She doesn't like to be touched.

That is to be expected, of course. But every single time a man raises his hand, steps toward her, casually puts his arm out, she flinches and steps back, her hand reaching protectively to grasp her gun. Just to reassure herself that it's still there.

"You'll get over it eventually, Liv," says Elliot. The words are meant to be comforting, but they don't reassure her at all, because she knows that's all they are: words. She knows she'll never get over it.

She looks up at him skeptically. "Really?"

"No. But it will get easier."

"How do you know?" she bites out. "You don't know what it's like."

"You're right," he admits. "I don't. So tell me."

She turns to face him. "You really want to know?"

He nods.

He doesn't know what he's getting himself into.

Olivia's hands are trembling as she begins to recount. It comes out quickly, the words choppy and painful, so painful. "He had me downstairs in the basement. He pushed me onto this filthy mattress and I – I screamed my head off, but it didn't help. Shoved me into the wall, hit me, had my hands cuffed behind me. He uncuffed them so he could do what he wanted and I ran and hid." She hesitates, closing her eyes. There's Harris, swimming in front of her face, every time. "He finds me, shines his flashlight into my eyes. There's nowhere to run. I raise my hands in surrender and get up. He hits me with his baton, once, twice. I elbow him, hard, and run to the door. It's locked. There's no way to escape. He chains me to the door and he's there, pulls his pants down, pushes it in my face. Says if I bite he'll kill me. Shoves it at me. I scream, cry, beg, plead. Then Fin shows up." She takes a deep breath, shaking and trying to slow down her pounding heart. "Happy now?"

He reaches out to put his hand on hers. She cries out involuntarily and yanks her hand away. She immediately feels bad when she sees the expression on his face. "I'm sorry, El. You just startled me. I – I don't want to be touched."

But she does. More than anything else in the world, she wants him to hold her, comfort her, stroke her hair and smooth his hands over her bruised and broken skin, removing the pain with his gentle hands. She wants to feel his warmth, his love, but she can't. She loves Elliot, but she doesn't deserve him. He's too good for her. He's her white knight and she's his damsel in distress. He's the prince and she's the princess – his princess. He would do anything for her. He tries to rid the world of evil, just for her, to protect her. He would cut off this guy's balls and beat him to a bloody pulp if she told him to.

Which is why she won't. "El, I'm sorry."

"This isn't your fault."

She runs her hands over her bruised, broken body, letting them rest on her yellowed cheek. "Yes, it is."

"You were a victim, Olivia. There was nothing you could do."

"That's not what I mean."

How can he always do this to her, make her pulse race and her heart pound in her chest? How can she expect him to remain her knight in shining armor, riding in on his white horse to save the day?

Yet he wasn't there when she needed him most. It wasn't his fault, but he wasn't there. She had been alone again, just like she was as a child. Then she'd found Elliot, who was goodness and charm and virtue and benevolence and kindness and bravery and empathy and strength. He was always there to catch her when she fell.

But she can't expect it forever.

"El, I need . . . I need . . ."

"What do you need, Liv?"

What does she need? She doesn't know. Instead she leans into him, melting into her Elliot, burying her head in his shoulder. No words pass between them, but none are needed. For now, they are one. United.