"Detective Stabler, where were you in May of 2013? When your partner, I'm sorry, ex-partner, was kidnapped for four days and tortured within an inch of her life. When she was bound, gagged, drugged, burned… where were you?"

Olivia freezes. She tries not to look at him again, but she needs to read his face. She sees terror and tears. Her heart races; she's never before been so afraid of an answer.

"Detective Stabler, are you going to tell her, or should I?"

She hears Elliot's remorse before he even begins to speak, and she knows. His sigh, the droop of his shoulders, his apologetic body language. She can't hear this, but she has no choice.

"I was here. In New York."

Chapter 2

He's looking through her, catatonically, like he did that night he confessed about the motherfucking letter, and her head spins. No. NO! He was here? How? Why? Why didn't he…? Her mind races with thoughts, ideas, hypotheses, but one is certain: Elliot was HERE.

And he didn't come for her.

She's spent the last nine years rationalizing, bargaining, reasoning, trying to figure out which excuse she could live with if she ever asked him about May 2013. She imagined dozens of different scenarios, most involving limited technology, living in the middle of nowhere, no televisions or phones, or connections to big city news. Rome made sense- being an ocean away, a world away, completely disconnected from the life he left behind. But he was here.

She swallows hard, trying to keep her composure, knowing that her delayed response has already given Wheatley immense pleasure. Pauses are prizes in this game of cat and mouse, and she needs to regain some semblance of an upper hand. "Okay, he was here. So what? We weren't partners anymore. He owed me nothing. Where are you going with this, Wheatley?"

"My, my, Olivia, your poker face is inspired. Court records prove otherwise. Shall I read the transcript aloud?"

"No." Detach, detach, detach.

"Well, I'll read it anyway. I insist. Detective Stabler looks like he could use a bedtime story." He pulls out a leather-bound booklet and flips through with the theatrics of an attorney, or, at least, a polished actor.

As she tunes out the recitation of the words burned into her memory, words about what her partner would have done if he were there, she uses this opportunity to take a long, hard look at Elliot. He meets her eyes, and she sees pools of unshed tears, sees that this is hurting him even more than it is her. She sees a story in his face, and she knows. She knows Wheatley is a master manipulator; she knows he is somehow twisting the script, but she is tired and angry and sad and quite frankly doesn't want to hear another Stabler excuse for abandoning her when she needed him most. She knows there's a story here, the truth beneath the surface of this deceitful plot twist, but it's a story she honestly doesn't care to hear. She's not as curious as she thought she'd be about Elliot's whereabouts anymore and instead becomes more violent as these moments tick by. Once again, her narrative is a tangled mess; out of her control. The prickles of anxiety smatter her neck and arms, making her brain fizzle with expectation. So much for detachment. The vodka mixes with the bile she's tamped down in her throat; she will not vomit in front of either of them, so help her god.

She realizes Wheatley's done speaking, now watching her with devious, curious eyes. Her fury and nausea are alternating in feverish waves; her need to flee is palpable; her acting abilities are waning, and Wheatley knows it. Exasperation is winning, her fear is growing, and she just wants out. At that moment, the waitress sets food on their table: their usual. She stares at the food, realizing once again, somehow, this mastermind is one step ahead of them and knows their fucking diner order from a decade ago. The greasy smell of fries invades her senses, not doing her any favors with keeping the heaving at bay. She grunts out an incredulous laugh as a single tear slides down her cheek. Game over.

"Wheatley, what was the point of all of this? You've tortured me, okay? You've succeeded. You've won this round in whatever pissing contest you have going on with Stabler, okay? Is that what you want to hear?" She stands abruptly, glaring at both men. "We're done."

Wheatley smiles, the double meaning of her words not lost on him. "Have a lovely evening, Olivia."

She storms off, hears Elliot call after her, ignores him. She needs the icy air to fill her lungs; needs to take deep breaths before she vomits on the pavement. Racing out of the diner, she makes it to the adjacent alleyway before giving in to her reflexes and retching.


Elliot's seething. It never occurred to him that Wheatley would go there about Olivia's past, about their past. He did it so meticulously, so seamlessly assassinated his character to the one person he cared about most in this world. Took his one moment of weakness, the moment she needed him most, and exploited it for something it wasn't. He didn't think Liv fell for Wheatley's tactics, but the pain on her face when she learned he was in New York was enough to bring him to his knees. Wheatley exploited her to get to him, putting her through an endless amount of pain in the span of twenty minutes. Cracked her carefully constructed façade, one that he knew took years of therapy to craft, and left a wake of destruction.

He has to explain: he has to tell her the truth after all of these years. He needs to face his demons and pain, which he knows will inadvertently cause Liv more grief. He stands up, ready to dart after Liv before she speeds off into the darkness. Before he does, he glares at Wheatley. "Why would you bring her into this? This is between us."

Wheatley casually sips his drink, the epitome of calm coolness. "Elliot, don't fuck with me. You have no idea what else I have up my sleeve."

Hovering over the table, he tries to be intimidating, but Wheatley seems unfazed. In a low, gravelly voice, Elliot growls, "Is that a threat?"

"No, not at all. More like a friendly, well, I guess not-so-friendly wager. See, I bet that after this little soirée, the love of your life never speaks to you again."

"You stay the fuck away from her, you hear me?"

He smiles. "Why would I go near an NYPD police captain? Tonight was just a casual drink between acquaintances. Have a lovely evening, Detective Stabler."

The ring of the diner door chimes before Wheatley finishes his sentence, and just like that, Elliot races into the moonlight, desperate to find Liv before it's too late.


She hates that she's vomiting in an alley. She wanted to run to her car and get the hell out of there before Elliot had a chance to catch up. This just isn't her night. She should have never entertained the idea of showing up here, but she did because of him. Because she thought her partner was in danger; because she wants to avenge Kathy's death. because she loves the Stabler children like her own and would move mountains to protect them and give them closure. But this… what the fuck was this? Who is this vendetta really against?

Spent of energy, she practically crawls to her car, shoulders hunched, ribs aching, throat raw. Shaking, with nerves frayed, she reaches her door handle and clutches it for dear life, trying to pull herself together enough to drive. She can't get the vodka taste out of her mouth, and she's spiraling out of control. In the distance, she hears Elliot calling for her, and she's grateful for the camouflage of her car as she sinks against the driver's side door. This is a bullshit hiding place, but she couldn't run if she tried. She pulls her knees up, places her head down, takes deep breaths, lets the frozen ground anchor her in place. She feels his presence before he speaks, and she wishes there was a sewer grate to fall through right now.

"Jesus Christ, Liv." he crouches down to her level, and she's not sure if she wants to hug or punch him. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry." He moves closer, cautiously, and the latter instinct kicks in. She uses every bit of her strength to shove him, and he falls backward, landing across from her.

"Don't touch me." She glares at him, seething, all puffed chest and righteous indignation.

"Liv, you gotta know, I-"

"NO. I don't 'gotta know anything. I don't want to know, El. I CAN'T!"

Elliot is whispering across from her, near tears. "Please, Liv-"

"Stop! Elliot, don't you get it? I physically and mentally cannot go there right now. I don't want to know, and honestly, I don't care. I'm sure you have a damn good reason why you weren't there in my darkest days, and Wheatley exploited it to get to me. The question is, why drag me into it?"

"Liv-"

"It was rhetorical, Elliot. I know, I'm the love of your life, whatever that means." She rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath.

"You know what it means, Liv."

She chances a look and sees the tears falling down his face. She wants to be heartbroken for him and about him, but her PTSD will not allow it. She's enraged and exhausted. She pulls herself up and opens her car door, ignoring the dizziness and impending migraine invading her skull.

"Liv, please, wait." He's up and in her space again, cautiously, as if he's waiting for her to pounce. "Liv-"

"Stop. Just, stop. Please, El. I just need to go home. I need to see my son." At this point, she's begging, pleading for an out, traumas on the surface, flailing. Their eyes meet and she knows he understands amidst her raging exterior. Her one focus, the only image stopping her from plunging into the icy depths of her past, is Noah. She needs his innocence to ground her back into her present life before a panic attack sets her back for days.

"Will you let me drive you? Please, Olivia. We don't have to talk. I won't say a single word to you. Just let me get you home safe. Give you a chance to catch your breath before you see Noah."

She glares at him. Fuck him, she thinks, but he's right. Noah cannot, under any circumstances, see her like this. She shoves the keys into his chest and stomps over to the passenger door. "I'm holding you to that, Stabler. Not a fucking word."

They drive in complete silence at first, the only exchange is Elliot offering her a piece of gum, which she gratefully accepts. She chews and ponders her next move, as he navigates the route to her place. His stoic facade is a smokescreen for the agony piercing the corners of his eyes. He's worried, but she knows he won't dare break his promise of silence to ask if she's okay. She needs to address some things now before she loses her nerve. If tonight taught her anything, it's the need for self-preservation in the face of evil.

"Look, El, I honestly never thought I'd see you again. And now you're here, in my space, and it's been non-stop pain." She holds her hand up to stop his gesturing protest. "For the both of us, El, you can't deny that. It's best if I keep my distance while this whole Wheatley thing plays out. He's targeting me to get to you, and I need to take myself out of the equation for my safety. For my son's safety."

She waits for him to nod in agreement before continuing. "As far as the Lewis shit," she adds, cautiously, "it's not fair for me to have to revisit my trauma so you can have absolution from your sins. I won't do it. I can't do it."

"Liv, I wish you'd let me explain-"

"Elliot, enough. Right now I cannot hear whatever explanation you have. How you were in this fucking city, where the headlines were swarming with news about a kidnapped police officer, my name everywhere, and you stood by and did nothing. Nothing, El."

This time, Elliot stays quiet, simply shaking his head. She's unsure of what this gesture means, other than things aren't what they seem, and she knows that. But she's steadfast, unwavering in her refusal to listen.

"And you know the worst part, El? I can't hear it right now because I know what will happen. You'll tell me, and whatever the reason is, I'll forgive you. I'll forgive you because I always forgive you. I'll forgive you because it's stupid of me to hold onto some notion that you would have been my hero and savior if you knew about it. None of it fucking matters now, but I'll forgive you and move on, and I don't want to right now. I'm not ready to forgive and forget. I need to be angry about this for a while. I need to process that you were here and knew about it and didn't fucking bother."

Her voice breaks and she roughly swipes at the tears of frustration spilling down her cheeks. She looks over at him as he tensely maneuvers his jaw, as if he wants to speak but can't get out the words.

Finally, he murmurs, "Can I say one thing?"

"Go ahead, as long as it has nothing to do with 2013."

"I respect your decisions, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"I know that. But, for my well-being, I think I need to let you go. I need to go back to a year ago. I need to hang on to the memories I had from a lifetime ago and let go of this mess."

She doesn't mean for it to sound so devastating, but she isn't taking it back. She sees a grimace in her peripheral, a hand moving across his lips. Finally, he questions, "That's what I am to you? A mess?"

"Elliot… you lost Kathy and then lost yourself in a six-month undercover operation. You come back out of it, Eli is a mess, Bernie is a mess, you never dealt with the undercover trauma and then plunged into the Wheatleys." She smirks, a tinge of jealousy brushing the surface. "Was that a bad choice of words?"

That did it. The gloves are off. He's been so careful on this ride, and it's pissing her off. Now she wants to fight. She wants to push buttons, to make him feel an ounce of the hurt she's dealt with this evening.

"Knock it off, Liv. I didn't fuck Angela Wheatley."

"But you did something with her, right? And let's not even talk about your Albanian concubine. Never mind. It is not my business, remember?"

He sighs heavily, hand rubbing his brow in frustration. "I thought we were past all of this."

"So did I, until Richard Wheatley summoned me here tonight. And I fucking came because once again I was worried about you. You and your reckless, mindless, infuriating bullshit."

"Bullshit? Liv, Kathy was murdered!"

"You don't think I know that? Her soul haunts me every day, Elliot. If it wasn't for me, the two of you wouldn't have even been in New York, you would have still been living in your fairytale dream world an ocean away. And yes, maybe the bomb would have detonated in Italy just as easily as it did here, but I don't know that. For twelve years, I somehow put a wedge in your marriage, and the second you came back, I wrecked it completely."

"Jesus, Liv, that's a reach. You spent our entire partnership saving my marriage. It was always my fault. I loved you too much to stay and was too much of a coward to face you."

Liv audibly gasps as his confession lay between them, a crevice split open. Their unspoken parallel universe: lost in the depths of pain and heartbreak and foregone conclusions.

She emits a resigned chuckle. "Well, look at us now. Just a giant fucking catastrophe."

She has never been so grateful to see her apartment building and grits her teeth as Elliot pulls into her parking space, wishing she had driven herself home after all. She doesn't want to talk anymore. There's a finality to this drive like a long, drawn-out goodbye. He turns off the engine, and there's nothing but their thunderous silence surrounding them.

"Are you good getting back home?" It's rhetorical, something to say instead of what's scratching at the surface. She knows he'll Uber or grab a cab and be just fine, but she has nothing else to say worth merit, and her emotions are tumbling.

"Liv, are you going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine. Not the first time, won't be the last. I know how to deal with my PTSD."

A pause, and then barely a whisper. "Unlike me."

She takes her hand and gently brushes his cheek. "You'll get there. Takes time." Instinctively, she reaches for his hand, letting it linger for a second before taking her keys from his palm. "You take care of yourself, okay?"

"Olivia, please. Please don't let him win."

"This was never about Wheatley. Goodbye, El."

And just like that, she disappears into her building, safely behind elevator doors, escaping the grief, pain, and love she has for Elliot Stabler."