Disclaimer: See previous.

Madness, I tell you! My RL, that is. Sorry for the wait.

For ally… not sure how well I pulled it off but I tried.

If you ever need me
You know where to find me
I will be waiting
Where I've always been
Right by your side

Matthew West

She runs.

Buildings flash by, bystanders' frightened faces. Behind her Elliot's feet pound into the pavement, slowly falling behind. She's faster. Their prey, though, must be some sort of track star.

There's a cat in his path. As he sidesteps to avoid it she takes a chance and leaps and they both slam into the ground. The wind is knocked out of him but she gets up to kneel on his back and cuff him; Elliot arrives in time to help her haul him upright.

The adrenaline rush will stay with her for the rest of the day: the reconfirmation that she is strong.

He's not watching her, exactly, because he knows that that's not what she wants or needs. He knows it in his gut, deep in the place where they are connected.

But he's more aware of her, these days. When he hears her sigh he remembers to look up and check that she's all right. Most often she is, but he checks anyway because he will not give her cause to doubt him again.

What he learned in Catholic school was this: with great power comes great responsibility. If his words have such an effect on her, he shouldn't use them carelessly. So he's being careful about that too.

John, of course, notices a change in them. John notices most everything and chooses to ignore the greater part of it. But this he absorbs, this subtle shift. Elliot is quieter these days; Olivia louder. She smiles more. There is a tension missing, and without it the squad room is just a little lighter.

John absorbs all this because, old and jaded though he may be, this strange familiar dynamic gives him hope.

On the day of closing arguments in Joseph Saltzman's trial, they all celebrate. They do this because Alex arrives at the squad room within five hours to bring them the guilty verdict, and because they lose so many that any win is worth a little celebration.

Since there are not terribly many of them, it never reaches the point of madness; but Elliot and Olivia still find a moment to glance at each other, while everyone else is distracted.

I might have gone that way forever, she says silently.

I know.

Never before has he been even the tiniest bit grateful for a perp. But the thought of her suffering as long as she did is enough to make is stomach turn. At least, now, he knows it's different – even he isn't naïve enough to think it's all better – but it is a little better, more so every day. At least there's that.

It gets easier every day. Well, not every day. Sometimes she goes backwards. But rarely as far as she's come since the last time she stumbled so the general trend is easier. She thinks.

She's been through this before. It's been a year; that's a long time to go back and forth. This time, though, it's different. Every so often she has a moment, and she looks at her partner, willing him to meet her eyes. And he does, and he sees, and he gives her that crooked half-smile that means about ten conflicting things all at once and somehow this makes her feel better.

She isn't doing it on her own anymore, not really. Whatever "it" may be. They haven't said a word on the subject in weeks but still she is not in it alone and if she only possessed the words to tell him how much this means to her, she would. But she thinks he knows anyway.

There should be absolutely nothing strange about this dinner. They are eating burgers at one of their favorite haunts between interviews and they do this practically every other day and tonight should not be any different just because they had a three-second eye conversation earlier.

"Well," Elliot says, poking a fry in her general direction. "This is awkward."

"Thank you," she sighs. "At least I'm not the only one."

"Sorry. I'm not sure how to do this."

"This sounds familiar."

"How are you?"

For a moment she ponders what is possibly the most common question in the English language. And then she realizes that they never ask each other that. And for this reason the question digs much deeper.

"Well," she says. "Better."

"Good."

"Thanks."

"For what?"

It's true, she supposes, that he hasn't done much of anything since That Night. But it doesn't matter. Knowing that he's a phone call away, should she need him – that's everything.

"Oh," he says.

"Get it?"

"Got it."

"Good."

This settled, Elliot starts on her fries and they move on.

-finis-

Thanks for reading, everyone! You've all been an incredible support throughout this process. Please send off those reviews one last time. (For this story, anyway.)

Season eleven: T minus twelve days. Get excited.

Always, Catherine