This is potentially the first of a series of one shots involving Brian and Liv. This first one begins right after Save Benson. Also, sorry for the title.
The car ride from the precinct to Brian's apartment is quiet and she's so grateful for that. She can feel in the silence the unanswered questions, the fear, the horror; she can almost curl up in the echoes and let it sweep her away.
She wants to reach across the console and hold his hand, but her cast won't let her.
It's late, and New York is as asleep as it ever will be, the street lights feel like strangers to her as they glide past, she wonders if they'll ever feel the same again. If night in New York City will ever beckon her with its drinks and laughter and dancing. She wonders if she'll ever be able to have a glass of alcohol again.
"We're here," Brian says, his voice low and rumbling and she blinks in surprise to find them in the car garage. She looks over at him and knows he's trying so hard to mask his emotions, she can see it in his tight jaw and clenched fingers. But he waits for her to move before he unbuckles his seatbelt, watches as she reaches to undo her belt only to get caught on her sling, his hands are warm when he helps her, his finger tips dancing over her skin as they move against the metal to undo her.
He gets out of the car first and she takes a deep breath as he walks to open her door for her, his hand reaching out for her to hold onto, taking care with her ribs as she stands.
Across the garage there's a loud crash as a metal gate opens and closes, echoing through the lot and into her bones. She hates the way she jumps at the noise. But Brian just squeezes her hand and leads her to the elevator.
They stand shoulder to shoulder and it feels like years since the Sunday morning they spent lounging in bed. She wants to close her eyes, but as soon as she does she's back on the floor of a van, a loud gunshot ringing in her ears and a jazz tune plays on repeat. She shudders and opens her eyes to find the elevator doors open and Brian waiting for her to walk through them.
His keys jangle in his hand as he opens his apartment door and she can practically feel her left breast burning, the ache tearing through her as she lets out a slow exhale.
Her footsteps feel like they echo in his hallway.
"I'm gonna go take a shower," she says, her voice nearly a whisper; she's treating silence as though it were sacred, as if she could fall into the cadence of the mute button on her life.
"Okay," he answers, his eyes full of worry, he looks at her cast, but does not offer to help, "I'll be here." He stands in his kitchen with his hands stuffed into his pockets and for the first time she realizes that he's wearing Fin's sweatshirt, possibly Fin's jeans too, by the way they fit; and she wonders if he stayed at the precinct the whole time she was missing. He hasn't said anything about it.
But instead of asking him she turns around and walks back down the hall.
His bathroom is small, but clean and there's fresh towels and that's all she really cares about right now.
Getting her clothes off is tough work; she's determined not to let out any gasps as the pain of movement rushes over her, she barely even lets herself grimace.
And she's naked, standing in front of the mirror. She's supposed to leave her bandages on. "Let them fall off naturally," the nurse had said. She presses her finger lightly against the ones on her breast and nearly falls to her knees in pain.
If she's very still she can just hear Brian moving around, but his steps are muted as he walks around and she'd bet he's already taken off his shoes.
The water warms quickly and she lets her good arm reach out to feel the temperature. Watches it dance over her hand and sluice down the drain. They'd let her take a rinse off in the shower at the hospital, but she'd been so eager to leave that she'd done little more than wash her hair.
She had never thought that wearing the same clothing for so many days could be so disgusting, not to say the least of all the dirt and blood and grime that seemed to be embedded into her very soul and skin now.
But she still stands outside the shower, her foot raised and ready to step in; but the falling water is loud and she can't seem to move.
Her whole body aches and she knows that with the adrenaline come and gone that sleep will be a welcome comfort, but first she must shower. Yet something holds her there, an invisible hand stilling her on the cold tile.
She chews on her lip, water falling like rain before her eyes.
"Brian," she calls out and winces as her voice echoes in the bathroom, dancing across the tile and feeling the sounds move through her body.
"Yeah," she hears outside the door almost immediately, his voice is still soft, but she thinks that maybe it's enough.
"Can you-" she trails off.
"Do you need me to come inside, Liv?"
She shakes her head no, before saying, "Can you just – can you just talk to me?"
She can practically hear him shifting outside the door and almost smiles at the confused look she knows is on his face.
"Just –" she sighs deeply, "I dunno, just tell me a story or-" she shrugs her shoulders, "Can you just talk?"
"Okay," he says, and his voice is louder through the door, she wonders if he's resting against it, his forehead pressed against the painted wood.
"Tell me that story again," she feels ridiculous, but she's too tired to care what he thinks, "the one about when you were a kid- the homerun."
"I can do that," he says as she steps into the shower, "It was July, late July and New York was going through a heatwave-"
He continues talking and she closes her eyes and lets the water and his voice wash over her.