I own nothing.

I'll never forgive myself.

The case was nothing particularly different. A fifty year old man was abducting children from parks and using them as sex toys at his clandestine night club. We tracked him down after finding two girls and a boy in an alleyway, covered in bruises.

It is always the cases involving children that are the most wearing, of course. To me and to Elliot. Especially to Elliot. To me, the kids are vaguer, I guess. I don't have anyone to compare them with. Elliot always sees his own kids in the victims, which is why he gets so violent with the convicts. He beat the last guy we caught until he was almost dead. I had to pull Elliot off him. I always worried that he would be fired, and I don't think I could work without him.

I almost had to.

When we found the nightclub, we went in. I went first, Elliot covering me from behind. It seemed empty, but I turned a corner and the next thing I knew someone had a knife up to my throat.

I should have been more careful. It's not exactly that you get complacent after so many of these cases, but sometimes you forget that whoever you are looking for could also be looking for you. Usually the perps try to avoid us, but every once in a while one comes after us.

I felt the knife slit my skin, but only slightly. It didn't even hurt, really. It just felt…surprising. I understood how thin the line between life and death is.

I had made no noise during this attack. I'm not sure why. Well, saying something wouldn't have changed anything. All I could do, really, was hold onto the arm with the knife and try to pull it away. Also, I knew that if I made any sound, Elliot would find me and see. I hoped, idiotically, that for some reason he would just leave. Save himself. Of course, he didn't. He wouldn't.

When he came around the corner, gun raised, calling "Olivia?", I closed my eyes briefly. He saw me, and I saw the shock register in his eyes. I felt a trickle of blood run down my neck, and his eyes followed it.

"Let her go," he said, his gun pointed at the man whose face I had yet to see. I noticed that Elliot's hand was shaking. I don't know what I would have done if the situation was reversed. I mean…I'd try to save him, of course I would. But…well, it all came down to us being perhaps too close.

There is a clause in our job descriptions that says if, to take a perp, we have to sacrifice our partner, we should do it. Elliot and I both agreed to it. And we both lied.

We didn't know we were lying at the time. Over the years, however, I think we both realized that, if it came down to it, we would break the agreement. We meant too much to each other. We had never acted on it, but I loved him and he loved me.

"Let her go," he said again, but the man only laughed.

"Why would I do that? You think I only like children?" Keeping the knife to my throat, he leaned around and licked the blood off of my skin. I shuddered involuntarily and forced myself to look at Elliot. With my eyes, I pleaded with him to uphold the agreement, to take down the man and myself along with him if needed, and save himself.

He stared back at me, his expression set. My heart fell. He wouldn't do it.

"You are going to die, you bastard." Elliot was taking slow steps forward. "If I don't kill you now, you'll go to prison and they'll kill you then. Unless you let her go. Then we'll just get you life in prison."

I have no idea if the man said anything. The only thing I remember of the next few seconds is the ear-splitting crack that I knew to be a gunshot, and the thud as Elliot's body hit the ground.

"Elliot!" I screamed. Abject terror took hold of me and I made the arguably foolhardy move of trying to get away from the knife by darting sideways. I felt the slit across my throat deepen, but I did indeed succeed in getting away and surprising the man. Without pausing to think, I pulled out my gun and shot him in the chest.

I turned my back on him before he finished falling, and I ran to Elliot.

He was lying on his back, blood blossoming over his shirt. His breath was coming in sharp gasps. I fell to my knees at his side and tore off his shirt, at the same time pulling out my phone. I called the station. "This is Olivia. Elliot's been shot. We're at the nightclub. Perp's dead." I hung up and threw my phone aside.

I could hardly look at the wound on his chest, but I forced myself to put my personal feelings aside. I put my hand on his heart, which was mercifully still beating, albeit weakly. I surmised that the bullet had missed his lungs as well, because he wasn't coughing.

I did my best to slow the bleeding, pressing his wadded shirt against the hole. I talked to my partner, trying to keep him conscious. "Elliot, I got him. It's over. An ambulance is on its way to get you. You'll be ok." My voice cracked and I fought back the tears that were threatening to fall.

Elliot's eyes opened. "Liv," he said weakly, looking at my neck. I raised my hand to it and felt sick when I felt the flap of skin. I could not let myself get lightheaded, not then. Not when Elliot needed me. Not when it was my fault that he was dying.

"I'm fine," I said dismissively. "Hold on, Elliot. They're almost here." I took his hand in mine. "Hold on. I'm here. I'm here."

We waited perhaps three more minutes before I heard sirens outside. A few seconds later, John and Fin were running down the stairs and into the room, followed by paramedics. John pulled me to my feet and wrapped me in his arms, which was lucky since I don't think I could have stood by myself. I turned my head so I could see Elliot being moved onto a gurney.

"I need to go with him," I said, and pulled away from John. I started swaying immediately, and John took me by the shoulders to steady me.

"Damn…Fin!"

Fin came over and his jaw dropped. I didn't know what they were doing, but all of a sudden a wave of nausea came over me and I turned away from them both, gagging and dry-heaving, having nothing to vomit after not eating all day.

As soon as I was able to control myself, I straightened up. Fin immediately took me by the arm and guided me over to another gurney. "I'm fine," I protested weakly, but Fin just shook his head.

"It's ok, Olivia. Stop trying to be strong. You can't do anything else for Elliot, and you need your energy.

I assumed the cut in my throat was worse than I had thought, so I obeyed.

As I lay in the ambulance with John by my side (Fin was going back to the station to report), I tried to see Elliot but John stopped me. "Keep your head still," he ordered. I could see that he was scared. Unflappable, tough-as-nails John was scared. That, more than anything, drove me into panic.

"Is he alive?" I asked hoarsely.

"Yes."
"It was my fault," I said, closing my eyes. "I went too far ahead, and the perp got me. Elliot was just trying to protect me."

"It wasn't your fault," John chided gently. "Don't worry, Olivia. We'll get through this."