The day after Olivia is released from the hospital, Elliot walks to Brian's place with a giant bouquet of Peruvian lilies. He knows she wishes she could be in her own apartment, but after her surgery, this is not in the cards.

Brian answers the door. "Hey, man. Come on in." His eyes sweep over the flowers. "Nice choice. She'll love'em."

"Yeah," Elliot says dispassionately. He doesn't remark that of course she'll love them; lilies are her favorite.

They shake hands; Elliot stiffly, Brian warmly. The gesture is still surreal to Elliot, who keeps waiting for some sign of irritation from Brian that this other man keeps popping into his girlfriend's life. But Brian is not only not hostile, he seems to welcome Elliot's presence.

"How's she doing?" Elliot asks.

Brian licks his lips. "Honestly? Not too well. She hates how much help she needs. Thinks she's this huge burden. Keeps talking about moving back into her apartment."

Elliot glances at him warningly. "You can't let her do that."

"Man, I know. But she's an adult, I can't tell her what to do."

"No, but you can tell her how you feel."

Brian pauses. "I have. But I don't think she believes me. Meantime, she's going crazy in the apartment twenty-four seven. I took a week off work to help her, and she keeps hinting it was unnecessary."

"Well, don't let her bully you."

"Ha! She can hardly move, she's in constant pain. Doesn't make for much of a bully."

The comment is meant as a joke, of course, but inwardly Elliot winces; the image Brian creates is heartbreaking. This is not the reason he wants to hear for why his partner lacks aggression.

He tests the waters. "Look, if you want a break, or, um…. I could stay here a bit, keep her company."

Brian laughs, and, to his surprise, seems to consider it. "Might be a good idea. She's ready to throw me off the fire escape. If it weren't for her bum arm, I'd be worried."

At this image, Elliot chuckles. "For what it's worth, I don't think it's you. She's spent her whole adult life being independent."

"Yeah, well. At least she's used to spending hours with you."

Generously, he says, "This is true. But not because I'm easy to be around. Because she was being paid to."

"Point taken. Well look, I need to fill a prescription for her anyway and run a couple errands. Maybe you wanna stick around?"

Elliot maintains his poker face. "Sure, man."

"Just do me one favor: make it clear you just happened to stop by."

"As opposed to?"

"That I asked you to come over to babysit."

x-x-x-x-x

He knocks softly on the bedroom door, not wanting to startle her. "Liv?"

The voice is raspy, tired. "El, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Come in."

She is pale and lethargic-looking, her face drooping listlessly against the pillow. She wears a white silk pajama top that conceals – barely – the cluster of burn marks at the top of her chest. She looks utterly dispirited, and his heart goes out to her. Two days ago, at least she could move around.

"El?"

Before she has a chance to say more, he shows her the bouquet.

For some reason, her eyes spontaneously flood with tears. "Thank you so much. They're so beautiful." She lifts her neck, starting to shift her position, as if to immediately get to work putting them in water.

He stops her, lays them on the nightstand. "We'll do that later."

She doesn't argue, and lets her head flop back onto the pillow. "Where's Brian?"

"He had to run an errand."

Her expression instantly darkens. "And you're here to babysit."

She's nothing if not predictable. "Liv, does it ever occur to you that the least you deserve is help and support from the people who love you? That it's a right, not a privilege? And that having someone around to help you – physically and emotionally – is something you need, not because you're a weak person, but simply because… you're a person?"

She lets out a single, pitiful sob, but recomposes herself quickly. "It does occur to me, and I'm grateful, I swear I am. It's just that he fusses. I feel like an infant. I mean, come on. I can be alone in the apartment for an hour."

"He cares about you. Everyone does. You should accept that." He pauses, has a thought. "Just a sec." With a mischievous grin, he pulls out his phone from his back pocket.

She watches him, curious.

He thumbs through the phone till he finds what he's looking for. "Here."

"What are you showing me?"

"My phone log. Check out my incoming and outgoing."

"Okay…."

"What do you see?"

"Um, you called Kathleen yesterday, and… El, I don't understand what I'm looking for here?"

He smirks impishly. "Some detective you are."

She throws a mock glare at him.

He points to the screen. "No calls to Brian. No calls from Brian." He presses several buttons. "Here – no texts either. See, he didn't ask me to come over. Honest, I just popped in randomly."

"Let me see your email."

He freezes, having not anticipated she'd go there.

Then she cracks up. "Okay, okay, I believe you."

Relieved, he laughs with her. "Thought you were about to subpoena Verizon."

She smiles weakly, but it quickly fades, the moment of levity apparently unsustainable, as the reality of her situation seems to set in once again.

"Brian says the physical pain has been bad," he starts.

Her chin starts to quiver. "This surgery… it's taken everything from me."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm… I'm helpless again."

"No you're not, honey."

"I feel like… like…. I'm back with Lewis."

His eyes widen in shock. "What?"

She seems to belatedly realize the implications of her statement. "Sorry, that didn't come out right. I don't mean to equate Brian with… with…"

He waves it off. "Forget it. Just tell me how you feel."

She nods. "The worst part about those four days was how dependent I was on him. He kept my wrists cuffed behind my back the whole time, and…." She pauses. "You know, we make perps sit that way for a few hours. It's uncomfortable, but they get through it fine. But we would never keep them that way for days. It would be inhuman."

"He crossed that line with you."

She sniffles. "You forget how many tasks you use your hands for. Everyday, mundane tasks that we all take for granted. I couldn't do any of those things for myself, because I couldn't use my hands."

"The bathroom," he says quietly.

She trains her gaze on the window. "Yeah."

"He wanted it that way. He wanted to humiliate you."

"It worked," she thrusts out bitterly. "He got more pleasure out of that than out of the other… things. I tried not to give him the satisfaction. But it worked. It worked." She starts to cry.

He waits several seconds as she reins it in. He hands her a tissue from the nightstand.

"You know," he starts, "It doesn't seem like it, but it's over now. It'll take a long time to heal, but all those things he did to you, they're in the past now."

"I know."

"Sorry, I don't want to be trite."

"You're not. Everything you're saying is true. It's just hard to live it, you know?"

"I know."

"Like, I'm not supposed to get out of bed. Brian's taking that very seriously. He says I scared the hell out of him."

"I can understand that," he says mildly, truthfully.

She glares at him. "He got upset at me last night," she tells him.

"Why?"

"Because I got out of bed."

He rolls his eyes, just enough to show amusement, but not enough to be derisive. "Why did I bother asking?"

This earns him a small smile.

"Were you okay?" he asks.

"Yes and no. I started coughing and it got intense, and my chest was killing me and I couldn't make it back to the bed. When he found me, he gave me a little lecture about how I should've asked him to help me." She pauses, her eyes searching his for understanding, for an ally. "But I couldn't, El. It was too…" She stops.

"Too what?"

"Lewis made me… ask. It was the most… degrading experience of my life." Her voice hitches. "I won't go through that again. I know Brian means well, but I won't…. ask."

He considers how to respond to this. Truth be told, he probably would've done exactly as Brian did, but at the same time he is wholly empathetic: even after Picard, he was grateful for the moments when Kathy had to go out, even though it meant stumbling around blindly.

"Do you trust him?" he asks her, feeling somewhat hypocritical. But it's not the same thing, he tells himself. She just had major lung surgery.

"Do I trust him? Of course I do. But that's not the point."

"Then why is it so hard for you to let him help you?"

"Because he doesn't understand how… dehumanizing this was."

"I think he does understand."

"Well it doesn't change things."

He lets a beat pass. "So why did you get out of bed?"

"I just needed… to pee." Sensing she's turning red, she waves it off with her hand. She points across the room. "I mean, the bathroom's, like, what? Ten feet away? I didn't think it would be a big deal." She looks him in the eye, bitterly. "But turns out I can't walk on my own. I'm too weak."

"It's temporary."

"I know. But I'd rather hire someone than let him help me with… that."

"That's completely understandable."

She looks at him gratefully; she'd evidently thought he would side with Brian. "He doesn't see what the big deal is. I guess in previous relationships he had… um…. an open door policy."

"If it makes you feel better, Kathy and I didn't."

She smiles. "It does make me feel better, actually."

He has a sudden brainstorm, and points an index finger in the air. "One sec," he says. "Be right back." He scurries to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"I've got an idea."

He marches to the living room, where he spots the computer chair he noticed earlier. He quickly checks it, and confirms it has what he's looking for: wheels. He rolls it into the bedroom, next to her bed.

Her eyes widen with excitement, and for the first time since his arrival, she doesn't look so dejected. "I didn't think of that," she says.

"Trial run?" he asks, with a twinkle.

"Hell, yeah."

She musters to sit up in bed, but is winded by pain.

"Wrap your arms around my neck. I'll pull you up."

"Okay," she says nervously, doing as she's told.

He bends over her and grasps her in a full bear hug, clutching her to his chest, careful not to squeeze too hard. He knows how much her ribs hurt. Then, he slowly hoists her up and pulls her to feet. Gently, he helps transfer her to the chair.

"It's easier to go backwards than forwards," he advises. "It's like a shopping cart. Use your feet to propel you."

She does as he suggests. Five seconds later she has effortlessly wheeled herself across the room and parked in front of the bathroom. As a bonus, the chair is narrow enough to slide right through the doorway. "You're a genius," she says, laughing.

Satisfied that she's capable of taking it from here, he winks at her. "I think I'll go get a glass of water."

She nods gratefully. "Thank you, El."

He leaves the bedroom and closes the door behind him. To kill time, he indeed helps himself to a glass of water in the kitchen. When he hears the telltale flush, he waits a full minute, and then knocks softly on the bedroom door. "Can I come back in?"

"Yeah!" she calls. She is already back in bed.

"Mission accomplished?" he asks.

"Mission accomplished," she replies, with a bright smile, but one which poorly masks how tired she is. Her eyes droop languidly.

He seats himself back down towards the foot of the bed, staring worriedly at her, understanding why Brian has been so adamant about taking the doctor's order seriously and literally. Is it possible even this little chair excursion was too much for her?

She shifts uncomfortably, grimacing.

"You all right?"

She hesitates. "Not really."

His heart thumps. "What can I do?"

"It just… hurts." She tries to come off irritated, like her pain is merely an annoying ailment like an itch, but there's a distinct tremor to her voice that she's unable to conceal.

"What hurts?"

"My chest. The pain…. There are moments it gets so bad… I don't know what to do."

He's shocked by her candor. "Your doctor mentioned you'd be in a lot of pain. Are you taking anything?"

"I don't want to. But Brian's insisting. He told me there's no harm in filling the prescription – I bet that's where he is right now. But I just…. Just the thought of swallowing a pill… brings on a flashback."

"Is it the swallowing part, or how the pill will make you feel?"

She considers the question. "I think both."

"Okay, so how about this? We break it down for you. He buys the pills, and we take out the bottle. But we don't open it, you just look at it, and we put it by the bedside. Can you tolerate that?"

"I think so."

He busies himself thinking through the game plan. "Okay, so then, maybe after a few hours of seeing the bottle on the nightstand, you open –"

"Why are you so good to me?" she interrupts quietly, her eyes searching him.

"What?"

"You treat me… like… like I'm…. "

He waits.

Like I love you.

"Like, um, like you… know… like…" She stumbles inarticulately, turner redder by the second.

Suddenly, a door slams outside and Olivia jumps. A second later, Brian calls from the living room, "Liv, I'm back!"

Reflexively, Olivia clamps her mouth shut.

But they catch each other's gaze, holding it, communicating silently.

And then the moment is gone.

As footsteps bear down on the bedroom door, Elliot adjusts his demeanor and musters to pull her into a chaste embrace. He pauses briefly to nuzzle his face in her silky hair. "I'll be back tomorrow," he tells her. "Text me anytime, day or night."

"Okay," she says.

When he finally pulls back, there are fresh tears in her eyes.

The footsteps have made it to the door. As the doorknob starts to turn, he grasps her gently by the biceps and leans in one more time, pressing his lips to her ear. "I love you," he whispers.

He scrambles to his feet just as Brian opens the door.

She swipes at her eyes.

Elliot retreats from the room. "I'll see you tomorrow," he repeats, his piercing gaze still trained on her, like a hypnotist.

x-x-x-x-x

He replays the last few seconds of his visit in his head as he rides the elevator to the lobby and leaves the apartment building. Analyzing, reanalyzing, how the scene unfolded, what it all means. As he stumbles outside, he is so lost in thought that he bumps – literally – into a man on the sidewalk.

"Whoa, man. I'm sorry!" Elliot exclaims. He eyes with surprise the bouquet of Peruvian lilies taking up real estate in the young man's arms.

The stranger squints at him for a second, before recognition clearly dawns. "You're Stabler," he says brightly. "Olivia's got a picture of you and her on her desk."

Elliot abruptly realizes who this is. "You must be Amaro. We spoke on the phone."

Amaro thrusts out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you," he says, with transparent wariness.

Elliot doesn't take it personally. Amaro is a detective and also Olivia's partner; suspicion comes with the territory. To ease the tension, he gestures towards the flowers and chuckles. "Great minds think alike. I just brought her lilies too."

Clearly mollified, Nick feigns worry. "Nicer than these?"

"About the same."

Nick smiles good-naturedly. "Phew." He glances around, suddenly nervous-looking, as if recalling the serious circumstances that have brought him here. "How's she doing?"

"She's doing all right, all things considered. But she's tired."

Nick nods with sympathy. "That kind of surgery'll wipe you out."

"Yeah."

"I feel terrible, she probably hates having to be taken care of."

Elliot doesn't say anything. All at once he wonders whether Amaro has feelings for her too, or whether his concern is strictly as a friend and colleague. And then he wonders whether his own actions thus far have been commensurate with his feelings. His eyes settle on Amaro's flowers. Should he have brought a bigger bouquet? Chocolates? Should he have stayed longer? Should he be letting Brian call the shots?

Amaro's eyes travel upwards, to an unspecified floor of the building. "Cassidy up there?" he asks. Elliot notes the conspiratorial tone.

"Yup."

Nick's face falls. "Oh."

Elliot reads the other man like a book. He grins. "You can't stand the guy."

Amaro bursts out laughing. "Seriously, man. What does she see in him?"

Elliot shrugs. "Beats the hell out of me."

Amaro's eyes jump from Elliot to his flowers, as if trying to make a decision.

Recognizing his chance to have a real conversation with the one person besides Cassidy who's spent any real time with her recently, he seizes the opportunity. "Wanna grab a drink?"

Amaro nods gratefully. "Sure. I guess I'll stop by afterwards. Give her a little break from all the hubbub."

Elliot points to the corner. "I live close by and there's a place right over there. It's pretty decent."

"Lead the way."

As they begin their trek towards the bar, Amaro turns to Elliot. "To be honest, man, I'm glad I'm running into you. I'm worried about her."

Elliot glances up sharply. "Yeah? In what respect?"

"I've actually been wanting to talk to you. I know how much you care about her."

"I do."

Amaro clears his throat. "So, uh, just for the record, I'm married. Well, separated, technically, but the point is, I'm hoping to reconcile with my wife, and I've got a lot going on with my kids."

"So what you're saying is your concern is strictly professional."

Nick nods. "I really like working with her. She's the best partner I've ever had. And I know how much she loves that squad."

Elliot is heartened. "I appreciate your saying that, man. Thanks for clarifying."

"So…"

"So, you were saying. You're worried."

"Yeah. I am."

"Look, Nick. I've known her for over a decade. I think this'll be a long recovery process, but you'll get your partner back. She's going to come back to work. SVU is her life."

Nick looks doubtful.

They reach the bar, but Elliot stops short of the entrance. He turns to Amaro. "Okay, out with it. What aren't you telling me?"

Nick takes in a sharp breath. "There's a certain… narrative… on the record. About how she was rescued."

"Go on."

"Well, it's not entirely… accurate."