This was beauty at its worst.

She couldn't stand the way their eyes met. She knew it was so much more than it seemed.

She couldn't stand the way their hands would subtly collide through a thick pile of folders. She knew it was so much more than it felt.
She couldn't stand that she had spent so many years, so many men, so many memories, trying to push them down, and to have it all taken away. All those years of heartfelt agony all amounted to nothing.

Olivia Benson hated him for that. She hated that she was letting him in, even without realizing it.
She would accept his coffee without question. But if someone else, another man, if anyone else were to offer a cup, she would decline. It was almost second nature.

She hated the way his smile was contagious. She hated how she could never be mad at him for longer than a day, if that. She hated how their bond went deeper than 'I've got your back, you've got mine'.

She hated how he had suddenly become available and she didn't do a thing to stop it. She had tried, oh how she had tried to get him to talk to her. But all attempts of trying to prevent self-sabotage situations such as these had failed.
Now he was free. Free to be with her. She hated him for that.
"I'm here for you, Liv," he had said the day she told him everything. Everything about her mother, her, her tragic life.

"But how do I know you won't leave?" was her reply.

She hadn't meant for it to sound the way it did. Perhaps that was the beginning of everything else. Or perhaps it was signaling the end, the end of seven years. She didn't want the to come, nor did she want it to begin.

But when he told her Kathy wanted to talk about things, she couldn't help but hate herself.

She loved the way their eyes met. She loved the way that with one look, he could say a thousand words.
She loved the way their hands would subtly collide through a thick pile of folders and she loved the fantastic sensation that burned in her stomach when they touched.

She loved the way that Elliot had pried his way into her live without her even realizing it.

She loved his smile and how she reciprocated. She loved how they were there for each other, life or death.

But most of all she loved the subtleties that nobody else got to see: the little things. The way he knew how she liked her eggs, how she only needed one teaspoon of sugar with her coffee, how every night he dropped her off home she would flick her lights to let him know she was all right.

"She wants to talk tonight," he said softly, peering down the corridor to make sure they were alone, "I'm going there now."

As she mentally shot herself, tears began to form behind her eyes. She didn't want to cry in front of him, though it wouldn't be the first time. She didn't want him to see how weak he made her, and yet strong at the same time. She didn't want to feel anything for him, knowing that it could all be taken away in an instant.

But when a tear escaped her ever fading grasp on them, she couldn't help but allow herself to be swept into his arms.

Though tense at first, they soon relaxed in a silent embrace, her tears forming small pools on his chest as she buried her face and took in his scent. The hint of cologne she told him to lighten up on. She smiled to herself as she noticed it was the scent she picked out for him for Christmas.

He buried his face into her neck and kissed her hair, tightening his arms around her waist.

"Thank you," she whispered as they reluctantly pulled apart.

"For what?" His right cheek was damp from her tears.

"For being here for me."

He took his hands in hers and danced small circles around her knuckles. He leaned to kiss her right hand before whispering, "Always."

They walked slowly to his car and embraced once again.

This felt like it was the end. Though he was only going to 'talk', she couldn't help but feel she mightn't get another chance with him.

"Don't." She whispered.

He pulled back and locked his eyes with hers.

"I won't."

Two words lingered in the air for an age before settling softly in her register.

"Elliot," she began, not knowing how to, "…what I was going to say, before, up stairs was that I…"

"I know." He finished her sentence and smiled, "Me too."

That moment was theirs. He stole her lips with his and they could taste the seven years of longing. One arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her deeper into the kiss, the other was interlocked with her hand.

This was beauty at its finest.

End.