A/N: I know, I know, as usual, shame on me, it's been 4ev. I won't give you the excuses, they're probably not efficient or whatever. So anyway, update, yay! Again, I think I've taken us on a slightly different path than you would expect, but just trust me, you'll feel comfortable with it soon! No worries. I plan on including integral scenes from the newest Season 10 epis but haven't quite gotten there yet, especially since I have no real set time for when any part in this story is occurring, beside after Undercover (go figure, haha). We'll see. Oh! I've been watching the very early seasons of SVU – which I thought I knew pretty well – but turns out there's lots of things I'd forgotten! For one, there are sssooo many great playful banter kind of E/O moments. Where has that all gone these last few years? Sheesh! And for another, so many character defining things were set into motion if you pay attention to them (which I have, haha), and as such, you will see a lot more things alluding back to certain episodes as this story continues. If you can't remember which epi it's from, just ask. Maybe I'll remember! XD. Besides the DVDs though, I gained a lot of helpful ideas from some other great FF authors here! So I'd like to thankkaitco for her storyMy Salvationand ESPECIALLYMousie962 andMaddyMfor their absolutely BEAUTIFUL and AMAZING storyProximity, which is actually on svufanfiction dot net but well worth the mention here. If you haven't read that yet, you are sorely missing out. Anyway, enough of this banter, enjoy!

TangoSVU

He drops her off at her apartment, waits like he always has until she flicks the lights. He doesn't see her the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. Cragen's glare is enough to stop him from asking the questions he's dying to know, and nobody else in the department knows anything either. It's been nearly four days since he's seen her, and he's used to seeing her nearly 24 hours a day. He calls but she doesn't pick up. He leaves message after message on her cell full of his concern (and pathetic attempts at humor, tinges of anger and eventually apathy – and yes, he realizes how that makes him look) but she doesn't call back. He's worried that he pushed her too hard, made her go too far too soon. But really what he's worried about, is that he doesn't know if she'll be coming back at all. Not counting the fed job, she'd left once before, of her own free will, and it was hard enough knowing she could waltz back in any moment. If she left by force, however… He stops himself there. He just can't imagine doing this job without her.

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She hasn't been suspended, officially. Cragen had called before Elliot had even found her, telling her not to even bother to show up at the squad room anytime soon except to drop off her badge and gun. She did that late the next night, at a time when she knew he wouldn't be around. She placed them on his chair where they were invisible to the outside eye, but to her own it felt like the whole world was watching this silent interplay. By some miracle Asher's parents had yet to file a lawsuit, and she didn't even want to imagine what kind of finagling Cragen and/or Casey had had to do to arrange that. But she'd still been shunned. No, she'd displaced herself, by not keeping in control of things.

And that's how it always works for her. Whenever she needs it most (whatever it is: be it company, something to do, comfort, support, etc. etc. etc.), it is never there, and not because it has disappeared or been taken away from her so much as it is because of the uncanny ability she has to sever any sort of ties without even trying. She just seems to have this knack for effortlessly destroying the things that stabilize her. She's been doing it since she was born.

Take her mom for instance. The moment Olivia was conceived, she'd torn her mother's heart apart. There was no way she could truly love her daughter, even on those rare days when Serena had actually tried. Olivia remembers a time when her mother had hugged her, tried to console her. But the instant she'd started kissing away her young daughter's tears she'd had to break away. Serena ran into the bathroom and spat into the sink before brushing her teeth. She'd looked at Olivia then, a mix of anger and fear and all around disgust, and not for the first time. Then she'd climbed into the shower to wash away any traces of being a mother while Olivia sat on the stoop just staring at her bleeding knee.

She'd had this teacher once too, in middle school, who refused to be blinded by her sarcastic wit and would glance at her questioningly when she'd show up with a new bruise or cut and, in general, just gave her extra attention in comparison to the other kids in class. Olivia'd always been a smart kid, trying to compensate for all the wrongs her life had already caused or something, but that teacher worried her. She'd started to trust Ms. Allen, which made her vulnerable. Olivia cut the class the rest of the year and took it with a different teacher over summer school. There's no telling how her life would've been different if that teacher had discovered the truth behind everything.

Then she had to consider her fiancé. She'd finally found someone who loved her as she was, the only person that would call on her birthday just to say "I'm glad you were born!" even though her mother refused to celebrate it. He had tried to protect her. They had shared each other's secrets. She was only sixteen but she was ready for a different life, assured that she'd found her soul mate. He'd been her first. But she'd ruined that too, just by choosing the guy she did: a student in one of the graduate classes her mother taught. Ultimately, he'd chosen his reputation and his grade (not to mention avoiding the threat of jail time) over his love for her. By now, she can't even be sure it was really love at all. Too much has changed.

And then there was the job. She wanted to help people, wanted to use her athletic abilities and her knowledge to help prevent crimes. But the people she kept seeing were already too damaged. Soon she'd realized that it was only the children she could try to save, whether directly or through their parents. So she'd requested a transfer to the Special Victims Unit. Her past came out, as those things always do, and even though she hadn't actually planned it that way, it brought her so many steps closer to solving her mother's case. Surely then Serena would forgive her; surely then Olivia would've paid her dues. Truthfully, she'd wanted to figure out who she was too, something she thought finding her father could do. But that only set her up for failure and disappointment, and over the years the crimes just became worse not better; the victims more haunting. Everything was personal; her whole soul was always at stake. Soon it wasn't just a job. She no longer kept in contact with college classmates, much less any friends outside the unit. She didn't have time for serious dating and rarely even slept in her own damn apartment. No, it wasn't just a job, it became her life. It still is. It's all she has. It made her go too far, risk too much, and now she's lost control. Now there might not even be a job anymore. She threw away the only solid thing she had.

And from that angle all she can see is Elliot. He's left her a ton of messages, but she doesn't know how to respond to him so she hasn't picked up. There's too much between them now, but it has nothing to do with their last conversation. It just has to do with everything they've ever been through together or apart. He ties into the job, surely, but he's more than that, too. He was there at the start – he was the beginning – and no matter what happened (or didn't happen) in-between everything, she has no doubt, somehow, that he'll be the end, too. It was all very systematic; a cause and effect, perpetual kind of motion. She'd fought for his approval, at first. She'd been the young, naïve rookie. Almost perfectly so, rather like a real-life version of type-casting: she'd thrown up during cases, broken down crying (often in front of victims, no less), been overenthusiastic with the perps, injured her hands from taking it all out on the punching bag, pushed child witnesses too far, gone nights without sleep just to close a case and prove her dedication… she'd done it all. And she's never thought of their relationship as anything more than a great partnership, a trustworthy friendship, certainly never anything romantic. But as strange as it sounds, she doesn't ever remember not loving him, either. She needs him to make sense of this messed-up world; they fit together like the final pieces of a giant puzzle. Without him, something within her just doesn't function. She can't imagine life without him. But he's not hers to demand. He's not hers to need. He never was. He's always had Kathy, four (now five) kids too. He's always had a life that didn't revolve around her. He doesn't need her. But she needs him, and that kind of thing doesn't work one-sided. When she needs him the most, he won't be there because he can't. It's not who he is to her.

And that leaves her here, where she somehow knew she'd always end up: jobless, purposeless, friendless, hopeless, worthless, you name it just always alone; and with no one to blame but herself.

And that's how she comes to make her last defining decision.

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She walks into the precinct with a purposeful stride, a gait full of confidence that she doesn't feel. But she also doesn't see any other option before her. She's at a loss for how to fix things, and this is the only thing she can think of. From what she can figure, it's been long overdue anyway.

When she barges into his office, Cragen looks up in surprise that quickly turns into irritation. "What are you doing here, Benson? I thought I told you to take some time off."

"I am." She agrees. "In fact, I'm quitting."

"You're what?" He exclaims.

She answers fervently. "I'm leaving SVU. I'm leaving this whole," she searches for the word. "mess. Permanently. And don't," she raises a finger at her Captain – ex-Captain, she realizes – before he can interrupt. "bother trying to stop me. We both know IAB is gonna have my ass as soon as you try to instate me back into the squad. At the very least, they'll toss me on desk duty in Narcotics or Homicide or some other hole in the wall spot. I've already filled out all the paperwork." Tossing the stack to him because she can't bear to get any closer than she already, she sighs. "I don't belong anywhere but here, Captain, so I might as well leave with what little dignity I have left." And before he can try to refute her rant, she turns on her heel and goes back to where she came from.

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Elliot didn't see her go in but he definitely sees her storm out. What the hell just happened? "Olivia!" He yells it, but it's still a question all the same. She doesn't even glance his direction. "Liv, wait." He rushes after her, grabs her arm to make her stop in the middle of the hallway and he flashes back to a moment exactly reversed from this, when she was the one following him. Hey! Is there something you want to say to me? Because if you do, then let's hear it. He'd been angry at her then, and he can tell by her pace that she's angry at him now. But what did he do?

Her lips are pursed, her mouth so taunt she can barely spit the words out at him. "Let me go, Elliot." But it's not vindictive, it's not harsh, it's just, determined. Resolute. Immovable.

"Olivia, just talk to me." He's confused.

She looks up at him then, and there's a pleading in her eyes for him to do something, but what? "I'm through with talking." And she slips through his arms. Not breaks away or pulls through, but slips, because he's let go of his grip on her arm. The more he fights to keep her his, the more she seems to fall.

He watches her, wondering what he said and what's going on, when suddenly, at the last possible moment as the squad room doors begin to close, she brings her head over her left shoulder and meets his eyes. "Goodbye, Elliot." And before he has time to register what she's just uttered – because it was just that, nothing more than a whisper really, and yet it's still managed to cross over this giant space between them – the door obscures her face, and when it gently swings back in the opposite direction, she's already gone.

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She can't believe she just did that. She's running and she knows it. Running away from her memories, running away from her past, running away from her mother and her father, running away from her job, running away from Elliot… God, she's running away from her life. But running is the only thing she's ever been good at. And as sad as that is, the saddest part of all is that no one's ever followed her.

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She's running. From what, he's not sure, but he knows it even before Cragen comes out of his office, holding up a thin stack of papers as a sort of peace offering, as if anything on those papers could explain any of the events that have just transpired. "Benson just quit." He states flatly.

The entire room freezes but Elliot still dares to question it. "She quit the team?"

"Quit the force entirely." Cragen responds.

"Wait," Fin starts. "She's not gonna be a cop anymore?"

"Damn," Munch mutters beneath his breath. "What'd you do Elliot, finally confess your undying love for her?"

Elliot's eyes narrow into slits. "Shut up Munch, before I punch you in the face."

"Wait a minute guys," Cragen interludes as Fin steps into the space between them, prepared to have his partner's back. "Things have been a bit crazy around here. All of you have been in the unit way longer than the usual; she probably just needs some time." None of them can deny that fact as they look around, sharing the years of horrors from all the many cases they've handled or passed through here.

Cragen continues. "Elliot, go talk to her. See if you can calm her down but don't push her. She'll come around. Munch, Fin, I need you to run a canvas over on Spruce Street. We got a tip from one of our fliers there that someone spotted our," and his voice fades out because Elliot's already grabbed his jacket and started following the trail of her scent that she left behind. Mandarin. That's what it's always been; and he breathes it in like oxygen, giving into the security that everything will turn out alright. It has to.

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She doesn't answer his knocks, so he takes the spare key out of the overhead light and peeks his head in before fully opening the door. "Olivia?" He can hear her feet shuffle. She's here, he knows it, and let's himself cross the threshold. She's here in her apartment, packing things into boxes. There are things he notices right away: all of the lights are on even though it's still early morning and the sun is blinding through the shade-less windows, the blankets are off the couch, the dishes are grouped upon the kitchen counter, and the whole room smells like disinfectant and bleach. What he doesn't notice – because he doesn't know – is that she hasn't turned any light off in days because she's still afraid of the dark, that she's been sleeping on her couch, that she's rarely eaten off of those plates anyway, or that the place smells like that because before now she's never been there long enough to bother trying to clean up what little mess she might've made.

"Olivia?" He calls again, and then walks towards her room.

She looks shocked to find him there even though he's announced his presence multiple times. "Elliot. What are you doing here?" Her voice is chipper and casual, but she doesn't seem happy to see him and he's not buying into her act.

"What do you think I'm doing here, Olivia? Did you really quit?"

"No, I did it to get a rise out of the squad, just for the hell of it." And there is it, the return of the banter, a remnant of what they used to have. But it's tainted now. It's not just sarcastic but also disdainful. "God, Stabler," she gasps, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "why do you think?"

He blinks, stutters in his own way – by pursing his lips in-between each slowly spoken word. "I, I don't know, Olivia. That's why I came to talk to you. I don't know.

"Is this about Harris?" He questions gently, his suspicions already evident.

She stands back up with a jolt. "Yes. No." He's not sure which one is the answer, and he doesn't think she knows either. Furiously, she begins throwing clothes from a drawer into a duffel bag. He remembers how Kathy refused to let him pack in his military duffel because she fussed that she had to re-iron all of his shirts when he put them in there, and that's what he's thinking now: how wrinkled her shirts will be when she takes them out, wherever it is she's planning on ending up. That's when he realizes what she's doing: she's packing her life away.

"Where do you think you're going?" When she doesn't answer, he gets beside her and – one by one – pulls out her clothes and places them gently back into the dresser before them. "Don't run away from it now, Olivia. Don't let him do this to you. Do you remember Richard White?" All she does is watch, immobile, as he rearranges her things so respectfully. "You didn't let him get to you, even though everyone in the station – including me – was telling you that you should. He had a knife on you, down on the ground, and you never lost your composure, you never misplaced that fire. But you are now. You are. The fire's still there, I can see it, but you're using it on yourself. You're letting Harris get to you and you can't do that. You just can't. You can't let Harris,"

This is when Olivia stops him. Flinging herself off the mattress, she yanks up her clothes with such ferocity that when she squeezes them to her chest the motion causes her to stumble a couple steps backward, a stray lavender silk blouse tumbling from beneath her hands to land haphazardly around the room. "THIS ISN'T ABOUT HARRIS!" She screams. And then – as if to make her point – chucks her entire load so that it joins the collage of clothes already strewn against the carpet before making a bee-line for the couch in the other room.

Elliot follows her cautiously. "I don't understand." He says simply, daring to sit beside her. "If it's not about Harris, than why are you quitting?" It's what he says, but not what she hears. Why are you leaving me?

"I just," but how to make him understand when she doesn't even understand? "It's a lot of things."

"Tell me." He encourages but she shakes her head, turning away from him. He scoots an inch closer to her, trying to remember the time when he could always tell exactly what was on her mind, could figure out exactly what was bothering her. "It's everything," he suggests.

She lunges at his explanation. "Yeah. Everything." But then she stops again; he hears that all-too familiar sigh pass between her lips.

"And you're sure that bastard doesn't have anything to do with it?"

"Yes. No."

"There you go again."

"No, really I just," the words always came easy to her before, but now he can see her struggling. Not to find the right words per say, but as if she were trying to decide how much to divulge to him. She's never done that before, and that hurts. "It's not just about Harris – like you said, it's about everything – but Harris is something, so that's still part of everything."

He waits for her to continue, but she doesn't lead him where he's expecting to go.

"I was walking around the other day, can't remember where really, but I saw these people and I just can't help wondering…"

"Wondering what?"

Their eyes meet. "How come?" She breathes. "I see these people that go to parks on Sundays pushing their children in strollers, laughing and having a great time. They go to the grocery store and buy the family size packages and go down every aisle because they have the time to debate whether or not they forgot to put something on their flowery-etched shopping list. The couples that take long lunches and walk holding hands; the people that surely smile in their sleep. And I just don't get it. I always see them and I just can't for the life of me understand who they are, you know? Why isn't that us, huh? Why can't we be those people? How come they get that life and all we get is this?" She spreads her arms out in front of her but he knows she's not motioning to her increasingly bare apartment space. She's talking about work; she's talking about the cases, about the stuff they swim through every day; she's talking about the darkness and the anger and the evil and the shame. "How come we can't have that too?"

She pauses and he thinks about saying that he had that life at one point, with Kathy and the kids in the beginning, but that he didn't want it. Something in him couldn't trust the simplicity of it. No matter how perfect it looks, there's still going to be something wrong with it, and expecting the perfection just makes the fall that much harder. The problem was, he'd always held to that, and Kathy never did.

Before he can tell her all that though, she's rushing through her next words as if she's afraid that she'll lose the ones that are supposed to come afterward. "I come home to an empty apartment every damn day, if I even go home at all. Sometimes I don't bother to cook anything because it's just me, and what's the use? I haven't seriously dated anyone besides that damn job in more years than I can count. Relationships just take too much work and I put all of myself into work anyway. I sleep alone. Without that job, I'm nothing and I'm tired of being alone. I hate it. I hate it!" She's about to cry, but the determination and pride he can see through her eyes just won't let her, not yet. Enough, enough, he hears her pray. "I just, I want to know what that other life feels like," her voice pleads into the empty space between them. "Even if it was just for a day, I'd give it all up, just to, just to know what I'm missing."

"But Olivia you're not missing anything, you're,"

She cuts him off. "There's a reason people transfer out of our unit so often, Elliot. But we never did. We just, didn't. Why did we think we had to be tougher than everyone else, even though we weren't?" Because we were doing it together, just the two of us, together, could make it. He thinks. And as if she's heard his thoughts, there's an answer. "But we can't handle it. There's too much of it, Elliot. I mean look at your marriage, or lack thereof really, and my pathetic excuse of a life. Something in us is broken, El, everything about us and around us has been ruined by this environment we thought we could tame." She staggers in a breath and whispers with her exhale. "I can't remember now why we even bothered to try."

She gets up then, waifs her way over to her window and looks down into the street absentmindedly. He can't let her have the last say though; this isn't something that can just be decided without him. He comes up behind her, touches the back of his hand to her cheek, so delicate and warm. "What happened to you?" But that's not what he meant to say, not at all.

You. She thinks. But another word comes out of her mouth instead and she leaves it at that, tucking the half-truth inside the folds of her cheek like a hard candy she can't chew and swallow yet: "SVU."

A/N: Please please PLEASE review and tell me what you think! - squeals -