Disclaimer: Characters and recognizable dialogue belong to NBC and Dick Wolf. Lyrics from "Every Time You Go Away" by Paul Young and "Forgiven" by Within Temptation. Story is mine.

Author's note: I got the inspiration for this from a gif made by Jaz and from the fact that I wanted to give some kind of closure to myself from Stabler's departure. Any mistakes are mine, I've never really written this pairing before.

Chapter One: The Leaving

And every time you go away

You take a piece of me with you

The Past - May 18, 2011

The squad room is a scene from hell. You're kneeling by Sister Peg's body, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. Hold on, Peg, hold on, you plead underneath your breath, tears of shock flooding your eyes. But you hold them back because there's no time for tears.

And your throat is aching from the screams that you're tamping down. How did it come to this? And now there's no pulse at all and you know she's gone. And you want to weep, to scream, to mourn, but you can't, there's still so much damage to repair. So many bodies.

You look over at your partner of twelve years and he's on his knees, cradling the teenager he shot in his arms. To save another life. You wish you were over there but you can't move. Can't leave Peg alone because that would be too cruel. She deserves better and you reach a shaking hand towards her head. You can't leave her alone. Not like this.

As if in a blur, you hear Cragen barking orders. You can't bring yourself to respond, it's like you're underwater and everything around you is just so surreal. And you can't stop looking at your partner.

El's cradling Jenna, rocking her close to him, trying to staunch the blood flowing from her chest. And even from where you are, which isn't so far away but right now it feels like miles and miles, you can see the blood coming out of her mouth. Tears start rolling down your face but you can barely feel them. You've seen too many wounds like Jenna's and you know what's coming next.

Jenna's speaking to Elliot and he's trying to telling her to hold on, that the bus will be right here in a moment, and please don't let go. Because she's just a child and she shouldn't be bleeding out on a dirty New York squad room floor. She should be trying on dresses for the prom, giggling and laughing about boys, …she should be… anywhere but here.

Anywhere but on this floor. But the words are getting stuck in his throat.

The EMTs have arrived and they're gently trying to pry Elliot from her body. One of them, a petite blonde that reminds you a little of Kathy, places a hand on his shoulder and says some words that he can't hear. He stands up and backs away from the body, still staring.

Only then does he turn around and really look at you.

Hell is in his eyes. Everything is so raw. He's shattered.

It just feels like we keep failing her.

You're silent because there's no words you can say. He's killed a child and there is nothing that will ever make that okay. Sister Peg is dead and there's nothing that will ever make that okay, either. The floor is littered with the bodies of the dead and the air is littered with the words that you leave unspoken.

You've seen him devastated over cases before, he takes so many of them so personally. But you've never seen him this… broken. And part of you realizes at that moment that he's done. It's not a conscious thought, really, simply a quick flash of instinct which you soon push out of your mind. But later, much later, you remember.

He quits at approximately 5:30pm in the afternoon in the middle of the rubble of the squad room.

Several months later – September 2011

Couldn't save you from the start

Love you so much that it hurts my soul.

"Liv, could I see you for a moment, please?" Cragen calls you into his office one Tuesday afternoon. It's been gray, dismal, and dark all afternoon. It's been like that ever since the Towers fell, ever since the bloodbath at the squad room. The stains are out of the floor but you can swear you can still see them. They'll never really be gone.

You're not sure what this is all about but you take one look at Cragen's eyes. He's good at keeping his face relatively impassive but you can always figure what he's going to say from the eyes.

Today you just see sorrow and resignation. And you brace yourself.

"Elliot put in his papers." Cragen breaks it to you gently. And time stops. For a moment all you can do is stare at him, stare at the clock on his desk. You've completely forgotten about the unfinished DD5s on your desk. Forgotten about everything.

It's 5:30pm in the afternoon.

Something within you breaks. Not with a bang, not with an explosion, but with the soft sign of an autumn leaf falling on the browning grasses of country fields.

Cragen's words are a death knell to your hopes. You had known that Jenna's death (and Peg's) had devastated El and that it would take years for him to cope with what happened that day. Hell, it's been months, and you're not nearly over it. Never would be.

The stains will never be erased. Not completely.

It hasn't helped that he never calls, never writes. He walked out that day and never looked back.

You'd hoped that the two of you would be together again, closer than most husbands and wives. Closer than blood kin. You couldn't ever imagine working with – and, if the truth be told, being with – anyone else.

"I'm your partner, for better or worse."

And you flash back to that moment from months ago. How could you ever forget? It's burned, branded in your memory. The hands of the clock pointed at 5:30.

As much as you want to be angry at him – why are you abandoning me? When I need you , you really can't be. There were so many casualties that day, your partnership was just one of them.

You've known this was coming but had pushed it down. Pushed it down and lived on your hopes and dreams. They've been your food and drink keeping you going for the past several months. Thinking that you would come back and he'd be there with that slight smile on his face and the small light in his blue eyes.

The light you know is just for you.

But you really should have known better. He wasn't coming back.

Yet you still wait. For the phone call that never comes.

One Month Later – October 2011

He'll come back to visit, but not to stay, not to live. ~ Joseph Jackson

After the fortieth attempt at reaching El, you've decided to give it a rest. He'll get back in touch with you when he feels ready, you tell yourself, trying to convince yourself that he'll come back.

Healing takes time. And even then time can never erase the past. Only blur the lines.

In the meantime, you're babysitting two new members of your squad; Amanda Rollins, up from Atlanta and Nick Amaro, transfer from Warrants. You're pleased to have another female in the squad and you've connected with the tough, scrappy detective with the accent as thick as molasses but you're still not sure about Amaro.

He's not Elliot. He'll never be Elliot. And you don't want a new partner

At first, Cragen's given you some latitude because he understands. He hasn't talked to you much about that day, apart from official reports and interviews with the necessary parties, but after twelve years, you know him.

There are moments when he doesn't think you're watching that he'll look over at the desk where Elliot used to sit. And a haunted look will cross his face and his eyes...the look in his eyes...You know it well because you see that look every day in the mirror.

But finally even he's had his limit with what he calls your moping.

"Elliot's not coming back, Liv."

You get angry because you know that but does he have to say those words out loud? Does he have to make it all real?

"It takes me twice as long to explain the job to someone else as it does to do it myself." You complain, knowing that you sound petulant, but you don't really give a shit. You hurt and you miss him and you don't want to fucking babysit two new rookies that you never asked for anyways.

"It's not your call." He snaps firmly. He's been fairly understanding with you but he's reached his limit. "Now you want to be here, you're going to have to work with other detectives, all right? Now," and he gentles his voice a little bit, "let him go."

How can he ask you that? It's like asking you to let part of yourself go.

Because that's what Elliot is – a part of you. And how can you just forget?

"Look, Olivia," Cragen says quietly, looking past the surface to the turmoil beneath, "I'm not asking you to forget. But you...we...have all got to move on. Things change, life changes. We have to roll with the punches. And you can start by packing up his desk." He looks at you, and there's a trace of sadness on his face.

"We can't keep it as a shrine."

You shake yourself out of the memories. It still hurts to remember gently packing up all of Elliot's things, cleaning off his desk. Knowing someone new will be sitting there.

He's really gone.

"Hi, Olivia, " a friendly voice greets you and you push the pain down, like you always do, and stand and greet Sherri West with a friendly face and a big hug.

"Sherri West, for the defense." You grin. "It's good to see you. She used to be on our team."

"Yeah, we've met." Says Amaro casually, strolling over with a grin and a little barb. "How's the private sector?

"Don't judge." Sherri grins. "I had a mountain of student debt and a serious shoe fetish. They made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"Detective." Another voice, a strange one, interjects itself into your conversation. You turn around only to see a cop you've never met before. And he hands you a small package.

Taking it over to your desk, you remove a small envelope from the package.

And your heart stops.

You know that writing. Know it almost as well as you know your own.

Semper Fi – El

Always faithful.

There are no other words, just those two. No "how are you?" No "I miss you." But, then again, you both are far beyond those simple pleasantries.

And on the other side of the small packet is Elliot's Marine Corps medallion. The one he always had with him. You can't ever remember seeing him without it. It was as much a part of him as his blood.

And now he's given that to you.

"I'm your partner. For better or worse."