A/N: There aren't too many post-Informed stories, so here's my little contribution. I thought about doing more than one chapter. Tell me if this puts you to sleep.

Elliot groaned as the stack of mail he'd been carrying slid to the floor and scattered about the tile. He sighed and bent down to retrieve the envelopes. One in particular caught his eye, and he slowly picked it up. The rest were forgotten as he made his way to the couch. There was no return address, but the little red circle at the top of the envelope told him all he needed to know. He turned the envelope over and dug his finger under the flap before sliding it across to reveal the contents. Peering inside, he sat down on the edge of the couch.

The paper had been ripped out of a notebook and bits of paper fell to the floor as he separated the pages. It reminded him of the many times he'd found the same speckles in the hallway from his kids' homework. He smoothed out the pages on his knee and studied the condition of the paper. While still fresh, the ink had been rubbed and smeared in places, leaving blue streaks where white space should have been. A dirty finger print rested in the top margin near the date. Frowning at where she could have been when writing the letter, he began to read.

Elliot. Not El. Not even Stabler. It began with a simple Elliot.

I know you must have a million and one questions to ask, only one of which I can answer. That is, if you're wondering. I'm okay. Okay. Not fine, the usual answer when everything is in fact…fine. He read further, noticing that the ink was getting harder to read.

I also know you probably called a dozen times the day you found out. Please don't be mad. It was out of my control. Keep calling, please. His heart sank upon reading the last line. How could he ever stop? If she only knew how many times a day he'd picked up the phone to dial the familiar number, only to be told the number had been disconnected by some voice other than her own.

The door wasn't my idea, either. I'll have to give you a new key when I get back. I don't know when that will be. Don't forget to feed Fred, okay? Fred. The imaginary fish they'd made up in jest. He could still hear her laughter as they joked about the little beta and the smile that graced her face when he offered to get her a real one. She'd just patted his shoulder and shrugged, saying that she was never home.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I couldn't. It wasn't just some other way to distance myself from you again. Please don't think it was. I regret leaving in the first place. The reason I left before was the same reason I came back months later. I missed all the complications that I was running away from. I missed you. He still pictured her empty desk and how it had been cleared off, once again, for a brief period.

You know, I miss the guys, too. I miss Munch's coffee. Don't tell him, though, or he'll get a complex and start making it every day. I don't want to be the reason the squad revolts. I miss the peeling paint in the women's bathroom and the tile hanging from above the last stall. Someone should fix it. She was rambling. Biding her time, maybe. She sounds so lonely.

Sorry about the stationery. I collected enough change to send this and I bummed some paper and a pen off a college school student earlier. She's studying criminal justice. I almost let the cat out of the bag on that one. It would have been nice talking to her, woman-to-woman. I can't remember a time I didn't want to do what I do. Except now. She really didn't have a choice. He realized he'd started to clench the paper in his hands and pulled on the sides to fix the creases. They all had blamed her, at first. A sense of guilt washed over him. Something else took its place, though, as he started to read again.

They're coming back soon with the supplies. The authorities here aren't like they are back home. They're not as quick. We're ten steps ahead of them, but I think they're getting smarter. A new week brings a different town. I wish they'd hurry. I've never been this far under before. I don't even know who I am anymore. She wants to be caught. By the feds? By the cops? She wants it to be over. If he knew exactly where she was, he'd bring her home. Somehow.

You'd like the cathedral we're hanging out at tonight. They don't care too much as long as we're gone by sunrise. I almost went in today. I wouldn't know what to do if I did. I don't think He likes me too much right now. She's living on the streets. Her writing gets worse and he wonders why. Is she cold? Is she getting enough to eat? Sleep?

I have to go. I hear them coming. Tell the guys I said hi. Save a seat for me. It was crossed out but he could read it all the same. Keep my seat warm. She knew he'd get another partner, but it wasn't the same. She wasn't Olivia.

P. She didn't use her real name. She couldn't. She was right. She was in deep, and he was scared for her. He'd never seen her afraid for her own safety before. He re-read the letter over-and-over. Each time, he had to stop reading at that one point.. He grew more concerned as the seconds ticked by. He wondered what she was doing. He hoped they were treating her right. He prayed the church would take care of her, would listen to her heart and know she wasn't a bad person. Most of all, he hoped she came home soon; in one piece. He stilled his shaking hands and folded the piece of paper back up. He slid it back into the envelope and stared at the little red circle. He had some research to do.