I've decided that I hate Terry Paige. There are very few people or things that I can say I truly hate, because hatred takes way too much effort to feel and maintain without a damn good reason. He's a rapist and a murderer, but these aren't the reasons I hate him. I see people like him all the time and I can usually describe my feelings toward them as disgust or dislike...something negative but impersonal. I'd probably be having that kind of reaction to Paige if not for one all-important difference - the things he's doing are hurting Olivia. That alone is enough to make me hate him.

If I'm using that standard, I have to be honest and admit that I hate Healey right now too. I'm sure it was her parting shot that prompted Olivia to look into that dumpster while I was pulling the car around.

I think she almost cried when I got her back into the car. If I didn't know her as well as I do I wouldn't be worried about something like that, but she's the kind of person who doesn't cry unless she is in very real pain, physical or emotional, or is very, very happy. I mean, we were together for three years and in that whole time I only saw her cry on four occasions - when she broke her nose at cardio kickboxing, when I proposed, when she broke it off with me, and when she found out... Wow. Ten years have passed and it still hurts like hell to think about that last one. Anyway, the point is she only cried four times over the course of our relationship, and I don't even think the nose one really counts, since your eyes tear reflexively when you get hit there.

She sitting in the car with me now, and while her eyes have lost the glossy shine that indicates the onset of tears, they've also lost their sparkle. This morning all I could think about was keeping her smiling, but now I just want to stop her from crying. At least we've finally left the library, after four long hours of learning almost nothing. Fin and Munch couldn't find anyone in the area who had seen anything suspicious and Healey and Stabler's canvass of the building hadn't turned up squat.

The only real hitch we encountered was the time frame of Nicole Martin's disappearance. We were all standing in the alley, watching the coroner load the body into his van when Olivia got off the phone with missing persons. "They have a file on our vic." She gave us a few details on the girl before imparting the most disturbing news, "Her roommate at Columbia filed a report with the police on February third."

"But today's the sixth. Are you saying this girl has been missing since Sunday?" Healey was skeptical, as if Olivia were making up information to support her own theory.

I wanted to laugh in my partner's face, but Stabler beat me to it. "So she's been missing for three days. Kinda makes you rethink your stance on a second perp, huh Healey?" He was obviously still smarting over the way Healey had tried to rip the theory to shreds in front of the ME.

She didn't miss a beat. Sometimes it's like she's got her responses planned for every permutation of every situation, just so she'll be prepared to look superior. "Not at all, Stabler. Maybe she was coming off a bender and got grabbed before she was sober enough to call her roommate and say she was fine or maybe she's a druggie or a gambler and got into debt with a loan shark who roughed her up. There are a whole lot of maybes that don't involve the invention of another killer and I suggest we investigate those before we start following up on NYPD fantasies."

I think that was the moment I finally began to really understand why nobody else could work with her. When I transferred to New York, my new boss warned me the space I was getting was only available because no one could stand Healey. I hadn't cared. My goal was to be in the city, closer to my family and closer to Olivia, even if I wasn't in contact with her. I guess I had put up with Healey as long as necessary. I sarcastically shot back, "Yeah, how about you find out where she was then, Healey?"

She looked at me as if I were Judas Iscariot before turning on her heel and walking away. She called back, "I'll be at the crime lab looking for real evidence if anybody needs me." The rest of us split up some logical assignments and got to work.

So now Olivia and I are headed uptown and I'm still no closer to convincing her that she isn't to blame for Paige's escape and subsequent actions. Blame, fault, responsibility...I think I put a negative in front of every synonym in the thesaurus trying to make her believe that she isn't somehow guilty for Paige's crimes, but she's still not willing to accept it. I decide to try a new tactic - distraction. "Why don't we get a bite to eat before we head up to Columbia? It's almost 5 and I'm starving." She nods and I double-park in front of the first restaurant I see. "Pizza okay?"

"Sure, but you can't park here." She folds her arms across her chest and points her chin in the air, which is Olivia for 'I'm not moving until you do what I say.' I used to get this one a lot when I tried to coax her into bed before the dishes were done or the laundry folded. Of course, back then it usually resulted in sex on the couch and a poorly organized linen closet.

Since I know the whole sex thing isn't an option now, I try to rationalize my position. "Liv, this thing has government plates. I could park on the ice rink at Rockefeller Center and not get a ticket." I stop myself. "Ugh...that sounds like something Healey would say. Do you see any spaces?"

She smirks in a self-satisfied way, but it's not a real smile. "Just circle around the block, we're bound to find something."

"You didn't have a problem double-parking outside Marcia Baron's place."

"Marcia lives in the Village. This is Seventh Avenue. Traffic patterns are a little different."

She's right of course, even if we do have to walk half a block back to the pizza place. It's not crowded this early in the evening, so we sit in a booth toward the back. She raises her eyebrows when I order a pitcher of beer, but doesn't object. She knows we both need something to take the edge off. The beer comes and we order a large pizza with everything, falling into silence after the waitress has left.

I pour the beer and we both drink it gratefully. She stares into her glass between sips, avoiding my gaze. I try to get her talking by alluding to my invitation from three months earlier. "So I guess you couldn't resist finally having a drink with me."

I'm hoping my attempt at humor will lighten her mood. Instead she looks up at me with serious eyes. She's tense as she asks, "Andy, what are you doing here?"

I was wondering when she'd notice that. I did tell her I was going back to Virginia the last time that I saw her. I state the obvious anyway. "This is my job."

She still won't smile at me. "I meant in New York."

"Yeah." I take a moment to consider my response. She hasn't really asked for reasons, so I stick with facts. "I transferred to the New York office right after the Baxter case. I, uh, I never went back to Virginia."

"Why didn't you leave?" She's still staring at me, her voice taking on what I imagine is a quiet demand for me to explain my sudden reappearance in her life.

I wish I could give her some big romantic speech about how I couldn't bear to be so far away from her, but she's had enough to deal with today. I opt for the less complicated version of the truth. "My dad had a heart attack the day I was scheduled to fly back, so I stayed. Everything turned out fine, but it made me realize that I might not have much time left with him. I decided that my family was here and I should be too."

"Oh. I'm glad your dad is okay."

"Yeah." If anyone were watching, they'd probably assume we were on an awkward blind date. I fiddle with the salt and pepper shakers, assuming the conversation has ended when she doesn't say anything further. We both finish the contents of our glasses and I pour a second round before she speaks again. "So, you've been living here for three months?"

I get the feeling that she's really asking 'Why didn't you call me?' so that's the question I answer. "I would have called you, but I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"Oh." She pauses, looking away. "I'm sorry, Andy. I...I should have called. It's just that first I was mad at you and when I stopped being mad I thought it was too late because you were in Virginia and you'd feel rejected and wouldn't be able to see me even on the off chance that you wanted to see me and..." She's babbling, but she saying so many things I want to hear that I let her go on. "You know, I wasn't even mad at you, I guess I was really mad at myself, but..." At a loss for words, she changes the topic. "I wish I'd known about your dad. I would have gone to see him or at least sent a card or something. Your parents were always so nice to me. I mean they probably wouldn't want anything to do with me now, after I...well, after I..."

I decide to interrupt her before she digs herself in too deep. "Hey, it's fine. It's my fault too here. I had your number. I could have called you. I should have called you. And, by the way, my mom and dad would have loved to hear from you. They, uh, they still ask about you every so often."

The pizza comes and the conversation is cut short. It's just as well; she looked uncomfortable when I mentioned my parents' continued interest in her. They always adored her. My mom is still upset over our breakup. I'll never forget the look on her face when I told her it was over between Olivia and I. We were sitting in the living room of the house in Staten Island where my sisters and I grew up. She didn't ask why, just stared down at the coffee table for the longest time, looking as if I'd just crushed her fondest dream. She eventually stood and went to the sideboard. She shuffled through the top drawer for a few minutes. I knew she was crying, but I couldn't go comfort her. The most acutely felt loss was mine, after all. When she came back, she handed me a real estate brochure with an ad for three-bedroom white colonial circled in the bottom corner. "I picked it out for you two. I thought it would be perfect, in a nice neighborhood with a yard where the kids could play."

The thought of kids had felt like a knife in my guts. I still tried to make my mother feel better. "It's okay, Mom. We're cops, so we couldn't have afforded it anyway." That night, I went back to the apartment Olivia and I had shared and started packing. I remember being confused about why I'd loved the place so much; it was nothing special – one bedroom, a shower that dripped, a dishwasher that was less than reliable. Sitting across from her now, I wonder if she ever thinks back to how happy we were in that little apartment.

I can't bring myself to ask her, of course, so we continue eating in silence. I pour us another round to finish off the pitcher. A few minutes later, both the beer and the pizza are gone. I pay the bill and we're leaving the restaurant when she finally says something. "I know it's a little late, but thank you for the flowers." Even after three beers, she hasn't relaxed.

"Oh. You're welcome," I respond automatically as I search for a more appropriate reply. I come up with, "I wasn't sure that you'd gotten them."

"I did." We walk down the darkening street a few steps before she catches my arm, stopping me. "Do you think Healey's right?"

Oddly enough, it's the first thing she's said since sitting down for dinner that isn't laced with tension. "Olivia, you know that I don't think any of this is your fault, so I don't know why..."

She interrupts me, "I mean about the second perp. Do you think we're reaching on that one?"

"No. I think the circumstantial evidence supports the theory and it's only a matter of time before CSU delivers something that confirms it. I'll bet she's just angry that she didn't come up with the idea first. As for her attitude, don't take it personally, Liv. Healey doesn't work well with other women, especially beautiful ones like..." I stop right before I say 'you.' My mouth hangs open for a second before I snap it shut, looking straight ahead. I wonder when giving a simple compliment became so tricky. I used to tell her how beautiful she was a hundred times a day.

"So, you're saying that she's just competitive and doesn't actually think I'm incompetent?"

"Yeah. That's it." I doubt I sound convincing. She knows exactly what I meant to say anyway. I can tell by her smile. It's small, but it's there as we get back into the car.

I pull into traffic and we ride in silence for a while before she blind-sides me with another burst of her guilt. "That damn second perp theory is one of the reasons he's out."

"What do you mean?" I don't want to encourage her, but she's never going to stop blaming herself if no one makes her see how ludicrous her reasons are.

"I thought if we could pin another murder on him he'd get sick of taking the heat on his own and roll on his partner. Novak didn't want to bring the additional charges against him, since he was already on death row, but I had to insist. Emma Anderson's parents we so relieved when I told them we were charging him with her murder. All they wanted was closure. Now I have to find another girl's parents and tell them their daughter is dead."

"You won't have to tell them anything. You know that Cragen has already called them. They live in Montana, so they won't be here for a few days, and by then we'll have Paige back in custody."

"You sound so sure."

I glance over at her. She's looking at me intently, like she's expecting me to crack under the pressure of her stare and admit that I'm not really sure. I come close, but I stay strong by telling myself that I'm doing it for her. "We're gonna catch Paige. And you're gonna see that he's made all of his own choices in this thing, and none of them are your fault."

We arrive at Nicole Martin's off-campus apartment with no further conversation. As we walk up the steps, I finger the crime-scene Polaroid in my pocket. I don't know how Olivia does this everyday, asking parents and husbands and friends to identify loved one's bodies from photographs. Three months ago I told her she baby-sat victims as if it were an insult. I never imagined how much harder her job is than mine. I can only guess that this meeting is going to be a lot more difficult than the one at Marcia Baron's this morning.

She knocks on the door, which is answered by a curly-haired girl with tortoiseshell glasses. "Cassandra Roberts?"

"Yeah, that's me."

She shows her badge and the girl's face falls. "I'm Det. Olivia Benson, this is US Marshal Andy Eckerson. We'd like to talk to you about your roommate, Nicole Martin."

We step inside the apartment at 7 o'clock. It's almost nine by the time we calm Cassie down enough to get the information we need and leave her. Olivia hands her a business card as we're walking out. "If you remember anything you think might be important, call me. My home number is on the back, so anytime day or night is fine, even if you just need to talk." I couldn't do this everyday if my life depended on it.

It started snowing when were inside, and about an inch has fallen already. It muffles the sounds of the outside world as we drive back to her precinct.

"Do you think they'll have any leads for us?"

"Stabler said he'd call you if they got anything, and, since he hasn't called..." I trail off when she flinches as if she's suddenly remembered something unpleasant.

"I shouldn't have told him."

"Told him what? To call?"

"About us." The tension I heard earlier in her voice is back. It was only there in the restaurant, when we weren't talking about the case.

"I think Stabler knows about us. He was there when I asked you out four years ago." I have no idea why that particular aspect of our personal relationship is making her so nervous.

"No, not that us. I told Elliot about the real us, and now I can't stop thinking about us as that us."

"I can't even begin to understand that."

"Andy, when we broke up I stopped thinking about you. I had to. I wouldn't have been able to move on if I hadn't. Then we ran into each other four years ago, and I didn't tell anyone who you really were because then I could think about you without all the baggage. And that's the way I've thought of you ever since, as the guy I bumped into and ended up sleeping with for six months. Fantastic sex, but no real relationship. That's how things were three months ago and that's how they were today until I had to go and tell Elliot about us. The real us. And now I every time I think about you, every time I look at you you're the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Everything is back to the way it was ten years ago and all the pain and loss are..." She stops without completing the thought. I'm speechless as we pull up to her precinct.

She doesn't need to say anything more because neither of us wants to talk about it anyway. It hurts to know that she's consciously avoided thinking about me, but I have to admit that I understand her reasoning. I have a sudden revelation. "Is that the real reason you broke up with me? Because I reminded you of...because you couldn't look at me without remembering?"

"It's one of the reasons," she sighs, getting out of the car.

I follow her onto the sidewalk, asking, "So, aside from...the other thing... you really think I am a reckless, cynical bastard?"

"Yeah. No. In the best possible way, I guess. I liked that you were unpredictable and exciting. It never bothered me until I realized that it was gonna get you killed, and I couldn't lose you like that, not after..." She draws a shaky breath, unable to continue speaking. Then she does the last thing I expect. She steps into me, burying her face in my shoulder, wrapping her arms around me. I freeze for a second before I'm able to return the embrace. I'm instantly disoriented by the intoxicating scent of her hair and I forget where I am. I'm sure it's cold, but all I can feel is her warm body pressed against me. I kiss her gently on her temple; she nuzzles my neck. We stand in the gusting snow for almost five minutes, holding each other, allowing the wind to carry away the ten years we've spent apart, hoping it can blow away the pain as well.

"What the hell are you doing?" Healey is glaring at us from the door of the precinct. I let go of Olivia and step in front of her, as if I expect Healey to charge or something. All we get is the customary verbal onslaught. "Well, I guess this explains where you two have been for the past few hours, since taking statements isn't a lengthy process." She walks up to us, looking us over as if she expects our clothes to be rumpled and our hair disarrayed. Our lack of discomfiture must disappoint her, because she huffs and continues past us.

"Healey, where are you going?"

"I'm going home because they're forecasting a blizzard with about a foot and a half of snow, and if you don't want to get stuck here until the weekend, I suggest you do the same, although it looks like you'd probably mind it a little less than I would, what with your...Taxi!" She dashes off to the cab she's just hailed before I can reply.

I turn to look at Olivia, but she's disappeared. The only indication that she was really there is the trail of her footprints in the snow. I follow them into the station, hoping she's fled because of Healey, but knowing that our embrace has probably renewed the ache of the past for her rather than erasing it.