The precinct.

A place that had become a second home to her. In many cases, even more comforting than home. A safe place that wasn't really safe at all. Bullets had grazed the filing cabinets and blood had spilled on the floor, yet the walls still had the same embrace as a warm hug.

She never thought she'd miss the smell of burnt coffee and typewriter ink.

Heads turned as she slowly made her way into the bullpen. Each step was delicate, guarded hopes that she could slip in unnoticed. She didn't want the attention that was so recklessly coming her way.

She was grateful to have finally rid herself of the sling, leaving her to cover up any remaining trace of her wounds with a turtleneck sweater. The seams of the bandages still protruded past the fabric of the shirt, but at least it wasn't painfully obvious.

She was home.

The 1-6 had always felt like an old friend. An old friend who had seen her in so many phases of life. This place had seen her grow.

"Hi, I'm looking for Detective Stabler?" she asked, coming to the first desk nearest to the door. The station house was similar to her last; the same tall ceilings and beige walls. The same day-to-day business of uniformed officers standing around and witnesses waiting to be interviewed.

"You got me, how can I help you?" he finally responded, looking up from the pile of paperwork he had been buried in. A slightly open-mouth smile drew across his lips as his eyes fell upon hers for the very first time. He was paused, completely immersed in the second that felt like an eternity. The brunette hair that fell to her shoulders and the long, dark eyelashes that almost touched her cheeks when she blinked.

"I'm Detective Olivia Benson. I'm your new partner." she stuck her hand out to shake his, her own grin breaking through the subtlety she was hoping for.

As if his brain had short-circuited, it took a moment for him to register that she was trying to shake his hand. He forced himself back to reality, his calloused palms meeting the softness of her skin. "N-new partner?" he sputtered, never quite losing the smile. "What happened to Jo?"

"I uh, I don't know any Jo. I just transferred here from the 5-5." she vaguely motioned at the door, her eyes refusing to leave his. "My old sarge recommended me for the spot."

"Well then, welcome aboard, Olivia Benson."

"Liv?" a familiar voice pulled her out of her reverie. "You okay? You've been staring off into space for a moment." Cragen said, walking up towards her.

She turned to face him, still drowning in the nostalgia that had run through her. From the small twinge in her cheeks, she could tell that she was wearing the same grin now as she had from the first day she had joined the squad. "I'm fine, Captain."

"Good," he smiled. "I'm glad to have you back." he patted her back, leaving her to get comfortable at her desk.

The damn thing had turned into a shrine. Nothing changing since the last time she had seen it. Even the little pink appointment reminder slip she had left on the surface was still there. Over an entire month since she had stepped foot back into the very room that she had almost every day for ten years in. Dust had gathered on the keyboard and monitor of her computer, along with any remnants of paperwork that she hadn't finished.

As soon as she sat down, the room was spinning.

"Well, that's your new desk. Make yourself at home," he laughed, sitting directly across from her. She set her box of paperwork and framed photographs down, attempting to hide the grin that burned in her cheeks.

She glanced over at him, seeing the prominent smirk he wore as he pretended not to watch her. "So, what made you want to leave the 5-5? Word on the street is that they have a much better coffee maker there."

She giggled as she placed a golden-edged frame on her desk. The never-ending reminder of why she wanted to join. Better yet, why she had begged Karen Smythe to help her transfer. Within the frame was a photo of her and her mother, a rare point in time when things between them were actually decent. But, that was a story for another day. For now, the real reason she had wanted to transfer was a secret to be kept to herself.

"I guess I wanted to do something a little more meaningful. I just finished my bid as a traffic cop and graduated to a detective. I'm dying to get some actual experience under my belt. That, and I like a good puzzle. My old unit was just a bunch of open and shut cases."

The sparkle in his eye didn't leave. Instead, the icy blue gaze only became more apparent. He was quickly becoming engulfed in the need to know everything about her. She had a mystery lurking around her, calling to him.

He wanted to know about every detail that made Olivia into who she is.

The desk across from hers was empty.

Shocker.

There was a little less light in reality than there was in her memory. Maybe time had been the one that had dulled everything out, turning it shades of grey rather than the vibrancy she had remembered from her first day.

Maybe Cragen had told him that she was coming back. Maybe he had made it his mission not to be present.

Or maybe she should just appreciate the alone time she had before God knows what would happen next.

Over a month since she had left. Two weeks since she had been discharged from the hospital. A week since she had gone to her fertility specialist for her first consultation. Two weeks since she had last seen him.

The frames on her desk had grown since her first day. Alongside her mother's photo was a photo of herself and Elliot, and a shot of the squad at a Christmas party back in '98.

"C'mon, Liv. Get in the photo." Elliot chuckled as he waved towards her. The precinct was decorated with garland and lights. It wasn't the jolliest place in the world, but they made due with it.

"No!" she laughed, hesitantly shaking her head. "It's okay, I'll take the picture!" Cassidy, Munch, Cragen, Jeffries, Briscoe Jr. and the rest of the squad were huddled around the empty desk, cradling their own cups of spiked punch.

She hadn't felt as if she were part of the squad yet. Not that they weren't offering her a warm welcome. They were kind to her, accepting her presence almost instantly. But in the few weeks she had been a part of the 1-6, she struggled to adapt.

For a while, she had even considered if her mother had been right. Maybe this wasn't the best for her. But she had a wound, and the easiest way she healed was by healing other wounds.

Maybe she should've been a damn doctor.

"Look, it's got a timer on it." Elliot was by her side in a swift movement, showing her the buttons on the newest camera that the department had gotten their hands on.

But being around him made it easier. A metaphorical hand to hold while she learned the ropes. With him, she always seemed to finally be able to release the breath she wasn't aware she had been holding. He was becoming her safe place.

As much as she hated to admit that she needed a shoulder to lean on, she couldn't deny herself of the simple fact that it was him. He was the one who helped hold her hair back when a crime scene made her physically sick. He was the face that stared at her during long nights of endless paperwork. He was the one who brought her a bagel from her favorite place every morning even though it took him out of his route to work.

"You're a part of this place now. We're all practically family" he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. The others were off in the distance, co-mingling while waiting for the photo. "Families don't leave each other out of photos."

He set up the camera before he led her away, quickly rushing back to the group. "Alright, on the count of three everyone say 'Merry Christmas'." his arm wrapped around her shoulder, clutching her into the frame. She couldn't help but giggle as he tried to grab everyone's attention.

"3, 2, 1, Merry Christmas!"

And just like that, forever remembered for as long as the photo would last, she turned her head at the last minute to smile up at him.

The blinding flash from the camera in her memories brought her back. Same desks, a handful of the same people, the same cases over and over again. How was it possible that so much had changed in ten years.

Looking across her gave her an eerie feeling that something was off. Logically, she knew it was because Elliot wasn't staring back at her with another dopey grin. She glanced back down at the photo, watching her past self get caught mid-laugh with someone she never knew would become such a massive part of her life.

The thought of calling him had crossed her mind. She wasn't ready to cave yet, not when she had taken such a hard stance. But she hated change more than she hated anything else, and everything was changing so quickly, something within her begged to hold onto one last shred of what normalcy was to her. She wanted her partner back. She wanted her life back.

Maybe she wasn't ready to come back to work.

Nostalgia of a life that wasn't even gone yet was taking her in its chokehold, and nostalgia from a life ten years ago wasn't helping.

Why couldn't she breathe?

She had tried to convince herself that letting go of her old life was okay because she would start a new one. She would finally do the things she had never done. But even just the thought of life becoming a whirlwind was enough to tighten the grip on her throat.

Nothing was the same. Nothing would ever be the same. This was it, this was her life. Maybe not forever, but time didn't move in reverse. New normal, new normal, new normal; the words that every goddamn human on the planet seemed to spout off at her.

She just wanted to breathe and know it would be a breath taken without the world shifting under her feet. Why couldn't she breathe?

She felt their eyes on her, the whispers and the stares. Yeah, that's right, it's me!

It was wrong to do this. She was wrong. She wasn't ready to come back or even try to pretend that it would ever be the way it once was. Not even to entertain the thought enough to end the feeling of impending doom. What the fuck where they starring at? Jesus Christ, get back to work!

The room was getting smaller, the voices growing louder. She could feel it in her bones. Were they pitying her? Was she just some goddamn spectacle? She tried to close her eyes which only made the spinning of the room worsen. She couldn't sit at this desk. She couldn't stare at this computer. How could she? How could she sit at this desk and pretend to be the same person who had sat at it last. They were no longer her fingerprints on the keyboard, they were a stranger's who happened to be herself.

Everything was wrong and her lungs were collapsing under the weight of her thoughts. What kind of person forgot how to breathe? For fuck's sake, quit staring!

She needed to leave. She couldn't. She'd have to carry on a conversation with Cragen which would feel like eternity and she didn't have eternity, she had exactly 4 seconds before her lungs would explode.

She darted out of her chair so fast the damn thing was practically spinning from her departure. The cribs, she could make it to the cribs. If she just put one foot in front of the other and forced herself to keep her eyes open, she could make it.

The adrenaline and anxiety created a volatile mix in her veins, thrumming through her system without any signs of slowing down. She needed peace and quiet and somewhere that she couldn't hear the blaring loud thoughts of those who couldn't peel their fucking eyes off of her.

Ten more steps to the metal door and she'd be home free.

A moment to collect herself without the recollection of everything she was losing. Everything that was leaving her behind. It was different in the walls of her own home where silence was bountiful and nobody watched and waited for some unmistakable sign that she was falling apart.

She was naïve for thinking that she was ready to come back. But with the way she felt, the panic that electrocuted her spine, she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready.

The door to the cribs slammed behind her and the world around her was gone. The oxygen that filled her lungs felt like the first breath of air after drowning.

The heel of her boots slowly clicked against the cement floor. She raised the arm that wasn't mangled to lean against the metal frame of one of the bunks. Within moments of her head resting against her arm, she broke. Like a fucking baseball bat to a sandcastle, she crumbled. Mascara-stained tears fell down her cheeks, leaving a black mark on her navy blue sleeve.

"I just— I just need a minute." she wheezed out, planting both arms beside her on the bottom bunk she had sat down on. She had run out of the bullpen, begging her lungs to just take in one deep breath. She had darted to the only place she could think of that was within reach, the cribs.

"Liv, is it the case?" he asked, sympathy and worry filling each word. He slowly sat down next to her, leaving room for her to still feel as if she wasn't being crowded. "If it's too much, there's no shame in that. Everyone has their limits."

She just stared at the floor, counting the lines engraved into the concrete. Her lips were swollen from the assault of her teeth, the panic-stricken response to her worst anxieties. How was she supposed to unload this on him? She did her best to carry the weight herself, to walk through life knowing it would always be on her shoulders.

Maybe it was the case, or maybe it was because she had assigned herself to bear the shame and the guilt. Maybe it was just getting to heavy, especially after throwing herself into the ring of it all.

They let the silence hang long enough for her to finally come back to reality. She didn't want to tell him, but he'd find out eventually. Better it come from her instead of someone else.

"Elliot," she whispered, her voice gravelled from the lump in her throat. She looked up at him with numb but tearful eyes. "I'm the product of my mother's rape."

He stared at her with the same gaze that everyone did when they first heard. Trying to process something that no brain should even be capable of processing. He watched and waited as she allowed herself to hear her own words. She had only ever said them outloud a few times, but every time struck her just as hard.

"Your life is so much more than the photos on the corkboard, Olivia." he whispered.

Her brows furrowed as she let the words rain down on her. In the oddest way, his response was a breath of fresh air. Not because he was confirming something she already knew. Rather, it was the one response that varied from every single other response she had been given. No overwhelming sympathy, no pity, no garden-variety string of words that she had heard too many times before.

For once, the response was what she had been searching for.

He didn't belittle her or suddenly look at her as if she were someone he had never known before. No kid gloves.

Unwavering validation that didn't make her any less of who she was before he knew her past.

"That girl..." she scoffed, slowly shaking her head. "I've looked over my mother's case a thousand times, I remember every word of it. The tapes, the pictures, the evidence. But that girl, she looks so much like my mother did at that age. God, you'd think they were the same person. I don't know— it just got to me."

"Whatever you decide you want to do, I'll back your play. If you want to have Munch and Jeffries take over the case, I'm fine with that. If you wanna keep working it, I'm fine with that too."

How was it possible for someone's voice to be so damn calming? The tone of his words brought on a safety blanket she had never quite felt before.

"I'm a big girl, Elliot." she sniffled, wiping away her tears.

"I know," he smirked. "That's why I'm almost certain you're gonna tell me that you wanna power through the case and close it." he rested his hand gently on her back as she chuckled along with him.

She finally looked up, finding herself face to face once again with those tantalizing soft blue eyes. She liked the way his smile reached his eyes.

His other arm opened to her, and she accepted the offer of a much needed embrace. As soon as her head rested against his shoulder, the remaining tension in her body released. She forced herself not to grip him tighter, fearing she may never let go.

She didn't want to let go.

But times had changed, and with it, they had changed. For the time being, and maybe for the rest of time, his hand was no longer steading her back as she sobbed against the bunk. There was no warmth of a hug with the one person who never failed to make her feel safe.

But she remembered that day and how she had managed to pull herself together and get back to work. She could do it again. She'd have to. Doing it without him seemed impossible, but she had grown. She had changed.

And she hated change.