Small flakes of white fall, kissing frozen skin and clinging to lashes. A quiet, slow breath is the only sound. Pools of the morning's rain reflect the black and white night in their icy glaze.

Her body is mostly numb. A blessing. She's too weak to struggle anymore against the rope securing her wrists above her head. The world around her eventually blurs into nothing once again.

"Hey, El. Check this out."

He leans over her shoulder.

She chuckles at his blank expression, tosses the tabloid mag onto the desk.

"Could you believe the traffic this morning?" he grumbles, taking up some folders in hand.

"Pretty deserted at 2."

He stops midway to a filing cabinet. "What's it like paying rent for a place you never sleep in?"

"Like paying rent for a place you always sleep in, I imagine," she replies with a half-smile.

He dumps the folders into the cabinet. "You had breakfast?"

She gives her head a shake.

"You're buyin'," he notes, grabbing up his coat off the back of the chair.

He's still inside the cabin.

The girlfriend keeps her distance, keeps the gun trained on him. The boyfriend, he stokes the fire, rubs his hands together while whistling under his breath.

He hasn't spoken a word since daylight faded. Not since he had been warned and foolishly ignored it. Not since the boyfriend abruptly left and returned later, undeniable red on the metal bat in hand. His eyes had snapped tightly shut. The boyfriend had laughed; the girlfriend had sat motionless, her finger steady on the trigger.

"Oh, man. That's a good omelet."

Her eyes narrow in disgust. "Jesus, El. Don't talk with your mouth full."

He pops in a greasy piece of bacon. "Tea and toast, huh?" he asks, chomping loudly on the fatty slice of pig.

"You're eating enough to clog my arteries too."

He nods, gulping down his orange juice. "So, um, how'd the big date go?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Big date?"

"Is he Romeo or not?"

With a laugh, she stirs her tea. "Since when do we have conversations about my personal life over breakfast?"

"Well I could ask while working a scene, but that seems a little insensitive."

She stares blankly at him.

He shrugs. "Want a piece?" he asks, offering perfectly cooked bacon.

She pauses, sighs, and then accepts. He chuckles when her lips curve into a smile as she bites a strip in half.

There's a faint gray glow when she wakes again.

The snow has stopped falling. The air is colder, thin and dry. A brisk breeze whips through the treetops high above her.

A slight moan escapes her sore throat and chapped lips as she shifts her body, attempting to roll onto her uninjured side as a deep cough overcomes her. Once she manages to catch her breath again, she returns to a less painful position. The muscles in her back protest, but her tightly bound ankles and wrists welcome the relief.

She lifts her head; the cabin is barely visible in the dim light of dawn.

"Mm, that's really good," she mumbles around a mouthful of the bacon.

"Jesus, Liv, don't talk with your mouth full," he mocks.

She rolls her eyes.

He places another piece next to her toast as she wipes the corner of her mouth. She gives him a silent thankful smile.

"He's married," she states after several seconds of silence, snapping the crispy bacon into.

Elliot pauses, fork poised midway to his lips.

"You heard correctly."

He takes the bite, chews thoughtfully. "How'd you find out?"

She ducks her head slightly, silky strands falling to partially hide her face. "His wife followed him to the restaurant, introduced herself."

Elliot swallows, gently sets his fork back onto his plate.

Olivia shakes if off. "It wouldn't have worked out even if he'd been available."

"What makes you say that?"

She finishes off the bacon he'd given her. "It never does." She puts more distance between herself and the table.

"It's rough…"

"Says the guy who's been married a hundred years," she replies with a snort.

"I've dated, Liv." He corrects, stabbing at eggs with his fork. "And I know how hard it can be in this job."

She shrugs lightly, dismissing the reference. "I always use the job to explain failed relationships but maybe-"

He shakes his head. "It's not you."

She lifts an eyebrow.

"A guy would be lucky to have you," he admits, chewing his breakfast. "Probably not deserving, but lucky."

She laughs softly, turning her head to watch pedestrians roam the sidewalk outside the diner.

He watches her, annoyed by the way she so casually ignored his comment and puzzled about the strange feeling that'd crept inside his chest when he'd said it.

Olivia glances at him, but he averts her eyes, takes a drink instead.

"Guess we better get back to it," she suggests, standing and slipping into her jacket then dropping a few bills on the table.

He nods and finishes off his water, shrugs on his own coat, and follows her to the exit.

The sex was extremely rough. Completely loveless. Their dedication to each other built upon something he doesn't want to examine. If he had looked away, she would have paid the consequences. So he kept his eyes fixed, his body still.

It dragged on for an eternity, each taking turns at a special kind of abuse. When it was over, he focused on the wall, studying shadowy shapes in the dark. Anything to remove himself from the moment.

He keeps thoughts of his family far from this place.

He tries hard to not think of her.

He tries.

The boyfriend flips on the lights and the shapes disappear.

"Coincidence, Liv." He shrugs off his coat along with her expression of disbelief. "Sometimes I'm just really hungry."

She takes a seat at her desk, pushes her black sleeves up her forearms. "Sometimes every time I'm footing the bill."

He offers her a crooked grin.

And the captain calls out their names.

She shivers uncontrollably. Her eyes fly open at the crunching sound of heavy footsteps in the snow. When he squats beside her, he casually wraps thick fingers around her neck. And smiles.

"Two nights. I'm impressed." He whistles low, clicks his tongue. "There are a lot of people looking for you two. Must be so…" His hand moves from her neck, over her chest, to her hip where he digs his fingernails into the wound. "Important."

She winces as his other hand travels up her thigh, slowly passing over her ribs, her breast.

"Not like me," he continues, the smile fading, eyes growing darker as he presses into the wound again.

She bites down on her lip.

"Not like us…"

He pulls the black jacket away from her body, lifts her shirt to expose the source of his interest. "But as important as you may be..." He presses down too hard, causing a small cry to force its way from her mouth. "You still bleed."

He flips the jacket to cover her again. "You'll still die."

He leaves her, striding quickly up the rocky trail to the cabin.

"Backup's 15 minutes out."

He expels a heavy breath, shakes his head. "Tell 'em we can't wait."

She radios it in as they approach the building.

"Did you like that?"

He stares, unshaken by the girlfriend's flirtatious drawl and the way she seductively crosses a bare leg over the other.

The girlfriend lifts an eyebrow, raises the gun to aim at his head. "I asked you a question."

The boyfriend slams the wooden door upon reentry, grabs a bottle off the kitchenette table and glares at her. "Put some damn clothes on."

The girlfriend flashes a middle finger while she retrieves her pants.

He watches the boyfriend carefully for any signs, any evidence at all. And he sees it. On the right hand. Crimson.

He swallows and bows his head.

"What's your problem?"

The boyfriend paces anxiously, glances at her, jaw set. "More cops in the area last night."

"Relax. Nobody outside of my dead family knows about this place."

"I want more time."

"You've had two fucking days."

The girlfriend scoffs, pulling a hooded sweatshirt over her head then bending to tie her boots. "Just kill him already. Let her freeze to death. Whatever. Let's get the hell out of here. I'm getting bored."

The boyfriend's at her side in an instant, yanking her by the elbow, nearly throwing her into the fire.

The girlfriend recovers well, doesn't even blink as she fires the weapon. The bullet splinters the wood floor. And the boyfriend slaps her hard across the face, snatches away the gun.

He signals for them to split up to look for the victim. She nods once.

He takes the stairs while she slips around the corner.

Her whole body jerks at the unmistakable sound that rings out across the quiet landscape. Immediately, panic sets in.

Ignoring the excruciating pain, she twists onto her side, pulls with every ounce of strength against her bonds.

She can't free herself. She begins to scream his name. It's hoarse and broken, sets her throat and lungs on fire. Before she can even gather breath for a second time, crunching footsteps come to a halt beside her. The frostbitten skin on her cheekbone is split open from the impact of his fist.

"You broke your promise," he hisses. A spray of spit flies from between his teeth.

He begins to pace, running his hand over and over his black hair. She tenses, preparing for a kick to the ribs or blow to the head, another punch. But he stops in his tracks, his head jerking to make eye contact, chest heaving, face flush.

He produces a blade from his back pocket, moves to her ankles. "I was gonna leave you to fate…"

The rope's cut.

"That bitch forgets it sometimes, but we're still in this together."

He moves to her wrists.

"She's my partner, you know? You understand..."

With one more swipe, she's free from one hell.

"You and him, you're in this together too."

And enters another.

The building's empty.

His skin tingles, his pulse pick up speed as he doubles back to their separation point. He follows the corridor she took earlier. The door at the end is ajar. Cautiously, he pushes it open.

And something heavy cracks against his skull.