In the fan fiction system, the fact that Olivia and Elliot will never be together is considered especially heinous. On fanfiction . net, the dedicated writers are members of an elite (but futile) squad known as the E/O shippers. These are their stories (whose characters they do not own).

He doesn't go to her funeral.

This is mainly because he is stone drunk and has forgotten the date. He can't remember if he's stopped drinking since that day, and the beer bottles surrounding him testify to this speculation.

At least, this is what he tells himself. Truthfully, he would rather roll around naked in broken glass than endure the endless weeping, sobbing, grieving that would await him if he attended. As he sits there on his couch in his silent apartment, he can all but hear the people saying a few nice words, mourning her untimely death, and lifting their hands to the heavens, asking the man upstairs the inevitable question asked at all funerals: why?

Elliot Stabler could have saved them the effort. He can explain it all to them.

Olivia Benson's dead because he killed her. She's dead because her partner was a monster. She's dead, her killer's still alive, and no one will ever bring him to justice.

The bottle makes an earsplitting shattering when it collides against his wall. It's almost enough to wake him up, but not really.

Elliot hasn't cried once since that day. He doesn't deserve to do so.

Even stone drunk, Elliot can't stop the memories that filter through his alcohol-saturated brain. Some of them are just moments. The occasional burgers they'd gotten together. The lopsided grin on her face that was half-patronizing, half-amused when he told a really bad sex crimes joke. The sympathetic, best-friend-beer she'd bought him when Kathy had finally called it quits for good.

Yeah, all of that. He wishes just for a moment it would all stop. That's when he raises a fresh bottle to his lips.

The knock on his door jolts Elliot slightly. Who the hell besides Kathy—who was currently in Ontario visiting family and wasn't even aware of the whole situation—would dare to come here? Hell, who the hell besides Kathy and Olivia even knew where he lived? Elliot hasn't been exactly the entertaining type, and even his ex-wife was only permitted on the threshold of his lovely establishment. Olivia had only made it to the living room. Both women are out of the question, so it has to be either some kind of idiot or criminal at his door, neither of which he is currently prepared to deal with.

Despite all this, Elliot lumbers unsteadily to his feet. It's a good thing he hasn't taken off his shoes ever since he got home; glass crunches underneath his steps. He throws open the door without looking to see who it is. He doesn't care; he's just going to scream at them to leave, anyways.

But when he sees his sometimes-partner, most-times opponent Fin Tutuola standing at his doorstep, he's too surprised to shout.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silent, Elliot's lips curve into a sardonic grin. "Well, well, well, if it isn't my best friend in the world come to check up on me."

"Elliot, you didn't come to the funeral. It's been five days since anyone's seen you, and you're wearing the same shirt they took you away in. Hell, her damn blood is still on your shirt!" Even if Elliot won't shout, Fin certainly will. Maybe he's trying to get a rise out of Elliot, and of all times in his life, this would certainly be one of the most justified of all certified Elliot-eruptions.

But he just shrugs and starts to close the door. "Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate the sympathy, really, I do."

Fin's always been an asshole, Elliot thinks, temper finally flaring as the door collides solidly with the other detective's foot. He's never been one to listen.

"I'm not finished, Stabler. You think this would make Olivia proud of—"

Elliot doesn't know how Fin's sentence ends, and no, he doesn't care. He doesn't want to hear Fin talk like he knew Olivia, because Elliot was the only one who ever really knew Olivia. He does, however, like the sound his fist makes when it smashes into Fin's face. Boy, has that one been long coming. The problem is, Elliot is too drunk to throw a proper punch, resulting in a glancing blow and a furious Fin, who proceeds to grab Elliot by the collar, despite the former being taller, and ram him into a wall.

"Damn it, Stabler! You've always been an asshole! It's a miracle Olivia put up with you so long!"

"Hah," Elliot gurgles out, choked by his own shirt, "like I never heard that one before."

Fin drops him, and Elliot finds his breath again.

"But you're right, detective. My god, you are a smart one. It is a miracle. Women like Olivia aren't supposed to end up with monsters like me. It's a miracle that she lived so long by my side."

"You're not listening to me," said Fin furiously. "What I've been trying to say to you is that you need to think how Olivia would have wanted you to be right now. She would've wanted you to pick yourself off, feel for your loss, and move on. But not, you're regressing into little baby Stabler, crying into his vodka and being too incompetent to even bathe himself. You're whining, sniveling, feeling sorry for yourself, but no, you're not the only one who lost her, and it would've meant a lot to a lot of people if you'd actually showed up today. So, in a few words, Elliot—"

"You don't understand anything." Elliot's words come out like the hiss of an steam valve. "You're too stupid to understand anything. Guess what, Tutuola? I killed my best friend. I killed Olivia. Can anyone else at that funeral say that?"

Fin doesn't say anything for once. There is very little that one can say to such a statement. Finally, he just sighs. "I didn't come to mop up your beer tears, Stabler. I came to make sure you weren't dead…and to give you this."

Elliot doesn't even bother to look up when something flat and hard is shoved into his hands. He does, however, smell her on the object. It's a strange thing, but when something you've smelled every day for over the past decade suddenly stops being in your life, you are able to recognize the smell when it very suddenly comes back.

Elliot hears Fin open the door quietly and leave. He's probably going to come back, that S.O.B.

Now that he's alone, Elliot shuffles back to his couch, the one that has the imprint of his body sunken into the cushion from days of prolonged use. His hand reaches out to pick up the bottle he left, but after a moment of hesitation it drops back uselessly onto his lap.

His head is swimming, and he feels the heavy tears he doesn't ever want to come gather somewhere behind his eyeballs. No, he won't let them fall. He drinks them instead, swallowing the brine whole but not without remorse.

"Hey, Liv," he whispers. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Why did her secret live such a clandestine life? Why couldn't it have escaped into the wild? It might have died, or it might have bloomed. Either way, it would have been free. Now they would never know.

Elliot knows the answer, deep down where his tears have been swallowed. Now the salt makes his heart ache with guilt and fury.

It was the law.

The very same law he'd spent his whole life upholding.

If she'd told Elliot the truth about her feelings, they never could have worked another day as partners. Because that's what the law said. And Olivia never would have run that risk. She knew what Elliot meant to her, and she knew what she meant to Elliot. And so, her secret had come undone at the very end of everything.

Elliot has never hated himself more. To think he's spent his whole life, protecting the very thing that makes him want to die.

He looks at last at the object Fin gave him, inspecting it carefully. It was a journal of some kind, and as he cracks it open, he recognizes the messy scrawl instantly.

Liv.

This story isn't over yet, Elliot Stabler realizes dimly. In fact, it's all just begun.