Irenka, the middle-aged Polish waitress looked up as the door to the diner opened. She smiled. It was one of her favorite customers. She smiled at her, and nodded slightly.

Alex Cabot smiled back at the waitress. She liked her. She was quiet, and she left her alone, but always gave her a warm smile of welcome. The evening was cold, and it had started to snow. She settled in her usual booth by the window, deciding to leave her coat on until she warmed up.

Irenka approached, with a pot of tea and a cookie. Alex never ordered anything to eat but, after she had been a customer for almost six weeks, the waitress had started bringing her a home-made cookie with her tea. Irenka smiled as she placed the tea on the table. She touched Alex's hand very lightly. "Drink," she instructed. "Warm."

Alex nodded and gave a small smile as Irenka withdrew. She never over-stepped the mark, but there was something about the plump woman that made Alex feel cared for. She knew exactly how she liked her tea, and she always served her immediately. And the kindness of the daily cookie tugged at Alex's heart.

Irenka watched her mystery customer – she didn't know Alex's name – as she settled in her seat. She had been coming, every weekday, arriving just after 5pm and sometimes staying until midnight, for over three months now. She always looked tense, and her eyes never left the window, though she always held a book. It had taken over a week of close observation for Irenka to realize that the sad-looking blonde was waiting for someone. And, when she saw the person she was waiting for, she would wait a few minutes and leave. Alone. She always left a $10 dollar tip, without fail, and nodded appreciatively to Irenka as she left.

Irenka was surprised to see that the person that her customer was waiting for was a woman; the same woman, every night. She looked a similar age to the blonde, maybe a few years older. It was hard to tell. Most nights, she strode from the subway stop that was a few hundred yards away. Occasionally, she alighted from a cab, but when that happened, it was often close to midnight, and she would look tired and drawn.

Twice, Irenka had noticed her beautiful customer looking ever more tense as the other woman failed to materialize. She hated having to throw her out of the diner when it shut at 2am, but she had had no choice. Last night was almost as bad, as the woman being watched had returned after 10pm, with her arm in her sling and a large, ugly bruise on her face. Irenka had tried not to react as the blonde lost all color in her face and darted to the rest room. She could see, when she emerged, that she was shaken, but still she said nothing.

Alex was tense. She hated that Olivia would have gone to work the next day even with her injuries, but she knew that she had. She looked up at Olivia's apartment window, which was almost directly opposite the diner, and she could see that no lights were on. The weather was bleak, and she shivered, even in the warmth of the diner.

When Irenka brought her a second pot of tea, Alex was startled and looked at her watch. She had been sitting, watching, for over two hours. That's all she could seem to do now.

For the long three years Alex had spent in Witsec, she had waited to take up the reins of her life again. She had marked time in a variety of jobs, most of which were beneath her. She had been surprised to find that her favorite position had been teaching high-school English. Apart from the connection with the students, which had helped to ground her during this time, she had enjoyed feeling closer to Olivia, whose mother had also taught English. And, every opportunity she got, she introduced students to Jane Eyre, Olivia's all-time favorite book. That had helped.

But she had always reassured herself that, when it was all over, when Velez was finally extradited, she would be able to come back. To her life. To Olivia. Nothing had made any sense without Olivia. But now she had been back almost four months, and everything had gone to hell. In Witsec, Alex thought there could be nothing worse than being apart from Olivia. She had been wrong. As she looked up, and saw the cab pull up, Alex watched as Olivia eased herself gingerly from the seat, and walk stiffly to her apartment building. This was worse, Alex knew, as a tear rolled down her cheek. Having Olivia so close, but not being able to be with her. This was so much worse.

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As Detective Olivia Benson opened the door to her apartment, she felt empty. So empty. And sore. That perp had done a real number of her. She knew she had lost focus in the interrogation; she deserved to be suffering now. But she didn't care. A little bit of pain was nothing. And it didn't compare to the pain she was feeling internally.

A little over a month ago, Olivia had discovered that Alex was no longer in the witness protection program. She was, according to Casey, who she could tell had hated telling her, back in New York. She had been back for over three months, and she hadn't contacted her. She had spoken to Liz Donnelly, which was how Casey knew she was back. Inexplicably, she had apparently told her she wouldn't be able to come back to her position for a while, but that she would contact her in a few months.

Olivia had done everything she could to contact her, but today she found that Donnelly had, indeed, passed on her message to get in touch. And yet, Alex remained hidden from her. So she didn't want to see her.

Olivia closed her eyes as she sat on her couch, a wave of longing overwhelming her. She knew she hadn't been mistaken. She and Alex had only been together for eight months before … before the worst night of Olivia's life. She would never forget, kneeling on the sidewalk, her hands pressing on Alex's wounds, willing her to live. And then, for eight hours, she had believed her dead. She hadn't been able to express her feelings to Alex when she and Elliott had met up with her oh so briefly as she was taken away. But she knew, and she knew Alex knew. Nothing had changed between them, and nothing ever would.

Alex had even broken all the rules when she was away, and had written Olivia a letter every three months. It was cleverly phrased, but Olivia would know that handwriting anywhere. And in each carefully written sentence, Olivia could tell what Alex was thinking, what she was feeling. And she knew that Alex, like Olivia, was just waiting for the time to be right, and they would be together again.

A tear rolled down Olivia's face. What had changed? It was nearly six months since her last letter from Alex. She took the stash of letters from her bookshelf, hidden behind her copy of Jane Eyre, and fingered it. She lifted the letters to her nose, to catch a hint of Alex's perfume which she had sprayed lightly on the paper. She did not understand what could have gone so wrong.

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Alex gathered her belongings, and stood up. The kindly waitress was wiping a table next to her, and smiled.

"She home safe?" Irenka asked in such a gentle voice that Alex wanted to cry.

Alex was startled; she had not known that her actions had been so transparent. She nodded. "She's safe," her voice cracked.

Irenka put a soft hand on her arm. "Is good," she said.

Alex nodded again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Irenka smiled.