I knew what his looks meant. Hell, he'd even asked me once. And I always answered with a polite not tonight or a maybe another time. I don't know why I never said yes. Fear? Perhaps. Or was it just fear of the truth? The truth. It is a beautiful and terrifying thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.

He, however, had thrown caution to the wind, and along with it the rulebook. I didn't mind, I'd even wished for it myself on occasion.

Yes, that's all it took. Just one yes. I still kick myself.

I just sit here, looking at him. Just the way he sits. He sits perfectly. The way he holds his pen, writing. What was he writing? A letter? To whom? Signing papers? Filling in documents?

He should be asking me again.

Just once more.

Just one more chance, that's all I ever wanted.

He walks by as if he never asked. He talks to me like we're partners. We're not partners. Not anymore. We're so much more than that.

It's just taken me six bloody years to realise that.

I cleared my throat; he looked up at me and smiled.

The smile.

The Stabler Smile.

Perfect.

He spoke to me. I couldn't hear a word.

I was listening to his heart, pouring from his mouth. His words of fire, they melted my soul every time.

He spoke louder, laughing at my ignorance.

I smiled. He smiled. We smiled. Together. One of the few things we did do together. Smiled.

"Smile with me," I asked him. He was confused; I was hardly surprised, "Smile with me, forever." Now he knew. Now he knew what my words meant.

"Always," he whispered, rising from his seat, taking my hand and leading me home.

In the car we both knew what we'd said in the precinct. We both knew that we'd confessed our love. We both knew.

It was perfect.

End.