Olivia felt frozen. There was nothing holding her in place, but all the same, her feet felt rooted to the carpet. She fidgeted, suddenly stifled by the heavy jacket she hadn't bothered to take off. After all, she hadn't planned on staying long. But maybe she shouldn't have come at all. Unsure of whether she was searching for a reason to stay or an excuse to go, she unfurled the brown paper bag tucked under her arm and looked inside.

There wasn't much there, she mused: a toothbrush, a couple of pairs of panties, a cardigan, a library book that was probably two months overdue. It had only taken Olivia 15 minutes to find it all and pack it up. Well, 15 minutes to pack it up and two days to build up the courage to bring it here. She pressed her lips into a thin line and crushed the top of the bag in a white-knuckled grip. And three fucking days of recovery, three humiliating fucking days. Squaring her shoulders, she resolved to leave the bag by the door and just walk away. Elliot had taken it upon himself to retrieve the key she had given Casey and there was nothing else she wanted back. She was free to wash her hands of this pointless errand and the woman she had mistaken for someone else.

Before she could change her mind, she thrust the now battered paper bag towards the door and turned to stalk back down the hall. She had done her duty; Casey was on her own. Taking a deep breath through her nose, Olivia punched the button to call the elevator and stuffed her empty fists deep into her pockets. Her fingers closed around her key ring, and she stifled a curse. Of all the damn things to forget. Prying the key free, she retraced her steps quickly. The hall wasn't long. If she was lucky, she might just be able to make it before the elevator showed up.

But then, she saw an arm emerge from the familiar doorway to pick up the abandoned bag. For the second time in less than a minute, Olivia cursed silently. She should have known better. She was Olivia Benson, for Christ's sake, and Lady Luck was no friend of Olivia Benson. There was nothing to do now but let it play out. She braced herself, and when Casey stepped out and spotted her, she held up the key.

"I thought you might need this." Olivia tried not to listen to how flat and awkward the words sounded. She was grimly grateful that her voice didn't tremble or break, but she still hated that she didn't sound stronger. Keeping her spine perfectly straight and her gaze fixed on the redhead's evasive eyes, she covered the two steps separating them and dropped the key into Casey's outstretched hand.

"Thanks."

Casey's voice was thin, and her hair, in a tangled bun, looked like it hadn't been washed in a week. Now that she stood practically in the open doorway, Olivia could see that the apartment was a wreck, half packed in boxes and half strewn haphazardly on every available surface. She felt eyes on her face, and when she returned her gaze to her former girlfriend, she saw Casey look quickly away in shame.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm so sorry, Liv."

They went from tense silence to speaking over each other in an instant and then back to silence just as quickly. Their eyes met for the first time, just for a second, and when Olivia laid her hand on the door frame, Casey retreated a step. Olivia's sleeve had fallen down a little ways, exposing a fading bruise left by the steel buckle of a leather restraint. Casey's gaze was fixed on it, and Olivia tightened her grip on the painted wood to help steady herself and resist the urge to hide her hand. She wanted Casey to look, to face what she had done.

After a long moment, she cleared her throat. "Can I come in?"

Casey jumped a little, glancing from Olivia's wrist to her face and back, and then backed up another step, opening the door wide. Olivia brushed past the silent woman, stripping off her jacket to expose her arms and the bruises that still bloomed over her collarbone. She felt a twinge of shame when Casey hiccupped guiltily, but it lasted less than the blink of an eye. Casey had inflicted much worse, and Olivia wasn't just talking about the pain and the medical bills. No, Casey had humiliated her, victimized her, and violated her trust in the most fundamental of ways. She could endure spending a few minutes in the presence of her handiwork so that Olivia could have her answers. Casey shut the door and folded her arms protectively around the bag of her belongings.

"Branch talked to someone he knows up in Albany. I turned in my resignation, and I start upstate in a couple of days." She paused. "Liv I'm so sor…"

"Stop it," Olivia snapped, cutting Casey off in mid-syllable. "I don't want to hear it." Casey seemed to shrink even further, and Olivia gripped the edge of the hall table to keep her violent impulses in check. She was better than that. "I only want to know why."

Casey fixed her gaze on the bland, debris-covered rug. "How can I answer that?" she murmured. "I mean, what can I say, Olivia? That I was losing my case? That I needed someone to blame?"

Olivia set her jacket down on a nearby box and sank onto the edge of a relatively uncluttered armchair. "Case," she said quietly and evenly. "After all we've seen… Is there ever a really good reason? I just want the truth."

Casey followed her lead, shuffling to the couch and taking an uncomfortable seat on the arm of the sofa. She sighed and touched the corner of her eye with one thumb. "You know, Branch told me that I was perfect for the job because the cases got to me. I asked to be reassigned, and he actually refused." She chuckled sadly. "'He who fights monsters', right?"

Olivia bit her tongue. She had lost count of the number of times she had mused on that dire warning herself, wondering whether she might someday find that she had become one of the very monsters she tried to stop. Casey had done something heinous, but she had also been a good friend and a caring partner for a long time. Olivia's heart wasn't stone; she might not be able to love Casey anymore, but she could still pity her.

"I lost it," Casey continued, seemingly unaware of how her soft words were affecting Olivia. "I knew that my work was slipping. And then, with Picard… you know what happened." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. "I could feel you slipping away in the midst of all that. I thought I was going to lose you, so I got drunk. I was going to come home and let you out, but then, I saw you and I was so angry and…" While she spoke, she had picked up momentum and her voice had gotten stronger, but suddenly, she trailed off.

When Casey fell silent, Olivia took a moment for herself, resting her forehead in the palm of her hand and letting the story settle over her. She could have guessed, she supposed, but that didn't make it easier to listen to. She took a deep, fortifying breath.

"Look at me," she said quietly. Once Casey had obeyed, she continued. "What made you think you were losing me? Because we had a fight?"

"Because I saw her…" She moved her jaw, as if she was grinding her teeth. "Alex. I knew that I couldn't comp…"

"What." Olivia didn't ask the question, she bit it, snapping her teeth together with an audible sound.

Casey jumped, startled by the violence of the brunette's reaction. "I met a friend from appeals for lunch a couple of weeks ago. I saw her on the steps. I… I thought you knew."

xxxXXXxxx

Elliot snuck a glance at his partner over the lip of his paper coffee cup. She was still officially barred from the squad room, but he had been unsurprised to get a call from her. In their nine years of partnership, he had almost never known her to be able to stay away from the job for more than a day or two. He had been surprised, however, when she'd failed to even ask about their cases and had instead asked him to pick her up before heading home. He hadn't asked for an explanation; that wasn't the way they worked. But he was a little baffled.

He lowered his cup and noticed that Olivia hadn't taken more than a sip of hers, even though she had insisted on coming to this particular coffee shop. She seemed completely distracted, staring out of the window and drumming her fingertips anxiously against her cup. Elliot could see that something was wrong, but he couldn't possibly fathom what they were doing here.

"Liv, what's going on with you?"

He paused waiting for a response. He got none, not even a glance. He leaned over a little, trying to catch her eye. "Hey, Earth to Olivia. " She shifted her drumming fingers to the Formica tabletop but gave no sign that she was listening to him or that she was even aware of his presence. He hated to admit it, but she was starting to scare him a little bit. He knew that she was in uncharted waters, and he was more than willing to do anything she wanted or needed. She just had to say it, to talk to him. He covered her fingers with his own to draw her attention and to stop the nervous tic that was starting to border on frantic.

"Olivia, tell me what we're doing here. I'll back your play, but…"

At last, she spared him an irritated glance and shushed him before returning her attention to the busy sidewalk outside. He resisted the urge to press his lips together. That was more like the Olivia he knew and loved, he mused silently, although the fact that she didn't snatch her hand away piqued his concern. Certain now that something was extremely wrong, Elliot resolved to keep chipping away.

Before he could say another word, however, her hand tightened around his, nails digging into his fingers, and she gasped as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, Elliot followed her gaze, craning to see whatever it was that had precipitated this reaction. If it was Casey, he thought furiously, if she had threatened or blackmailed Olivia… Well, his partner's gentler nature be damned, he'd put that cow in the hospital. But then he saw what she saw, and he knew without a doubt that it was not Casey that had Olivia acting so strangely.

It was Alex.

Alex who was in Witsec. Alex who had left without saying goodbye. Alex who had, Elliot suddenly realized, had come home without so much as a word to Olivia.

Elliot stared after her until her blonde ponytail disappeared in a crowd waiting for the light to change. Then, he turned his shocked stare onto his partner. Olivia's face was expressionless except for the tight muscles at the corners of her mouth and the smallest of creases between her eyebrows. He felt stunned: horrified and full of rage on behalf of the woman across the table and utterly at a loss as to what to do about it. He returned her grip on his hand.

"Liv…"

She finally looked at him, and he almost selfishly wished she hadn't. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Olivia's soul was a wasteland. Her bruises, even though they had faded substantially over the past several days, abruptly seemed to stand out, and Elliot thought that she looked… worn out? Small? Desolated? He felt acutely aware of the blessings in his life – his wife, his children, his home – and of all the times he had borne witness to the let downs in his partner's. Something clicked, and Elliot was suddenly resolute; he knew what to do. He bunched his jacket in his free hand and stood.

"Come on, Liv. Kathy's got a roast in the crockpot, and you're coming home for dinner."

Author's Note: If you haven't guessed by now, I'm in love with the original concept of Olivia as a tragic character, i.e., one who, through no fault of her own and for no discernible reason, gets fucked over and over and over again. It's so unsatisfying that it comes full circle and is totally satisfying. So yeah, thanks, Elliot, for the pot roast, because Liv has no idea that the next couple months include getting in a car accident, witnessing a suicide, being the subject of a kidnap/Milgram experiment, and having a brush with prison rape. Yeah.