She kept picking up the pen and putting it down again. Picking it up, putting it down. Picking it up, holding it against her lips, putting it down. Where was he? He better have a good excuse for this. Any attempt to actually focus on the text in front of her was useless, any attempt to take sensible notes even more so. Maybe she would do better working on the computer. Maybe not. She was pointlessly wasting time, all because of him. She shouldn't base everything on him. She should simply take a shower and go to bed, but the thought of sleep seemed ludicrous right now. Where the hell was he? She put down her papers once again, too fidgety to sort them and put them back into the folder. She couldn't stand the silence, the thickness of it, but she couldn't tolerate the TV or the radio either. She was just listening to it, the sound of cars going by outside, the occasional siren in the distance. If she turned on the TV now, she couldn't listen, even though she wasn't listening for anything in particular.

She got up and walked to the window, pulling the curtains shut in a more symmetrical way after a brief glimpse down at the empty street. Her sensory system seemed to notice everything magnified by ten, hyperawake, hyperalert. She knew she should be taking a warm shower to relax her; she was still sweaty from earlier and freezing, but irrationally, she didn't want to miss the chance to yell at him. She had turned on every light in the apartment. She had put her phone away to charge, not so far away she wouldn't hear it beeping just in case, but far enough so she wouldn't check it every other minute. She had called the night shift at work to check in. It was a regular weekday night.

She returned to pacing the apartment, tidying and spot cleaning as she went. She really hated this, thinking about him so much, worrying pointlessly, getting angry, feeling like her skin was prickling and her pulse rushing. If the situation were reversed, she would hate him being so needy. But everything would have been so much simpler if he had just called and said something. Everything would be much easier if she weren't acting so dependent today for absolutely no reason. She kept telling herself that it didn't mean anything, that he was always there when it counted, that he wasn't acting unreliable on purpose. He had probably been held up by his boss, and might feel bad for it anyway. They had gotten into a bad routine of that, messing up then feeling guilty and overcompensating. Avoiding serious conversations.

She was trying to keep her thoughts busy, to think of other things, away from the darkness and thoughts of how things could never be the same again, could never be all right again, and why that might be. No. This was her second chance, like it had been Cragen's. But it took work, every second of every day, sometimes more and sometimes less, and that was exhausting. Her mind kept jumping from one thing to the next, Brian, the work she should be doing right now, the work she'd left behind, Nick and his issues, Cragen, Brian, wine, her mother, anything at all. Calm down.

She was about to pick up her file again, when she heard a key turning in the lock. Finally. After a momentary startle, an immediate relief washed over her. At least the waiting was over.

"Hey, it's me!" he shouted the second he entered, as usual. Tonight, it annoyed her, reminding her of when she'd pulled her gun on him. Like that was going to happen again.

She took a deep breath, composing herself, and crossed her arms.

"Liv?" He stuck his head around the corner while taking off his shoes. "Oh, hi."

"Hey."

"I-" His smile immediately disappeared when he saw her. "Shit, I'm sorry. The gym. Did you wait long?"

"A while."

He entered the room, approaching her warily. "I'm sorry I didn't make it, things were crazy. I was doing this interview, and-"

"You couldn't have called?"

"I was in an interview. I couldn't interrupt that, it was-"

She didn't listen, not really caring about the justification. Of course there was a good reason; there was always a reason. What irritated her more than anything was how casual he was about this, how he'd been perfectly happy coming home and now, only as an afterthought, realised he'd even forgotten about her.

"-went on and on."

"We just talked about it at lunchtime. How hard is it to pick up a phone?"

"I know, you're right" he raised his hands. "Look, I get that you're pissed."

"Of course I am!" And of course, he was trying to avoid a fight by apologizing and agreeing. It was his thing. "You said you'd be there!" She swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat. She was way too upset about this, and felt slightly stupid for clinging to his words like that.

His expression changed again, from surprise to concern. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realise it was so…important…"

She shook her head and turned away from him. "Hey." He took a few steps closer and touched her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. "What happened?"

"Nothing." She looked at him and saw the worry lines etched into his face. Once again, she was reminded how different he was from the young man she had once known.

"Nothing?"

"A stressful day that ended in being stood up."

"You sure? How was the gym?"

"Fine." She had no interest in discussing the gym, the one positive thing in this day until those beefcakes had started leering and making comments, nor her feelings when she had been waiting outside, cold and trying to reach him but finding out that her battery had died. She had walked home, because she hadn't felt like being around all those people on the subway. But that was hardly something she could put on him. Still, if he had just shown up like he had said he would, none of it would have seemed so bad.

"And you're…doing all right?" he asked with a special emphasis, a particular, slightly awkward hesitation.

"No" she stopped him harshly. "Don't, Bri, just don't make it about that."

"Isn't it?"

"I'm not saying that isn't part of it, but don't treat me like I'm traumatized and irrational, and like you standing me up isn't enough of a reason to be pissed!"

"That's not what I was saying."

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me." It was something she'd been waiting to say for a long time, looking for the words to express it.

"Where is this coming from?" he exclaimed, visibly confused.

"I just want you to listen to what I'm saying and take it seriously."

"I'm trying!" he shouted, obviously struggling to contain his anger. "Though you're not making it easy. Look, I just don't know what you want me to say! "

"But that's the point!" This was getting so frustrating. "I don't want you to say anything, I just need you to show up when you say you're going to, that's all!"

"Fine! You know, I'm not the only one who's been bailing out on things."

Of course, this had to come sooner or later. "I always tell you if I can't make it!"

"That doesn't change the fact that you almost never make it!" She hadn't seen him this angry in a long time. He didn't really get angry with her, or was always trying very hard not to, which made her feel guilty as a result. It felt odd, to be having an actual argument with him. "I see more of Tucker than I do of you, and when you're here, you bring work home."

"I asked you if you mind the other day, you said no."

"What else would I say?"

"The truth!" She ran her hands through her hair. "Simple as that."

"Can't remember the last time anything was simple" he said bitterly, and although the words stung, what was more unsettling was how genuinely hurt he looked at this moment. He was right.

"I know" she replied quietly after a moment.

He shook his head sadly, looking very tired. "Everything just keeps going wrong, nothing is ever right. Nothing stays good. Every tiny thing screws things up."

She knew what he was talking about. She had been doing a lot of thinking on the long walk home from the gym, when she had noticed once again just how fragile her sense of safety was these days. It often seemed like things could never come naturally to her, or them, ever again. After everything they had been through together, they should be able to make it through anything, and sometimes, rarely, it felt like they could. But at other times, it felt like that was all they had left, pain and mutual dependency, and they were walking on eggshells around each other to avoid spiraling into the next crisis. They couldn't seem to get past the fact that they had seen each others' scars, that he had taken a pair of scissors from her and sat with her for the whole night, never forcing her to talk about anything. There was no lightness left once you had gone to those places.

"I want to do the right things but…I can't do more. Sorry. I just don't know…" He clenched and unclenched his left hand, struggling to find the right words. "I don't know how to fix it."

"Me neither. I'm sorry."