Hello! As promised, here's your second update for this week...and as I said before, this will never ever happen again. So, in the immortal words of one Olivia Benson, "don't get used to it."

A/N: this chapter is honestly pretty happy, so there's no real warnings to speak of. Title and quotes from photograph by ed sheeran. A thank you to mari for her invaluable advice. This bensidy's for you ;) And as always, thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read and/or comment.

This picks up a few days after where the last chapter left off. And away we go...

{I swear it will get easier
remember that with every piece of you}

"Oh hey, before I forget. Abdul said for me to tell you congrats, and he's glad you're feeling better."

You look over at Brian, head tilted slightly. "Uh...who is this?"

"Abdul," he repeats as the elevator door opens and you step out. When you don't recognize the name, he sighs like this should be obvious. "The guy who runs the halal food cart on the corner?"

"Since when are the two of you on a first name basis? And how does he know so much about my life?"

"What, you never talk to him? He's been there every day since we moved in," Brian says, as if this should be a firm enough foundation for a friendship.

"I can't say I have," which is the truth, because you aren't Brian and therefore haven't struck up a random conversation with half the city. "So you told him I fell?"

Brian looks down, digging through his pocket for his keys. "Uh. No. He was there when the ambulance came..."

"Oh. Yeah, that makes sense."

"But he's a really nice guy," he says, trying to steer the conversation back in a more pleasant direction as he opens the apartment door for you. "He lets me try out my Arabic on him and doesn't make fun of me. Too much."

"How the hell did you learn Arabic?"

"What? Ah- I picked up a little from that Iraqi janitor we had at the courthouse. You know." You actually don't, because you can't ever remember hearing about this person, but there were probably a lot of things he said last year that you weren't really paying attention to. "Hey, I'm making coffee- you want some?"

"Mmm yes please. I'm going to go get changed while you do that, okay?" He nods and you head back into the bedroom, a little smile on your face as you reach behind your shoulder and unzip your dress. To say tonight had been one of the best nights in recent memory would be an understatement. Brian was leaving tomorrow morning, meaning he won't be there for your sergeant ceremony in a few days, so he took you out to celebrate this evening instead. You went out to a restaurant you had never been to before, which was an accomplishment in its own because it'd been months since you'd been anywhere other than the same two or three 'safe' places near your building where people knew you and thus you weren't paranoid about being recognized by curious strangers. But tonight no one bothered you- Brian included- and you just talked and laughed and ate without stony silences or passive aggressive sighs when you ordered another drink. (You're still on the wagon. It was tempting, looking at their wine list, and you don't think he would've been bothered if you had a glass or two, but things were going so well that it wasn't worth risking the peace).

You change into an oversized t-shirt and leggings and go out into the living room again, gladly accepting the warm mug he handed you. "Come sit down? I got you something."

"Bri...I told you, no presents," you chide lightly, taking a seat on the couch and tucking your legs underneath you. And you weren't just saying that for show, either. Both of you were in a bit of a financially precarious position as of late, compounded by the fact that your insurance company was threatening not to pay their portion of the bill for your latest ER adventure (but Brian didn't know about this yet. There was never a good time to tell him, so you'd just decided to shelve it until after he gets back).

"Whatever, it's not much. C'mon, open it."

'Not much' turned out to be a new watch- not a cheap one, either- with your new badge number engraved on the inside. And you know he spent way too much on it, but it does look pretty good on your wrist... "Thank you baby. You shouldn't have, seriously. But I love it."

"Hey, you deserve it. You worked your ass off."

"Well. You might've had something to do with it too."

"Uh, yeah. Because if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have glasses and you'd still be squinting all the time," he says proudly, laughing.

"Sure, whatever...but really, you're the one who was trying to convince me I should take the exam in the first place, even before...well, and you were the one who wouldn't let me give up when I was sure I'd fail. So. I kinda owe you for that."

"When you put it that way...yeah, you definitely do. You're welcome." You nudge him in the side with your elbow and he grins, arm wrapping around your shoulders. "And for what it's worth...I think your mom would be pretty proud of you right now too."

"I'm not sure about that. More likely, she'd just be complaining about how I should've listened to her and gone to law school."

"I know she wasn't a fan of you being a cop...but I still think she'd be proud you accomplished something big in the midst of. Everything."

You shrug one shoulder. "I don't know that I'd ever have lived up to her expectations. I mean, finishing top of your class in an ivy league grad school when you're a single mom and the only woman in the department? Getting tenure by 35? She made it pretty impossible to compete."

"Maybe- but I think she'd see that you're stubborn and when you want something, you're going to find a way no matter what. If nothing else, she'd know you got that from her and she'd be happy about it."

"Really?" you ask, and it's pathetic to be seeking reassurance from someone who barely even met your mother, but you can't deny that you like the idea of someone finding commonalities in the two of you beyond the obvious, besides the functional alcoholism and lack of stable relationships.

"Yeah. Really."

You're not going to put nearly a half-century's worth of insecurities to rest permanently tonight, but it's enough to leave you feeling contented for now, to smooth over a little bit of the lingering hurt from you're sure as hell turning into her and you honestly think this is what she would've wanted for you? You whisper your thanks as your lips brush together, softly at first and then gradually more demanding as you lean back and pull him down on top of you, hand cupping the back of his head.

"Hey," he says, nuzzling the spot behind your ear where your neck and jawline meet. "You wanna...take this somewhere else?"

"Oh, I see how it is. You only bought me dinner thinking you'd have a shot at getting laid," you tease.

"Eh, figured it was worth a try. But seriously...you know we don't have to, we can-"

"I know. And I want to," you say, cutting him off with a kiss. It's not a lie. You do- God, you really do. The last time you did anything beyond the occasional lazy makeout was weeks ago- before he left on his most recent UC, before your awful realization in that Jersey hospital, before the night he came home just in time to see you go plunging to the bottom of a concrete staircase. What's more, the last time you actually had sex was still that disastrous encounter in the Stablers' garage. And as desperate as you are to get past that- honestly, you're scared. You don't trust the places your head goes, and even if you could, what if...no. No. "But I'm not sure if I'm...ah. Maybe we could just..."

"Babe, it's up to you. You're the one in charge here, you know that."

"I do," you promise him. But you also know it has to be frustrating sometimes, even if he doesn't show it, how whenever it seems like maybe things are returning to something resembling normal in this particular area, inevitably it all changes without warning and it's like you're back to where you started from.

"Do you really? Cause honest, even if we never had sex again- would I miss it? Yeah. Would it suck? Hell yeah- but I'd live. That's not the reason I'm here." When you start to roll your eyes skeptically, he presses on. "Seriously. I mean, look at it this way. If my dick fell off tomorrow-"

"Jesus, Bri-"

"Listen! If it did, would you just say 'to hell with this, I'm gone'?"

"No, I'd say that I think you need medical attention, but I wouldn't-"

"Exactly!" he says, apparently pleased to feel like he's made whatever point he was trying to make with this disturbing analogy. "You wouldn't. Because my dick's not-"

"Brian, enough, I don't want to talk about severed body parts tonight."

"It wasn't severed, it just fell off...but you get what I mean, right?"

"I'm not sure. I'm too busy cringing, thinking about how this would even happen." Which is true. You've seen a penis that's been cut off (the joys of your job), but one that simply detached on its own? Is that actually possible?

"Liv...okay. Maybe that wasn't the best example." Maybe not. "But I thought about it, you know, back when...after you. Because I really didn't think that...if it'd been me. I'm not sure if I'd ever want to again."

"Bri..." You vaguely remember him telling you as much one night, back when you were still too doped up on those artificially orange-flavored liquid painkillers they sent you home from the hospital with to react to his ramblings. You're doubtful as to whether he was ever really prepared for a life of celibacy, but you know he must've genuinely thought it was a possibility, because that first time you kissed him he had smiled at you like he'd just struck gold.

"I'm not saying...uh, I mean. I'm glad you did. Like, really glad. But I knew that might not be the case and I was alright with that. I didn't have any expectations or...I just wanted you to be okay. Well, not wanted. I still do. Even if that means..."

"I know." You take pity on him and shift so you can swing one leg over both of his, kissing him to shut him up once again. "I know, hon. But luckily for you, that's not the case, huh? Now c'mon."

Somehow you manage to make it into the bedroom without any more discussion of amputated genitalia, and things are actually progressing quite nicely until you reach around to pull your shirt off over your head and then pause, lips pressed together. Goddamnit.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine, I just..." You'd already been through this dilemma once this evening, rummaging through your closet and finding several dresses you loved and never had an opportunity to wear, then tossing them aside because they were either sleeveless or too low cut for you to be comfortable wearing anymore. By the time you'd settled on a high necked, three-quarter sleeved number, you'd been frustrated almost to the point of saying fuck this, I'm not going anywhere.

As if reading your mind, he nods toward the dress that's now hanging on your closet door. "You looked good tonight. Y'know, just in case I forgot to mention it before." (He hadn't forgotten.) "Better than you have in a long time-" He stops, makes a face. "Uh. That came out wrong. I just meant, you looked...happier. Like you feel better."

"I do...mostly."

"If you want, I can-" He leans over to turn off the bedside lamp but you shake your head to stop him.

"No, don't." It had taken such a long time for you to get over being so acutely self conscious, and you didn't want to start again with that bullshit routine where you insisted on him being all but blindfolded before you'd let him touch you (and you know he probably didn't either). But. You duck your head, staring down at the sleeves of your shirt. You'd been careful not to let him see the fresh burn scars on your arms, not after the uneasy way he had looked at them in the hospital, his whole face beset with worry as he explained how your secret had been literally uncovered. "It's just...you know."

"Your arms."

You nod. "Yeah."

"It's alright, babe, I'll-"

Before he can reach for the light again, you pull your shirt off, tossing it on the floor behind you. Your eyes follow his and you try to resist the urge to shy away. "They're worse than before."

"They'll heal."

"Maybe." They might have at one point- in fact, they almost had, back when you were just dealing with a few cigarette marks that makeup could all but erase. But months of scratching, scrubbing, and the eventual burns had taken their toll, and you're the only one to blame for taking out all your pent-up anger on such a conspicuous location.

"They'll heal," he repeats, hand resting on your thigh before he moves in and leaves a trail of kisses across your jawline, pushing your bra strap down over your shoulder. "Fuck, Liv..."

"Uh, excuse me, do you want something?" you ask coyly, biting back a giggle as the stubble on his cheek grazes your neck.

"Yeah. Same thing I've wanted all night." You laugh in earnest now and bat his hand away, and when your eyes meet he's grinning just like you are, but you can see something more. He wants you and he doesn't give a fuck about your scars- old or new- and he's not thinking of you as crazy or broken or anything but the half-naked woman sitting in front of him.

You're suddenly hit with a wave of confidence, the likes of which you haven't experienced in too goddamn long. Straddling his legs and leaning over with your palms flat on his chest, you whisper "Patience. Good things come to those who wait."

{we keep this love in a photograph
we made these memories for ourselves
where our eyes are never closing
hearts are never broken
time's forever frozen still}

You make your way through the crowd of people, stopping every few feet to gratefully accept their congratulations while your eyes scan the room in search of your squad. There's a smile on your face that won't go away, because although you're really not one for this kind of attention, you can't help being just a little bit proud of yourself right now.

At first, you had a hard time getting excited for this whole ceremony thing. You were focused on the people who wouldn't be there- Brian, Munch, Cragen, even Elliot. But there were flowers from Brian and a gift basket from Cragen and Eileen waiting for you when you got to the office this morning, and you would be seeing Munch later tonight. Nick had insisted on taking the whole day off so that after the ceremony he could go back to your apartment, where he's been staying for the last two nights since Brian left, and make a celebratory dinner for the whole gang. You don't always trust his culinary skills, but he was so excited about the idea that you didn't have the heart to tell him no.

(Besides, it can be embarrassing going out to eat with him. Consider this exchange from when you had brunch at the Stablers:

Nick: Hey Kathy, are these bananas locally grown?

Kathy: (confused, then sarcastic) Uh, sure. From a banana farm right here in Queens.

Nick: (oblivious) Great, thanks!)

As if on cue, you see Nick rushing toward you. "Heeey, Sergeant Badass!" You roll your eyes as he pulls you into a big bear hug. "You were the best one up there. Nicely done!"

"All I did was stand and salute. And then walk across the stage."

"Yeah, and no one did it better than you!"

You roll your eyes again. "Where'd Fin and Rollins go?"

"They got a call. Fin said I should tell you not to worry about it, that he'll fill you in later. Seems like the subway haircutter may have graduated to playing grab ass." While you were gone, Fin had been busy with trying to track down a guy who'd been covertly cutting off small pieces of women's hair on the subway. Never a dull moment in SVU... "But anyway, c'mere. I ran into someone who wanted to say hi to you."

"What? Who?"

"Just come with me, I told them to wait for us down the hall."

"Them? How many are there?" He promises you 'there's only one', and his deliberate lack of pronouns concerns you, but you follow him anyway. "Nick, I swear to God, if this is one of those Elmos from Times Square- I told you, I don't want them here."

"Hey, you said I couldn't invite Elmo, and I listened. But seriously, if you want him gone, tell me and I'll get rid of him. I told him I thought you'd be okay with it, but if you're not-"

"Will you just tell me who the hell we're talking about?" He drags you around one more corner, through the door of a small empty office, and right in front of- "Elliot?"

And sure enough, it's him, holding onto a gift wrapped box and looking slightly hesitant. "Yeah. It's me."

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're...hi." You can't hide the smile on your face, can't even pretend you're not thrilled, and your expression seems to set him at ease.

"I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it, but Nick said he thought it'd be alright if I dropped by, so..." It's more than alright, even if you hadn't expected it at all. You'd told him about it before and he promised you he wouldn't miss it for the world, but you were also both naked at the time, if that's any indication how long ago that conversation took place. You'd exchanged a few texts in the past several days, little things like a selfie of the ragtag first grade basketball team Elliot had been roped into coaching again, but you hadn't mentioned the ceremony and he hadn't said anything about it either. "Anyway, the uniform...you look good. I mean, it suits you."

"I feel overdressed," you admit, glancing over at Nick. He gives you a covert thumbs up and backs away slightly, careful to stay within hearing range lest he miss anything juicy. "But thank you."

Elliot looks so different from the last time you saw him in the hospital with red eyes and purple bruises covering half his face. He looks healthy, relaxed, and you hope and wonder if he's thinking the same about you. You're tempted to hug him but you can't tell from his body language whether that would be well received or not, so you settle for quickly clasping his free hand in between both of yours. "Eli- he, uh, he wanted me to give you this. He drew it for you."

"That's so sweet of him." You unfold the piece of paper sitting on top of the gift box to find a drawing of a brunette woman who you presume to be you, wearing a police uniform including... "That's gotta be the shortest skirt I've worn since college."

You hold up the drawing so Nick and Elliot can see the skirt in question, which goes maybe a third of the way down to where your knees should be. Both of them laugh and Elliot shakes his head. "I had nothing to do with that."

"Suuuure," you say, easily slipping back into your old routine. "But tell him thank you, because my legs haven't looked that good in a long time either. This is definitely going to hang somewhere in my office." You give Elliot a little smirk, pointing toward the box in his hands. "Is that from Eli too?"

"No, no...that's from me."

"Can I open it?"

He hesitates, and for a second you're seriously unsure if he's going to hand it over. But he does, shifting his weight from one foot to another as you tear off the paper as if he's debating whether to get the hell outta here before you're finished unwrapping.

"Oh...oh my god, El." It's a small silver photo frame with an old picture inside, one that was probably taken sometime during your first year at SVU. You're all out at a restaurant to celebrate something (Cragen's anniversary with the department, maybe?), holding up your glasses in a toast. And while you're looking across the table, grinning and laughing at something the camera can't see, Elliot's at your side, head turned and looking at you with this soft adoring smile on his face. "I've never seen this before, where did you...?"

He shrugs, and you pretend not to notice that the tips of his ears are turning pink. "Eh, I've had it for a while. Munch took it and he was the one who gave it to me...I knew you hadn't seen it, and so I just thought. You know. Because you told me you don't have a picture of us anymore and you wanted one. So."

"Yeah. I...I did." Technically you still do have two of them, tucked away in a box somewhere with the other little mementos you had salvaged from your old apartment last July. But as much as you once treasured both of them, as much as they gave you something to focus on during some of the worst hours of your life- well, that's why you can't look at them anymore. You got rid of most everything else that was in that place, from the furniture to the decorations, and yet you still held onto those photos. But it didn't mean you could bring yourself to actually have them out on display again. Maybe someday, you hoped.

And now you have something new, something unencumbered by any past horrors, something you can look at and see nothing but memories of being young and (relatively) naive and carefree. Naive was probably a good word for it, too, because there's no doubt in your mind why Elliot had never shown this to you before. Even the most cursory of glances and it would've been beyond obvious that he was painfully, desperately in love with you. In that exact second, in that flash of a camera, there was no hiding it.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," you finally say, clutching your new treasure to your chest and smiling to keep yourself from crying. It's not just the gift itself you're thankful for. He could've easily shown up empty handed or with any one of a million different presents and you still would've been elated, but this was something special. He was taking a risk by showing this to you at all, putting himself out there when he still wasn't certain if you'd even want to see him in the first place, and you wanted to be sure he knew that you understood the magnitude of what he had done. You remembered the last time you'd spoken to him on the phone; how he had tried not to sound disappointed when you told him you didn't think it was a good idea for the two of you to be spending time together. "Um. I'm having everyone over for dinner tonight- Nick's cooking. And you're welcome, of course, but I know it's uncomfortable for you to be around the group...so maybe you and I could meet up some other time?"

He pretends like he's considering this. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"I'm paying." You laugh and agree, tension averted once again. "Tomorrow night work for you? Kathy and Eli are going to this mother/son overnight thing for Cub Scouts so..."

"Yeah, that's perfect. Brian's still gone, so I don't have a curfew or anything," you joke.

"Yeah, she does," Nick interrupts from where he's lurking behind Elliot. "Have her back by midnight or I'll have to go out and get her myself."

"Will do. She's in good hands," Elliot promises.

You feel your phone vibrating in your pocket- probably Fin calling about Haircutting Guy. "I should get going...Fin and Amanda got a call during the ceremony and I haven't had a chance to check in with them yet."

"No problem- I'll text you tonight and we'll figure out a time."

For all the years you've known each other, it feels like that awkward moment at the end of a first date where you can't decide- what now? Do I invite him up? If not, should I kiss him? On the mouth or stick with the cheek? Deciding to just go for it, you reach toward him with one arm. "Can I...?"

"Uh- yeah, sure." His eyes widen for only a fraction of a second before he recovers, but you still know exactly what he was thinking. He's surprised that you trust him that much. You tighten your hold on him, wordlessly promising him yeah, I do. I always do.

You break away from the hug sooner than you would've liked, but you don't want to push too far and besides, Nick's still standing right there. "I'm really glad you came, El. I...I was hoping you would."

"I told you I wouldn't miss it for the world, remember?" He and Nick shake hands warily, like generals of opposing armies who've only recently come to a truce, and then he turns and smiles at you one more time before he leaves.

"You ready to go too?"

"Yeah...one second," you say to Nick, still feeling that nervous warm tingly sensation all over after Elliot hugged you. Looking down at the photo frame again, you're surprised to see an engraving at the bottom that you hadn't noticed before.

for better or worse.

{when I'm away I will remember how you kissed me
under the lamp post back on sixth street
hearing you whisper through the phone
'wait for me to come home'}