(Disclaimer: Not mine. Nothing in this bit of random creativity belongs to me. If any of it did, I wouldn't be living in middle-of-nowhere-ville Nova Scotia.)

(Summary: "Things have changed so much that I think we're both still reeling from it." This is the sequel to Rings and Truth.)

(A/n: I took this down, because I wasn't really happy with it. It was just dragging on and on and not going the way I wanted it to. I pulled it, so I could fix it. I wasn't happy with it. I rushed it the first time, because I was bored out of my mind. It happens, in a town the size of the one I live in.)

I glance at the woman sitting beside me, in the passenger seat of her car. We're headed home, after having dinner with my sister and brother-in-law. She's beautiful. She's the kind of woman who could walk into a room in a pair of sweats, sneakers and a t-shirt, without a speck of makeup on, and still turn the head of every man. I've seen it happen.

Right now, she doesn't look that bad. She's dressed in a button-down that's a deep shade of red, her heavy winter coat, a pair of jeans and the brown leather boots that she picked, for her birthday. I made her come with me, when I went shopping, because I didn't have any idea what to get her.

She's dressed casually, now, but when she decides to dress up, she can capture the attention of a whole room, just by walking in the door.

She's not one of the soft, blue-eyed blonde beauties that are all over the magazine covers. Her looks are more striking than pretty, with her dark hair and eyes and the strong, well-defined bones in her face, but she's capable of turning heads. Her clothes are in style, but she doesn't copy what's popular. She has her own taste. So you can't ignore her.

Most people would assume I'd be jealous. Jealous of the attention they pay to her, when we go out. But it just makes me proud to know that she's coming home with me. She's mine, now.

Things have changed so much that I think we're both still reeling from it. A year ago, we were just partners. Bound together by trust. And, then, one night, sitting on her couch, I looked at her and saw love in her eyes.

Not the kind of friendly affection that we used to share. She used to jokingly refer to me as the older brother she'd never had. It wasn't that. It went deeper than that

It shocked me, to see that in her eyes. I never would have expected that from her. I felt that way, but I'd had to hide it from her. For her to develop a romantic relationship with her partner would have been a huge blow to her career, if it had ever been discovered. And her career's important to her.

I fell for her, hard, the first day I saw her. Even as a married man, I couldn't help but notice her. I felt like a teenage kid, falling for the pretty, popular girl who sits in front of him in English. It was hopeless. I knew it. But I couldn't stop myself.

Besides the fact that I was married, she was carrying pain. Not just from her childhood, but from past relationships. I thought she'd just given up on falling in love, because she'd been hurt so often. I couldn't help but hear the stories traded among the guys, because most of the guys she dated were cops.

They said she was the Queen of the Ice Queens. That she was cold and distant and impossible to love. That she was heartless. That she'd lead a man on, until she got bored with him, and then, she'd walk away.

But I knew better. I knew her. I knew she wasn't like that. She had a heart. She'd just been hurt.

She was just waiting for someone to come along. Someone who'd treat her right. Give her what she deserved. I'd seen her compassionate side too many times to believe that she didn't have a heart in there.

I always thought that there was no way she thought about me. First off, I was married. She might have been single, but she respected a marriage. She was too proud to be the other woman, anyway. Second, she'd told me her 'rule' about not falling in love with someone she worked with.

But when I looked in her eyes and saw the love there, unmasked and open, I knew it had to be real. It had to be.

Things have changed, for us. She's never been a happy person, the whole time I've known her. But she's happy, now, in a way. She smiles a little more often, now. And any man would be glad to see that.

I think I'm the happiest I've been in a long time, with her. It's not that I didn't care about my ex-wife. I still do. She's the mother of my children. I'll always care about her, as a friend. But I honestly think we got married too young. When neither one of us were sure if we were ready to commit. Or if we were with the person we wanted to marry.

We're different people, she and I. We come from different backgrounds. Different families. But we just click, on some level. And we never had to build up any kind of trust. We already had it. When you feel that you can trust someone with your life, like we do, there's a bond there.

We had to sneak around and keep it hidden from everyone, but it was worth it. Being with her was worth it. Olivia's got this honest streak. She hated lying to the people in her life, but she did. She was more willing to lie than to lose her job. And we would have both been fired, if the brass found out.

We eventually decided we had to tell the boss. I think Cragen was on to us, anyway, by then. We knew he'd figure it out. He still has the mind of a seasoned homicide cop. He notices the little things and puts them together to make the big picture.

When we told him, I watched him look at us, startled. I don't think he ever expected that. Then, he told us he'd take care of it. He called in a few favors and filled out some paperwork. We're no longer 'officially' partners. The Department doesn't see us as partners, but we still work cases together, because Don doesn't want us spilt up. We're a team, she and I. And a good one.

Munch would drive either of us insane and splitting up Munch and Fin would take away the whole squad's daily comic relief. Olivia would have the patience to break in a rookie, but I wouldn't. So this was the only logical thing that could happen.

So we're allowed to date. Have a relationship. We can't get fired if the brass finds out. Don had to pull some strings for us, but I know he didn't mind. Besides being her commanding officer, he's become a father figure, to Olivia.

I can see it, when we're off the clock. On the job, he's just her boss. He doesn't cut her any slack. She'd hate it, if he did. But if we all go out to celebrate a good outcome on a case or something, they remind me of a father and his grown daughter.

I can understand the relationship and why it developed. When anyone really looks at my partner, you can see the ghost of a little girl. The little girl she never really got to be. She's told me stories of doing her own laundry and cooking for herself at the age of nine or ten. The age when most kids are carefree, playing with the kid down the block, with nothing to worry about.

She's told me stories of sitting up all night, waiting for her mother to stumble in the door, as a kid. All she wanted was her mother's attention. Some kind of affection. But she never got it. When you look at her, you can see the ghost of that hurting, crying little girl. And I think Don noticed that, in her.

We've just settled into an apartment, together. A couple of weekends ago, I came home early to find Olivia in the living room with a group of her girlfriends. She was laughing and talking, chatting with them. I'd never seen that before.

I didn't want to ruin it for her, so I left again, but I'd never seen her with her friends. When she's like that, no one would ever guess that she's a cop. They'd never guess what she sees everyday.

I knew her, but I didn't know her. I knew almost everything about her, down to her shoe size, but I didn't know anything. I didn't know the other side of her. The side of her that loves fun. The side that's willing to try almost anything once. I didn't know she laughed. I'd never heard her laugh. At least not when she was herself. There was so much about her that I didn't know. It surprised me.

I park the car in the space, behind the building. Olivia steps out of the car, shivering. She hates winter. She hates cold, in general. The clouds overhead are fat and grey. It looks like it's going to snow.

She comes around the front of the car and slips on a hidden patch of ice. I grab her arm, quickly, before she can go down, and slip my arm around her back.

I kiss her cheek, softly. "You all right?"

"Yeah." She pulls away from me, a little. "Now you know why I hate winter so much."

I keep my arm around her, as we walk into the building. She fumbles with her purse, looking for her key. The door swings open and she turns on the lights, as we step inside.

"Tonight was interesting," I comment, as she hangs her coat and scarf up, sitting to unzip her boots.

"Yeah." She smiles at me.

She was nervous about meeting my family. We're a big crowd, when we all get together. I was afraid they'd overwhelm her. I knew that a family was completely alien to her. She'd never even celebrated a holiday or a birthday with a family. Never mind just a dinner on a Sunday.

I didn't know if they'd accept her. How they'd respond to me getting divorced and dating her. We were all brought up in the church and were all taught by nuns. Some things do stick, even if you do try to be open-minded.

But they instantly warmed to her, when I brought her over to my brother's place one Sunday afternoon.

My sisters have become her new best friends. My nieces and nephews just saw her as a new playmate. The older girls were fascinated with her. Because she was older, like their mothers, but she was cool. She wasn't like their mothers, in a way.

My own kids, who have always liked her, are glad to have her around. I'm not really all that sure what Maureen thinks about this, but she and Olivia get along, which is something.

Kathleen sees her as an older friend, I think. Someone she can talk to, who isn't one of her parents. Someone who's a woman, who will see things differently than her mother does. At least she's talking to someone, because she's not talking to me. But I should know by now - teenagers don't talk to their parents.

And the twins worship her like she's some kind of hero. They adore her. I think Dickie's got a little bit of a crush on her, but I'm not saying anything. Lizzie follows her around, like a little shadow. It's because she's older, but she's not like her mother. She's different and she's cool.

"Un. Now you gotta help me up." Olivia extends a hand to me. I take her hand and pull, helping her up out of the chair. I keep her hand in mine, kissing her knuckles, softly.

She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, walking across the room.

"What? It's worked for every guy in the movies," I protest.

She snorts. "You're a jackass, Stabler," she tells me, picking up one of the small decorator pillows from the couch and hurling it in my direction.

I duck, as it misses me by an inch. "You need to work on your aim," I tell her, grinning.

Olivia rolls her eyes at me. "Shut up."

"Now you're acting like Kathleen," I inform her.

She shakes her head and walks into the kitchen. I hear her start unloading the dishwasher and follow her, taking her hand in mine. She looks up. "What?" She smiles, slightly.

"Leave 'em," I pull, gently, on her wrist.

"Give me five minutes and I won't have to leave them," she protests.

"Liv," I kiss the top of her head and inhale the sweet smell of her hair.

"El," she whines back, grinning up at me. She's playing games with me. She's going to make me wait, one way or the other.

She goes to work putting the dishes away and I watch her. "What are you wearing?" I question.

She turns her head. "What?"

"Your perfume. It smells good. What is it?"

"Oh. That," she grins. "Christmas gift from a friend."

"You should wear it to work," I lean against the counter.

"Maybe. You know, you could be of some help here," she stacks the plates up in a cabinet and looks at me, pointedly.

I finally give in and help her put them away. Then, I take her hand and rub my thumb over the back of it, absently. Her skin's soft. Smooth as silk and soft. It's the kind of skin you'd expect a newborn baby to have. Not a grown woman.

She wraps her long fingers around mine, to make me quit. "What?"

"Your skin. What do you use?"

"Nothing," she kisses me, softly. "You should know that."

"I didn't," I pull her back for another kiss, but she shakes her head, smiling wickedly.

"I'm gonna shower, first," she tells me, pulling away.

She's playing games with me. She enjoys this form of torture. We haven't been alone for a couple of weeks, now. She's just trying to drive me crazy.

When she crawls into bed, she's cold. I know she's cold, because she burrows down into the covers, huddling into me. She nestles her face against the pillow, lying with her back against my chest.

She smells clean, now. I'm breathing in the scent of her soap and the flower-scented shampoo she uses. During the day, when she's not just out of the shower, she smells differently. The first thing I always pick up, when she walks by me or leans over my shoulder to read something, is her perfume. She doesn't wear a lot - just a hint of it.

She's been making the coffee in the squad room now for a few weeks. She and Munch had an argument about it, because he can't seem to master the simple skill of making a decent pot of coffee. So, now, she does it.

So when she rests her hand on my arm or takes something from me, I can smell the coffee on her hands. Sometimes, if she's just gotten a paper from the fax or the printer, I can smell the ink on her hands.

I feel her shift, beside me. She rolls over, until she's facing me. With the few streaks of pale light slipping through the cracks in the blinds, I can see her. "What?" I question, stroking her silky hair. When she washes her hair, the stuff she uses on it to style it comes out. It's soft, falling around her face.

"I'm cold," she murmurs, curling up into her typical ball, getting as close to me as she can. She tucks her face into my neck and sighs.

"I know you're cold. I told you, Liv, we could have moved and found a place with working heat," I reply. When we first started thinking about living together, we had a long, drawn-out debate about moving. Because our 'new' apartment is just a two-bedroom in the same building she was living in.

She sighs and pulls back a little to look at me. "Do you really think we would have found another place this big that we could afford? El, this is New York. A place like this, for what we're paying, is considered a miracle."

"I'd sacrifice a little space for heat," I answer.

She sighs, again, sounding more impatient. "The super's working on it," she murmurs.

"Yeah. I guess we can go the whole winter without heat," I reply, earning a glare.

"Shut up, unless you want to sleep on the couch," she warns, her voice changing from drowsy and half-asleep, to something more normal.

"You'd miss me if you made me sleep out there," I tell her, kissing her forehead.

"Yeah," she admits, quietly. "I would."

"Liv?"

"Hmm?" She rubs her eyes. "What?"

"Love you," I murmur. It felt strange, the first time I told her that. But it's true.

She nods in agreement and yawns. I smile slightly, and kiss her on the nose. "Goodnight, sleepyhead."

She yawns, again, in reply, and I shake my head.

(A/n: Well? You know what to do, right? I don't know what you're thinking if you don't tell me.)