Elliot Stabler grudgingly wandered into his living room and turned on the TV. They really should put more thought into early morning programming, he thought. It was three in the morning and he had gotten nowhere with his futile attempts at slumber. This was becoming annoyingly common, as it was the fourth night this week-not to mention that he had to be at the station by eight. There was no mystery concerning the cause of his sleepless night. On the few occasions in which he had drifted off, he found himself having the same dream-he and his partner were making passionate love in every position known to man, their heat and sweat molding the two together. It was perfect, that is, until the inevitable occurred and Elliot found himself awake and drenched with sweat, his heart pounding. Several infomercials later, with no sleep in sight, he decided to go ahead and start the coffee and get ready for work.

"All right, people, let's at least pretend to be working." Donald Cragen could only pretend to scold his detectives as they lingered around the break table, which served as the station's "water cooler". He, more than anyone, knew the undying loyalty his squad felt towards him. He also knew that this was their family and home, something that few people could say about their jobs.

"C'mon, guys, dad's gonna put us in timeout if we don't move our asses", Olivia joked with a lighthearted grin. Cragen was as close to a father figure as she had ever had, and most likely ever would have. He meant the world to her on so many levels.

"Nobody at the Academy said anything about this gig involving work", snorted Munch.

Fin rolled his eyes at his partner's remark. "Don't make me snap your bony little ass in two."

The group gradually started mulling towards their respective desks, not looking forward to starting the day's paperwork. They were detectives, after all-their high came from pinning criminals against a wall, not from endless paper cuts.

"Elliot, my office", Cragen called out. A minute later he and Detective Stabler were sitting face to face across Cragen's desk. "You look like shit, Elliot."

"Thanks, Captain. That's the look I was going for."

"I'm serious, Stabler. Either tell me what's going on or I'm sending you home."

"It's nothing-just haven't been sleeping much lately." Elliot was being careful to dodge eye contact with his boss.

"We both know that sleep deprivation is a part of the job, so how come I'm just now noticing how exhausted you look?" There was no response. "It's Liv, isn't it?" Again, Elliot said nothing. "I can't say I didn't have my suspicions."

"Don't worry, Captain. It won't get in the way of my work."

"I find that quite hard to believe. You obviously haven't slept in at least a week-don't you think that will have at least some adverse effect on your productivity?"

"I just"-

"Look, go home and get some rest and think about what you need to do to become fully functioning again. That isn't a suggestion, by the way. Do it or start looking for a new department." As harsh as his message was, there was only genuine concern in Cragen's eyes.

Elliot knew he had no other choice. While the look on his face contained utter contempt towards his boss for making him leave, he could not deny the gratitude he felt deep down. It was never very characteristic of Elliot Stabler to take time for himself, even when he truly needed it; in fact, the only days off that he could remember were completely unavoidable by way of his Captain's demand. And, if he thought about it, it was probably those days off that kept Elliot sane enough to stay in the Special Victims Unit.

Without any further communication between the two, Elliot made his way out of Cragen's office and hastily grabbed his jacket from the nearby lockers. He made absolutely no attempt at eye contact with Olivia or his other co-workers.

"Elliot?" Olivia called out to him, but he was quickly out the station door. Her initial response was to dart out after her partner, but as soon as she rose from her chair, Cragen stopped her.

"Let him go, Liv."

Puzzled, she sank back down in her chair. The silence was quickly broken by Cragen. "Okay, John and Olivia, there's a victim at St. Mary's that just came to. Go see if you can get a statement. Fin, try to get forensics to put a rush on those samples from the Brighton case-just be your normal, charming self and they should get the hint." Detective Tutuola cracked his knuckles in response.

Jeanette Branson was lying helplessly on her ICU bed when John and Olivia arrived. Apart from the countless abrasions and bruises covering her body, it was hard to overlook the enormous bandages wrapped securely around her throat that were already starting to stain with blood.

"Hi, Jeanette, I'm Detective Benson and this is Detective Munch. We're from the Special Victims Unit, and we specialize in assault crimes. Is it okay if we ask you a few questions?" Olivia had recited this speech more times than she could count, but it still gave her a small twinge of rage in her gut to see the aftermath of sexual assault. She couldn't help noticing how much older Jeanette appeared compared to the mere 20 years noted on her chart. Olivia figured that experiencing this level of trauma had to age the soul.

Jeanette managed a feeble nod of agreement to being questioned. For the following hour or so, she struggled to recall as much as possible. For several weeks, she had been receiving strange calls…

It was the end of another day. Another day and another rape victim. This one made it out alive, although she was not out of the woods yet. Olivia knew that this girl would be battling demons for the rest of her adult life. If she was lucky, she would get help and find healthy ways of coping. Without support, she would be doomed to a life of trying to fill the gap that assault leaves behind. Olivia wandered to the kitchen of her apartment and grabbed some old wine out of the fridge. She sank into her worn yet inviting couch which was almost as comfortable as the oversized and threadbare NYPD shirt she always slept in. A couple of overrated primetime sitcoms later, Olivia was sprawled out on the couch in a very deep sleep. A booming knock on her front door quickly brought her back to the world of the conscious. Muttering a few obscenities under her breath, she eventually made it to the door.

"I'm coming, El, hang on." She hadn't even looked through the peephole. There was no need-she had heard him bang on far too many doors in their time together. "Jesus, Stabler, you look like shit." There was no use in sugarcoating anything. It was quite obvious that Elliot had still not gotten any sleep.

"Ya, guess I can't argue there. Sorry to barge in so late. How was work?"

"You came to my apartment at 3 in the morning to ask about work?" Olivia knew her partner better than that-with the way he had been acting lately, there was no question that he was hiding something. "C'mon, Stabler, spill it. There's something you're not telling me. What has been going on lately?"

"I've just, umm, had a lot on my mind," Elliot stammered. This was much harder than he had anticipated.

"No shit, Sherlock-don't you think I know you better than that by now?" She had laughter in her eyes, but was starting to really worry about her partner. "Elliot, what is it? You're scaring me."

He made his way to the kitchen and started nursing a beer from the fridge. Olivia gave him a few minutes before pressing on.

"Okay, now that you're liquored up, would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

"I…well, I'm just"-

"Yes, keep going." Olivia could not hide the exasperation in her voice anymore.

"I'm in love with you, Liv."