The early morning light had faded into the more muted tones of late morning, casting long shadows across the streets. Olivia gazed out the car window, her expression unreadable, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular as the city blurred past.

The interview they'd just wrapped up had been sad but routine—another grim detail in a job that often felt like patching holes in a sinking ship. Elliot glanced at her briefly, sensing that her thoughts were elsewhere, yet the silence wasn't so much pressing as it was a pause, a space where unspoken things hovered just out of reach. He knew they'd need to talk through it all soon, but for now, he let the moment hang, unsure if he was giving her room to process or simply avoiding the conversation himself.

Elliot shifted in his seat, the nervous energy building in his chest. It wasn't like asking his kids about their day in the back seat on the way home—Olivia wasn't a captive audience, and this wasn't a simple question. He wasn't sure if he even had the right to ask her. He'd learned the hard way before that pushing her to talk about something personal wasn't always the right move.

But he couldn't ignore it. Whatever it was, it felt big, and he couldn't leave it unaddressed.

"Liv," he said, voice steady but not as casual as he wanted it to be. "Talk to me."

She didn't answer right away, but he could see her jaw tighten, like she was trying to push down whatever it was she wasn't saying. After a beat, she glanced at him, offering him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The kind of smile that only fooled people who weren't paying close attention.

"About what?" she responded casually.

Damn, she was good.

Elliot's eyes locked onto hers for a moment, not in judgment but in quiet insistence. His gaze was steady, persuasive. It was his best Dad look.

Her gaze wavered for the smallest moment, a brief faltering that revealed more than she likely intended. It wasn't obvious—just the faintest shift, a hint of unease slipping through her otherwise composed exterior. But Elliot caught it, that tiny glimpse of something raw and unguarded beneath her usual self-possession. He didn't speak, didn't press her. Instead, he met her eyes and held them steady, the weight of his attention urging her toward honesty without a single word.

She hesitated. Her breath caught as the words hovered on the edge of her tongue. Then, with a slight slump of her shoulders, she spoke."I've seen Daniel," she said, the words tumbling out quickly, almost like she was afraid of them hanging in the air too long. Her voice was rushed, the kind of fast-paced delivery that only came when you were trying to outrun your own fear. "Twice. Once while I was jogging, and again the other day at the store."

Elliot's heartbeat picked up as her words came out, measured but tense. His gaze sharpened, his eyes scanning her face for the pieces she wasn't saying. He stayed quiet, letting her finish, but the strain in her voice told him she was holding something back. She was only giving him fragments, the parts she thought were safe to share, leaving the rest unspoken. It wasn't just what she said—it was how she said it, as if she were calculating every syllable to avoid letting too much slip.

"I know it's probably nothing...we're bound to cross paths, right? He lives here. It's...it's fine."

In the quiet of the car, Elliot could almost hear her thoughts—the silent hesitations, the uncertainty she was trying to bury. He could feel it in the way her words didn't match the weight of her emotions. She was trying so hard to downplay it, but her fear wasn't something she could hide from him.

"Liv," he said softly but firmly, his voice carrying the weight of his concern. He wasn't going to let her brush this off. "This isn't nothing. It's not random, and you know it. You have every reason to be worried."

He watched her stiffen at his words, her body locking up, the slight tension in her shoulders signalling her instinct to retreat. Her gaze darted away from him, and she turned her attention back to the window, staring at the passing streets as if they held the answers. It was a small movement, but it spoke volumes—Olivia Benson was trying to distance herself, trying to hold onto her control. Elliot could feel the pull of her discomfort, the way her walls had gone up again.

"You don't think it could be...accidental?" she asked, her voice small, quieter than usual, like she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer. It was the kind of question people asked when they were trying to keep the truth at arm's length, afraid of what they might find if they let it get too close.

Elliot didn't hesitate. He never hesitated when it came to Olivia. "No," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "Of course it's not."

She drew a deep breath. She had wanted to believe it was nothing—had tried so hard to convince herself that seeing Daniel wasn't anything more than a coincidence, a product of the world being too small. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, and she seemed to fold inward, trying to hide the frustration, the quiet panic. She shifted in her seat, her body betraying the discomfort she was trying so hard to hide.

"So what do I do?" she asked, her voice hesitant, but laced with frustration.

That Olivia was asking him for guidance wasn't just unusual—it was monumental. She was a force of nature, fiercely independent, the kind of person who thrived on solving problems and taking control. She didn't ask for help; she didn't need to. At least, that was the version of her most people saw.

But now, here she was, turning to him, her voice edged with uncertainty, her demeanour uncharacteristically subdued. It told him more than words ever could. She was grappling with something she couldn't outthink or bulldoze her way through. This was serious. More serious than she was letting on.

He didn't take her trust lightly. If Olivia Benson was looking to someone else for answers, it wasn't just because she was lost—it was because she felt vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. And the weight of that realization settled on him like a stone.

"What would you tell a victim to do if she asked you that?" he asked gently, his eyes on the road, his hands resting on the wheel with a casual ease that didn't match the weight of the conversation.

Olivia stiffened at the question. It was as if he'd hit a nerve she hadn't expected.

"I'm not a victim," she snapped, the words sharp, more defensive than she intended. She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tapping nervously against her leg. "It's not the same."

Her voice faltered just slightly, a hint of anger mixed with embarrassment. She hated feeling like she had no control, like this situation was out of her hands. Being a cop meant having answers, being the one to give the orders, to take action. Not the other way around.

"I'm not saying you are," Elliot responded, his tone softening, but still carrying that steady, no-nonsense edge she recognized. "I'm just asking. You've told victims to trust their instincts. You've helped people with less to go on. You know what the next steps are."

She bit her lip, glancing out the window as if the answer might be lying in the cityscape. The thing was, she did know what to do. She wasn't inexperienced. She knew the patterns. She knew the law. But the problem was this: Daniel's actions hadn't yet crossed a line. Not a legally actionable one, at least. The fact that he'd shown up twice, in two completely different locations, wasn't a pattern. Not yet. And that was the problem.

She let out a breath, rubbing a hand over her face in frustration, verbalizing her thoughts. "Showing up twice? That's not stalking. I mean, we both know that. People cross paths all the time. It's not enough to get a restraining order or anything like that."

Elliot's eyes flicked toward her. "I know," he said softly. "But it's something to keep an eye on."

"I will," she assured him. "But for now, it's just a coincidence."

The words felt hollow even as she said them. A coincidence. That was what the law demanded it to be—two innocuous run-ins, nothing more. But deep down, she knew better. Her gut twisted with the horrifying certainty that Daniel would escalate. It wasn't paranoia, it was experience—years of watching small, seemingly harmless behaviours grow into devastating patterns. And yet, until that pattern revealed itself, until he crossed an undeniable line, she was powerless to act.

What good was it to see the future so clearly if she wasn't allowed to do anything about it until it was too late? Olivia's hands clenched tighter in her lap, the helplessness simmering beneath her composed exterior. It wasn't the first time she'd felt trapped by the limits of what the law would allow, but it never got easier. Knowing that something was coming, knowing it would be bad, and knowing she had to wait for it to happen—it was a special kind of torture.

Elliot watched her carefully, the tension in her shoulders, the subtle shake of her head as if trying to reason her way out of her own instincts. He could see the battle she was waging, the way her mind was racing even as she kept her face carefully neutral.

"It shouldn't have to be this way," she murmured, almost to herself. Her voice was low, a mix of frustration and something heavier, something angrier. "I can feel it, El. I know he's going to pull something, but until he does, I'm stuck sitting here waiting for him to make a move. And when he does..." She trailed off, biting her lip as if the thought of finishing the sentence might make it real.

Elliot's hands tightened on the wheel. He wanted to tell her that it wouldn't come to that, that they'd find a way to stop it before it went too far. But he knew better than to feed her false hope. They both knew the reality of the situation. He hated it—hated that her hands were tied until Daniel gave them something concrete to work with. It was a cruel game of waiting, one he'd seen too many victims lose before they even realized they were playing.

"It's not fair," Olivia said, her voice cutting through the heavy silence. "We tell people to trust their instincts, to listen to their gut, but when it comes down to it, we make them sit on their hands until something bad happens. How is that supposed to protect anyone?"

"It's not fair," Elliot agreed, his voice low and steady. "But you're not just anyone, Liv. You're not sitting on your hands. You see this for what it is, and you're not alone in it. We'll figure this out."

She turned to look at him, her expression softening, but the weight in her eyes remained. "I know," she said, her voice quieter now. But even as she said it, the helplessness lingered, and Elliot wished he could shoulder it for her.

As the precinct came into view, Olivia straightened in her seat, her walls going back up just enough to mask her worry.

"Just keep me in the loop, Liv," he said quietly, a sense of understanding in the way he spoke. "If anything feels off, you tell me."

She turned to him, her expression softening just a bit. "I will," she replied.

Olivia pushed open her apartment door and stepped inside, her senses immediately on high alert. Something felt...wrong. She couldn't put her finger on it at first, but a faint breeze brushed past her face, cool and uninvited. Her gaze darted to the living room window.

It was open.

Her heart sank. She knew she'd shut it that morning—she'd been extra cautious about locking up lately. The sight of it now, wide open to the city beyond, made her stomach twist.

She set her bag down carefully, her hand instinctively moving to the holster at her hip. With her other hand, she eased her gun free, her fingers tightening around the familiar grip.

Taking slow, deliberate steps, she began to sweep through the apartment.

The living room was empty. The kitchen, too. Every shadow seemed to shift under her scrutiny, every creak of the floor sending her pulse spiking. She checked the bathroom next, finding it as she'd left it.

Finally, she moved to the bedroom. The air felt heavier in here, her unease thickening with each step. And then she saw it.

Her underwear drawer was open.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The drawer wasn't open wide—just a few inches—but it was enough to send a chill racing down her spine. She knew she hadn't left it like that. The contents didn't appear disturbed, but the fact that it had been touched at all felt like a violation, an intrusion into her most private space.

Her grip on the gun tightened as she methodically checked every corner, every hiding place where someone might be. The closet. Under the bed. Behind the shower curtain.

But the apartment was empty.

Still, the unease didn't leave her. Her sanctuary, her home, had been breached. The open window and the drawer weren't just coincidences. They were messages.

He'd been here.

She stood in the middle of her apartment, gun still in hand, her mind racing. She needed to act, to do something—but first, she needed backup.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she dialled the one person she trusted completely. The one person she knew would understand the weight of this.

"Stabler," Elliot answered on the second ring, his voice steady.

"It's me," she said, her voice tight. "Elliot...he's been in my apartment."

The line was silent for a beat, then: "Are you safe?"

"I've checked the place," she said, her eyes flicking back to the drawer as though it might move on its own. "He's not here now."

"I'm on my way," Elliot said without hesitation.

Olivia let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Thanks."

"Lock the door and don't touch anything else," he added. "Just hang tight."

She hung up, her hands trembling slightly as she clicked the safety back on her gun. For the first time in years, she didn't feel safe in her own home.

And that was exactly what Daniel wanted.

She paced the living room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She'd been so careful lately, checking every lock twice before leaving the house. The idea that he'd been able to get in, that he'd been in her space, moved through her rooms—it felt like a violation so profound she didn't even know how to name it.

The knock at her door made her jump.

"It's me," Elliot called, his voice muffled through the wood.

She hurried to let him in, stepping aside as he entered. He took one look at her face, at the tension in her posture, and his expression darkened.

"What happened?"

She gestured vaguely toward the apartment, her words tumbling out in a rush. "The window—it was open. I know I locked it this morning, Elliot. I've been paranoid about it lately. And then I went into the bedroom, and the drawer..." Her voice faltered. "It's not like I left it."

Elliot nodded, his expression grim. "Okay. Let's not touch anything. We need to call CSU to come in and process the scene. And we should file a police report. We need to start documenting everything now."

We. Olivia caught it immediately, her mind snagging on it like a loose thread. It wasn't that she hadn't heard him use it before—they'd been partners for years, after all. "We" was how they operated, instinctively and without question. But this time, it felt different. This was her apartment, her life, her mess. And here he was, planting himself right in the middle of it, like they were navigating this together.

It was both stifling and strangely comforting. Stifling, because she wasn't used to someone being this close, this unwavering, in her personal life. Comforting, because as much as she hated to admit it, the idea of not being alone in this—even for a moment—was a lifeline she knew she needed.

But Olivia Benson didn't do lifelines.

Time to minimize.

She was good at that—pushing back the uncomfortable, boxing up the raw edges of her emotions before they could take root. Feel it later, if at all.

"Elliot, it's just…the window and a drawer. There's no real evidence that—"

"That someone was in your home?" he cut in, his tone sharper than before. He softened it quickly but didn't back down. "Liv, this isn't just about what's obvious to you or me. It's about building a record, having proof if—when—this escalates. We can't let this slide."

Her gaze dropped to the floor as she processed his words.

Finally, she nodded, a tight, reluctant motion. "Okay. You're right. Let's call them."

Elliot reached into his pocket for his phone but hesitated for just a moment, his gaze lingering on her. Satisfied that she wasn't going to change her mind, he stepped a few paces away to make the call. Olivia stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes drifting back toward the bedroom doorway.

"I don't understand how he did it," she said, more to herself than to Elliot. "The lock doesn't look tampered with. And the only person who has a key is you."

Elliot finished dialling, his thumb hovering over the screen, and looked back at her, frowning. "You're sure you never gave him one? Even when you were...close?"

Her head snapped up, and the look she gave him could've cut glass. "No. Never."

He raised his hands in apology. "Okay. Then maybe he made a copy somehow. Or picked the lock. Or had someone else do it for him."

Elliot turned slightly and brought his phone to his ear.

"Yeah, it's Stabler," he said after a pause. "We've got a situation that needs your team's attention. Possible illegal entry. Address is..." As he finished giving the details to CSU, Olivia's mind ran through every possibility. Her stomach churned. The idea of him being that calculated, that deliberate, made her feel sick. She'd been telling herself for weeks that she was overreacting, that the encounters were just coincidence. But this?

Elliot hung up and stepped closer to her, his tone low and steady. "This is enough, Liv. We need to file for a restraining order."

There's that we again. For a second, she felt an instinctive urge to push back, to remind him that she could handle this, that she didn't need anyone to fight her battles. But the truth? The truth was that having him there, standing firmly in her corner, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Walls up. Feel it later.

"Elliot," she started, her voice carefully even, "this isn't your fight."

"The hell it isn't," he shot back, his brows drawing together. "You think I'm going to just sit on the sidelines here? Not a chance."

Her throat tightened. It wasn't the words themselves—she'd expected them, really. It was the way he said them, like he meant them with every fibre of his being. Like he wasn't going anywhere.

"Look," he continued, his tone softening but no less resolute, "I know you're not going to like hearing this, but sometimes, letting someone help doesn't make you weak. It makes you smart."

She glanced down, her gaze falling to the floor as she processed his words. It was hard for her, this. Letting someone in. Letting someone stay.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers now tracing the edge of her sleeve. "I'm just saying it's not that simple," she murmured.

"It never is," he agreed. "We'll take it one step at a time."

We.

She looked up, meeting his gaze. There was no judgment there, no pity. Just that unwavering steadiness that had been both a comfort and a frustration over the years.

She shook her head.

"Elliot, I don't have proof," she emphasized, her frustration bubbling over. "A drawer left open? A window I know I closed but can't prove I closed? That's not going to hold up in court."

"You don't need a court to take this seriously," he argued. "You need to send a message to him that this stops here."

"And what if that message makes things worse?" she shot back. "What if it pushes him over the edge?"

Elliot exhaled sharply, dragging a hand across his face. "Doing nothing is making it worse, Liv. He's testing you. The longer you let him get away with it, the bolder he's going to get."

She knew he was right. But that didn't make the reality any easier to stomach.

"What if I'm wrong?" she said softly, almost to herself. "What if it's not him?"

Elliot stepped closer, his voice firm but kind. "Do you really believe that?"

She didn't answer, but the look in her eyes said everything.

"Cameras," he said after a moment. "We'll set up cameras. If he comes back, we'll catch him in the act."

She nodded slowly, her mind racing. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it was something.

"And until then," Elliot continued, "you're not staying here alone."

"Elliot, I can't—"

"No arguments," he cut her off. "You can stay with me, or I'll stay here. Your choice."

She sighed, pressing a hand to her temple. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope," he said, his tone softer now. "And you shouldn't either."

"Okay," she said finally, her voice quieter now. "But it's all still my call."

"Of course it is," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to have your back."

The tightness in her stomach eased, replaced by something warmer, softer.

We.