybe thicker.
But he didn't. He couldn't take his eyes off Olivia, his best friend in the world. She'd always been there for him when he needed her; why couldn't he do the same?
He took in her turtleneck sweater, the fading bruises on her wrists, the cut on her chin. He knew he had to help her before it was too late.
* * *
Olivia went home early that day, telling Elliot to cover for her. Before she met Trevor, Olivia had never taken time off, even when she should have. Even when her mother died, Olivia didn't miss one day of work.
Elliot was worried.
His shift ended at eight and it occurred to him that he should go check on Olivia. If she wouldn't talk to him at work, he'd just have to keep trying.
He drove out to the apartment Olivia shared with Trevor on the Upper East Side; she'd sold hers when she'd moved in with her boyfriend.
Elliot took the elevator to Olivia's apartment. He reached the door and knocked, but nobody answered.
He pressed his ear to the door, wondering if she was even home. After all, she might have really had plans and Elliot was just overreacting.
Suddenly he heard a whimper and the thumping sound of a fist striking tender flesh. Immediately cop mode set in. "Liv," he called. "It's me. Are you okay?"
He heard a rough voice growl, "You bitch!" Then a sharp scream pierced the air.
That was all Elliot needed to hear. He stepped back and rammed into the door as hard as he could. It came crashing down. He drew his gun and headed in the direction of the cries.