A/N: Hello everyone. I hope all of you had a happy Thanksgiving with your family and friends. Mine was quiet but nice; our family had a nice steak dinner since we prefer that to turkey. Our little tradition I guess.

So, here's the moment you've all been waiting for, my new EO story. While some of you might be turned off by the historical aspect, I have two assurances. One, it's set in 1969 so things won't be too outlandish rather than doing something in the middle ages for example. Second, this story will primarily be about Liv and El and their relationship as they try and solve the crisis. The history serves as merely a backdrop and to establish a conflict.

I will strive to make things as accurate as possible, though some small liberties will be taken to fit in with the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of SVU, nor do I own the history books. This isn't 1984 and I'm not the Ministry of Truth. If I was though…

This story is dedicated to Stabson, whose amazing stories helped me improve my writing skills dramatically. If you haven't read her stories Shattered or Clash, do so immediately.

Note: I know all of you want an update for Prey, but bear with me. It will be out very shortly. Meanwhile, if you haven't read chapters 18 or 19, it would mean so much to me if you did so and left a review :)

Note 2: The first little section, read it like you would the background captions in a movie, kind of like the words before Star Wars.

Five, Four, Three, Two, One, liftoff!

COUNTDOWN

A Story by The Congressman

Chapter One: Awake

The year is 1969, and tensions between the United States of America and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics are at their highest levels yet. With the threat of nuclear annihilation looming like a specter over both sides, each nation scrambles to claim the top prize, domination over space.

Lagging behind for much of the so-called Space Race, by the mid-sixties the United States has caught up. The successful Mercury and Gemini Programs have led to the development of the Apollo Program, whose flight tested Saturn V rocket puts the top prize in sight for the US, putting a man on the moon.

Meanwhile, the rival superpower is having a tough time of it. Despite early triumphs like Sputnik and Yuri Gagarin's orbit of the Earth, the Soviet Union is now falling behind. With the death of Sergei Korolev, the man behind the nation's early victories, the Soyuz lunar program suffers from countless delays and problems. The leaders of the World's first Socialist state now must face the likelihood that Apollo 11 will reach the moon before Soyuz 7K-L3, dealing a massive humiliation to Soviet power.

This is a story of how they decided to even the odds.

And how two managed to stop them.

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

5 AM, July 13, 1969

The sound of running water made him open his eyes, and he immediately wished he hadn't. There were only a few seconds of early morning grogginess before the pain descended with its full force. He clenched his teeth, willing it to go away but it refused too. There were the dull aches in his joints from not moving for quite some time, a stabbing pain in his back from an awkward sleeping position on the cold, hard floor beneath him, and a persistent banging in his head, a small voice telling him that it was probably a hangover.

'What the hell happened?' he thought, forcing himself to ignore the pain and open his eyes once more. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the light, dim as it was from the florescent lights, but what he found both sickened and shocked him.

He had woken up in a stall in a public restroom, complete with the, strong smell of disinfectant, unwashed floors, discarded paper towels strew everywhere, and the ubiquitous toilet bowl some inconsiderate jerk forgot to flush.

A sudden urge to hurl came over him, mostly from the utter humiliation rather than from the aftereffects of his likely hangover; how he hell did he wind up in a public restroom? What the hell happened to him? Whatever it was had to be very bad. But the dryness of his mouth overcame his nausea; he needed water, and fast.

Rising to his feet, still woozy from sleep, he shuffled to the row of white sinks about a few feet from the stall across the cheap tile floor. Turning on the tap, he quickly cupping the tap water in his palms and sipping. The water was cool to the tongue, allowing the last of the grimy taste and dryness to be banished from his mouth and the grogginess from his mind. At last his brain was more or less awake, and he looked forward to figuring out why the hell he woke up in a public toilet.

Trouble was, he couldn't.

His mind tried to think back, last night, last morning, the day before yesterday. All it found was a blank. He started to panic, attempting to figure out everything he knew about himself. Nothing.

He wanted to cry out in abject fear, he remembered nothing about himself. Not even a name! 'Oh God, I don't even remember my name.'

Looking up into the mirror, a strangled gasp escaped his lips. Looking back at him was a common bum, a wastrel of the worst sort. The hobo was clad in a filthy olive jacket, brown pants, and cheap work boots; his hair was matted, face covered in grime. That bum was him.

'No, it can't be! I can't be him.' If he wasn't so dehydrated tears would have been cascading down his cheeks.

"Who am I?" he said aloud.

A sharp groan from behind him caused him to wheel around. "Fuck!" said a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. "God damn it Elliot!" A man, who was even filthier but clearly in better shape than him rose slowly. "It's too fucking early for this shit!"

Elliot was overjoyed at the hobo's statement. 'Elliot. My name is Elliot.' In a situation like this one clung to anything concrete, no matter how pathetically. He had a name, that was a start.

The other man rose from his pile in the corner, stretching his arms. He was in a tattered tweed jacket, the kind one would likely scrounge from a garbage can in a middle-class neighborhood, and a pair of scruffy shoes, his thick, black hair spiked up. "Jesus H. Fuck I need some water." He stepped toward the sink and took a drink. He looked up, seeing Elliot staring at him. "What the hell's your problem?"

"Who are you?" Elliot asked. For the life of him he couldn't place him; he could recollect the faces of important people, like President Nixon and Governor Rockefeller, but no one that he might have known personally sprang to mind.

"Are you retarded Elliot? I'm Brian, don't you remember?"

Elliot shook his head. "No, I've lost my memory."

The other man, Brian, began laughing uproariously. "Well duh you ol' son of a bitch. After all you drank last night I ain't surprised." He wetted his hand and ran it through his hair. "Drank a whole bottle of Vodka; didn't leave nothin' for me."

The revelation nearly made Elliot's knees buckle. Apparently he was a drunken bum who slept in public restrooms. This was unbelievable. He took another good look at himself in the mirror. Staring closely at the reflection, he noticed his eyes were a clear, cerulean blue, and is nose didn't have the exposed veins of chronic alcoholism. So if he was one it must have been recent. A small scar was on his temple, looking like a gash that had healed long ago. His brown hair was unruly but showed evidence of being cut recently. Also, his facial hair was an even stubble, indicating he did shave. Instead of calming him it only made him more confused as to this whole mess.

"Fuck, I'm starving!" Brian announced to no one in particular. "Let's get out of here." He moved to leave.

"Wait," Elliot called out. He had so many questions. "What's my last name?"

"Do I look like the fucking DMV? How the hell should I know?" This guy grated on Elliot's nerves with his constant cursing and apparent arrogance, but he took a deep breath to calm himself, for Brian was the only person who knew him.

He checked his pockets, searching for any money he could have carried. Aside for some lint there was nothing, no money, no wallet, not even a handkerchief. "I must be broke," he murmured to himself.

"What a brilliant observation Einstein," Brain quipped, laughing at his own lame pun.

Elliot wasn't listening, too caught up in his confused thoughts. "How did this," he gestured to himself "Happen?"

Before Brian could respond a small man in formal attire of a minor official pushed open the restroom door, only to be taken aback at the two men in front of him. "You two aren't supposed to be here," he shouted angrily. "Get out before I get the police!"

"We're going man, hold your horses," Brian replied, motioning Eliot to follow him out the door.

"The last thing I need are street trash like you messing up my station. Now get!" He shoved Elliot roughly.

With lightning reflexes, Elliot swung around and clamped the official's hand in his own, squeezing roughly. The man's face morphed from one of anger into one of fear. "We're going you little prick, so that's unnecessary," Elliot growled menacingly. The official, wearing a uniform that wasn't a cop's nodded and scurried off, his face white.

"Calm down buddy," Brian cautioned. "Let's go, come on."

Elliot felt bad. Sure, the guy was an asshole and could learn to treat people better but he did sleep in the damn toilet. The guy had every right to want him gone. He reasoned that he did have a good sense of right and wrong, so he wasn't a robber or a rapist; Elliot was comforted in that fact.

"So where are we?" he asked Brian, taking a look around. The building was quite large, a polished stone foyer surrounded by schedules and columns. Large, glass windows let in the early morning sun while a few people traversed the three staircases directly under it. There was a large four sided clock, reading 5:24 AM, a large, barrel vault painted green forming the ceiling. It all looked vaguely familiar.

"You sure you didn't hit your head last night?" Brian asked. Elliot just shrugged. "We're in Grand Central Station, New York, New York.

Ah, so that's what it was. He recognized it, but not from memory which was completely blank.

"Those two! They're the ones!" Elliot heard a voice shout behind him.

"Uh oh," said Brian, starting to run. Elliot looked over to see the small man, likely a Transit Authority official, point him out to two burly cops. 'Fuck!' Elliot bolted as well.

Grand Central was mostly empty at this time of day, aiding both Elliot in giving him a clear line of flight, while doing the same for the cops. Booking for the exit as fast as his legs could handle, Elliot dodged and weaved through what people were there, earning and few curses and indignant shouts. He looked over his shoulder. The two cops had split up, one going off in another direction while the other kept after him. However it was clear that Elliot was in much better shape than the transit cop managing to reach the outer doors several dozen paces ahead. He stumbled onto Park Ave, waiting for the nightstick to come down on his shoulder of the sound of cuffs being put on his wrists. But nothing came, the cop probably deciding it wasn't worth it to keep up the chase. They got him out, that was what mattered.

Taking a few seconds to compose himself, Elliot stood and began to take in his surroundings. "So where now…" He then noticed that Brian was gone; they must have lost each other running from the police. "Well good going Elliot, you just lost the one person who knows your name." Deciding it wasn't worth beating himself up any more, he shoved his hands in his pocket and began walking. He needed to clear his thoughts.

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

The smell of the cool sea breeze was quite calming to her. Used to the hustle and bustle of city life, the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing onto the beach was an unusual sound to her, but a pleasant one. For the first time in quite a while, what with the demands of her new job and the pressures of living alone, she was happy, truly happy.

The soft patter of feet behind her attested that she was no longer alone on the balcony. She smiled, joy flooding through her at her companion being here. "Have you ever seen a more majestic sight?" she said without turning around, taking in the falling sun as it filled the sky with vibrant swaths of color. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Not as beautiful as the sight before me." She turned, catching him eying her over, a relaxed grin on his face and love in his eyes. It made her melt. "Nope, not nearly as beautiful."

She blushed, unsure of whether she deserved his praise but ecstatic that of all the women out there he had chosen her to love. "What about the sight now before me?" Taking the liberty of observing his bare chest and masculine physique, she licked her lips. "Very nice."

He raised an eyebrow. "Very nice? That's all you can say?"

She batted her eyes coyly. "Well, what else could I say?"

Growling, he advanced over and swept her in his arms bridal style, her letting out a happy squeal. "I would tell you what you could say, but it would be better to show you." Before she could respond, he mashed his lips on hers; the kiss quickly deepened as she forced her tongue into his mouth, both of them moaning. Nestled in his strong arms, hers wrapped around his neck, he carried her to bed and threw her down. Giggling, she smiled saucily at him as he climbed on top of her. She closed her eyes and purred as he kissed her neck, the most intense sort of joy filling her completely. "I love you," she breathed, not wanting him to stop.

But stop he did; she was about to let out a groan of protest before her eyes fluttered open and found his staring into them. Blue gazed at brown. "I love you too, so much." She swore her heart was about to burst.

"Gooood Morning New York!" The sound of the clock radio beside her bed nearly made her jump out of bed. "It is 6 AM on the beautiful date of July 13th. In news, all eyes are on Cape Canaveral as Apollo 11 makes its final preparations for launch just two days from now. President Nixon has stated that this is a momentous…"

With a flick of her wrist (more like a slam on second glance), Olivia Benson turned off her morning wakeup call. She flopped back into bed, her head making a soft whump as it hit the pillows. She was awake, but her mind was still woozy and disoriented from the dream.

'The dream.'

That very same dream struck again, invading her subconscious like it did almost every night for the last decade and a half. Olivia could never forget that night, the night when she last felt loved.

'Stop this Olivia, stop torturing yourself,' she thought, berating her very mind. 'It's over, it will never happen again. He's happy with her, just be happy for him.' She was a strong woman; it was one of the things she had striven to be for her entire life. Ever since it ended all those years ago, she had resolved to be strong, to always be strong and move on with her life.

Yet if Olivia really sought to think about it, she would find that she hadn't moved on. Her subconscious knew what she was too stubborn to admit. Every last thought all went back to one person and one person only. "Elliot," she whispered, not even realizing she did.

"Mommy."

Olivia's eyes flew open at the soft voice coming from across the apartment. It was coming from the one joy she had left in her hard life besides her work. Grunting, she swung her feet out of the bed, rubbing the last traces of sleep from her eyes. "Mommy's coming princess. Mommy's coming." 'Back to the daily grind.'

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

To someone who wasn't a resident, New York City could have doubled for the Labyrinth of Greek Mythology. One could easily get lost in the middle of its super-urban landscape, hence the well-deserved nickname "The Concrete Jungle."

To Elliot however, it didn't matter that he never had been here before (even if he did there was no way of knowing). He really had no place to go, so he spent the better part of the last two hours wandering the streets, his mind deep in thought.

He looked out into the street several blocks south of Grand Central, now packed with a mass of people and a throng of vehicles going about their morning's business. One of those people could be his family or his friends and he had no memory of them. Why did this have to happen to him?

Elliot forced the thought out of his head. If he were going to get out of this he couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity. He was going to have to think his way out.

"Ok, so what do I know?" he though aloud. First of all, that Brian fellow knew his name and claimed to be his companion, but on second glace they didn't seem to be to comfortable with each other. If he were a homeless person, he reasoned, then he would know better than to stay in the vicinity with an unknown person that he couldn't trust.

That brought up another thing. The level of his analysis of the situation proved he wasn't stupid, far from it in fact. He obviously had an education beyond the school of hard knocks from the vocabulary of words he thought with; the revelation comforted him somewhat, though it dredged up another set of questions. If he had an education, how did he end up on the streets? Was there some sort of hard luck story involving losing a job or something of that nature? He ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

Up ahead, a rumpled looking man in the clothes of a day laborer removed a flask from his pocket and took a sip. 'Drinking this early in the morning? What a douche.'

His eyes widened as the meaning of his thought processed itself. An alcoholic would have craved booze at all times, not getting disgusted at the sight of it. He took a sniff of his jacket; if he had drank himself into oblivion last night likely some vodka would have splashed on his jacket. Nothing. There was no smell. So he wasn't an alcoholic. 'Thank Christ.'

'Ok, I'm getting somewhere.' So he wasn't an alcoholic and had some sort of higher education. Precious little to go on in this city of nearly eight million people.

With that in mind, Elliot replayed the incident with the Transit Official and the cops. When he grasped the pompous official's hand it had been expertly done, not just relying on muscle alone. Plus he ran like a champion sprinter, barely breaking a sweat. So he was very fit with advanced training, maybe military or police?

Police? Maybe he was on some sort of missing person's list. It may not have been much but it was a start. They likely had access to records that could lead to family or friends, someone who knew him. He just had to find the nearest precinct. It may not have been much of a plan but it was a plan nonetheless.

Rounding the intersection, he spotted a police cruiser parked on the sidewalk of a mostly quiet side street. His hopes soaring, Elliot watched as a uniformed officer ducked under a broken chain-link fence, out of a vacant lot, zipping his fly as he did so. 'Most likely took a pit stop.'

"Excuse me.," Elliot said, trying best not to sound like a degenerate.

The cop looked straight at him, as if to size up the new arrival. "What?" he asked gruffly.

"Could you tell me how to get to the nearest precinct?"

"In the back of my squad car with a bloody nose if you don't get the fuck out of my sight," the cop growled back. He had sandy blond hair and a heavyset jaw, the look of a brawler. He was bad news.

Elliot however was not one to back down (another thing he realized about himself). "Look officer, I don't want any trouble. I just want to know where the nearest precinct is."

"And I'm not going to tell you again Shitbrain, fuck off."

Fists clenching by his sides, Elliot's blood began to boil. 'Who does he think he is?' "Buddy, I'm asking nicely. Are you hard of hearing, or did mommy drop you as a baby?" 'Wow, where did that come from?''

With a grunt of anger, the cop grabbed Elliot by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him on the ground. He felt a sharp pain in his elbow, it having likely cut and bruised on the hard pavement.

"Looks like I'm going to have to teach you a little lesson in manners dumbass." He strode forward and kicked Elliot in the stomach, a sadistic smirk on his face.

"Come on Sid, leave the poor guy alone." Looking up, the kick not fazing him, Elliot spotted someone else step out of the lot. It was a petite brunette sporting a flimsy tank top and skirt, cheap lipstick plastered to her lips. When the woman began straightening her skirt, which had been hiked up her hips, it all clicked in Elliot's mind. The cop had been getting serviced by this woman. She must have been a prostitute. "What he do to you?"

"Did I tell you that you could talk bitch?" the cop, Sid, said, slapping her backhanded.

A fury burning in his eyes, a switch clicked inside Elliot's brain. Using his foot he kicked the cop in the knee, not enough to break the bone but enough to restrict his movement.

Sid cried out in pain, the prostitute and several passersby watching with wide eyes. Deciding not to rest on his laurels, Elliot sprang up with an agility that surprised even him and grabbed the cop's uniform and held him in place. He jerked his head forward, ramming his head into the cop's nose, hearing a satisfying crunch as the nose broke.

Blood covering his now busted face, Sid's eyes were red with rage as he recovered. "Now you're going to get it motherfucker." He sent a right hook at Elliot's face but with a smooth motion his left hand rose and parried the cop's jab as his right arm thrust underneath and wrapped around his neck. He pressed the cop's neck with his fingers, moving his left hand to clasp his right catching Sid in a chokehold. "This'll teach you not to mess with women Shitbrain," he hissed in the cop's ear, jerking.

Sid collapsed to the ground, Elliot grabbing the man's revolver, opening the chamber and dumping the shells.

The hooker stared, half-stunned, half-fearful. "Is he dead?"

"Nah, asshole's just unconscious." The enormity of what he just did suddenly dawned on Elliot. What the hell was that, and where did he learn it?

The woman's expression changed from fear to amusement. "Come on," she said, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away as fast as she could (which was quite fast considering her stiletto heels).

When they were a block away from the scene, she began to laugh. "Man!" she slapped Elliot hard on the back. "I ain't never seen someone take old Sydney down like that. Nice job!"

"Thanks." Elliot allowed himself a small simile. "What's your name?"

"Passion," she answered. Elliot raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Fine, I'm Gladys Dalton."

Elliot's expression softened. "Nice to meet you Gladys."

"So what's your name? And don't tell me it's Knight in Shining Armor."

He snorted. "I'm Elliot, but I have no idea what my surname is. I lost my memory."

Gladys clicked her tongue. "I knew there were people out there worse off than I am." She heard his stomach grumble. "Let me take you to get something to eat."

"No, no," Elliot tried to stop her. He didn't want to mooch off anyone. "You don't have to."

"Least I could do for what you did back there. Besides, I know someone who could be of help to someone like you."

"But I have no idea who I am. What if I'm someone bad like that asshole back there."

"Honey," said Gladys, patting his arm. "When you spend as much time as I have on the streets, you get a sixth sense of these kinds of things. Believe me, you are a rare species, a descent guy."

He smiled sheepishly; she may have been a complete stranger, but he did feel oddly comforted by what she said. 'What the hell,' Elliot thought. 'It's not like I have anywhere else to go.'

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

The semitropical sun bathed the hotel room in a sort of ethereal glow, but Kathy Stabler wasn't in the mood to notice. Lying on her back, she stared at the ceiling thinking about Elliot, her husband. Her heart ached with worry for his safety, for he had been gone for quite a while.

The last time she spoke to him was yesterday morning, right before lunch. It had been all business, but she had no regrets; Elliot wasn't the romantic type, she knew. One had to look at the little things, and as a result she knew he loved her. The converse was clearly true. The last five years had been the happiest of her life.

In the last 20 years, thanks to the establishment of the John F. Kennedy Space Center Brevard County, Florida had experienced an economic and population boom, the county growing from around 23 thousand to over 200 thousand in that short interval. This hotel was one of dozens that sprang up to cater to the increase in both tourism and jobs; it was currently packed with onlookers here to witness Apollo 11 take off in two days. 'Well, I guess you can count me in that category,' Kathy thought.

Her worries getting the best of her, Kathy picked up the phone near her bed in the plush suite (it might have been a bit fancy but she could afford it) and dialed her friend in Washington, Fin Tutuola. If anyone knew where Elliot was it would be him; after all, those two had been best friends in college, their reputation notorious in the Harvard campus while she was at neighboring Radcliffe.

Ring, ring, ring. "Come on damn it," she muttered, twirling her long, blonde hair with her fingers. "Pick up Fin."

"Hello, the person you have reached is not here at this time…"

"Shit." Kathy set down the phone and headed into the bathroom, deciding a good, hot shower was what she needed.

The warm spray was like heaven as it hit her shoulder, the water cascading over her as she began to rub shampoo and conditioner in her hair.

About fifteen minutes later, she put the last touches on her makeup. Dabbing a little rouge on her cheeks, not too much but not too little just as her mother taught her, she puckered her lips and applied a very light red lipstick. Drawing back, she admired the figure in the mirror, a small smirk appearing on her lips. With long blonde hair, peaches and cream complexion, and the body to rival Elizabeth Taylor's Kathy knew she packed a hell of a punch. While she always liked to point out her top credentials (a math degree from Radcliffe and a Master's Degree in the same subject from MIT) were what kept her in the high position she had in the Apollo Program, she knew that a first impression always came down to looks.

The smirk soon morphed into a frown as Elliot popped into her mind again. Just the thought of him not being here made her heart break. She had loved him ever since they met back in college two decades ago, the fire never dimming no matter how long it had been. 'Oh how young they were,' she thought, reminiscing. Back in those days they had all been so innocent, so blind to the real workings of the world; a small part of Kathy wished she could go back to those days, back when all that needed to be concerned about were class assignments and what to wear on dates.

Kathy shook her head, banishing the thoughts from her mind. Now was not the time for idle musing. It had been 29 minutes since she called Fin. 29, a prime number, not interesting except for the fact that 29 plus 2x² were also prime numbers up to x+28. She sighed, nerves calming like they always did when she played number games in her head.

Grabbing the phone she dialed Fin again, again getting no response. "Damn it!" she screeched, setting herself down on the bed with a huff. 'What the hell was going on?'

A/N: I know what you're thinking, that it left you with more questions than answers, but trust me. I know exactly where I'm going and everything will come out as the story progresses. You are in for quite the thrill ride.

So, other than that, there's chapter one. I hope ya'll enjoyed it :)

The move Elliot used on the cop is called a side choke and it is one of the standard hand-to-hand moves taught in the Marine Corps.

On a historical note, the real launch was scheduled for July 16th, 1969, but for the purposes of the story I'm changing it to July 15th for reasons you'll see later (it's fiction after all).

Another note, the story will be primarily set in 1969, but there will be periodic flashbacks to explore how Elliot and Olivia's relationship developed over the years. The next chapter will be one such flashback to their college days at Harvard. Hope to see all of you guys then :)

Please review both this and chapter 19 of Prey :)

God Bless