A/N: This chapter covers about a six-month time period (I decided that Olivia was in Oregon for around that time) I apologize if that isn't strictly canon, but the show was never clear on exactly how long it was. So, for the sake of the chapter and the angst, I made it that long.

Songs: Miles Apart by Nick Wilson and Come home safe by Trent Dabbs.

Chapter 20- Elliot

2 Weeks After Olivia Left

He stepped over the threshold of her door as he let the latch click closed behind him. He'd told her doorman she was out of town, and he'd come to feed her fish. The doorman recognized him to be her partner; she didn't have a fish. The key to her apartment burned in his palm, a reminder that he was decimating another one of their sacred boundaries.

She'd given him the key seven years ago with the condition that it was never to be used unless there was an emergency. He'd kept the key in the lock box where he kept his service weapon. A black box tucked behind his stack of folded jeans, high up in his closet, so the kids couldn't reach. The box had a four-digit serial code-4015. Normally he used his children's birthdays for passcodes, but they were the ones he was trying to keep out of the lock box. He knew they would guess their mother's birthday and his. He couldn't use his own badge number because his wife would guess that, and although he knew she had no reason to go in the lockbox he always feared she could find the key.

So the serial code became another secret he kept along with the piece of metal tucked behind the velvet panel of the lock box. Each night when he came home and stored his gun, his wife would watch him fidget with the code. She never asked what it was, but he realized now it had been another way that Olivia had always been between him and his wife. Every night. 4015.

He set the key on the counter as he stood in the silence of her kitchen. He let his eyes sweep her apartment, stillness. Everything was left the way she'd had it before she got pulled into whatever it was, she was doing for the feds. He kept the lights off because he didn't need light reminding him that he shouldn't be inhabiting her space. His eyes fell on the key he'd set down. She would be livid if she knew he'd used it.

"You're lucky, you've got nothing to worry about, definitely got no lawn to mow," he said as they approached their car.

"Yeah, I'm a regular monk," she said as she placed their files in the backseat. He leaned on the driver side door as he watched how her hair fell over the sides of her face and her lips curved in a smile.

"Monkette," he corrected as he stared at his partner, the realization hitting him that she went home to no one. She was alone most nights- no one shared the household chores with her, no one had dinner with her, no one held her at night while she slept, and no one would know if she was hurt, if someone hurt her, like their vic. He couldn't pull his eyes from her as the worry consumed him.

She caught him staring and gave him a strange look. She didn't seem to understand the weight of their conversation, the realization it had given him. He didn't like that there was nobody protecting her. She'd told him about her mother, and he wondered if, because the one person who was supposed to protect you over all others never protected her, that she'd decided nobody ever would. She'd never had a father that worried about her, a father who intimidated first dates or told her she looked beautiful in her prom dress or not to drink from red solo cups at parties she shouldn't be at, and her mother was too drunk most of the time to be concerned. He wondered if that was why she stayed single when so many people were constantly making passes at her. Perhaps she liked being alone, but he didn't like it. Now that it was in his mind, he knew it would be another thing on the list of worries that kept him awake at night.

The next day his worry deepened when the Captain mentioned that their victim didn't have anyone listed under her 'notify in case of emergency' line. Olivia made some off-handed comment about how she couldn't imagine living like that, and he found himself staring at her again. She did live like that, and it was the reason he hadn't slept the night before. He'd thought about calling her, discussing his worries with her but he knew it would be incredibly out of line.

They'd gone to the morgue after that to find that there was nobody to release their victim's body to. He'd gone home after the morgue, his mood dark, his mind clouded. He was almost home when he pulled into a gas station and parked his car. He needed to talk to her. He had a proposition for her that he knew could leave him breaking in a new partner, but he needed to put it out there for his own sanity.

He dialed her number.

"Did the Vic's sister call back?" she answered with her tone all business, but he could hear her still setting down her belonging on her counter. She must have just walked through her door.

"Uh no…" he said as he glanced out his car window at the people milling around the gas station. He knew it was incriminating that he was having this conversation outside of his home, where he should be, but he didn't want to have to explain to Kathy why he needed these answers from her. He didn't know himself why he needed the answers, but he wanted the peace of mind.

"What's up then?" she asked, and he could hear her putting something in the microwave.

"Who's your emergency contact?" he asked, getting straight to the point of his call. He heard her pause over the line.

"My mother…Elliot, what's this about?"

"This case…our Vic…"

"Reminds you of me?" she filled in his blank.

"You live alone, you don't know your neighbors. I was just wondering if you had an emergency contact."

"I'm not a civilian, Elliot, I'm perfectly capable of looking out for myself, and I've lived alone a long time, so don't let this keep you from your evening. Put work outside of your mind," she said, and he thought it was funny that she was trying to reassure him when he'd called concerned about her.

"You think she's a good one?"

"What?" she asked.

"Your mother, do you think she's a good emergency contact?" he clarified as he cleared his throat, his hands clutching his steering wheel for support as he tried to make sense of why he'd called her.

"Well, it's not like I have a lot of other options," she said in a dry laugh. "Why? Are you auditioning for the part?" she asked, and he could tell she was joking.

"You can put me down," he offered, his tone even and serious.

"Elliot…I was kidding," she clarified.

"Well, I'm serious, it's not a big deal if you need to put me down."

"I'll try to make sure you never have to come identify my body" she said, the job creeping into their conversation.

"Don't say that in our line of work," he said as he tried to push the sight from his mind. It was hard not to talk shop, but he always ended up regretting it.

"Sorry," she laughed, clearly hardened by the work they did.

"So that's a yes?"

"What?" she played dumb.

"You'll put me as your emergency contact?"

"Sure, if it will get you off this call and home to mow your lawn," she said as she reminded him that he should be home helping out his wife instead of worrying about her single status.

"One more thing…" he said before she could hang up on him.

"You have one minute, but I've got to get to my three recorded episodes of 'The Sopranos.'" she said, and he laughed internally. He tried to get Kathy to watch that show with him, but she'd told him she didn't like it because of the violence.

"As your emergency contact, maybe I should have a key to your apartment," he knew he was crossing several lines, but he couldn't get over the captain's comment about how their victim could have laid dead in her apartment for weeks if she hadn't been pushed through the window.

"I've seen you kick in doors. If you don't hear from me for a few weeks I think that will do," she said, and he was amazed at how quickly she could deflect. He hadn't even managed to leave her speechless for more than a second with his request.

"I'd never use it, we'd never talk about it again, it would be strictly for emergencies. Does anyone have a key to your place, your mother? What if you get sick or fall in the shower or something?"

"First of all, I'm not 80 years old, and my mother does not have a key, and I don't get sick."

"Everyone gets sick."

"Elliot…"

"It would make me feel better," he confessed in a lower tone. He'd spent a year with her now. He had a loyalty to her that extended outside the job. She needed to stay safe so she could do their job. It was reasonable, his request was reasonable. Mostly.

"I'll think about it," she said, and he could hear her swallow.

"It just makes sense, for security," he swallowed.

"For security," she repeated, and he could hear the edge in her voice.

"Enjoy the Sopranos."

"Get to fixing that garbage disposal," she said, and he chuckled against the phone. He'd mentioned to her that the night before his son's turtle had been sacrificed to his poor plumbing.

"Goodnight, partner," he said as he clicked off the call that he never should have made.

A few days had passed, and he and Olivia watched in horror as the reality of the case unfolded before their eyes. Their victim had taken her own life as a result of the abuse she suffered at the hands of her father. He felt sick to his stomach. Two nights ago his wife had tried to console him, but she would never understand the horrors of his job. She wanted to talk about math tests and financing braces, and all he could think about was how there were men out there who raped- who raped women, who raped children, and sometimes, actually often, they raped their own children. It was enough to send him spiraling into dark places.

He could feel Olivia tense beside him as they listened to the victim's self-written eulogy, read to her abuser by her sister. Not a single man had done right by her in her entire life. He glanced at his partner and couldn't help but draw another similarity.

After the sister was done Olivia disappeared to the cribs, and he went to his desk to finish the closing paperwork on the case. He lifted the file to find a key staring back at him. He felt his stomach jump to his throat. He'd let it drop after the phone call, never mentioning another word the next day, knowing he'd probably crossed the line by even suggesting it. He'd wondered what made her decide- it must have been something over the course of the case.

The key had a small blue ribbon looped through the top. It was gold, and it looked new. She must have had to have it made. He let his finger brush the metal before he quickly slipped it into his pocket.

They never spoke of it again.

He found himself wandering into her living room, his eyes roaming over all the little things that make up the life he wasn't a part of. She didn't keep a lot of personal belongings, and it bothered him. He'd always wanted to buy her things, maybe she needed a new scarf or a coffee mug or a blanket. But they'd never exchanged gifts; it was another boundary that had to remain intact.

He bought his wife a lot of things: jewelry, flowers, gift cards to her favorite restaurants, a new vacuum cleaner every time the current one's motor gave out. He had lots of occasions to buy his wife things, too many occasions: birthday, Mother's Day, Christmas, anniversaries, and apologies. He had long ago run out of ideas, even allowing Olivia to pick up his slack and charge some blouses to his Sears card because he didn't have the first clue on what his wife would want anymore. He sat on Olivia's couch, looking at her little end tables that were occupied by dying plants, her throw pillows and blankets all over the couch, and he could tell she'd been sleeping on her coach because she had a glass of water, her current book, and her alarm clock sitting in the living room.

He placed his forehead in his hands. He'd dialed her cell phone too many times to count, and each time he was met with the same automated voice.

"We're sorry. The number you have reached has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

She'd really left without a word, and he had no way of reaching her. It had been two weeks. Each day he went into the squad room hoping to find her back at her desk. He'd just gotten her back. They'd closed one case after her return from Computer Crimes, and now she was gone again, except this time he couldn't take her to dinner and kiss her until she came back.

Perhaps it was taking her to dinner and kissing her that had sent her on a case with the feds without a word to him. He was thankful that she'd stopped him that night because he would have made a bigger mess out of their partnership.

He stood from her coach and began to near the door to her bedroom. He had no right. But he needed to be close to her. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted her to pick up her phone so he could tell her how his case was bothering him. The girl with Turner's syndrome was being taken advantage of by a pedophile, and there was nothing the legal system could do about it. He knew she'd understand how he felt.

He stepped into her bedroom, knowing that he shouldn't be there without an invitation. He'd sat at home, trying to talk himself out of it all evening, but he had no one to answer to, and he couldn't be alone in his apartment with his thoughts. He paced to her dresser; on top she had a tray with all her jewelry. It was strange to see it not attached to her body. She had little gold and silver hoops. Her necklaces were laid out flat. Her gold fearless necklace caught his eye. It worried him that she didn't have it, wherever she was. He picked it up and held it in his hand like it was his rosary.

He said a silent prayer that wherever she was, she was safe. He had a suspicion that if the feds pulled her, and her phone was disconnected that it meant they had her under. He hoped that whatever the operation was, it wasn't dangerous. He needed her to come back; he needed her to wear her necklace again. He took a ragged breath as he set it down. He paced to her closet and opened the door. He wanted to see if she had packed her clothes, but from what he could tell it didn't seem she had come back to her apartment at all. He slid the door on her closet to find a neat row of suits. He let his fingers brush the fabrics. The further down the line the clothes became more casual. He let his fingers trail the cottons. He looked up to her shelves to find jeans and boxes of shoes. He wondered which box had those heels she'd mentioned at dinner. At the bottom of her closet he saw a yoga mat, some photo boxes, bags, and a lockbox. He wanted to open the photo boxes, but he knew he shouldn't. He wondered if her lockbox code was his badge number.

He turned his body instead, to face her bed. Her bedspread was pulled back; the brown silk material reminded him of her eyes. Her room was dark and sensual, and he could tell it was her sanctuary. She had two lamps on either side of the bed, a few small decorations, and scented candles on her windowsill.

He didn't plan to return to his apartment, and he'd yet to find the comfort he came seeking. He took off his shoes and lowered his body onto her bed. He felt a little like the creeps they dealt with, but quickly shoved the thought away. He just needed to feel like there was still part of her here with him. He let his body fully sink into her mattress. He turned his face into her pillow, his fingers skimming her cotton sheets. He was enveloped in the smell of her laundry soap and her. He hugged her pillow and let himself get pulled into a steady, yet guilt-ridden sleep.

The Next Day

When he walked in the squad room, he found his wife sitting at his desk. She was holding the picture frame of him holding Maureen and Kathleen when they were little. She told him they needed to speak, and he knew this was coming. He'd been ignoring her for weeks.

"Why haven't you signed the divorce papers? It's been months, Elliot. You won't talk to me. You won't talk to my lawyer...The kids are asking if we're getting back together...I've run out of things to say."

"What do you want?"

"An answer"

"I don't know."

"Well, I guess that's an answer. Call your daughter," she stormed from the precinct, and he stood in the cribs feeling like a fool. Kathleen was angry with him because he'd made her break up with Kevin, a boyfriend he didn't even know she had until recently, because he was only seeing his kids on weekends. And that was what Kathy wanted him to sign his name to, a lifetime of being a part-time dad. The papers stipulated that she'd stay in the marital home and finish raising the children. He'd pay her alimony and child support, and he'd see the kids every other weekend for visitation. She'd have sole custody.

The papers detailed it so plainly. Kathleen Louise Stabler, Elizabeth Joy Stabler, and Richard Joseph Stabler, will remain in the custody of their mother Kathy Marie Stabler. He knew he could fight the stipulations, spend his entire retirement fund on financing a shark to help him win his kids, but what did he have to offer them? He wasn't going to kick his wife out of their home, and he couldn't afford a second place with enough room for all of them to live with him full time. It made the most logical sense that they stay at their home with their mother, but that didn't mean that signing them away would come easy to him.

Part of him was still hoping Kathy would take him back into their dead marriage so he could keep his kids. He didn't want to become a stranger to them, more than he already was.

When he walked out of the cribs, he found his Captain setting something on his desk.

"What's that, Cap?" he asked as he approached his desk.

"The Brass dropped these off, bunch of pictures from the banquet, thought you might want this one," Cragen said as he gestured to the framed photo of, he and Olivia from their first holiday banquet.

He picked up the frame and looked at their smiling faces. Her lips were dark red and grinning right at the camera. He had his arm around her, and she was leaning into him. He set it back down and squinted at his Captain.

"Any word on where she is?" he asked as he willed his voice to stay as even as possible.

"If I knew I'd tell you," his captain said as he clapped him on the shoulder and began to turn away.

"Oh Elliot, your new partner starts on Monday," Cragen said as his eyes flicked back to the framed photo of Olivia.

"But when Olivia comes back…" he began but his Captain cut him off.

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," he said. If. Elliot felt his chest tighten as he looked to the photo again. He didn't want a new partner; he wanted Olivia to come back from wherever she'd run off to.

Elliot found himself driving to her apartment instead of his once more. The picture frame sat in his passenger seat. He knew he should call Kathleen and apologize for his behavior, but he felt exhausted. All he wanted was to lay on top of Olivia's bedspread again.

He opened her door and instantly felt his muscles relax a little as he stepped inside her space. He carried the frame with him, setting the picture in her living room, hoping that she'd want to keep it there once she returned. She needed more personal belongings, and he'd thought maybe he'd found a way to give her one. It wouldn't be too incriminating because the department had given it to them. It wasn't like he'd printed it and framed it himself. He smiled at the sight of it sitting on her bookcase.

He moved once more into her bedroom. He realized he was more comfortable at her apartment than he was inside his own. He took off his shoes and considered taking off his jeans, but he knew he shouldn't. He sat on her bed, his eyes darting to her closet. He wanted to snoop more. He knew he had a problem with that. He was always getting in trouble with his kids for snooping through their things. He told himself he did it for their safety, but the truth was he just wanted to know everything there was to know about them. When they were first married, he used to creep through Kathy's things, and she told him he was paranoid. Over the years he'd stopped.

He couldn't help himself. He paced to the closet door, sliding it open from the opposite side this time. His eyes landed on a row of dresses. Some of them he recognized from various undercover operations. Most of them were black. Some of them he'd never seen before though; they were casual. The kinds of dresses you would wear to walk through Central Park on a spring day or the kind of thing Kathy wore when they took the kids to the beach. He pulled one out, the red cotton ruffled and printed with little flowers. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to picture her in something so carefree and simple. He wondered if she'd ever worn it or if it was a gift, she hadn't had time to return. He checked for the tag; there was none. He lifted the fabric to his nose and inhaled. It smelled like laundry soap which meant she'd worn it and washed it at some point.

It bothered him that she'd worn this dress, and he hadn't seen her in it. She was this whole person outside of work that he didn't get to know, he wanted to know that Olivia. He carefully placed the dress back in its spot so she wouldn't know he'd touched it. His mind flashed to thoughts of some other man taking it off her, and he felt his shoulders tense. He dropped to his knees as he reached for her photo box. He knew it was an invasion, but he wanted to know everything about her. She could yell at him if she ever decided to come back. He opened the lid to find a messy gathering of photos and clippings. He reached for a small stack, realizing that there was no organization, just small fragments of her life thrown into a dusty and forgotten box.

The first few photos were likely from college. She was in groups with other girls, her hair was three times the length it had been when she'd first started working with him, but the same shade of dark brown. Her face was young and full of light. In one photo she was sitting on a twin XL bed with her bare legs resting on the back of a desk chair, a Pink Floyd t-shirt tied above her navel. She was throwing a peace sign and it made him laugh. He turned it over to see she'd written in sharpie on the back. Freshman move in. Her handwriting looked different when it wasn't on DD-5 forms.

He flipped through more college era photos, becoming more and more surprised by the beauty and femininity she kept under such tight wraps on the job. He wondered when she decided to be a cop, because at nineteen she looked so carefree, a far cry from the serious and guarded woman he knew. The further he dug through the box the younger she became.

His fingers stilled on a polaroid where she was no more than twelve. She was standing with the San Francisco skyline behind her, and he couldn't help but notice how sad she looked. She was holding a gift shop bag. He assumed her mother must have snapped the polaroid because it was blurry. He could barely see the browns of her eyes, only the frown on her face. Below it was her prom photo. She had on a red dress, permed hair, and a lackluster date standing behind her.

He dug deeper until he came across a picture where she couldn't have been more than five. She was grinning into the camera, chocolate cake crumbs on the corners of her mouth. She had a party hat tangled in her unkempt dark curls. Her hair was wavy as a child, and it occurred to him that she never wore her natural hair. He wondered why, when it was so beautiful. Her little face was charged with sugar and happiness. He'd wondered for so long what she had looked like as a child. He held the photo closer to his face and wondered how someone so pure could have come from the pain they dealt with every day. Her child eyes looked at him, burning him with the reminder that no matter how bad he wanted to, he couldn't go back and protect that baby, tell her that when she learned about her conception that it shouldn't change how she saw herself through those eyes of hers. He could only know her now, the woman who had learned to keep everyone out. He turned the photo over to find her writing once more- my first and last birthday party.

Several Weeks Later

Dani Beck didn't care about the victims. He could respect her as a cop; she was a damn good one, but she saw right through the victims, could only focus on the collar. He'd come to appreciate things about Dani despite that. She wore casual clothes, and she didn't mess around. Her energy was different. She filled the space at Olivia's desk across from his, and he was surprised that after a month or so of working with her, he'd started to look up and expect to see her there instead of Olivia. In his mind it was still Olivia's desk, and he still told himself everyday it was temporary, but he was beginning to be okay with her settling in a little. She kept a picture frame of her dead husband on the desk.

They talked about that, about how she'd lost her husband. They had been sitting in her car, which was her husband's car, and she told him how he was shot in the head while on the job. The whole conversation reminded him of the time when Olivia told him the truth of her childhood on an early morning stake out. The difference was he'd only been working with Beck for a few weeks, and she'd completely opened up to him, nine years had passed with Olivia, and he was still uncovering the depths of who she was and what she kept hidden. He kept that picture of her with her party hat on, set it on her nightstand when he slept in her bed. He hadn't been back to her apartment in a week or so because he told himself he couldn't keep doing it. He missed the smell of her sheets. Dani sharing her struggles served to be a decent distraction from Olivia. Despite missing the warmth of her bedroom, he found himself surviving through the night in the confines of his own apartment walls.

He'd started wearing jeans and cotton t-shirts. Dani told him it would help him run faster. He figured maybe change was a good thing.

"How long were you with your old partner?" Dani had asked and the phrase old partner sounded strange coming from her mouth, but then he began saying it himself as the months on the calendar ticked by.

"My old partner was a product of rape," he'd said as emotion brimmed his eyes. He wasn't sure why discussing her truth always killed him inside. Dani didn't understand how a mother could choose to keep the child of her rapist, and he immediately felt his fists clench in defense of his partner, his Olivia. He thought about that picture of her smiling five-year-old face, he thought about all the good she'd done working this job for so long, and he thought about how altered his life would have been if Serena Benson had the choice of an abortion all those years ago. Maybe it was the Catholic in him, but every life had worth, and although he agreed with a woman's right to choose, he would forever be grateful that Serena Benson didn't have the choice.

Dani asked him to go with her to confront her husband's killer. He stood in the corner of the holding cell as she said her piece to a man who was practically a teenager, a reckless and selfish young man who'd upended her life. He felt for his new partner. She was motivated by collaring as many killers as she could in the name of her husband. She had the right to be angry over her loss. He felt bad for what she was going through. He felt it necessary to support her in her quest for closure, just as he'd gone with Olivia to find the man who could have been her mother's rapist. It was what a good partner did. But as he stood there, he realized that while he wanted to support Dani, he didn't feel for her.

When he looked at Dani, he saw an attractive woman with a mission, but he didn't see himself reflected back in her eyes. They worked well together, but she didn't mirror his movements like she had control over his limbs. When she was angry, his blood was even. He liked getting to know her, but he didn't need to know her. When he'd shaken her hand for the first time, he didn't feel like he was being reintroduced to someone he'd been missing his whole life.

When she spoke to the man who killed her husband, his heart didn't break. He was able to stand there and be there if she needed him. He realized that while he'd become swept up in the distraction of getting to know a new partner, he would never be connected to her in the way he was with Olivia. He liked Dani Beck a lot; he'd never love her.

He'd avoided her apartment for almost three weeks. His senses had acclimated to not having her scent to fall asleep. But after going with Dani to the jail, he needed to feel close to Olivia again. Dani had asked if he wanted to get drinks, and he could see the glint in her eyes. He knew that she could probably kiss him after two beers and end up taking him to bed in order to fill the void her husband had left. He knew he couldn't do it to either of them. They'd both be using each other in place of who they really wanted, even if the thought of having a warm body did seem enticing. It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone. Olivia was the last woman he'd kissed. He wanted to kiss her again.

He pulled back her comforter, allowing his body to slip under it. It was another step further into her space that he didn't have the right to take. He laid on his back, his eyes fixed on her ceiling. He watched the shadows of passing cars from her bedroom window reflect onto the dark walls. He turned to pick up her photo on her nightstand, his eyes falling to the nightstand drawer.

He shouldn't, he couldn't, he wouldn't. He rolled back onto his back, turning her childhood photo upside down.

Ten minutes passed before he gave in and opened her drawer. He was going to hell. Staring back at him was an assortment of items: Some candles, Chapstick, a pile of bookmarks, a small box of condoms, a pack of birth control pills, a vibrator, a pink leather-bound journal, and a few loose pens.

His mind was reeling. He reached first for the pack of pills. He was treating her drawer like he was going through a crime scene, looking for all the small details. The pharmacy pick up date was from over nine months ago, and she'd stopped taking them half-way through the month. He realized all his fears about her showing up pregnant weren't unfounded. She'd probably stopped taking the pills for a reason. He quickly tossed the pack back where he found them, his eyes moving to the sleek purple vibrator, which was half wrapped in a scrap of velvet.

He felt his cheeks flush. He'd never seen one outside of their work. His wife would never own one or admit to owning one. If she had one, she'd kept it hidden for twenty years. But Olivia kept hers next to her bookmarks like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. He tried to rid his mind from visuals of her using it as he turned his attention to her journal. He picked it up and turned back onto his back.

He knew reading someone's journal was the ultimate intrusion; his daughters had told him so much, but if he couldn't hear her voice, at least he could read her words. He felt the weight of the book in his hands, his thumbs skimming the faux leather as he thought about how un-Olivia the pink seemed, even the notion of her keeping a diary seemed un-Oliva. He opened the cover. She had her name written on the top corner of the inside cover. Olivia M. Benson and the date 1997. He realized the journal was from before their first year as the inside cover she had taped fortune cookie slips. He smiled as he touched them. She always held onto those things, every time they ordered take out in the squad-room. She probably had a hundred of them in her desk drawer, or had a hundred, before Cragen pushed them all into a box that sat in his office, waiting for her to return and claim them once more. The three on the inside of her cover said,

"Fear and desire-two sides of the same coin."

"Fearless courage is the foundation of victory."

"A faithful friend is a strong defense."

He wondered what about those specifically spoke to her, and he wondered when she had taped them inside. He shamelessly wondered if some of them had to do with him.

He turned the first page to find pages full of writing, all dated before her start at SVU. She mentioned a breakup with a journalist. He found himself laughing in the silence of her bedroom at her internal monologues. He could hear her voice so clearly as he read her inked words. He touched the letters and could feel how her pen had indented the paper. He kept turning until he arrived at entries dated 1998. He read about all her apprehensions and desires to join the unit. She talked about the heat wave the summer before she started, and he thought it was funny that before she came to work at SVU she had time to write about the weather in her diary. She was funny, all her jokes and quips on the pages. Then he found the entry from her first day at SVU.

September 1998

"Dear Diary, I felt so nervous walking into the crown jewel of the NYPD, and then I had the pleasure of being introduced to detective Cassidy and Munch. I thought, this has to be a mistake. This can't be SVU, maybe traffic enforcement, or post office security. Then the captain introduced me to the man who I'd be partnered with. We shook hands and he looked at me like I was going to be a problem for him. I guess he's probably not thrilled about breaking in a rookie. I hope I can show him that I'm meant to do this job. The first thing I noticed was that he was attractive, probably not the best thing to be thinking right out of the gates, especially since he is very married and probably a Republican," he found himself laughing again as he read her first impressions of him, then he was overcome with the realization that it had all be there, it had all been there, right from the minute their hands clasped. He knew he should stop reading, but he was hooked. he'd never read an entire book in his whole life, but he'd read anything she'd written.

"His name is Elliot Stabler. It's a nice name, a lot better than Munch. I think it's funny how nice Elliot and Olivia sound together. My last partner's name was Patrick. Anyways, for my first day I accompanied Elliot on a victim's statement. Hearing details of a rape was harder than I'd expected. I thought I'd played it cool, but Elliot patted my shoulder and said, 'there's no crying in baseball,' I would have written him off as an asshole if he hadn't offered to take me to lunch. Over some greasy pizza he asked if I was married. He told me his kids' names, Maureen, Kathleen, Elizabeth and Richard. They go by Lizzie and Dickie though, which I think is kind of silly. I do like the name Elizabeth for a girl though. I'm writing their names down so I don't forget, I can tell they mean everything to him."

He turned the page. Her next entry was a month later.

October 1998

"Dear Diary, I got an invitation to April's wedding. I guess I'm happy for her. Everyone around me is married or getting married. I never admired marriages much, but my partner seems to make it work. He always talks about what he's going to do for his wife on the weekend. He's so domestic, he didn't even know what reverse cowgirl meant when a witness said it. I might just tell April that I'm too busy with work to go, I hate sentimental stuff, and if I'm going to put on a dress I might as well try to cultivate my own love life." He recalled her explaining to him what reverse cowgirl was on the drive back to the stationhouse; he'd felt like an idiot the entire drive. He turned more pages. She'd left some blank or maybe some had been ripped out. Her next entry was from 1999.

August 1999

"Dear Diary, I gave Elliot a key to my place. God help us if he ever uses it." He couldn't help but feel like an Olivia from the past was speaking to him now as he laid in her bed and fulfilled her prophecy inked on the page. God help them.

October 1999

"Dear Diary, I slept with Brian Cassidy, he didn't even make me come, men really aren't good for anything." The laugh made his chest rise, the joy filling him before he noticed that her entries had become shorter. He wondered if it had to do with time or if she felt like there were things that she couldn't even admit to the pages of her diary anymore.

February 2000

"Dear Diary, it's my 31st birthday, Elliot did my paperwork and brought me a coffee, I drink the stuff now, it's making my teeth yellow. I'm afraid I'm getting old; I have some lines around my eyes that weren't there last year. I'm not sure if it's the job or simply age. Some days I don't feel attractive anymore. I know people find me attractive, except maybe my partner, he never takes the bait when people make comments about me, maybe he doesn't see me that way, he shouldn't, I guess I should be grateful that he doesn't look at me like that. I don't think he even knows I'm a woman on most days, just his partner." He wasn't sure how she could have written this because he was pretty sure the entire first year of their partnership, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He wished he could go back and tell her how beautiful he thought she was, he'd always thought that, he'd always seen it. It never occurred to him that Olivia would have all the same insecurities that every other woman did. She needed to be told that she was pretty. He added it to the list of things he needed to make right when she returned.

February 2001

"Dear Diary, my mother died. I wish I had more to say." He looked at the messily scrawled letters and wished she had written more so he could understand her better, but perhaps the brevity gave him more insight than length. Olivia didn't know how to talk about the things that hurt her heart. His thumb flicked through the pages with the horrible realization that she'd stopped writing. He hated to think that he contributed to the silence. He was about to close the book when the back page revealed some hidden writing, the page was dated 2006 in the top corner. It was a list with two columns. Boys Names: Ethan, Owen, Landon, Lucas, Jude. Girls names: Violet, Christine, Aubrey, Emilie, Emmie, Madison, Malia.

One Week Later

He turned his body, so he was cornering her into the jeep, his fingers reaching for her waist as he kissed her. He was kissing Dani Beck. He was kissing her because it was simple. She didn't hang up on him after months of waiting to hear from her. She didn't hide her heart from him. She wasn't precious to him. He wasn't sure he'd ever kiss Olivia again, so he was kissing Dani Beck because he knew the failure of their partnership wouldn't cost him everything. He was kissing her because after six months of knowing nothing, his heart and mind and mouth needed a better distraction. Then their phones beeped.

Later that night, after she'd fired her gun, he'd offered to take her home, and she'd turned him down. He went and sat at a bar for a few hours alone, only nursing one beer. Then he decided to drive home. He knew he'd dodged a bullet. He was being inconsiderate and desperate, trying to start something with his temporary partner. Even if she wasn't temporary, she felt temporary in his mind. If he was being honest with himself, he was devastated when Olivia hung up his call. He'd only wanted to know she was safe, and she couldn't even manage a word before shutting him out. Fin had gotten to speak to her.

What had he been thinking? Kissing Dani when he still had his divorce to sort out and Olivia. He needed to make it right with Olivia, and all he was doing was screwing up further. He hadn't been back to her apartment since the night he read her diary. He'd seen the list of her baby names and he fell asleep to visions of a little girl with dark brown curls and blue eyes. That was when he knew for sure he was in way over his head. He couldn't show up for the kids he already had, he'd decided to call a divorce attorney to negotiate the papers, and now he was picturing what his and Olivia's child would look like? He needed to stay away from her because he couldn't give her what she deserved. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He could kiss Dani Beck and make a bigger mockery out of the restraint he reserved only for Olivia. He needed to stay away; he'd only hurt her again and again. He didn't deserve her.

He took a sharp turn towards her apartment, knowing he'd never be immune to needing her when he was lost.

As soon as he stepped inside, he could sense something had shifted. He closed the door quietly as his eyes canvassed how objects had been moved. She'd been here. She was back. He felt his stomach plummet through the four-floor walkup. She was back. How long? He hadn't come for a week, had she been back all this time without calling him? She would know he had been here by the picture frame and the wrinkles in her sheets. Would she have not called him?

He walked to her bedroom, his pulse hammering against his neck. He leaned against her door frame, and he peered inside. Sure enough, her body was lying on the bed, the side he'd slept on all the months she'd been gone. Gone. She'd been gone, and now she was back. Right before his eyes. He could make out the outline of her shape under her bedspread. She was so still; he could barely make out the rustle of her breathing. Her long hair was fanned over her pillow, her hip curving as she slept on her side.

He lingered as he watched her sleeping. It concerned him that she hadn't woken when someone had entered her apartment, but he knew she was a deep sleeper, even in the cribs he'd have to call out her name a few times before she'd stir awake, or maybe some subconscious part of her knew that her intruder was only him. He pushed himself off her door frame and walked towards her bed. She was like gravity, pulling him towards her.

"Liv," he whispered, and she stirred, turning from her side to her back. He took his shoes off and his jacket, the noise causing her eyes to open. He was wearing a grey cotton long-sleeve and his jeans. He moved towards the side of the bed, pulling back her bedspread as he took in the sight of her grey cotton pajama shorts and white tank top. Her skin was bronzed. Wherever she had been, there had been sun. She looked the same and entirely different. He had her back, right below his eyes.

"Lay with me," she said through sleep, her words breathy and tired. She spoke the words like she'd been expecting him. He slipped off his jeans, leaving him in his boxers, because he didn't want the denim to be rough against her exposed skin. He lowered himself over her, allowing his weight to press against her. He wanted to trap her under him, to assure himself that she wasn't going to disappear again. She murmured as he settled against her. He could feel the soft skin of her thighs against him and the heat of her body radiating around him, pulling him down. He let his hands cage either side of her head, the weight of his chest pressing into her smaller body, as he took in the sight of her. Her hair was darker and longer, and she had bangs cut across her forehead. He let a finger brush the bangs and that caused her eyes to open below him.

"I was so worried, Liv," he said as his finger continued to stroke the small pieces of hair. He moved his hands from around her head, down her shoulders and to her sides as he rose slightly off of her. He looked down at her body, trying to convince his mind that no harm had come to her. She was whole and safe beneath him. Six months, he hadn't seen her in six months.

"I'm sorry," she said as her eyes tried to stay open, "I'll tell you everything…tomorrow," she added as her lashes rested on her cheeks once more.

"Can you breathe with me on top of you?" he asked as he let a thumb stroke her cheek.

"I like you on top of me," she whispered, and he leaned down and kissed her mouth softly. He knew he shouldn't when he'd just kissed Dani hours before, but he wanted to right that wrong. He never should have kissed Dani, when all he'd truly wanted was Olivia.

Olivia's lips were slightly ajar in her half-awake state. She grinned against his mouth "You have a lot of explaining in the morning too," she said into his kisses, and he knew their peace would be fleeting- it would rise out of his grasp with the morning sun. But for now, he had this moment with her, and he wasn't going to let her go. She wrapped her arms around his back, pulling his chest back to hers, her legs parting so his pelvis could rest by her knees, his belly cradled by her hips.

"I'm glad you're safe," he said as he peppered kisses down her neck. "And warm" he added, "And home," he finished as he rested his mouth against her collar bones. When she didn't say anything, he looked up to find her eyelashes resting against her flushed cheeks. His kisses must have been warming her even more. He moved his palm to her neck to feel her pulse, the steady thrumming of her lifeline.

"I missed you," he added as he laid his cheek against the swell of her breasts. Her body gave him so much ease. Her palms were feather light against the backs of his rib cage as she embraced him in her sleep. He felt her breathing deepen, the rise and fall of her chest taking all the tension from his mind. He'd never laid with a woman in this way before, not his mother when he was a child, or his wife when he was a man. He'd never been held like this before, so surrounded, so enveloped, so attached. Olivia was this end and beginning that he couldn't fully fathom. He kept brushing his mouth over the tops of her breasts, barely kissing her, just grazing her as she slept, tasting the skin he'd missed, as he finally spoke the truth into the breastbone that guarded her heart.

"I love you."