Disclaimer: I don't own L&O: SVU or any of its characters, it/they belong to Dick Wolf/NBC. This story is just meant for entertainment purposes and I am not making any profit out of this nor do I intend to. It's all in good fun.

A/N: I know I said I wouldn't update another chapter until I was sure the readers wanted to read more but I couldn't resist, I just had to post the first chapter. This chapter was inspired by The Black Ghost's Full Moon. Anyways, hope you like this chapter and I would definitely like to hear what you guys think of the portrayal of the characters. Yay or Nay??? So that I can modify them to stay true to the characters on TV.

Any transition serious enough to alter your definition of self will require not just small adjustments in your way of living and thinking but a full-on metamorphosis.

- Martha Beck

Full Moon

St-Dana and I drove to the JFK airport in a black SUV with tinted windows. The dark of the night in New York was so in sync with the licorice black of the tinted windows, I could barely make out the glowing appearance of the full moon glistening up in the sky.

"Ms. Benson," Dana said to me. "Would you like me to turn on the heater? You look cold."

I was wearing my black, faux fur-trim, hooded, quilted down jacket by Michael Kors that Casey had given me on my last birthday. The jacket did an extraordinary job at keeping me warm, but today New York was exceptionally arctic, leaving me merciless in the sight of the cold. No matter the amount of time I spend in New York, I can never quite get used to its wintry climate. I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for cold, bleak, freezing weather, so of course everyone in hearing distance would have to listen about it to no avail. Elliot is always the one to catch the brunt of it though-and he always gives me the same verbose response, 'just unavoidable', but not this time.

"Yes, please." I answered back.

She blasted the heater to its highest potential and the warm air quickly brushed across my exposed skin. The warm air against my skin caused me to remember the times when I would vacation in California during the summer-in the early years of my childhood anyway. I love to feel the fervent shine of light the sun emits upon my olive-skin and hate the constant frost-nips sustained from the freezing conditions; I've always been very sensitive to the cold.

I wonder if Oregon will be any milder on me when it comes to its weather? 'You'll love Oregon, it's very lovely this time of year.', is what Dana said to me when I asked where I had been reassigned to. I'm sure she and I have very different definitions of lovely. She also mentioned Oregon being rainy this time of year but very temperate in its winters. I'm not very fond of the rain either, but I guess, I'll just have to endure it because Portland, Oregon is where I now exiled myself to.

I gulped down the rest of my coffee and let the balmy liquid engulf all my senses. The warmth of the coffee caused me to instinctively seal my eyes and reminisce about what my life used to be and exactly what point in my life things started to make a turn for the worse.

I could feel my mind racing at the speed of light, squirming about in the distant depths of my memory, searching for some acumen elucidation. I was being bombarded with flashing images that I had concealed willingly in the realms of abstraction.

No!

I couldn't be reliving these memories over again-not now, not ever.

No!

Flashback...

The plan was set in motion. There was no reason for things to go amiss; certainly not with law enforcement officers surrounding the whole canvas simultaneously.

"He's coming at you. No kids." I heard Fin say.

"Ryan and Rebecca have to be around here somewhere." I quipped back from my standing position in the phone booth station.

"Fin, look for those kids." Elliot ordered.

I looked around endlessly for Ryan and Rebecca within my assigned perimeter, but, no such luck.

But then out of nowhere I spotted Gitano from a distance. I knew he was on to us by the way his whole body language shouted "suspicious" in flashing neon lights. Gitano may have been dumb but not stupid.

"He's running!" I yelled, into the earpiece, breaking into a sprint of my own after him.

The George Washington Bridge Bus Terminal was an infestation of human bodies; more so than any other day, even. I pushed and shoved unintentionally, trying to make my way through the crowd and get to Gitano as soon-as was humanly possible.

I lost him in plain sight. We lost him in plain sight.

"You see him?" Elliot asked me.

"No." I answered quickly.

"Split up." He commanded more than suggested.

"Yeah." I nodded before communicating with Fin through earpiece and informing him that Gitano made us for cops and was on the run.

I ran a marathon through every twist and turn of the Bus Terminal in search of this cretin psychopath and then as if on cue, he reappeared on scene; however, not alone this time around.

I reached for my gun and paced forward in his direction. I could feel my adrenaline making its presence known. It coursed through my veins like a junkie high on heroin. The erratic screams and yelps of the civilians around me sent my brain on overload.

I focused on Gitano and the innocent little girl at his mercy in attempts to reign my attention back on track. I ordered him to still in position, he retaliated by leaping forward to slit my throat. I panicked after that and everything became a blur. My body slamming hard onto the floor as a result.

I heard his worried cries and felt his urgent arms rapidly secure me in his strong embrace. It took me a couple of seconds to concentrate on his masculine form because I could have sworn I died for a couple of minutes. I centered on his breezy-blue eyes and knew at that moment that I would be fine, so I demanded that he leave my side and continue on the hunt for Gitano. He seemed apprehensive at first but eventually complied with my pleas.

I remained on the floor, watching his figure blend in with the crowd and retrieve into the distance.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" The young man rushed to his words out, kneeling down next to me.

Uh, let me think...NO! A maniac on the loose, carrying two bewildered children just tried to 86 me, but, I'm fine, thanks for your consideration.

"I'm fine." I said through my nomadic gasps for air.

"Are you sure?" He examined me more closely, "You don't look so hot. I'm calling an ambulance."

"It's already on its way, young man." An elderly woman informed him.

I'm going to be fine," I objected. "Trust me. I'm an officer, I know this stuff."

I tried sitting up but the young, blond man insisted I stay down.

"I mean this with all respect when I say, just because you're an authority figure of the law, doesn't mean you're a certified medic." He have my wound another check and flinched a tiny bit. "You don't even know the extent of your own injury at question. Trust me. I'm Irish and by the look of things, you weren't so lucky." The young 'Irish' man remarked.

"I know I'm not dead and still breathing. Besides, I think I know my own body enough to know that I'm okay." I protested, irritably.

"That's just the injury talking. Your state of well being is for a Doctor to decide. You're way in and out of your head, lady."

I ignored his comments and resumed to standing up.

"Hey, hey, hey! Stop, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I eyed him incredulously.

"Here-" he slipped my left arm over his neck and wrapped his right arm around my waist. "If you're not going to listen to reason, at least, let me help you up."

I took his help and removed myself from his hold when I was sure I could stand on my own. "See. Perfectly stable."

I placed my gun in its holster before returning to acknowledge the group of people that had gathered around me. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got business to attend to."

I moved swiftly through the platform until I heard my name being called.

"Ms. Benson." They said, repeatedly.

I turned every which way possible, seeking for the source of the voice, but everyone had returned to normal as if nothing had occurred. It was difficult putting a face or a moving body to its matching voice.

"Ms. Benson!" They called out-again.

I spun around to quickly, wafting the sickening scent. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach elevating in revolution. The rusty, iron, salty aroma of my blood was rotting my filtered air passing through my nostrils. My mind tumbling like Nastia Liukin in the Olympics. The aftermath of the wound finally catching up to me. For some inexplicable, strange reason the sight and smell of my own blood is very nauseating and appalling to me. I need to get a hold of Elliot and get the hell out of here before I lose conscious as a result of this repulsive odor.

"Elliot!" I shouted, "Elliot, where are you?"

"Elliot's dead, Olivia." Fin pointed out, as if I should know, appearing out of thin air.

"What are you talking about?" I say, mystified.

"I'm saying just that. He died trying to save you!" He voiced in a harsh tone, pointing a finger in my face.

Normally I would have told him not to point his finger in my face, but I'm guessing, he did it on purpose since he knows how much I dislike that gesture. I tried not to role my eyes and ignored his actions.

"No," I shook my head in disbelief. "That's impossible!"

"Nothing's impossible in this workforce and you should know that better than anyone else. This was your fault anyway, so stop with the act because it doesn't suit you any."

"No!" I shout in denial, clutching my right hand around my neck harder and adding to the grief already penetrating my neck. "When he left he was very much alive. He left in search of Gitano, where is he-where's Gitano? Did you arrest him? Chances are if we locate Gitano we can find Elliot. Gitano's the key to unlocking all doors, let's go."

I grab his arm with my free hand to move him at my pace, but he doesn't move an inch and just pulls his arm back to his side.

"He got away! Where have you been? Stop acting like a damn fool, it's getting more pathetic by the passing of the seconds." He hollered, angrily. "If you had stop playing possum, the outcome of the situation would have been different." He shoved pass me.

"Fin, wait! Where are you going?"

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Just give me a chance to explain, Fin, please." I say, sincerely.

"Explain what? How you ruined Gitano's ambush and got Elliot killed along the way? You might as well have slid that blade across his neck yourself. Some great partner you are." He spat the last sentence with even more venom.

"You're lying!" I yell-in his already angered face, not bothering to wipe or conceal the tears streaming down my cheeks. Elliot wasn't dead, he couldn't be. Fin was lying to me. Why? I'm not sure.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that." He looked at me disgustingly. "I'm through with you, we all are." He walked away, fading within the moving sea of bodies.

The tears continued to stream down endlessly like a river, furiously across my face. How could this be? It couldn't! He was wrong, he had to be wrong. No way can Elliot Stabler be dead.

I'd find him, I'm the only who can. Fin will have no choice but to shove his words back down is throat. Things couldn't end like this, not for us, not with an ending from a finished dreaded, grim...fairy tale.

"Elliot!" I sprint in a dash, doing my best at dodging the bodies in the midst of motion. "Elliot!"

"Hey," someone unknown clasped my shoulder, shaking gruffly. "Wake up! ."

End Flashback

I flutter my eyes open, trying to catch my breath.

"Where is Elliot?" I say, in between unregistered breaths.

"Um," Dana glances at the green digital numbers on the radio clock. "I'm guessing at home-asleep. Which you of all people should probably know that since you were his partner for roughly around," she stops talking, critically thinking inside her head. "seven years, give-or-take, right? In addition, the fact that he wasn't at the precinct when we boxed your belongings, should have been a sign."

"Yeah, I suppose." I spoke, barely an octave higher than a whisper. I was sure she wouldn't have heard had she not been in so close of a proximity to me.

I could still hear her words echoing, rotating inside my head when she said, 'you were his partner'. It's like she delivered a stab wound to my chest every time her words rewired. Each stabbed wound more painful than the one before. Yes, I know it was unintentional and she meant no harm, but still.

"Why'd you ask?" She restarted the ignition, bringing the SUV back to life and driving off the side of the road.

I was clueless to what she meant by the double meaning in her question, unsure of which direction to stir in and what answer she'd really want and expect out of me. Dana was just so random at times and unpredictable when it comes to her lucrative, uncensored behavior. I must admit however, her spontaneous nature can be very animating...

"What do you mean, asked what?"

"About Elliot," she stated, flatly. "Why'd you ask where he was knowing throughly well where he could or could not be?"

Dana, Dana, Dana, what ever are you wanting to know?

"I was just having a nightmare," I paused, almost expecting her to contradict me. "A very vivid, strikingly all-to-real nightmare. I just...I guess, I just wanted to hear from your mouth that he was doing okay; to confirm it was a nightmare. Nothing more to it, really."

"Oh, I see." She nodded, understandingly. Her big, bright-eyes still glued to the road ahead.

I sighed, running my fingers through my hair, silently thankful that this somewhat awkward-for-me conversation was over, done, finite.

I continued to stare bleakly out the window, frowning at the sight in front of me. New York seemed occult and ill-lighted, not even the big city lights could penetrate the profound morbid night to shed some light in the celestial sphere. New York was in mourning, wearing its darkest shade of sullen gloom as a farewell to me-Olivia Benson, former Detective of the 1-6 precinct in Manhattan's SVU. In a twisted, sadistic, demented way I was glad that New York was cheerless tonight, reflecting every visible angle of every fiber of my being onto the perimeters of New York.

"I just...are you-" she struggled internally to find the appropriate words, "Because sometimes it seems, well, to me, I can't really speak for everyone else...it seems as if...well, are you?"

...while other times her spontaneous nature can be so very, well, non-animating but unwelcoming. I mentally kicked myself for thinking this conversation could be over, done, finite. This is Dana I'm talking about, she never let's go. Never knows when to stop meddling.

She cast a crooked glance at me for a nano of a second, expecting some sort of answer.

"Dana, I was never very good at Wheel of Fortune, so why don't you start all over and this time don't forget to plug in the vowels." I say, masking my irritation.

"I mean-" she breathed, "No, just forget it."

"Too late. What is it?"

"No, forget it. It's not of my concern."

She was backing off, a first if I may add. I would have acted like a proud mother regarding her working progress, but she had ignited my curiosity and it was now shifting into fourth gear. I hope she didn't think so little of me as to drop the subject that easily, especially, with my curiosity getting the best of me.

I gasp, placing a hand on my chest, and glancing seriously at Dana. "Okay, now I'm concerned. When is it never your business to get involved?"

"Ha, Ha, Ha. Hilarious." She glared, briefly.

"Okay, all joking aside, What's not of your concern?"

"Anything that doesn't pertain to me."

"I don't recall you using those exact words, of which you speak of to me now, when you waltzed into the squad room a couple of days ago."

"Really? Because I recall differently." She opposed.

I nod, "Of course you would. Who is it pertaining to then?"

She shrugs her shoulders.

"Someone I know?" I add, becoming more intrigued. Wait...she said, 'you' as in me. Of course, of course! This would explain her hesitation.

"This is about me, isn't it?" I'm exasperated now. What does she think? What does she know? What has she heard?

Silence is her only response. She doesn't even look at me.

"Dana, tell me now." I demand, softly.

She takes her time but finally answers, "Yes, it is."

"She's alive!" I pitch in, dramatically.

"Would you stop with the theatricals. How much coffee have you had anyway?" She gave me a suspicious glance.

I met her glance with a scowling expression. "So, what about me?"

She opened her mouth to speak and I waited with bated breath. "Well, what do you know, we're here." She signaled to the airport.

Not exactly the response I hoped or waited for. "Dana, no. You will not continue to dismiss the question." I sternly look at her.

She sighed slowly, removing the keys from the ignition, trying to relax in her seat.

"It's silly, really." She turned to face me. "Not worth bringing it up, let alone talk about it."

"Go on." I coax her to continue.

"Okay, but don't over exaggerate. Promise?"

"I don't know."

"Olivia." She stared, intently.

"Fine. You win. I won't." I raise my hands in defeat.

"I thought that maybe, I repeat maybe," she speaks slowly and with emphasize on the second maybe. "That you felt something more for Elliot than just friendship."

OH MY GOD! HA, UH, NO!

"What!" I laugh hysterically.

"You see, silly. I told you." She unbuckles her seat-belt.

I stop my fits of laughter, retract my seatbelt as well, and reach for her arm before she's able to leap out the SUV.

"No," I shake my head, "no, no, no."

"I know. That's why I didn't push you into answering and shoving me out of doubt. Ludicrous, I get it." She simply states.

"I mean, I don't even look at him that way. No, it's absurd."

I hope she doesn't interpret my response as in denial because I'm not. I'm not in denial at all, I have no reason to be. He's just a friend, my best friend at that. Just friends, that's what we are both he and I. Friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Although, after this little stunt, who knows where we'll stand now.

"Right. Of course." She agrees, almost genuinely. The smallest hint of disbelief betraying her voice.

"Wait," I shake my head, numerously. As if to flitter cobwebs from my short honey-chestnut hair. "Where is this supposition coming from?"

She jumps out the SUV and heads for the trunk. I follow on her trail seconds later.

"Why do you want to know?" She hands me my only suitcase and duffel bag.

I was only allowed a suitcase. They had said the duffel bag was already exceeding the limit, but hey, they need me more than I need them; therefore, my rules and expectations hold far more supremacy.

"I thought this conversation was over and done with now that you've said what needed to be said." She closes the trunk door, exhaling a puffy cloud of air due to the cold in the atmosphere.

"Humor me." I squint my eyes, glaring, tilting my head sideways.

"Well, it could be encouraged by how you always bring him up in any and every conversation being had. I have to commend you on your ingenious nature though. The way you engineer talk and incorporate Elliot into them, it's very innovative." She smiles, slyly, in approval. "It could be the way you look at him with those big goo-goo eyes of yours when you think no one is watching, but really they are, pretending not to. You should really try to give others more credit, . The way you walk a little faster just to get next to him. The way your smile radiates waves brighter than the sun when he looks or speaks to you. Oh, and lets's not forget the countless times you apply that shimmy-shimmy lip gloss just to impress him. You see were I'm going with this?"

Munch! She had to be conversing with John Munch! Who else could have implicated so many scenarios and theories. When I see John again...I'm going to wire his jaw shut and make it my personal mission to tarnish his reputation. I'm going to enjoy sending him to the unforgiving ruins, cursing him to the fiery pits of Tartarus and watch joyously as the Titans devour him alive.

"First, it's guava-gold lip gloss and I do not wear it to impress him or anyone else for that matter. Second, I do not bring him up in every conversation. Third, I'm a naturally happy person, God forbid I smile radiantly at anyone or anything. Fourth, you need to stop associating with John Munch, it's for your own good, trust me. Lastly, stop with your lies. Anyone that doesn't know you will believe everything coming out of your mouth."

This is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman, I shouldn't have to defend myself upon other peoples' malicious accusations. Especially, not from the prying culprit Munch.

"Okay, fine! Maybe I do like to exaggerate the truth a tiny smudge." She admitted, but lying a bit through her self revelation. She heard me scoff under my breath and opted to correct her mistake. "Okay, I exaggerate the truth by a lot. Are you happy now?"

"Very."

"So now that that's settled and you've calmed, relaxed, and taught yourself how to breath again, is it safe to say that I was just trying to rattle you up. It was all in good fun and I meant no harm by it."

She seems to be sincere about it but I know that there is still some truth behind her previous assumptions. How could some small part of her honestly believe that I-Olivia Benson, could possibly see Elliot as more than just a friend? How could she entertain the idea in her head? Me? Having some sort of high school crush on Elliot Stabler? Please, as if.

"Come on," she elbows my ribs gently, "I seriously was only kidding. Don't you believe me?"

I silently shrug my shoulders and avert my attention elsewhere, into the all consuming night.

I had already forgiven her but I still wanted her to squirm for seconds longer. I don't know how much more I can take of peoples' insinuations revolving around Elliot's and my partnership and friendship relationship. It started off as just one joke said by one person and then suddenly, everyone is the main event act in the Comedy Strip. Who knows, maybe I do over react when it comes to the subject but just because they laugh it off and end it by proclaiming that they are 'just kidding', doesn't excuse it or make it a sparing joke in my book. So forgive me, if I lost my sense of humor along the way in these last couple of months, and as if things couldn't get any worse all it takes now is just one comment to set me on edge. Kathy does not take too kindly to me already; at least, from what I can read off her. Her sometimes venomous glares give me reason to believe she holds me responsible to some extent for their somewhat failed marriage. Perhaps if not so many people and things were in jeopardy in the midst of all their jokes, then a low quantity of a ratio in a fraction in me could laugh their jokes off with them. Subsequently, the chances of that happening are slim to none, so until then, I'll still find their jokes distasteful.

"You see, it's that silence that perturbs me-"

"Dana, I was contemplating on whether to believe you. Don't make me regret my decision."

"What makes you think I was headed for that direction?" She says, trying to strain me away from my earlier suspect-fullness. "You know what happens when you assume, right? You make an ass out of u and me.

I smirk innocently back at her, wishing I could wipe her grin off with Windex.

"Oh, before i forget, put this on." She hands me a puke, mustard-green jacket.

"Uh, no thanks," I pat my Michael Kors jacket, "I'm fine."

"Yeah, well, the point is to blend in as one of theirs." She shoves the jacket in my hands, motioning me to switch, "That jacket you're wearing will only cause you to stand out and be singled out as a non-eco friendly activist."

"Newsflash, Dana. It's freezing out here. We wouldn't want me to catch a cold or worse." I shivered, thinking about the cold made my teeth shatter in anticipation of feeling its icy fingers around my slender frame in a tight embrace.

Dana swayed her head to give my luggage a once-over. "Although-"

"Your Louis Vuitton Alzer suitcase and matching duffel bag will do that for you; they speak for themselves." Expressed the male voice in the background, finishing Dana's sentence.

"You speak Louis Vuitton?" Dana tried stifling a laugh.

"On occasion." He tipped his head ever so slightly, one was sure to miss it if they blinked. "It's been a while. Lovely to see you again, Dana."

"Likewise." They enveloped in a brief, friendly hug.

He took a step back, sizing me up and down, taking in my appearance.

I could feel myself flushing some shade of red in embarrassment. I've always disliked people staring at me for way too long. Especially the way he did. His eyes held annoyance, agitation, apprehension, and a tiny hint of amusement. My body stiffened, letting the uncomfortable feeling set in.

"So, where'd you find fashionista Barbie? Shopping in the boutiques of New York's Fifth Avenue or Beverly Hill's Rodeo Drive?" He grinned, widely from coast-to-coast.

My previous uncomfortable embarrassment was washed away by a rising tide of anger. An anger that I fought to keep in check. I did not want to show this man the riot his words caused in me.

He seems to think that I'm a superficial, materialistic woman and he's wrong. He's wrong because there is more to me than what meets the eye. The material things in life don't make me or define who I am.

I am lucky to have been blessed with the trust funds my mother and god parents have entitled me with. To say it was both a shock and a surprise to me is a severe understatement.

I know deep down in my heart-of-hearts that my mom did love me or tried to-it was a valued effort, but when I was young I could never understand her inability to love me; however, when I reached the rightful age did I only understand-completely. It lowered the tension between us less than a little tiny bit. Her revelation still didn't do much to change my opinion about myself. It still feels that way, it refuses to leave, lurking among me like a shadow. It's like that feeling, that part of me is destined to be my loyal companion, my crucifix.

Her insight also explained her undying insistence, when I was young, that I spend every summer until I was seven with my god parents, Peter and Lorraine Vanderbilt, in one of their homes located in West Hollywood. Lorraine Vanderbilt was an heiress socialite and Peter Vanderbilt a billionaire. They never had any children. As a toddler I'd always asked aunt Lorraine (as I would call her) if she'd ever want to be a mommy and she'd reply, 'But honey, I'm already a mommy.' She'd then clasp my face in her delicate, velvet hands, placing a tender kiss on my forehead, 'I'm like a second mommy to you and you like a daughter to me-to us. You fill both uncle Peter and I with so much love and joy in our hearts. More than words could ever describe.', being so young and naive, I didn't catch the real meaning behind her words until many years later. She was infertile. They died in an unfortunate car accident six months after my seventh birthday, but their memories live on in my heart alongside my mother's.

I still haven't a clue as how my mother intertwined paths with them and became close family friends. It remains a mystery, she never liked to talk about her past; therefore, I know nothing about the person she once used to be but only the person she was after her incident-her rape. I dared not ask uncle Peter and Aunt Lorraine for fear of what I might uncover. If there was ever any debate on who knew the real Serena Benson, they would settle all open arguments, no doubt that they could single-handedly place the missing puzzle pieces that were Serena Benson, the missing puzzle pieces that all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't place back together again.

Due to it all, I chose to live a lie as a child, pretending that my reality was far from-my reality. I put up impenetrable walls around me, painted them in false pretenses so that world outside me could never judge me for my true colors. Having said that however, there were the lucky few who made it pass the walls. The lucky few being Don, John, Fin, and Casey, but even what they know about me fails to reach the status of knowledge Elliot reigns above them and anyone who has ever come across me over the span of my life thus far. He's the only person who's made it pass the impenetrable walls, concrete bulldozers, and the three-headed watch dog, Cerberus, who lives at the end of the confusing and complicated maze that is my life. It guards my heart, locked inside a lost treasure chest, hiding in the pits of oblivion. Elliot is the only recipient of the key to my heart, he knows everything about me worth knowing-even the parts I'd rather forget. Everything-the only exception being the part that I'm a trust fund baby. I wouldn't want him or anyone else to look at me or treat me differently because of it. I've worked hard to built the life that I always wanted for myself and they make me feel normal. Normal in the sense that around them I don't feel like a product of rape, that there is no glitch in me, that I was brought up in a loving-normal household.

I faintly hear that man still complaining about me to Dana with his clever commentary. The sound of his vexatious voice irritates my ears and brings me back to the present.

I return back his grin with demur. "Listen, I don't know who you are or think you are, but I do know that you will not-"

"Okay, okay," Dana steps in between us and shoves both of us back a step or two. She keeps a hand pressed against each of us to hold us in place. "Let's all just calm down and take a deep breath."

I would not have realized I had been standing in front of him, raising my voice mere inches from his face had Dana not stepped in as referee. How could I have allowed my anger to get the best of me?

"Now, why don't we just start all over, since apparently we've all seem to have started off on the wrong foot." Dana suggested. "Now how about it?"

He and I both stood unmoved from our original stance, glaring at one another.

"Okay, I'll start." Dana announced, exasperated. "This is FBI Special Agent, Dean Porter. Dean, this is Manhattan's-"

Dean scoffed when she mentioned 'Manhattan's and Dana shot him a death glare, then cleared her throat.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Manhattan's SVU Detective Olivia Benson. Dean, you remember when we discussed 's collaboration, right?"

She tapped her foot on the ground impatiently, waiting for his response. I guess she wasn't playing when she wanted us to start again with the proper and much expected formalities.

"Of course." He answered in sugarcoated sweetness.

"You remember what I said concerning Dean's role in this case, right?" She turned to me next.

"No." I reveal, truthfully. I don't remember ever discussing a Dean Porter.

"It must have been one of the many times you zoned out on me, but it's okay because you'll have plenty of time to get to know each other more throughly." She sighed, "That should be fun."

Dana lifted a palm to her cheek and shook her head.

"What?" Dean verbalized.

"This is the part where you two shake hands." She replied.

"Let's just get this over with." He extends his arm.

I stared down at his hand and roll my eyes.

"You know, today would be great." He let out.

I was growing tired of this game myself, so I extended my arm as well until our hands meet.

"Joy to meet you." He squeezed my hand tightly, "Looking forward to working with you."

My breath caught in my throat when I felt the pressure of his grip. I pulled back and he squeezed tighter, drawing back my hand and myself forth to him. He grinned his stupid grin at me again when he felt me struggling to free myself. Our actions emitting curious glances from Dana.

In the middle of it all, I managed to pinch on of his long, rough fingers and he instantly discharged my hand.

"Yes, it should be interesting." I return his grin with one of my own.

He chose to ignore my gesture, instead turning to Dana and taking the jacket I had returned earlier on, from her arm. I took this time to wiggle my fingers, regaining circulation to them, stopping when he shoved the jacket in my hands.

"Hurry up and put this on before we're late."

"Jeez, rude much." I unzip my own jacket, feeling the cold air encircle around me. Quickening my rate, I shrug my jacket off, letting it slide from me and slipping the other one on just as fast.

"You had layers and layers of clothing underneath your jacket and you were still complaining about the wintry atmosphere." Dana observes.

I shrug my shoulders, handing her my jacket.

"Michael Kors," she notices the tag, "I can understand the hesitation now."

"Dana, it's not about the designer. I'm sensitive to the cold and that particular jacket keeps me warm. My only hesitation came from the feel of the raw chill, honestly. Also, that jacket was a gift," I added. "Casey gave me it on a birthday."

"No worries, I'll take good care of it for you."

"Thank you." I barely get a chance to say when Dean grabs my right shoulder, turning me around, gently prompting me onward.

"Move along." He instructs. "Until next time, Dana."

"Later, Dean. I'll see you soon, and best of luck to you, ."

I shrug his hand off me and stop. "Dana," I whip in a semi-circle to face her from where I stand. "It's Olivia." I smile, warmly. "Friends call me Liv."

"Okay," she nods with a wide, friendly smile that only Dana is capable of awarding to someone. "I'll see you soon, Liv." She calls out to me from afar. I can't help but to think that it'll be the last of a million times someone calls me by that name this week, the last I'll ever hear it all anymore until I return to New York.

I cringed as the echo of my nickname remained flowing through the ether. A loud, irregular, winter-fresh breeze, blowing into the night sky. I felt a frightful chill running down my spine and then everything went silent around me, almost as if for a moment time stood stilled. The wind destroying everything surrounding me with its forceful movements, leaving me alone under the glistening surveillance of the moon's light, searching for answers to my unspoken and unanswered questions. I felt a pair of restless eyes drilling holes to my entire being and I abruptly turned every way possible until coming face-to-face with the owner of the menacing eyes. I blinked hard not sure if to trust the vision in front of me, but as he came more into focus I knew that my eyes could not have been deceiving me. The man that stood directly ahead of me was none other than Elliot Stabler. Neither of us dared to speak but I could feel myself growing incredibly weak under his hate-filled glare, cloaking itself with betrayal. I did the next best thing to spoken communication and outstretched my arm to remove his angered features in hopes of lightening his mood and the environment around us. Before my skin could come in contact, he flinched in utter distrust, moving along from my side. I clicked my heels into gear to stop him but when I gripped his shoulder he dispersed into a million tiny particles. I lost balance of my footing, crashing onto the ground. Upon reaching the concrete ground, it shattered like glass and the next thing I knew, I was falling, a dark energy force following in pursuit after me-swallowing me whole and suffocating me alive.

"Is there a reason why you've stopped all movement, Liv." Dean mocked.

I shook my head at the sound of his irritable voice, making sure to release the blur nesting inside my head. It appears to be that I have remained in place unwilling to walk up the flight stairs to board on plane. Maybe this is my conscious' way of telling me that, informing Elliot of my departure was really the right thing to do. Perhaps I should have mentioned something but it's all in the past now, what's done is done. I'll just have to deal with the repercussions of my actions later, if there ever is a later. On the bright side, with the time spent away I'll be able to conjure up a great, wordily apology. He'll be over it in no time and when we look back on it, it'll make for a good laugh.

"You can call me Persephone." I correct him, making my way up the flight of stairs after giving New York one last glance with my sincerest farewell.