A/N: Wow, sry it's been a bit longer than expected guys, but I really really -really- think you'll forgive me for the wait! If I do say so myself, -eh hem- the 2nd part of this chapter is especially, well, how can I say it? Genious. Really. On the risk of being called conceited, I really think it will throw you for a loop instead of where you think it might be heading. The most common responses to this so far have been "OMFG!" and "holy shit batman!" (Matt! -giggles-) I just want you to give it a fair and solid chance, I think you'll be very pleased. XD So bear with me through a little bit more of this angst and I promise we'll be getting into the really meaty part of this story soon. This is all in our dear Olivia's POV (yay!), and it picks up right where our last chapter left off with Elliot. Ready, go! (and then review as always my lovlies!)

Olivia, you're not okay. He said. So he hadn't fallen for her lie after all. Then she realizes that he knows, and yet doesn't know anything. Still, it's been a long time since she's been this vulnerable in front of anyone, much less him. Especially in front of him. She turns away.

Hears the whisper of a voice, and then, unexpectedly – because they're just partners, and work partners at that. They never touch. The closest they ever get is a brush pass between shoulders in a hallway, or a brief finger graze when transferring paperwork – a touch against her knee. No one has touched her since…

Before she comprehends what her body is doing, she finds herself behind her bedroom door: heart pounding, mind staggering, mouth dry, limbs frozen hard in place and yet weak as wet noodles, throat constricted, lungs burning. She can't remember having a panic attack this bad before, and she hasn't had one since she was a teenager anyway. But she can't breathe, she can't think, she can't move. As a police officer you're trained to take these shots of adrenaline in stride, manipulate them to keep you going and catch the perp, still your hand with perfect vision and make the shot with solid aim. But this adrenaline has left her paralyzed.

"Liv?" She blinks – the only movement she can manage, lost over on her side of the door – knowing she couldn't answer Elliot even if she tried. "Liv, just talk to me." But she can't even swallow. How can she talk to him when she can't even think the words to herself?

She tries though. God she tries to talk to him. They've always been a support to each other, the leg upon which the other could stand. He pushes and she shoves back, but if one of them should fall the other is always right there to catch them. If anyone could understand her, it would be Elliot.

Or would it? Would he? Could he? No, no he couldn't. There's no way he could understand what's happened. She's always been the one to identify with the victims – the thought makes her stomach drop again but she forces it away – not El, not the way she does. But he's all she's got. She takes a shallow, stunted breath, ready to force something from between her lips…

"I'm leaving now," Elliot says then, a tender whisper from the other side of the door, from the other side of life – the side Olivia used to travel in. "But I'm not leaving you. Ever." She can sense his hand, pressed against the wood; can nearly feel the warmth from his fingertips. She tries to raise her own hand into the same spot, imagining this looks like one of those scenes in a movie where the couple matches their hands up between the windows of the car before one of them drives off into the unknown. And that's exactly what happens there: Elliot goes and Olivia stays in the unknown. She hears the front door shut; the echo of footsteps down the stairs. The breath she's been unconsciously holding releases itself and she slides down until she's sitting on the floor, her back against the door. Then she throws her head into the unyielding wood behind her. Once, twice, three times, and even though her mind hasn't cleared, that's all she can get before the tears start to fall.

BZZZZ BZZZZ BZZZZ. Olivia's head lulls to the side, and then jerks upward. Literally it's like her head is exploding. Her nerves are screaming for some serious pain meds. She blinks away the confusion at finding herself leaning against her bedroom door when she realizes her beeper is going off. She must have been truly exhausted to have fallen asleep here. Uncomfortably stiff, she shifts until she can glance at the machine; 211. That's her and Elliot's code to let the other know a case is coming and they're about to be called in. It's like 911, only it's just the two of them instead of 9 plus. Standing carefully, she stretches and then pulls her orange shirt over her head. It reeks of salt somehow, the only tangible remainder – besides a headache, which will quickly be heavily medicated, and the dark circles under her eyes that she notices later – of last night's escapades, and lugs her body into a hot shower.

Olivia's watching him later (after dodging the questioning looks from nearly every fellow staff member in the whole damn plaza), the little boy. Eight years old, to be exact. The case had been brought to them a few weeks ago when the boy – what was his name? Something like Jason, or Taylor, or maybe Aaron? No, Asher, that's what it was. Asher. Why couldn't she remember that? She'd never forgotten victim's names before, and certainly not a kid's at that – Asher had started drawing nearly pornographic images in school. When pressed for details, he'd blamed the abuse on a fellow classmate, a little second grade girl named, named… dammit named Lily. Lily.

Why was that so hard to remember? Olivia tried to console herself when her brain filled in the details: how the girl's legal name was Lileth, but everyone called her Lily. Still, in the back of her head (pounding even though she'd practically overdosed on Tylenol) she knew something was wrong with her today, and it was more than just too much alcohol last night. Something was just… off. She could feel it in her bones.

But Lily, right, focus on the case at hand Olivia, she told herself. Lily was with her confused parents and the Cap in the next room, just oozing those seven-year-old girly vibes: the giggles and tears, an obsession with the color pink and unicorns, even red Pippi Longstocking freaking pigtails (which, Olivia noticed, totally clashed with all the pink.). But as far as the detectives could tell, the most contact the two kids had had was a possible bump on the playground. The poor girl couldn't even identify him in the yearbook. Everyone was putting their bet on an older high school girl (yeah, imagine the detective work it took to uncover that!), but Asher wouldn't deter from the bare details of his original story.

Asher himself was a petite boy; no sign of freckles on his too-pale skin, angel blonde hair that pulled into tighter and tighter curls the closer it got to his scalp, his wide, bright blue eyes masked by small, wire-rimmed glasses reminiscent of a young McCaulay Culkin, and skinny, gangly limbs that he likely wouldn't grow into until he was far into his teens. His ears were permanently tinted red as if the small amount of recess time he received each day were poisoning his flesh. Oh, and the stutter. How could anyone not mention the stutter? It wasn't that severe, but it obviously came out when he was nervous as he was now, spilling out all over his p's and d's and t's. It was beyond irritating to Olivia's already strained senses. If only he didn't have to talk at all, she wishes.

"P-p-p-p-p-please can we st-t-t-top this now? I d-d-d-d-d-don't want to d-d-do this anymore. I just want t-t-t-to go home!" Asher whimpers.

"Not yet Asher," Olivia sighs, aggravated. "I need you to tell me what really happened. Who showed you pictures like this?" Olivia holds up one of his less damaging drawings.

He looks away, playing with the tips of his fingernails just under the lip of the table where they're still somehow visible. This annoys Olivia too for some reason. "I alread-dy t-t-t-t-told you! Lily d-d-d-did!" Everything he says comes out in a whine and Olivia sets her teeth, gritting.

"We know she didn't, Asher. The only pictures she's seen come from a Highlights for Kids magazine." She wants to get this over with, so her next words come out stressed, pressing the boy farther than she rightfully should have, at least in this manner. "Who are you covering for? Tell me." She leans further across the table to corner him on his side, make him feel small, powerless, get him to just cooperate already.

"N-no one!" He pounds both of his little fists into the table resolutely, jarring her own fist from beneath her chin which jerks her head – and her migraine – without warning, and before she realizes what's happening, disaster strikes.

She's over the too little table in an instant, grabbing his shoulders with her bare hands, hard. Hard enough that he stops breathing in shock, but Olivia doesn't notice because she's literally pulled him up to her level, shaking him with all her might. "STOP lying you pathetic whiny little brat! Tell me who the hell did this to you or I swear I'll freaking KILL you mysel,"

And all hell breaks loose.

Elliot and Fin are through the door in less than an instant. Giant arms squeeze against her own, yanking her forcefully from the room. Bringing her wits about her, she kicks her feet against the door but even through the stumble the arms stay strong, much stronger than the last time someone attempted to pull her out of an interrogation room – that previous someone being her Captain – and she can't break through them. She bites down, flinging her body weight and the arms let go unexpectedly – not out of necessity, but out of choice, she can tell by the release of energy that she's been dropped, not broken through – tossing her at least five feet away. That's when she realizes the arms belong to Elliot, but there's a red haze covering her eyes and she can't see much through it.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" He screams directly to her face before she shoots herself off the floor.

"He wasn't going to tell us anything!"

Elliot cannot believe his ears, or his eyes for that matter. "Well he certainly isn't now." He scoffs at her. She pounds her right fist into the wall, or at least, that's where he thinks she's aiming. But she hits the two-way mirror, and the hole around her hand shatters upon itself, tiny pieces crashing to the floor. He's on her in a second, turning her and nearly smashing her face against the rest of the two-way mirror that has somehow managed to keep itself together despite her outrage. "Look."

She's flaring her teeth, sparks flying directly into his eyes from her own and this is a person he's never seen before, staring back at him, consumed with fury, but he won't let her go. He refuses. "LOOK DAMMIT!" Finally she complies, though she keeps struggling against his grip.

"Liv, he's just a kid. A fucking KID! What have you done?"

But it's like she's blind, apart from everything, no realization, no remorse for the irreparable damage she's just caused. "LET GO OF ME YOU PRICK!" And before he knows it, before he can even register what she's just called him – her own partner of eleven freaking years – she's gone.

A/N 2: See what I mean? OMFG! Any speculations people? Where will this go next? What will happen to Olivia? Will she ever open up to Elliot? SO MANY QUESTIONS! (so you'd better review, quick!) oh, and did I mention we've passed the 3,600 hits mark for this story? -grin-