Hello to everyone out there! My name is Kay, and this is my first story published on this site! I've written stories, before, of course, but just never posted them. Please do let me know what you think, and I apologize that this first part is so very, very short. I just wanted to test the waters, really, and the other chapters should be a considerable amount longer. But nothing too crazy! Thank you very, very much for reading, if you do, and I'd love to hear what you think :)

The SVU detectives were reckless. They could and would work neverendingly; coffee and adrenaline was all they knew, sometimes, during the grueling cases that would drain everything they had out of them. Morning till the next, sometimes Olivia wouldn't even know if it was the latest hours of the night where partygoers could be heard all along the boulevard or if it was the earliest hours of the next morning, where those same clubbers could be seen drunkenly making their way home.

Either one was a harsh reality of her job; she worked nonstop. Her time outside of the precinct was worthless. No, maybe that was too harsh of a word for that sparse time spent outside of the work that had become her life. It was limited. It came few and far between.

Elliot had somewhat of a life. He was divorced, yes, but he had children.

"Kathleen, Maureen, Lizzie, Dickie, and Eli... they're wonderful," he'd state proudly whenever someone asked about his children. Elliot had something to work for. People were depending on him, he knew that. He went home to an empty apartment but his life was not empty.

The walls of Olivia Benson's apartment were neat. Surprisingly, because sometimes she wanted to make her place a mess just to clean it. Sometimes, when she was home alone, and after CNN had been replayed for the 3rd time and Nancy Grace's voice had blared a hole through her brain, Olivia just wanted to clean her house. It's one of those weird things that you're not completely sure why you do it, because it's excessively unnecisary, but something inside of you says, "Why not?"

"Why not," happened to be a question Olivia asked her self often. More so simply "Why," though, which was the single word that she hated more than anything. Asking "why" to anything morbidly unexplainable was only something to get you into trouble.

"Why are people so cruel?"

"Why did this happen to me?"

"Why can't I be in a normal relationship?"

Olivia laughed at the last one.