A/N: Day Three

DISCLAIMER: SVU and characters belong to Dick Wolf. TStabler© owns this story.

I think we went crazy. Little by little, bits of our sanity just…died. Nothing else mattered, no one else mattered, we started to believe that we really were the only two people in the world. The boredom hit, the fear and the need for physical and emotional connection to each other overwhelmed everything else, so the bed became our sanctuary. We found new positions, new angles, did things neither of us ever even imagined we would ever do. We memorized each other, we discovered each other, for hours, days. It got to the point…you're not going to believe me, but…I think we started to hear each other's thoughts. But then again, I told you, I think we went crazy.

HERE

"What about that song…that Billy Joel one you like." He looks at her and grins. "My Home? That one."

"For what?" she asks, contemplating a chess move, staring at the marble board their captor has given them.

He watches her move the knight and says, "Our song. You know, the one we danced to at the first Black and White…"

"You remember that?" she scoffs, and she drums her fingers on the chessboard. "Your move."

He sweeps his rook across the board and steals her pawn, and he says, "Of course I remember it. I remember everything about you, me, us." He watches her move her queen and says, "So, yeah? Or we could use the one that was playing when I kissed you for the…"

"Damn it, Elliot!" she snaps, interrupting him. "What's the fucking point?" She flops down her king, forfeiting the game, and she gets off the bed. "Why are you planning a wedding that's never gonna happen?"

He rises and moves to her, hurt. "What do you mean, never…you don't want…"

"Fuck," she bites, "Of course I want to, El. More than anything, but…look around!" She gestures to the nothing that surrounds them. "You know cases like this! You know that they give it two weeks, then the case goes cold, they stop looking for us. Two weeks, Elliot!" She tries to stop her bottom lip from trembling and she blinks. "We're supposed to get married in four months, and they're never gonna get us out of here…I mean, I don't see us getting out of here before then, do you?"

He stares at her, watching her break before his eyes. "Oh, honey, don't give…" then he pauses. "No." His eyes close as he pulls her into his arms.

"What's he waiting for?" she whispers, clawing at his back, gripping him as tightly as she can. "Why doesn't he just kill us?"

"I don't know, baby," he says, kissing her forehead. "But I'm thankful he didn't. I'm not giving up, honey. We're gonna get out of here. Trust me."

"I don't believe you," she breathes, and it's clear she's crying.

He holds her as she finally falls to pieces, sobbing on his shoulder. He looks up into the lens of the camera, he glares and gives it the finger, and then he drops his own head into his lover's neck. He rubs her back, trying to calm them both, but failing.

THERE

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Kathy asks, dry, her arms folded. "Why the hell would I have anything to do with this?"

Dean Porter looks her in the eyes and he smirks. "You hate her, Kathy. You always have."

Kathy's eyes widen. "Hate her? Are you mad?" She shakes her head and says, "She kept Elliot alive for years, she takes care of my kids, she has never been anything but nice to me, she…"

"She stole your husband," Dean adds, cutting in.

"Stole my…she didn't steal anything!" the blonde yells. "She was the one trying to keep me and Elliot together, for Christ's sake! It took four hours and a lot of red wine to finally convince her it was over and to stop butting in!" She runs a hand through her hair. "A lot of people think I'm crazy, you know? For not being bitter. But I knew he was falling in love with her before he did. Nothing happened between them until the divorce was final, she…she actually asked me if I would hate her if she went out to dinner with him, so no, Agent Porter, I did not hire someone to kidnap my ex-husband and his fiancé, because I was the one who helped him pick out the goddamned ring! Stop fucking questioning me and go find them!" She walks out of the squad room, pissed off that he brought her down there for nothing.

Dean clears his throat, he backs up slowly, and he turns, feeling foolish. "Well," he says, stepping into the conference room and looking at Cragen. "I think she's innocent."

"Really?" Cragen asks sarcastically. "How about you sit and help Fin and Munch go through their mail, and stop interrogating the victim's family?" He cringes. Part of his heart breaks every time he has to refer to Elliot and Olivia as victims.

Dean sits, defeated, and picks up an envelope. "Did your tech team ever trace that van?"

"Yeah," Fin says, tossing a phone bill into a box. "Morales used red light cameras to track it to a morgue in Jersey, but when our guys got out there they found the van, empty. And bleached. this guy's smart."

"Son of a bitch must have changed vehicles," Munch says, tearing into another envelope. It's coupons. "They get so much junk mail."

Fin chuckles. "Happens," he says with a shrug. He reaches for a Victoria's Secret catalog. "Oh, hey, now. Benson's got a softer side." He wags his eyebrows and puts the magazine into a pile with others. "Sorry, just…trying to…lighten the mood. This is hard, okay?"

"What are we looking for, exactly?" Porter asks, opening another envelope.

Munch clears his throat. "Letters, threats, warnings," he lists. "Any kind of communication with someone who would take them but not hurt them, maybe…"

"Simon?" Porter interrupts. "I can tell you that he hasn't contacted Olivia in over a year. I'm still watching him."

Fin holds up a piece of paper. "Then who the fuck sent her this?"

"Oh, my God," Dean gasps, dropping his envelope in shock.

"Was that sealed?" Cragen asks, stepping over and ripping the creased photograph out of his hands. "Did she ever see this?"

"No," Fin says. "I just opened it. No return address so they probably thought it was a chain letter or somethin' and ignored it."

Cragen's nostrils flare and he shakes his head. "So he steals a van from one morgue, drives to another one, and now this? Shit, he obviously has access to the medical examiner's office." He slaps the autopsy photo of Serena Benson down on the table and points to it. "I don't care if it takes us a fucking month. No one sleeps, no one eats, until we find them, because I will not let that happen to them, am I clear?"

"Crystal," Fin says with a hard swallow. He looks at the table, at the photograph of his friend's mother lying a cold slab, and he vows that he will find Olivia and Elliot, if he has to do it by himself.

HERE

She watches him come down the stairs, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and her eyes focus on the cuts of his muscles the cotton doesn't cover. "I'm sorry," she says as he sits next to her.

He moves the tray of food between them and he picks up their fork. "For what?"

"Before," she shrugs. "I'm sorry I lost it with you. I just…I can't think straight anymore, and I'm terrified, and…"

"Shh," he hushes, holding a forkful of pasta in front of her lips. "Don't apologize." He kisses her nose as she chews on the food, and he reaches for the glass of juice on the tray. He takes a sip, then brings it to her lips. And he makes a soft indeterminable noise.

"What?" she says after she's swallowed.

He drops the fork and he shakes his head. "I don't want to sound stupid."

"You won't," she assures him, and she holds a piece of buttered bread to his mouth. She smiles when he looks into her eyes, a menacing, seductive, playful look. She bites her lip when he bites the bread and she wishes it was her neck. "What?"

He chews, moves closer to her, and he says, "This is kinda nice." He winds more pasta around his fork. "Is that crazy? We're being held hostage by a psychopath that could come down here in the middle of the night and do whatever the hell he wants in the fucking dark, but I'm enjoying being alone with you. We spend hours in bed, doing nothing but loving each other, the food's not half bad…"

She chuckles and opens her mouth for him to feed her. She chews and nods. "Stockholm syndrome," she says with her mouth full. "Classic case."

He squints and says, "Shit." Then he laughs and takes a sip of juice. "He, uh, he left you another gift. I'm beginning to feel unloved."

She nudges him and lifts the box into her hands. "Maybe he just thinks you're difficult to shop for." She clears her throat and peels off the ribbon, and the card, a small square with an O written on it, falls into her lap.

He reaches for it, intentionally slipping his fingers against her skin as he picks it up, and he smirks at her.

She gives him a playful look, then turns her attention back to the box. "What the hell?" she questions. She lifts a black photo album out of the package and gives Elliot the typed note.

He narrows his eyes as he reads, "You're a beautiful woman, made of beautiful pieces. All of Elliot's favorite places to kiss, to touch, to taste. They're all perfect, but you must look at the bigger picture to appreciate your true beauty the way I do."

"El," she says when he's finished. She hands him the photo album, her hand shaking. Her skin has gone white and her lip is being chewed to bits between her teeth.

He drops the letter and takes the black book, and he flips through the pages. Each small photo gets under his skin. Close up images of the bend of her elbow, her ear, behind her knees, the arch of her foot. Places no one should ever see that closely, no one but him. "What the hell is…" and that's when he notices the photos are double sided. "Bigger picture," he mumbles.

"What are you doing?" she asks, watching with wide eyes as he takes each image out of its sleeve and flips it over on the bed. "El, what…oh."

He moves them like puzzle pieces, fitting them together until he does, in fact, see a bigger picture. "Liv," he whispers. He takes her hand and squeezes.

"He was watching me," she says with a sniffle. "Even then."

Elliot kisses her cheek and looks back down at the spread of pictures, pieced together to show a full body shot of Olivia fast asleep, on her old bed in her old apartment, two years ago. His heart pounds and his blood boils, but he thanks God that the man hasn't hurt her. That he hasn't even tried. "They'll find us, honey," he tells her. Though, he's not sure he believes his own words.

THERE

Cragen yawns as he pours a cup of coffee. His ninth. "Whose turn is it?" he asks.

Munch raises a skeletal hand. "Mine," he shouts and he stands. He climbs the stairs, heading for the bunkroom, passing Fin on his way.

"This bites," Fin complains. "None of their open cases involve anyone with any connection to a morgue, or the hospital. No one we talked to is even holding that bad of a grudge." He runs a hand down as his face as he meets his captain at the coffee pot. "A couple of them even offered to help find 'em."

Cragen huffs. "Even the people they've put away are worried," he says. "This is bad."

"It gets worse," Morales says, coming into the squad room. "I tapped into the Jersey system, ran a search. I found our guy on several red-light cameras, driving an unmarked white van with no plates, just a temp in the window that expired in Nineteen-Eighty-Nine."

"That's good news," Fin says. "How is that…"

"I lost the trail when the van turned off Route Eighty," Morales continues, cutting Fin off. "They're not in Jersey anymore. I don't…I don't know where they are."

Cragen takes a deep breath and nods. "I'll make some calls to surrounding states, tell them to keep an eye out for…"

"The van?" Morales asks. "Don't bother. Porter's guys found it at a gas station just off the…"

"Highway," Cragen finishes. "Damn it to Hell!"

Fin sips his coffee and looks toward the door, hearing footsteps. His eyes widen. "Hey!" he says brightly.

The other eyes in the room turn to see Brian Cassidy, a former SVU detective, standing in the doorway, looking shaky. "I, uh, I got something you guys need to see."

"What?" Cragen asks, walking toward his one-time charge. "What is it?"

"It came to our unit," Brian says, sitting at Elliot's desk. He takes a silver disk out of a clear plastic container. "It was handed to me, but I think...well...anyway..." He slips the disc into the tower and he waits.

Cassidy, Cragen, Morales, and Fin watch the screen blink a few times, and then a video begins to play. There is silence as they all watch Olivia and Elliot on the screen.

"This is just ten minutes of them playing Monopoly," Cassidy says, clicking a button on the mouse to fast forward. "This is…this is when it gets…bad."

The screen goes dark, the film is now playing in night-vision, making Elliot and Olivia look neon green. Cragen sucks in a harsh breath as he watches the video of Elliot sliding his hand along the walls of his prison, knocking.

"What's he doing?" Fin asks, transfixed.

Cragen swallows hard. "Looking for a hollow spot to break through."

The men continue watching as the screen blinks and comes back to a different scene. Elliot is on his knees in the small shower space, digging at the drain with what looks like a fork. When he realizes it isn't doing any good, he jabs the fork into the ground over and over again until it breaks and then he slumps over. He's crying.

The camera swivels, then, panning around the room, and it focuses on Olivia, sitting up in the bed, looking around. Her hands sweep over the mattress, making it clear that she can't see anything at all. Her mouth moves, though they can't hear what she says.

Elliot moves into the frame and crawls into the bad, searching the air in front of him for her body. He finds her, wraps his arms around her, and cries in her arms.

The camera swivels again, just a hair to the left, and the man who has captured them is hovering over Olivia's side of the bed. Cragen gasps, he knows that in the darkness, they can't see him at all. He's wearing a ski-mask, they can't see his face, but he turns his head to look into the lens of the camera, and he waves just before the screen goes blank.

A date appears on the screen. It fades.

"Oh, my God," Cragen breathes. "That was yesterday."

Fin drops his coffee cup and runs his hand down his face. "Morales?"

"It's not a live feed, Fin," the techie says. "I can't trace footage from a DVD. I'm sorry. Best I can do is tell you what kind of camera it is."

"Cassidy," Cragen says, looking at the younger detective, "Was this in an envelope?"

Brain bites his lip and shakes his head. "No," he says. "The mail guy just handed it to me with a Post-It note on it. All it said was BC." He peels the note off of the jewel case and hands it to Cragen, who flushes. "That's probably why it came to me."

"That's not a B," he says, crumpling the note in his hands. "It's a D. This was meant for me, and he stopped using the delivery service, which means he knows we were tailing the driver, which means…"

Fin interrupts, his eyes dark. "He's here."

The men who've been surrounding Elliot's computer look up, look around, look at each other. Cassidy is the first to speak, and it's something they are all thinking. "Fuck."