"So this guy, Sloan – what do we know about his background?"

Elliot was driving them both to visit the reporter, and still slightly confused as to why. He trusted Olivia's instincts, however, and they had very few leads to chase up, so he was happy for something constructive to do. At least he could tell Kathy he got somewhere today; the lack of breaks in the case was causing tension between him and his wife, mainly due to the stress he brought home from work. Stabler could tell she was frustrated at not being able to help him, and irritated by his fluctuating moods.

"Not much, the record is sketchy. He seems like a bit of a loner, doesn't have any family to speak of."

"Y'know, I think I've read something by him. He covers crime a lot, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he seems to have a fascination with it. May explain why he was hanging around the Woodson house yesterday." If it had been any other case, Olivia would have dismissed his presence with mild irritation. However, once the stakes were this high, everything and anything could be of significance. It had previously occurred to them that the lack of evidence and leads at the crime scenes thus far may well have been because the suspect knew exactly how to hide his tracks; he'd evidently done his research well. She fidgeted in her jacket, double checking that her handcuffs were accessible.

"Maybe. He wasn't really doing anything though – I asked the unis about him, they didn't even know he was there. Come to think of it, he didn't have a camera or a notepad on him so he must have just been watching."

A few minutes later, Elliot was parking outside Sloan's apartment in Queens.

"Ready to go?"

"As I'll ever be." Little did Olivia Benson know that she'd never have been adequately prepared for what happened next.

Alex was doodling on a legal pad, staring into space and remembering, rather vividly, how she'd spent Friday night.

The feel of Olivia's tongue tracing her inner thighs; the way she had pinned her against the mattress as she ravaged her mouth...the gentle, almost reverent way she had opened her and tasted her, making her writhe and moan on the bed -

Alex squirmed in her seat, frustrated that she had at least another five hours before she could see Olivia. Unless she needed to pay a visit to the one-six, of course. Inspiration struck – after all, Detective Benson was due to give testimony during a trial next week – and Alex's mood suddenly lifted. She knew she was being a little childish, looking for reasons to be near Olivia, but she didn't care. If all else failed she could always pay Cragen a visit, see how things were progressing. With a smile on her face, she slipped on her jacket and sauntered out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Alex entered the relatively empty squad room. She took a detour past Olivia's desk, noting the absence of her jacket and a half-empty coffee cup. Saying a brief hello to Fin, the ADA excused herself to catch up with Cragen.

What did you expect, Alex? You know she's working hard on this. Chiding herself for her irrational disappointment, she knocked on his door. He was on the phone and he motioned that she should sit, which she did. While he was talking, she took in the decor of his office, realising that she'd never really done so before. It had a homely feel, and she could see why the detectives beneath him regarded Cragen as a father figure.

"What can I do for you, Alex?" he asked, breaking the blonde woman's train of thought.

"Well...I just thought I'd see how things were going. I originally came by to see if Detective Benson was free to go over some testimony for next week."

"For the Fremantle case?" Alex nodded. "She and Elliot have gone to check out a lead on some reporter, a...James Sloan."

The name rung a faint bell, but the attorney couldn't quite figure out where she'd heard the name before. She told Cragen as much.

"He's a freelance journalist, writes a lot about violent crime. Apparently he was hanging around the Woodson house the other night."

"That's it! I think he was in the office. A couple of weeks ago. Wanted to interview John."

Cragen sat up straight. "Do you remember the date?"

Alex realised that they could have actually hit upon something. "Let me check my Blackberry." A painfully slow minute passed, and the colour drained from Alex's face. "Two days before Melissa Woodson was found." The day she'd cooked for Olivia; a date that wasn't likely to be forgotten any time soon.

"Olivia and Elliot are out looking for him?" she asked, as Cragen started dialling a number on his phone.

"Pick up, Liv," he muttered, his anxiety not going unnoticed by Alex. Her heart was racing, both at the prospect of a break in their case but also at the danger Olivia and Elliot were suddenly in. They've gone out to interview a reporter...who just happens to be a serial killer. Great. Alex knew that Olivia was trained to handle almost any situation but all logical thought flew out the window when she saw the look on Cragen's face. Her anxiety increased when it became obvious that neither Olivia nor Elliot was answering the phone.

As they'd approached the apartment door, Olivia's senses were on high alert. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, a feeling of unease that wasn't helped by the strange smell in the corridor. If anyone lived down this hallway, they were doing a good job of keeping quiet – it was as if the whole section of the building had been abandoned. Ahead of her, Elliot was slowing outside the door, about to knock – when he heard something.

"Did you hear that?"

They stood in silence for a second, and Olivia thought she could hear her watch ticking. Then she heard it. A child, crying.

"El, it's coming from his apartment."

Unholstering his gun, Elliot started to kick down the door. Vaguely, he could feel his cell phone buzzing in his pocket, but as soon as the thought registered it was dismissed.

"NYPD!" he shouted, "open up!"

Louder noises could be heard behind the door, and Olivia drew her gun. Someone moved past the peephole; the child's cries suddenly stopped. Worried their suspect was going to make a run for it, she took over from Elliot.

"Call for backup."

Aiming a solid kick just below the latch, she managed to bust the door open, practically falling into the gun aimed at her chest. The next ten seconds seemed to pass so very, very slowly, as she felt something hit her in the lungs, knocking the air from her body and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Behind her, she could hear Elliot screaming her name; around her, the serene stillness of the apartment as she fell to her knees. Looking up in confusion, she saw anguish on Sloan's face, as he realised just who he'd shot. It took him a second to raise the gun again, at his intended target, but it took Elliot even less time to shoot him in the shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon.

"LIV!"

Sloan was muttering something under his breath, grabbing onto his shoulder as he stared at the detectives.

"Shut up," Elliot said, close to tears. He kicked Sloan's gun out of the way, reaching for his partner before she hit the floor completely. "Liv, can you hear me?" Stabler was frantic. Laying Olivia on the floor, he searched for the wound but it didn't take long – the slug had gone straight through her chest, and blood was bubbling from the wound. A narrow stream of red spilled out of Olivia's mouth as she struggled to breathe.

Sloan was curled into the fetal position, whimpering.

"Wasn't meant to be you," he was saying, over and over. "Not you, never you."

Elliot barely acknowledged him, though his disgust for the man was evident. He quickly called for an ambulance, his thumb leaving bloody prints all over the phone. His other hand pressed down onto the wound, gradually staining red as he tried to prevent more blood escaping. So much blood, so much. Too much. Olivia groaned in pain as he applied pressure, and he apologised, realising that his efforts were probably futile. It was the only thing he could do, besides call for a bus. She was so pale already, and her eyelids were fluttering as she struggled to remain conscious.

"Just hold on, Liv. Stay with me."

Stabler watched helplessly as his partner fell unconscious, her breathing shallow and laboured. Sloan was crying.

"Where's the kid?" Elliot asked, his voice rough and close to breaking. Sloan was almost catatonic, watching the blood pooling around Olivia's neck. If he hadn't been trying to keep her alive, Elliot could have punched him.

"Where's the kid?!" he shouted, frustrated beyond belief at the situation he found himself in. In the distance, Elliot could hear sirens and he aimed his gun at Sloan once more. If he were to even move a muscle, he had no qualms about shooting him again. The killer looked at him, distraught.

"Just give me an excuse, you bastard."

"I never meant to hurt her," Sloan whimpered, and Elliot was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

"Well you did. And if she dies, you'll wish you'd never met me."