A/N: so I've given us a terrible tease in this chapter! and there's still lots of emo angst, lol. sry about that. Hopefully things will move toward resolution sometime soon, but we'll see how it goes. I don't really have a plan for this at all, have no idea where it's going or for how long. Suggestions/comments would be much appreciated! Kathy will most likely have to make an appearance here coming up, which I'm dreading. Oh, and you'll probably figure it out, I had the different voices written in different fonts for clarification but wouldn't you know this thing doesn't hold those edits, so I've used the "x's" in a row to be a POV change and the "c's" to symbolize a separation/break of sorts in the same character line. This chapter is mostly from Elliot's POV, so enjoy! r&r u know the dril!

TangoSVU

(p.s. the song is "Adore her" by Mandy Moore. -wink-)

She has to get out of here. The walls keep closing in no matter which floor she sits on. It's making her crazy and she has to be rational. She needs to be a cop. She needs to get over this. She will get over this. She has to, because it was nothing, because it didn't matter, because nothing happened.

She needs to get out of here.

That's the only thing she can think anymore. It's the only thing she can allow herself to think anymore. Thinking is dangerous; thinking leads to reflections and memories that she can't handle. Memories that she can't face alone. She knows this doesn't make sense, she knows she's stronger than all of this. But the shadows inside of her apartment have kept her nerves on edge. She'll go running, or head to the gym to work out. Yes, that's what she'll do. Because she just needs out of here. Then everything will go back to normal.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She likes chocolate in the morning. Dark. It has to be dark, her favorite. None of that fake milk stuff. She drinks her coffee late at night. No, he corrects himself. It's tea now, he knows that. Chamomile, with the little flower inside. She drinks her tea late at night. Why does that phrase sound so familiar to him? It's a song, that's right. Kathleen used to put it on repeat. What was the rest of it? He can only recall scattered pieces. "You can sense that she is guarded, but that's alright." And it is; it is alright. Everything will be alright as long as they're together. "She loves to watch the sunset, but she's partial to the rain." This is true, because she's always been his sunset, only she thinks she's the rain. It's what she can relate to, all she grew up in, all she's known. "Can't you just adore her?" But he does, he already does. He's not sure when, but, God help him, he always has. He's not sure she knows it though, and that's inherently the problem.

She hasn't come to work today. It's already mid-afternoon and her desk is still empty. But there wasn't a case assigned last night and Olivia never misses work. That's not who she is. Only she's not herself lately and he knows it. "Cap," he calls, poking his head into the office space. "Where's Liv today?"

Cragen takes the half-chewed stick of licorice out of his mouth. "I was just about to ask you that."

"I'll call her," Elliot responds, reaching for the cell at his side. "She probably overslept." Only no one is biting the excuse because Olivia is never late, she doesn't oversleep. In fact, with all she's gone through – and how dark the circles underneath her eyes were the last time he'd seen her – she probably hasn't slept in awhile at all.

Her apartment phone just rings and rings. She's never had an answering machine – even though she's never home (does she call it home?) – because everyone who ever needs to find her has her cell number, which he tries next. But it goes right to voicemail, meaning it's off. Olivia never turns her phone off. Regardless of the cost to herself, she ensures that she is immediately and permanently available to each and every victim to cross her path, even for a moment. Something must've happened. There has to be a grand misunderstanding. She would've told him; she should've told him everything already.

That's it. He's done. He's given her enough time by now. No more screwing around. He was going to fix things like he should've all along. He was going to fix them with her, for her. Only first he has to find her. So without even a nod to Cragen or one of the other detectives, he yanks up his jacket and stomps out of the station.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Like Mother, like Daughter. Like Mother, like Daughter. It swirls through her head like a horrid mantra and she hates it, god she hates it so much, but she's afraid to push it out because it has to be better than the other things she's had stuck in her head recently. The alcohol should be helping with that, only it's not. She lifts the glass to her lips again and lets the cool rim rest against her teeth before the bitter sting of the liquid travels down her throat. Vodka. Serena's favorite. Olivia has always been satisfied with a nice cold beer – yet another example of how much she is like "just one of the guys". She doesn't know why she's drinking vodka tonight. Doesn't know how she ended up here, in the Velvet Room of all places, and certainly not this early in the goddamn morning. She didn't know there were any bars even open before lunch.

But she couldn't go home, after her workout. She couldn't sleep, couldn't face the shadows. So she wandered the city. Wandered it like she didn't care, strutting through bad neighborhood after bad neighborhood with her head held high like she wasn't scared, hands in her pockets like she had nothing to fear in being casual, only beneath her fingers she held tight to her gun. Cragen hadn't asked for it back. She knows she didn't actually leave, even though she hasn't been to work today, but policy would've suggested it. She wonders if he should've…

Death isn't on her mind today though. She's thinking about life, specifically her mom's. The more vodka she swallows the more she wonders, why this? Why did this smell permeate her every childhood memory? What made her mom like this so much? What was it that she found in the vodka that she couldn't find anywhere else, not even in her own daughter? Serena was raped; she gave birth to Olivia. These are facts Olivia has known for decades, but even with the harsh reality of her job, they have never seemed real until now. Serena was raped, and she started drinking vodka. Now here Olivia is after everything, drinking vodka and what does that say? What does that mean?

Nothing. Nothing. It means nothing. Olivia places the shot back down on the counter, hard, as if that will clear her mind and motions to the bartender for another. She's lost count of how many it's been now, of how long she's sat here, but the bartender keeps looking at her and shaking his head and she doesn't like that. He keeps refilling though, so she stays. No one worth going home to after all. Like Mother, like daughter.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She's not at her apartment, or the gym, or the grocery store. It's almost dark by now but he still hasn't found her. She's not in any of the places she usually is and that scares him. New York is a big city. He of all people should know that if someone wants to get lost here, they can. He stops on the street corner, hand raised onto the back of his head. Maybe I should check the hospitals, he thinks, and then quickly shoves the thought away. She probably just went for a walk in Central Park. She did that for awhile after her ADA friend was murdered there, way back in the beginning before they even had Alex. Liv was always the kind of person to do that: hold the memory of a person so close their habits sometimes became her own. Just like she will walk beside him in tandem, neither one of them speaking because they already know what the other is thinking.

Suddenly his phone rings just as Elliot is about to head in that direction. "Detective Stabler," he says, hoping it's her but instinctively knowing it isn't, remembering she answers her cell that way too, formal, like it is her work phone and she is just a Detective, as if that is her only sense of identity.

"Are you Elliot Stabler?" The unfamiliar voice replies.

"Who's asking?"

"Look," it's gruff, irritated. "There's this chick here at my bar and she's practically passed out. I looked through her purse and this is the only number I could find. You wanna come pick her up or am I gonna hafta dump her out on the street?"

Elliot doesn't even need a description to know who it is. Inside he's begging, Hang on Liv, I'm coming for you. He climbs hurriedly into his car, resisting the urge to be a cop and ask the man why the hell he was going through Olivia's purse at all. "What's the address?"

ccccccccccccccccc

The artificial glow from the bar sign is blinding him as he tries to read it. She's at the Velvet Room. Why is that name sending bells ringing through his ears? Whatever, it doesn't matter right now. All that matters is her.

He pushes inside and crosses the relatively small room as fast as he can considering the shock his eyes are receiving due to the sudden darkness. It smells of mold and body odor, and probably other things he doesn't ever want to identify. He doesn't understand how she ended up here but he sees her there – lulled over the countertop – reaches her in an instant. "Liv,"

She looks up at him – something he abruptly realizes he's missed because it's been so long since she has dared to meet his eyes – but the sparkle he's used to has disappeared, replaced by a dull glaze. "Oh hey there Elliot," she slurs with some kind of ridiculous hand movement that goes nowhere and means nothing. She's plastered, her breath proves it if nothing else.

"Why didn't you come to work today?" He snaps. He didn't mean to, hadn't planned on it, but he does. Even in her state she doesn't miss it.

She takes a swig from a glass that looks like it's been empty for an hour and blinks at him. "What's the matter, Stabler? Can't hack it without me?"

Cool down, Elliot. He tells himself, taking a deep breath – but not too deep and not through his nose for obvious reasons. Time and place, just get her out of here. "Let's go. Can you walk?"

"Do I look like I'm in a wheelchair to you? Of course I can walk." But just shifting on the stool has her stumbling. Elliot barely catches her.

He pulls her to her feet and, with a nod to the bartender, places a bill amidst the fifteen odd shot glasses. What was she trying to do, drink herself into a stupor? Enough is enough. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

The alcohol has made her brave, or maybe stupid. She wraps an arm around his neck and buries her nose into his chest. The contact makes his heart jump. "My hero, rescuing the damsel in distress."

"What distress?" his tone has gone soft with surprise at her sudden change in demeanor as he leads her through the back, up the stairs and into the alley.

She makes a strained gasp, tightening up and planting her feet solidly – quite amazing actually, considering she can barely walk. "Liv, what's wrong?" but she can't answer him. She only turns her face away from the stairs with her hand over her nose and mouth to keep the tears at bay. The issue strikes him as his brain connects the dots. The Velvet Room. Her mother took her last binge here; died by falling down those stairs. "Oh Liv, why here?" he mutters, moving to take her out the front instead.

She's like molding clay in his arms. He must have over half her weight until he gets her into the passenger seat of his car. But when he reaches across her to buckle her seatbelt she grabs his collar and – as if it answers either question – pulls his face close until her lips meet his ear with an expulsion of air.

Nothin'. He hears it distinctly, but just the same he's not sure if it's from the present or a memory of the past. Doesn't know if she needs to say it or if she needs him to believe it so she can believe it herself. The drive to her place is filled with nothing but silence.

ccccccccccccccccc

When he gets her inside she collapses like jello onto her couch. But she's still clutching to his shirt and the force knocks him off balance so that he's tumbling too, barely able to twist himself so that he doesn't land directly on top of her. Before he can right himself, she plants a kiss – hot and sloppy – across his mouth. She sucks the air from deep within his lungs as if his carbon dioxide is the only thing that will be able to sustain her. And he wants that to be the case, wants this so badly, but he can't. He can't. Not now. Not yet. Energy pulses through his veins as he tugs himself away, trying to ignore that for what it was – an effect of the alcohol – and nothing more.

"You're drunk, Olivia." He states angrily – with reluctance – then gets up, goes into the kitchen and brings her a cup of water with two aspirin. "Take these or you'll regret it later." She still looks stunned from his seeming lack-of-interest. If only…

He watches her swallow with a grimace and then takes the glass when she hands it back to him. "I'll tell Cragen you're taking tomorrow off, but that's all you get and don't you dare bite my ass for it later."

"No!" She shouts, only it's more like a whine or still yet a child's helpless plea really, wrapping her delicate fingertips – yet in reality they're calloused so how can that be? He doesn't know, but they are. They are the most delicate feminine thing he's ever touched – around his wrist to keep him from leaving.

"Liv, what happened? Why are you acting like this?" Elliot sighs.

She purses her lips but hasn't let go of him. "Please El, I just, I don't want to be alone."

It's the sadness that stops him. She sounds… broken. God, he just wants to know what happened so he can fix it! Can she not see that trying to hide it is just killing everyone?

But even though he knows tonight is not the night for confessions, he gives in, sitting down beside her. Immediately she places her head across his lap and by the time he begins to run his fingers through her hair – hesitantly – she's already asleep. Maybe it's better that way, he rationalizes, and even though it's shorter than he likes, he keeps playing with her hair. His sleeping beauty.