Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, nothing's mine, blah blah blah, Dick Wolf's, blah blah blah.

I decided to write a sequel to my other story, Pictures Of You, since you all liked it so much. This one's from Olivia's point of view and starts where the last one left off. I know you've seen the second one before, but I decided to include it anyway. Enjoy!

I fall asleep that night, that horrible night after I saw my Alex get shot, with Angel in my arms. I miss my girlfriend so much, more than I've ever missed anything or anyone in my entire life. I can't imagine how I'll survive without her. I've never imagined life without her; I always thought we would be forever. But my Alex is dead. And there isn't anything I can do to bring her back.

I hug my teddy to my chest and bury my head in hers. I'm sure I won't be able to sleep tonight, and I don't want to – I don't want to wake up screaming with nightmares, of Alex getting shot and me unable to stop it. I press Angel's stomach, needing the comfort right now, but I've forgotten – her battery's dead. Alex said she would fix it for me, but she never actually got around to it.

It's going to be a long night.

"So, what have we got?" I ask Elliot, getting out of my car in East Harlem and jogging toward him.

"Jane Doe, no ID on her. Early to mid thirties, maybe 5'8", 5'9". Blonde, blue eyes. We'll run her through the database."

My breath hitches for a moment and my heart skips a beat. But then I calm myself down. It isn't her, it can't be her. They would have relocated her farther away than East Harlem.

But I have to be sure. Pushing past Elliot, I take a long look at the battered body of a young woman. She bears some resemblance, but she isn't who I'm looking for.

Thank God. My knees give way and I try to steady myself, letting out a long sigh of relief. It's not her. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

She's falling, a bullet in her shoulder, her mouth open in a silent scream as she hits the ground. I run to her, kneeling down and trying to staunch the blood flow. "Hold on, baby. Hold on . . . stay with me . . . don't leave me . . . Alex, honey, stay with me! You're going to be okay, baby, you're going to be fine."

But when I look back at the ground, it's not Alex I'm resuscitating. It's my mother. And then, I'm not sure if I want to.

I wake up screaming for Alex. I reach beside me for the comfort that usually awaits me, but she's not there. Instead, I hug a pillow to my chest and pretend it's her.

I'm cleaning our apartment that weekend. I can't bear to get rid of anything of Alex's, even though they told me she wasn't coming back. I don't want to believe it. I can't.

I'm vacuuming behind the living room couch when I come upon a pair of black-framed glasses. Those sexy, gorgeous glasses of my girlfriend's. She lost them last month and had to buy a new pair, and now, I'm almost glad.

I put the glasses on, even though they blur my vision. They still smell like Alex, and I know that's the closest I'm going to get to her for a long time.

I can't bear to change the message on our answering machine. Every time I call our apartment, there's Alex's sweet voice on the other end, and for just a few minutes, I can pretend she's still here with me. Sometimes I call over and over again, just to hear her voice. That beautiful voice that I miss so much.

Should I continue with this? Review if you want more!