The street lights outside of her apartment building were shining a faint, flickering yellow along the sidewalk. Had anyone else been standing beneath the sparse illumination she might not have been able to recognize their figure in the shadows.

But she'd always been able to find Elliot.

She sat at the curb, the Crown Vic idling with a grumble in the silence while she gripped the steering wheel hard enough to bleed the blood from her knuckles. She'd expected herself to fly out of the car, trip over herself on her excitement to get to him, but faced with her sudden proximity to him she felt frozen.

Maybe, it would've been easier had she not known what he would say, the conclusion they'd drawn again and again.

I can't be with you.

She closed her eyes, her breath trembling. She'd spent half her life pushing down fear, tears, the possibility of weakness. She knew she could could pull it together for the agonizing minutes it would take to complete this task. In the end, her closure and peace of mind had always become just that - a task, a job to be finished and put in the past - to her and to everyone else.

Opening her eyes, she released a low, controlled exhale. Uncurling her fingers from the wheel, she twisted the key out of the ignition. Silence settled around, save for the beating of her own heart, the husky exhale of her breath.

Her hands were quaking, but she could feel it coming - the numbness, the compartmentalization of things she'd rather not feel, the aching acception of unhappiness that she'd learned so well. This was how her life was, and always would be.

Gritting her teeth, she threw back her seatbelt and shoved the door open. She was striding across the street, shoulders squared, eyes narrowed before she could second guess herself. She assessed his posture at her door like she would profile a criminal, seeking his hidden intent with an unflinching gaze. She'd flinched in front of him before, far too many times. She couldn't afford to do it again now.

His grey blue eyes lifted, finding hers in the lamplight, and she had to force herself to meet his gaze, fight the urge to lose her breath. He wasn't going to knock her off her feet tonight.

"I didn't think you'd come." He said, and the sound of his voice so familiar in her ears was almost too much to bear.

"Oh really?" She asked, scrounging up each bitter thought she'd had since receiving his message, as she focused on unlocking the front door. "I'm not the one who decided to leave without a goodbye."

She wrenched the key in the lock, and forcefully pushed the door open before his hand stopped her. She glanced down at his fingers on her arm, that grip so certain and unyielding. He rarely faltered, even now in the face of her disgust.

"Hey." His tone was quiet, almost kind, but she could hear the frustration.

She pursed her lips, glancing slowly up at him.

"Kathy doesn't know you're here…" She whispered in direct, husky tone, "does she?"

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but he finally glanced away with a shake of head.

"Of course not."

"How predictable." She murmured, turning her gaze back towards the front door as she pulled away from his grip.

He followed her inside, and her stomach lurched at the familiar pattern of his footsteps behind hers on the way to her apartment. They'd stopped here so many times - in between shifts, in between duties, in between fights. She'd let him invade her personal space and make it their only escape, but his home had never been hers. No, that idyllic five bedroom house in Queens was like another world, and in that world existed a woman too patient and kind to have been a victim to her husband's infidelity. Somehow, Olivia had found something more like pity than hatred for Kathy Stabler, and here at the end of things, something like solidarity.

She bit back bitter tears as she reached her apartment door, and her hands trembled as she fumbled for her keys. In the dark, through her tears, she could barely make out which one was which before the whole ring slipped from her uncoordinated grip.

"Damnit." She hissed under her breath, beginning to bend, but Elliot was quicker.

He scooped the keys up from the ground before she could make the same gesture, and they straightened in unison, gazes locked. She stared at him for a moment before making a move to snatch them back from him. With precise reflexes he ducked his hand away from hers, holding the keys up at his shoulder in a position that would be too awkward to grab for again.

"I've got it." He offered, gesturing to the lock.

She clenched her jaw and stepped back, resisting the raw, volatile anger inside her that wished to scream and shove him with all her might. But she'd done that before, and little had come of it besides a sore throat and feeling of pathetic shame.

She watched him deftly unlock the door, and motion for her to step in ahead of him.

"Thank you." She muttered, stepping past him as a much different response echoed in her mind behind the spoken one.

Fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid, ingrained chivalry. Fuck your "family values" and Catholic bullshit.

She'd had all these thoughts and more so many times before when entering her apartment as they did now, though she wouldn't dare to hope that it would end where it had in the past - with her bent over her couch, her pants bunched around her knees, his hands firm and lustful around her hips. Their relationship had always been tumultuous, verging on collapse at every second, but the churning of her stomach no longer forewarned the excitement of doing something they shouldn't. The nausea twisting her insides to knots and the sweat lining her flesh beneath her shirt were but harbingers of danger and heartbreak.

The door shut behind her, and for a moment she couldn't turn and look at him. How could she so simply watch him exist inside her apartment again, knowing that it might be the last time?

"Did you get my gift?" Elliot asked softly.

She pressed her eyes shut, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

"Semper Fi." She whispered, her voice escaping on a raspy note from her trembling lips.

Tilting her head back, she opened her eyes and stared upwards as she tried to control the emotion battering her strongholds.

"Liv." He murmured, his footsteps drawing near.

She steeled herself as his hand touched her arm again, resisting his nudge for her to turn and face him. She knew she had to at some point. She demanded that he give her the dignity of an explanation, but she hadn't imagined that it would be so unbearable facing him and the truth. She was the other woman, and she always had been. Nothing more and nothing less.

"Listen to me," Elliot insisted in her ear. "I love you. I always have in some way or another."

She pulled her arm out of his grip as the bitter pain of his words cut deep into her chest. Even in their most passionate moments he'd never had the courage to say that to her, nor the balls to admit that at times it was more than what he had with his own wife. Now, he'd pacify her with some watered down version of the truth, and expect her to be grateful for it?

"Should I fall down on my knees and kiss your feet now?" She snapped, spinning around to glare at him with a fiery, watery gaze.

"What? No." His reply was indignant, and she could already see the frustration building itself up into tight knots in his shoulders.

"You bastard." She whispered, her jaw locked up as tight as his fists.

They were already hurtling towards dangerous ground, and she knew it could end much worse than it ever had before, but she didn't care. He needed to know how he'd hurt her more than anyone ever had. He needed to listen to every venomous word and accusation until he finally took responsibility. God knew he never had. The blame had always landed on her shoulders, and sat there even now, weighing her down with dark and insidious chains.

"What do you want, Liv?" Elliot snapped, throwing out his hands. "You called. I came. What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to admit that you're a coward." Her voice rose to a broken shout as she stabbed her finger at him, trembling with indignation and heartache. "I want you to say that I didn't deserve what you did to me. I want to hear that you loved me, more than you ever loved her, but you weren't man enough to treat either of us right!"

In the darkness of the apartment his expression seemed etched of stone, unmovable, untouchable. Nothing she could say could possibly change reality, and yet as he stared back her, silent and unyielding, she prayed for the rocky edges of his brow and jaw to cave. She wished she'd see some essence of familiarity, but he'd cut himself off from her. He'd decided what he was going to do, and the distinct feeling that this would be the last time she ever saw him planted itself inside her head.

"You know I can't do that." He finally replied, his stormy eyes holding hers as he completed her fears.

She felt herself crumbling, the air escaping from her lungs beneath the weight of devastation.

"Oh my God…" She whispered, turning away as the dizzy, numbing sensations spread up her chest and face.

Clasping her hand over her face, she swayed on her feet. Everything that had been real and good for the past 12 years of her life was crashing down around her, while the understanding that she had been little more than plaything rose to engulf her.

"Liv…"

When he touched her shoulder, she recoiled, her stomach nearly revolting against her. Spinning around, she slammed her hands into the solid wall of his chest, and released a ragged sob.

"Get away from me." She seethed, her hair flung wildly in her face as stray tears raged in her eyes.

Shock washed across his face as she jostled him backwards. His hands were lifted in surrender because a man like him knew the consequences of returning the violent gesture. He wouldn't raise a hand to her, but in the moment, she could not find the morality to care. She shoved him again, then again and again, until he was backed against the wall, his eyes flickering with anger. His restraint was tenuous, and she could see him barely holding onto it with clenched fists and jaw. She could feel it beneath her palms where she'd pinned him, holding him down like he'd done to her a thousand times.

Good. She thought, vengefully. Maybe now he'll know how I feel.

"I think it would be a good idea if you let me go." He managed at last, his tone strung tight like a rubber band ready to snap. "Right now."

She stared back him, and for the first time in what felt like her entire life, he looked like a stranger.

"I don't know who you are." She whispered, her hands weakening at his chest until they slid limply to her sides.

He seemed as if he wanted to respond for a second, but then he slipped away from the wall, leaving her to gaze at the empty space where he had been.

His footsteps retreated towards the door, and she could see him hesitate, his hand on the knob. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't watch him leave. Not like this. Not when their closure had always gotten lost somewhere between I love you and goodbye.

"Liv."

She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, but she couldn't look over at him. She knew what he was going to tell her before he even opened his mouth.

"We can't do this again."

Her eyes burned, and she sank forward against the wall, the plaster cold against her palms. He waited for her to speak an agreement, but she wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Finally, when her silence grew too heavy for either of them to bear, he opened the door. In seconds, the wall was vibrating beneath her fingers as the door slammed shut behind him; then he was gone. Again. Forever.

xxxxxxxx

The boy in the bed didn't look like Rory.

Surely, the horrors that had befallen the person lying in the Mercy General Hospital would not befall a 14 year old, especially the one that reached into Amanda's heart and held on for dear life for the past seven hours.

Are you sure? Amanda wanted to ask the doctor once more even as she held Rory's subway card in her hand. The plastic, laminated edges were worn, cutting into her palm as she clenched her fingers tight around the evidence.

But the doctor had been gone for several minutes, leaving her and Fin to stand over the frail figure with the knowledge that another life had been irreparably damaged on their watch. At least, that was how Amanda saw it.

Multiple lacerations and contusions. The doctor's words echoed in her head. Concussion. Fractured nose. Evidence of sexual assault-

"We should call his mother."

Fin had been silent next to her, and his softly spoken suggestion rattled Amanda's barely composed concentration.

She swallowed the knot in her throat before whispering, "We don't need her consent to talk to him."

"She needs to know we found her son."

Amanda pressed her eyes shut for a second before sinking down on the hard, vinyl chair behind her.

The truth was she wanted nothing to do with telling that poor woman that her son had beaten, raped, and found sobbing on the wrong side of the Brooklyn Bridge's railing. She could hardly even fathom the thought of saying the words out loud without losing what was left of her dinner and the two cups of coffee that lingered in her stomach. She'd seen crime in Atlanta, more than she cared to admit, but maybe she hadn't been prepared for the certain type of brutality that New York City offered.

Or maybe… She involuntarily wondered. He permanently damaged you forever….

"I'll make the call." Fin decided when she remained slumped in the chair.

He turned and exited the room, allowing the bustle and hum of the hospital to flood inside for a moment before the heavy door fell shut again.

Amanda's lids flickered open, and she reached up to quickly dash away the tear that clung to her lower lashes.

"Who...who are you?" Rory's voice was raspy, startling her.

She glanced up quickly to see his pale, bruised face tilted in her direction. His swollen eyes were barely slits in his face, but she could hardly stand the innocent gaze.

She sat forward, and pulled her badge from her pocket. She showed it to him with a forced a smile.

"My name's Amanda. I'm with the police, Rory. You're in Mercy General Hospital."

His throat bobbed sharply, and his brow furrowed beneath the gauze which encircled his head like a puffy, white halo.

"Do you remember what happened?" She asked, doing her best to ignore the aching throb in her chest.

His dry, cracked lips tightened and he turned his face towards the ceiling. He lay there silent and stiff, a corpse of his former self, a barely re-animated shell. If the passing cyclist hadn't noticed him hanging off the side of the bridge he would be dead without a doubt, and in the moment, Amanda could hardly blame him for wanting such a merciful end.

"Rory." Amanda whispered, rising from the chair.

She approached him tentatively, and gripped the metal railing at the side of the bed to control the tremble which had taken over her fingers.

"I found your Discord chat." She finally continued. "I know you were talking to a boy. I know you're gay."

He flinched, a quick, visceral reaction that seemed to pain the injuries inflicted to his face and body. He tilted his head further away from her, and she could see the tear slipping down his cheek.

"It's okay." She murmured, reaching to gently touch his arm. "I understand."

He tucked his arm away from, seeming to fold into himself even further.

"I know it doesn't feel like anyone understands, but believe it or not I've been in your shoes." Amanda murmured, despite his resistance.

His posture remained rigid for a moment before glanced over at her slowly. The mangled state of his young face struck her again, and she clenched her jaw, taking in a deep breath through her nose.

"That's right." She whispered, reaching deep for a reassuring smile. "You don't have to hide with me. We're on the same team."

He blinked slowly for a moment, and she could see him processing her words and the understanding that he was safe. Then, his expression crumpled.

"You're okay…" Amanda murmured the reassurance, reaching to rub his arm again as a sob slipped from his lips. She wondered who was reassuring more - herself or Rory.

"They tricked me." He whimpered at last. "They pretended to be someone online, and I...I thought…"

Amanda's heart beat faster with a rush of anger, and she yanked out her notebook. Flipping through the pages, she found the note she'd made about the Discord chat before the phone call had come from Mercy General.

"Yurilover123?" She asked when she had found the scribble.

Rory nodded, tears escaping those swollen, sad eyes.

"He told me he went to my school, and I started getting notes in my locker." He sobbed. "I thought maybe I'd found someone who actually understood…. Then, they started saying we should meet…"

"In the notes in the locker?" Amanda asked, trembling in rage that whoever had assaulted Rory had been smart enough to keep the location untraceable.

Rory nodded, choking in halting breaths. Reaching down, Amanda took his hand, and squeezed.

"Do you know who they are?" She whispered, holding his watery gaze.

His mouth quaked, tears slipping down his black and blue cheek, but he nodded, his fingers clenching around Amanda's

"Tell me, Rory." Amanda urged, her body churning hot for justice. "Tell me who did this to you."