A/N & Disclaimer: SVU characters all belong to Dick Wolf, I just like to borrow them and throw them into little imagined worlds to watch what happens. This one is a particularly (mostly) fluff-focused world, so there might be a few inconsistencies concerning places I mention but haven't been to or something or other that doesn't exactly happen as it would in the real world (or the show's world). I apologize in advance for those, hopefully the overall journey will be worth it. :)

The air departed from her lungs as if they were balloons stuck with a needle, exploding into emptiness, leaving behind the most desperate vacuum. When she tried to force her nose, mouth, chest, and diaphragm to urgently work together towards sucking in some more, it felt like breathing empty air, devoid of any oxygen, drained of any life. All she knew was she needed to get the hell out of there.

Olivia hit the button to the elevators repeatedly, hoping the pressure and insistence were good enough hints of the imperativeness of her escape to actually will any of those pairs of stainless steel doors to instantly open up, but three of the lifts still had to go through at least twenty floors in their descent, while the fourth seemed stuck in the underground parking garage the whole time.

She couldn't wait any longer. She couldn't be seen down here another second; when she was about to go for the stairs, unsure of how exactly she was supposed to climb seventeen floors worth of steps, the elevator to her left resoundingly announced its arrival, the doors swiftly revealing the empty space of the cubicle, and she rushed into her getaway car.

In her distress, it was a toss-up whether her feet touched the moving floor before or after her fingers pressed "17". She kept hitting the close-door button until the steel sealed the gap to shelter her. As she felt the upward motion starting, the air became less scarce around her; she leaned against the huge mirror in the back wall of the elevator, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand while she took as many deep breaths as she could, unaware of how long she would have unrestricted access to the oxygen.

As her lungs refueled and her heart responded, no longer hammering so hard against the walls of her ribcage, Olivia realized that the thinness of the air and the racing of her heartbeat were the only things stopping the bleeding. She physically ached as she started sobbing, willing the stubbornly slow ascent to go faster and wondering if dressed-up, heartbroken people crying their eyes out in the elevator cars was a typical sight on the surveillance screens.

When the overhead indicator finally blinked seventeen, she ran out, pressing her hand against her mouth to keep the sobs in check, just for a little while: she just needed to make it to the end of the hallway. She reached down and removed her high-heeled, strappy sandals to gain some leverage on the carpet and, with the same hand, lifted the skirt of her dress to facilitate the movement of her legs.

Stopping at her door, she fumbled in her clutch for the keycard, but with the shoes and the irrational haste getting in the way, she dropped it, and with it just one, frustrated sob escaped her along with a curse word. As soon as she finally swiped the card and heard the sound of the lock clicking open, she lunged into the room, leaning against the door from the inside to hold it closed, like she was running from an animal, hiding from its fatal attack.

In the privacy of her hotel room, Olivia finally let herself cry freely, and the accumulated sorrow almost suffocated her as it came out all at once. She slid down against the door, which sustained her back upright as she landed on the floor with her face buried into her palms. She felt like a rejected schoolgirl, a humiliated derelict.

She was attacked by the flashbacks, everything that had happened in the last few days or the last few years, every piece that had been assembled in this mosaic in her mind, this fictitious image that had convinced her something was going to happen between them.

The glass had already been broken before, maybe a bit more gently, but now, it was shattered beyond repair, along with her heart, a heart made of ice, reduced to a million melting pieces discarded on the hard ground, each shrinking with every second into tiny pools of water, mimicking mere raindrops, until they finally vanished.

What she had just witnessed had proved once and for all that it had all been in her head all along. In the last few days, in the last few years.

Elliot didn't feel the same way about her.

PART I: OLIVIA

CHAPTER 1 - LONELIEST

It was a slow day. We weren't currently working on any open cases, and since our fellow detectives John Munch and Fin Tutuola were giving a friend from Fin's undercover days in Narcotics a hand on something, Elliot and I were the lucky winners of weeks worth of delayed paperwork that had accumulated during the prolonged period of hectic days.

Slow days in the lives of cops equaled good news, they meant that nobody had gotten hurt. For our unit, Manhattan Special Victims, it meant that no one had been assaulted, raped or killed, and we knew better than to complain about psychopaths, sadists and child molesters taking time off. However, and I'm sure I speak for my partner when I say this, if we're being completely honest, we would trade a day swamped with paperwork for a week in the field without hesitation.

Slow days had become a special kind of torture lately, after Elliot's latest transition. I remember at the very beginning, when he used to pray for slow days so he could go home early, have dinner with the wife and kids, and then he'd be cranky during the all-nighters, resenting me for being the human face he saw the most in his daily life, clearly not by choice. Then, there had been a period of overall contentment, or maybe apathy, not sure, when he would still welcome any prospect of time off but also started embracing the long days, apparently not that bothered about the long hours away from home anymore.

Now, since his wife had decided to leave him, nothing was ever good. The hectic days were overkill against his default state of weariness, and slow days were the crude reminder that he didn't have a full house waiting for him anymore, hoping he would get off early. I love how Kathy had apparently said Elliot was hard to live with because of the job; I wondered if she had any idea how hard he was to work with because of his marriage. It was especially delightful in its downfall.

He would tell me how unfair it was that she had left, that she was a bitch for putting him and their kids through this, going on and on about it over paperwork, during stakeouts, at lunch or even while having a beer after clocking out on the evening of a difficult day. Sometimes, during those rants, I felt very tempted to ask him if he still remembered that I didn't really have anyone to go home to either, I'd never had. That maybe when he went on and on about how that was the most terrible thing in the world, he might as well have been describing how miserable my life was.

The only thing that kept me quiet was the likelihood of him answering with a resounding you never had it, you don't even know what you're missing, irrevocably declaring himself the loneliest between the two of us. Okay, not the only thing. What also kept me from going off on him was the fact that I was pretty much his only friend and the only one he could talk to about this. So I did my job and I listened, and agreed, and asked questions with my most considerate voice. I knew that this was hard for him, that, unlike me, he wasn't used to being on his own, and as someone that cared, I did feel for him. I swear.

And, to be fair, it had gotten considerably better since he'd moved out of their house in Queens. He had found himself a place in the city, closer to work, and that had allowed him to fall into a mostly regular routine of having his kids over, so he no longer complained so much about missing them. Now, however, he was segregated from them again for a few weeks, since they'd traveled with Kathy for their winter break, a trip to the countryside he used to be a part of even if most times he could only join them on the weekends, if at all. Now, he was not invited, period.

But I've been going on and on about Elliot and said nothing about myself or how I was doing back then… Well, to tell the truth, how he was doing significantly influenced how I was doing; for seven years, we'd been spending the better part of every day together, doing a difficult job that no one outside the squad room walls really understood, regardless of any and all attempts to explain. He was, had been for a while now, the most important relationship I had with anyone. My only true, close friend.

If the world's loneliest creature was my only friend, what did that make me?

I had no trouble meeting guys who would want to go on dates with me, but I'm going to tell you something: my job was a real deal breaker most of the time, with the usual outcomes being the guy ghosting me because he didn't understand or approve of my line of work or me ghosting the guy because he was way too interested in it. Lately, I'd pretty much given up. It had been months since I'd last gone on a date, and the worst part was I didn't even miss it.

Apart from that, it was difficult to keep any other kinds of attachments. It was difficult to become or remain friends with someone you had to keep canceling on all the time. They would eventually just give up, and part of me would be secretly relieved. So my friends were the people I worked with, even though we had very little time for social gatherings; our quality time together was discussing gruesome crimes over cheap takeout in the lounge.

The closest thing to a girlfriend I currently had was Casey Novak, our ADA. We'd go out for drinks sometimes, and our complaints about not being able to keep any other sorts of company were songs we sang in tune. She had actually been quite curious about Elliot's current marital status the last few times. Initially, I thought she might be interested; a married guy suddenly single, who knew, maybe she'd always been secretly thirsting over him.

He was a handsome guy, with an imposing, well-built and carefully maintained, muscular body. He had those deep blue eyes you could dive in, and get lost in, and drown in. His facial features could equally morph into the fiercest warrior to protect and guard you with his life or the sweetest, most loving and caring man, his rough hands equally capable of hurting and soothing. His broad shoulders and strong arms promised to carry you, sustain you. His chest could be your very own personal fortress and haven.

Point is: he's definitely a very attractive man.

Anyway… Initially, I thought maybe Casey had been eyeing those attributes with curiosity since they'd apparently become available, but then I found out she had been asking for my sake. One day, after a few tequilas, she said she was hoping something would happen between me and him now that he was separated; I had almost choked on my drink from the absurdity. We were partners… Ours wasn't that kind of bond. Not that anybody would understand.

Long story short, it was fair to say it was a weird time in my life. A lonely time – perhaps the loneliest I'd ever experienced. I guess maybe I hadn't been nurturing hopes of romantic things happening between me and Elliot after his separation, as Casey had suggested, but maybe I had created a notion in a remote corner of my mind that if he wasn't a married man and father of four, maybe my best friend would have more time for me, that maybe the increase in his loneliness would indirectly mitigate mine. I was wrong.

My closest relationship was with a separated man who wanted nothing more than to get his old life back. My drinking buddy and girl-talk partner was someone I only had a disastrously failed love life in common with. My circle of friends were other cops, like me, who only knew how to talk about the worst kinds of violent acts human beings were capable of, but had no one else to talk to about it.

It was a weird, lonely time in my life.

And that, specifically, was a slow day, which allowed my mind to wander off and get lost in thought like that, but only for so long; at a certain point in that dull Friday afternoon, I was startled back into the world of the fully awake when Cragen called us into his office.

"Benson, Stabler," he said in a commanding voice that gave us no clue what the summons was about; I exchanged a look with Elliot, who just rolled his eyes and stood up; I followed.

"Cap'n?" he said in a monotone when we got there.

"It's about the Weller case," the captain said neutrally.

"Oh, for crying out loud…" Elliot muttered under his breath as we sat down.

It had been a very tough case, and which was worse, very, very high profile. The Weller was a very rich family, owner of a giant resort chain, with hotels all over the country, and Walter Weller, our vic's father, was close friends with the Mayor. Long story short, 1PP was breathing down our necks from beginning to end, but now that the trial was over, with a conviction, no less, we weren't expecting to hear the Captain mention that name again so soon.

But he had a hint of a smile on his face. "It's not really bad news this time."

Elliot emerged from his sulking. "That remains to be seen," he sneered.

"How about a little vacation on Mr. Weller's dime?" the captain asked, something neighboring irony and sarcasm that I couldn't quite identify in his voice.

Or maybe it was the fact that anything involving the word "vacation" never really seemed like something to be taken seriously. "Vacation?" I repeated, like I didn't know the meaning of that word. It was almost as if I really didn't, actually.

"He was so happy with the work you two did on his daughter's case that he wanted to say thank you with a week for each of you in one of his all-inclusive resorts, all expenses paid."

Elliot smiled. "Okay, Cap, what's the catch?"

"No catch. It's yours if you want it. Here are the plane tickets," he tossed them on the desk towards us to illustrate, along with a thick brochure that hit the mahogany with a thud.

Since Elliot made no movement from where he sat, I reached for the tickets to check them out: one read Olivia Benson; the other, Elliot Stabler. "Reno?" I asked.

"Lake Tahoe, actually," Cragen corrected me with an air of annoyance at how he seemed to have been tasked with memorizing our itinerary and explaining it to us like a travel agent. "A 45-minute transfer will pick you up at the airport and bring you straight to the hotel. It's one of their biggest resorts, and apparently they have a lot of winter activities for this time of the year."

Elliot chuckled drily, like he still believed this to be nothing but a bad joke, but he leaned in to get the brochure and started flipping through the pages, glancing at the pictures of people surrounded by blindingly bright shades of white and blue, and Cragen exchanged a look with me, like he empathized with me for having to put up with Elliot's moods; oh, he had no idea.

"Weller called me to inform me personally about it, even though 1PP had already contacted me," Cragen said, clearly bothered by the break in the chain of command. "He says he's included you with a group that goes there every year to ski, he says they'll be good company to you, show you around."

"And when would that be?" Elliot asked, sounding a bit more confident that this was no trick.

"Plane leaves on Sunday," I said warily, already aware of what his reaction would be.

"Sunday? No way, there's no way 1PP authorized that."

"Already cleared. As of now, you're both on paid vacation for a week. I never had a say on the matter." The captain smiled at me. "You think I'd let both of you take a week?"

"Great, but they forgot to clear it with us," annoyance dripped from Elliot's voice. "I mean, I need to check with the kids, Kathy…"

"I thought they were all out of town," Cragen pointed out with caution, but I saw how it landed heavily on Elliot's chest.

His voice barely came out. "They are, but…"

"We'll go," I said, standing up and holding out Elliot's plane ticket for him.

"What?" he said, squinting his eyes at me with incredulity, like I'd committed treason or something unforgivable like that, death-penalty worthy.

"I said we're going," I repeated, then turned to Cragen. "I assume we can go home to pack?"

Cragen shrugged. "Sure," he said like there was nothing he could do to stop us. "Like I said, paid vacation. Get outta here."

"Thanks, Captain," I said, already moving towards the exit. "Come on, El," I commanded as softly as I could.

He reluctantly stood up and I hung around a bit longer to wait for him. Before walking out of the office, he turned to the boss once again. "Wait a minute, they're giving this to us and nothing to you?" he asked. "What about Casey? She worked her ass off prosecuting the case."

"Oh, I asked to exchange mine when I spoke to Mr. Weller," the captain was clearly containing an amused smile now. "I'll choose where to go and when later. Not sure about Casey, she's not under my jurisdiction. Maybe the DA is having a similar conversation with her in his office as we speak?"

Elliot turned to me, exasperated, like he wanted help to start a riot, but I simply rolled my eyes for the hundredth time and waited for him to reluctantly give up and turn to accompany me.

"Try to have some fun for a change," I heard Cragen say behind us as I felt Elliot's soaring look on my back.

I only turned around to look at him when I went for my coat as it hung from the back of my chair.

"What was that all about?" he questioned, a bit less aggressively than I'd foreseen.

I shrugged. "I don't know about you, Elliot, but I could definitely use a week off," I said simply, which seemed to disarm his remaining irritation and get him puzzled instead.

He waved his ticket. "Are you really going?"

"Why not?" I asked, not a doubt in my mind. "Never been there, never skied… Could be interesting."

He seemed dumbstruck by my acceptance of this, but also seemed to be racking his brain for a comeback that, apparently, he never found.

I decided to play my part as best friend and partner yet again. Gripping at the back of my chair, I leaned in with an innocent smile. "Look, Kathy and the kids are out of town, we're not currently working on anything Munch and Fin can't handle on their own… When are we going to get another chance of a getaway like this? No time like the present…"

If my sweet talk didn't convince him, I'd be able to go on my own knowing that I'd tried – maybe it would be even better, I wouldn't need to manage his moods and be able to actually socialize with different people, maybe there would even be someone interesting in this group Cragen mentioned. It had been so long since I'd last done anything just for the fun of it.

To my surprise, Elliot's lips broke into a crooked, half-smile that reached his eyes so hard that it made him look like a mischievous little boy, and I was taken by surprise, a not at all subtle fluttering in my stomach, like I'd just jumped out of a skydiving plane.

Who did I think I was kidding? I wanted him to come. Of course I did.

"Munch and Fin are gonna be so mad they didn't work the case," he said, unfolding his shirtsleeve distractedly, like he was watching the scene right before his eyes.

I laughed. "It'll serve them well for busting our chops like that saying we'd had bad luck that they were too busy with the Winwood trial."

"Too bad they're not here right now," he said, putting on his suit jacket and taking his coat under his arm.

We walked together to the elevators, and I could almost hear the gears inside his head, even though I already felt a change in the air, a lightness between us I hadn't witnessed in weeks, maybe months.

"What do you even bring to a place like this?" he said, lost in thought.

"You've never taken a skiing trip with your kids?" I asked, then immediately regretted it; I'd just alluded to the forbidden subject of the week, put that fleeting spark of progress at risk.

"Yeah, but..." was his gloomy reply, but I was glad, because it could've been a lot worse. I figured the lack of further information probably meant he'd never been in charge of packing for those trips, yet another task he now had to take care of on his own.

"Heavy coats?" I said lightheartedly, showing him I knew as much as he did about this, and he smiled at me, a rare thing lately.

I didn't know what to expect from this; out of the blue, I was going on a trip with Elliot to a big-ass resort on the other end of the country for a week. I was afraid that his mood swings could make the endeavour a depressing disaster, but his smile gave me hope that maybe it wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Maybe we really were in need of some time off, something different from our daily routine, to strike us out of our long-lasting misery. Maybe we could even appease our current separate states of loneliness together, finding a pleasant way to keep each other company as we left everything else behind in New York.