It felt like hours since Olivia had left the precinct, and days since she had slept. Exhaustion and agony seemed to vibrate into every inch of flesh and bone in her body as she trudged up the front steps and to the elevator of the 16th.

Once inside, she sank against the wall, and tilted her head back as the carriage began to sway under her. Holding onto the railing, she barely held herself steady as the elevator chugged steadily upwards. She'd barely contemplated the consequences of her actions until this moment, and even now, it was hard to focus on anything but the emotional pain.

Ding! The elevator cheerily chimed, and her burning, puffy eyes jarred open.

The door groaned open in front of her, and she balked at the sight of the precinct ahead of her. She had no desire to walk into her place of work in her present state of distress but she had no other choice. She'd already abandoned her post for an unapproved, ill advised excursion, and she could not simply go MIA for the rest of the evening - or rather, morning.

Light had begun to touch the sky as she'd traversed back towards downtown, and as she had stared up at the golden clouds, she'd wondered what a new day could possibly hold. What good could possibly come of this morning, birthed from such a treacherous night?

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed away from the wall, and ducked her chin. She marched ahead, preparing what she'd say to Amanda in her head, but when she entered the squad room, it was eerily silent. She came to stand at the entrance of the room, and the silvery letters on the wall which spelled out Manhattan Special Victims Unit presided over her with unquestionable judgment. A phone rang shrilly, but there was no one to answer it.

The frantic commotion that had filled the room upon her departure was gone, and Olivia's heart began to sink. There was only one reason that the team of investigators would have left, and Olivia knew instantly that they'd found Rory. The question of whether he was dead or alive churned her stomach into a pit of dread, and the reality of how selfish she'd been by abandoning him dawned fully upon her without an ounce of mercy.

Numbly, she wandered past the abandoned desks towards the round table. Amanda's laptop was still open, her notes and pen tossed aside as though she'd left in a hurry. Rory's school photo glared back at her from the center of their workspace with eyes full of sadness and fear. She sank down to the chair, and grabbed the photo with a trembling hand, grasping her aching forehead with her other hand.

What am I doing? She asked herself.

Her lids quavered shut over burgeoning tears, and her shoulders began to shudder as the whole weight of the previous hours collapsed upon her. A raw, aching sob interrupted the silence, and she dropped the picture to clasp her hand over her contorted lips.

Even in solitude, she couldn't let herself shatter. She'd shed enough tears for herself to last a lifetime, but not a single one for Rory. What had become of her passion for the victims or her compassion for the downtrodden? She'd lost her way somewhere between loneliness and the false illusion of love.

The minutes ticked by, passing unnoticed until she found herself slumped over the table, her tears collecting into cold pools on the surface beneath her face. The paths from which they'd fallen were dried upon her cheeks and consciousness came and went until the presence of another human being startled her back to full awareness.

She sat up at the sound of the elevator opening and footsteps in the hall. In her disorientation, she couldn't make out words, but she recognized Fin and Amanda's voices as they drew closer.

She sat you quickly, and scrubbed her hands over her face, her heart pounding. She didn't want to turn and face them, though she knew it was inevitable.

Amanda's voice halted abruptly, mid sentence, and Olivia knew she'd been seen. She clutched the arms of the chair, trying to convince herself to stand up and present some sort of composed appearance; but Amanda's chastisement was quicker.

"Benson." Her tone was sharp, and the sound of her boots hitting the floor, clipped and decisive, converged upon her. "What the hell?"

Olivia clenched her jaw, her fingers cinching tighter around the arms of the chair as Amanda loomed over her. Her full, pouting lips were drawn tight in displeasure, her soft brows coiled into a deep frown, and her eyes - her kind, sparkling, cerulean eyes - were dark as a sky which warned of thunder. The lightning that followed soon after was sure to sting and burn.

"Where were you? It's been…." She consulted her watch sarcastically, "almost four hours."

Olivia stared at the whiteboard ahead of her, unable to lift her eyes. All she could do was hope to God she wouldn't cry in front of the younger detective, the one she'd labeled as inexperienced and ineffective.

"Jesus." Amanda breathed. "I covered for you, you know, and you can't even give me an answer. I think I deserve one this time."

Olivia ducked her head, and pressed her eyes shut, pursed her lips, tried not scream with the agony that invaded every cell and particle of her body. She knew Amanda was right. Maybe, she'd been right all along, but how was she supposed to stand up and admit that?

"Wow." Amanda commented, her tone biting and disgusted. "Just… wow."

Olivia felt a tear slip from her eye as Amanda turned away and began to gather her laptop and notes from the desk. She could feel the enraged energy rolling off of the other woman in waves, and she felt like she drowning in it. Somehow, it made her just want to fling herself into those ocean eyes, and accept her fate.

"You're right." The words croaked from her throat, and when Amanda spun towards her, she met the roiling sea head-on.

Please, I don't know how to swim. She thought as Amanda stared her down, seemingly struck mute with shock by Olivia's agreement.

They stared at each other for what felt like minutes, and Olivia wanted to crumple down into the desk again, but she supposed Amanda's judgemental, unflinching gaze was just the beginning of her punishment - and it was time to stop running from it.

At last, Amanda broke their gazes, and grabbed her black, leather shoulder bag, and began to shove her laptop inside.

"Well, if you care, Rory's at Mercy Hospital." She said, her voice trembling beneath the anger and indignation.

Olivia's stomach dropped once more at the mention of Rory and his condition. She could at least absolve herself with the fact that he was alive, but after nearly fifteen years on the job she knew that just because someone was alive did not mean they weren't damaged beyond repair. In some ways, she believed there were fates worse than death, and she did not want to imagine that a teenage boy had become a victim of one of those fates - or that she was responsible for it.

"Is...is he okay?" She asked, breathlessly, as the desperation finally pushed her out of the chair.

She was reaching out for Amanda's arm in supplication before she could stop herself, and Amanda seemed to freeze beneath her at the contact, her hands poised over the zipper of her bag.

Her eyes flicked upwards, and Olivia found herself close enough to make out the nuances of her blue irises and the dilation of her pulsing pupils. The last time they'd been this close, only hours before when Amanda had suggested she needed little more than ass beating, Olivia had felt an overwhelming attraction that she'd quickly dismissed - or rather, hoped to dismiss. This time, all she saw was repulsion.

She slowly released Amanda's arm, and clenched her tingling fingers into a fist. The strike of that lightning hadn't failed to sear her flesh. She'd only prayed it'd be a little more kind.

"He's the victim of a hate crime. He was beaten and raped by multiple boys from his school." Amanda bit out the words, her lips curled in disgust. "A cyclist found him hanging off the side of a bridge trying to kill himself. Is that what you wanted?"

"N-no…" Olivia whispered, tears rising quickly in her eyes, and she clutched her hand over her chest as the pain there deepened to an unbearable measure. "Never."

"Well, you sure as hell didn't do anything to stop it." Amanda snapped, roughly yanking her bag over shoulder before she turned on her heel.

She strode across the room, and Olivia's wide, watery gaze followed her until she shouldered her way past Fin. His typically cool, composed expression was wrought with shock and concern, and Olivia immediately felt even more humiliated than before.

"Oh, god…" She barely whispered, turning away from him, and clasping her hands over her face.

Long, painful seconds passed, her breathing was loud in her ears, until the sound of a new voice speaking her name intruded upon her panicked delirium.

"Olivia."

It was the Captain.

Her heart stuttered over a beat, and she scraped her hands away from her face. She fisted her fingers at her side, her jaw working as she tried to gather the courage to turn and face him.

"Fin, go home." She heard Cragen address the other detective in a quieter tone.

Pressing her knuckles against the table, she leaned hard on the surface until she heard Fin's footsteps retreat without resistance.

The ass whooping that Amanda had vehemently wished upon her was about to become a reality, and as much as she hated Cragen regarding her with anything but a kind eye, she knew she deserved more than he'd ever want to punish her with. He'd still find some way to be kind, even when she'd fucked up beyond forgiveness.

She listened to the elevator doors shutting, then the whirring of the cables as it whisked Fin to the floor below. They were alone.

"Liv, come in my office." Cragen spoke after a moment of silence, a barely recognizable apprehension lining his voice - but she heard it all the same.

Then his footsteps retreated, and she had no choice but to follow.

xxxxxxxx

Amanda hadn't been in New York City long enough to have a go-to bar, but a quick Google search brought up a dozen or more options from which to choose.

Logically, she knew that after such a harrowing night she should go home and sleep; but rest wouldn't kill this restlessness inside of her. Dreams couldn't begin to touch the nightmare of the past few hours, and neither could they erase Olivia from her mind.

So she did what she always did when she wanted to escape. She placed herself firmly at a barstool, drink in hand, eyes trained on the game playing on the TV above. She tried to forget it all in exchange for the bad habits she'd sworn to leave in Atlanta.

She'd tried so hard to be a good girl for the past three weeks in hopes of changing the destructive path her life seemed to have taken, but it didn't come as easy as it once had. She didn't miss much about Georgia, but right about now she was terribly missing the local dives where she could hide amongst the civilians and away from the typical cop hangouts. She'd taken a perverse pleasure in dressing in plainclothes, ditching her tin and taking up a stool between folks like a truck driver or a farmer, who didn't care whether she was worth her salt in a tactical situation or not. They'd try in vain to sweet talk her, plying her with drinks and flatteries until she slipped through their fingers with a demure smile.

Sitting alone at the bar in New York City, Amanda got the feeling that no such camaraderie would be found here. The people here bustled by, too quickly to remember, talking on their cells and ignoring whoever happened to be close by. The service was quick and polite, but no one lingered.

Amanda's mood grew increasingly grim as she sipped at her drink and distractedly watched the baseball game that seemed to drag on forever. It wasn't her favorite sport. She preferred football and the horse races, and she wasn't even in a betting mood tonight. Olivia had effectively sucked every ounce of compulsion and concentration from her bones.

And Rory…

She cringed as his bruised, broken face crossed her mind, and swallowed back another gulp of her whiskey.

She couldn't help but bitterly - and maybe, illogically - think that if Olivia hadn't abandoned the investigation things would be different.

She felt so stupid for her juvenile fascination of Benson, when all she had to go on was her statistics and reputation. She'd entertained the ridiculous crush for far too long upon realizing just how tall and beautiful she was in real life. Newspaper articles and TV clips didn't do much justice to her stunning appearance, but now Amanda supposed they didn't do much justice to her attitude either.

Time to get over it. She told herself, tossing back the last of her drink.

She was contemplating adding to her tab when the decision was abruptly made for her.

"Another one for her, the same for me."

Amanda spun when Olivia's voice shattered her loop of bitter thoughts and she stuttered over a proper response as the very woman of her thoughts sat down on the stool next to her. She'd tied her hair back at her nape, and the fall wind had whisked a few strands from the binding to frame her flushed cheeks. Most of her make up had been smeared off, and Amanda could see the red rimming her eyes and blotching her nose her and cheeks.

"What are you doing here, Benson?" She asked, ignoring the distant instinct to sympathize.

Whatever trouble she'd gotten herself into with Cragen was well-deserved, and Amanda reminded herself that she should've disclosed Olivia's disappearance to him immediately.

"Is it a crime to have a drink at a bar?" Olivia asked before accepting the drink from the waiter with a soft thanks.

Amanda scoffed as a fresh drink was placed in front of her. The fact that Olivia was buying her a drink was ridiculously amusing in an odd way. A few days ago, if Olivia had bought her a drink, she would've been giddy with happiness and more than a little head over heels. Now, it was just laughable.

"There's at least ten bars like a mile from here." Amanda returned, annoyed. "Please, don't tell me this is a coincidence."

"Maybe." Olivia said, simply, sipping her drink. "But we're here now, and I think I owe you an apology."

Amanda glanced over quickly, surprised at Olivia's soft tone and her sudden willingness to admit how wrong she'd been.

Don't get too excited. She told herself, snidely, hoping to slow the skip and stutter of her heart in her chest.

"Is this because Cragen came down on you?" She asked, snatching up the drink.

"Yes and no." Olivia replied, surprising Amanda once more with her honesty. "I'm taking a week to 'think about my actions'. Unpaid."

"Wow." Amanda finally replied, attempting to keep an even, disinterested tone. "Maybe you did just need an ass whooping."

Olivia scoffed, but didn't protest. She was quiet for another moment although Amanda could sense the words crowding behind her lips.

"I think you need to understand that this squad is like family." Olivia said, slowly at last, "We've all worked together for many years. I guess, this is the first time we've had to deal with change."

"You keep saying we." Amanda interrupted, "But so far you're the only person who I've had a problem with. Munch and Fin have been great, they've even stood up for me. But you…." She glanced away and stared down at her drink with a cynical chuckle, "Not what I expected from New York's Finest."

Olivia nodded, slowly, gazing down at the bar.

"You're right." She murmured. "My behavior has been less than…. desirable."

Amanda glanced up, slightly taken aback. Olivia had offered an apology, but her complete admission of wrongdoing caught Amanda off guard.

"I'm sure you know about Elliot by this point." Olivia said at last, her fingers wrapping tightly around her glass.

"Yeah, your partner." Amanda replied as she gathered her composure.

"Yes." Olivia affirmed, pausing for a moment, her lips pursing. "We were together for twelve years."

Amanda shifted on the stool, suddenly uncomfortable with the depth of emotion in Olivia's tone. She knew they'd been close, but something about the way that Olivia spoke and the look in her eyes told Amanda that there was much more to this story than a workplace bond.

"That's a long time." Amanda nodded, keeping her tone neutral although she could sense where the topic was headed.

"That's longer than you've been on the job." Olivia pointed out, her voice hardening against sudden tears. "There were days when all we saw were each other's face. Nights when we couldn't go home… So I made a mistake. The stupidest mistake you can make when it comes to a married man."

Jesus Christ. Amanda thought, staring at the woman next to her. He did a number on you.

Olivia's typically straight shoulders were hunched, her unfaltering expression of confidence crumbled beneath heartache and shattered dreams. With her hands clenched around glass of whiskey, she was barely keeping her emotions in check.

"You deserve to know why I have acted the way I have." Olivia whispered. "But the truth is, you can't possibly understand."

"I think I have a pretty good idea."

Olivia laughed, a soft, mirthless tone, "An idea...and nothing more."

Silence bloomed between them, and the hum of the patrons and the cheering the the TV filled the space for a long minute while Amanda tried to wrap her mind around the new information. She was floored by the entire conversation and extremely aware of how intimately detailed it was becoming. She'd wanted an explanation for Olivia's behavior, and perhaps this made the most sense, but it still didn't excuse what had happened last night.

"I just want you to understand that it's been hard for me to accept this." Olivia finally said. "When I look over, I still expect to see him sitting there. Instead….it's you."

"Okay." Amanda replied after a moment as she massaged one aching temple. "Say I accept that. What about tonight?"

Olivia hardly looked up at her, letting the silence drag on until Amanda was ready to ask a second time. Finally, she shifted and slipped her hand into coat pocket. She pulled out the NYPD badge and tossed it down between them. It spun around on it's leather back for a moment before twirling slowly to a stop in front of Amanda.

She flicked a confused gaze in Olivia's direction, before slowly picking it up. She rubbed her thumb over the silver face, noting that the badge number did not match Olivia's - or any of the other detectives for that matter.

"Semper Fi." Olivia whispered with a scoff before she took a long drink of the whiskey.

"This was Elliot's?" Amanda gathered, placing the badge hesitantly back on the table.

She felt like she was holding something intimate and breakable, like she was invading Olivia's privacy; but she supposed she'd already done that by forcing this conversation.

"He sent it to me a few weeks after he put in his papers." Olivia replied, her eyes following the baseball game above as though she were simply commenting on the pitcher's form; but underneath each syllable was raw and scratchy. "I'd been calling him over and over again, but he never answered. Not until last night."

She still hadn't retrieved the badge. It sat on the counter between them, slowly losing it's shimmer until it stared back at Amanda like an abomination.

"So he said 'jump'…" Amanda trailed off quietly.

"And I said how high." Olivia finished with a weary sigh. "Another stupid mistake."

She shook her head, and took another long drink of the whiskey, grimacing as the liquid went down. Amanda watched her, her throat bobbing gently up and down, her full lips trembling, and the vulnerability of the woman in front of her seized her with an unceasing grip.

All along she'd thought that Olivia had formed the wrong impression of her, but with the truth of Elliot's departure coming to light, Amanda was beginning to wonder if she was the one who hadn't had all the facts. She'd been the victim of man's ruthless ego more than once, and despite the way Olivia had treated her, she could not help but feel pity when she looked at her now.

Without a word, she reached over and slid her hand over Olivia's wrist. Guiding her hand away from the glass, she intertwined their fingers and gave her a squeeze. Olivia's hand was stiff beneath her own for a second, and Amanda glanced up to meet her untrusting and suspicious gaze.

"I'm sorry." Amanda murmured, giving her hand a second squeeze.

Olivia brow wrinkled and she glanced away, but not before Amanda could see the gleam of tears in her eyes.

"Yeah." She whispered, huskily, at last, "Me too."

Her hand slipped quickly away from Amanda's, shattering what small bit of intimacy that had formed between their clasped palms. She stood from the stool, taking Elliot's badge with her, and threw back the last sip of her drink. Her hands were trembling as she rifled through her pockets for a few dollar bills and tossed them on to the bar top.

Amanda watched her, her hand tingling in the wake of short embrace. She wanted terribly to stop her, pull her back into her seat, and explain she'd wanted to have her back from the beginning, but the words stayed nestled in her throat, too afraid to see the light of day: and as Olivia escaped from her, disappearing into the fragile morning light, Amanda wondered if they ever would.