Searing pain was the first sensation that penetrated the haze of scotch and pills. She felt her head bob and her stomach roll, and although she was sure she was screaming, she only heard muffled moans. She was so tired, so very tired, but he wouldn't let her sleep. He… who was he? She couldn't remember. Her eyelids sank down, too heavy for her to lift, even as a fresh burst of pain lit her nerves on fire.

Olivia flinched and gasped softly. She pressed her palm to her cheek. The flashbacks were so… real, almost worse than the original experience. Almost. She stared down at the frying pan she held in her hand for a long moment before jamming it into the garbage.

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The voice ringing in her ears sounded anything but human, like a wounded animal or twisting metal. Her own voice, unrecognizable. Her arms jerked against the cuffs, and with disturbing clarity, she realized that she couldn't even feel the pain from her wrist anymore. She couldn't feel anything but her own most sensitive flesh being torn by metal and plastic. She struggled to draw a ragged breath, and for the first time, she wished it would be her last, prayed that he would just pull the trigger and end it. She'd do anything, just to stop this agony. Anything.

She pressed herself back against the wall, giving her friends room to maneuver the mattress through the doorway and herself space to breathe. Her fingers twisted together, squeezing until her knuckles ached and her healing wrist throbbed. That particular memory hadn't even happened here—she was sure of that, at least—but the knowledge did nothing to soothe her.

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"Are you feelin' sad? Thinking about someone? Someone who you'd give anything to see just one more time?"

Despite her best intentions, she felt her jaw tremble. Every time she blinked, she could see her wife's face. She just wished for one more kiss, one last tingle of love and gentleness before... she swallowed hard against her parched, raw throat and the urge to sob and tried to retreat into a fantasy: cool cotton sheets; soft blonde hair and strong, slender hands; the clean scent of baby powder and the weight of a son or daughter heavy against her chest.

A cruel chuckle and the sensation of rope coiling tight around her ankle yanked her back to reality. She yelped in pain as the rope was jerked and her wrist cracked. Tears stung her eyes, distorting his hideously gleeful grin.

"Well, just try to put her out of your mind, okay?"

Her cheek was wet. She quickly brushed away the tears with her fingertips, acutely aware that she was not alone. Clenching her jaw, she stared down at the damp cloth in her hand and at the patch of carpet in front of her. Anger welled up in her chest. No matter what she did, she could not seem to lift the rust-brown splotches. She threw the stained cloth down, narrowly missing her partner's shoe.

"I wish you'd let me do that for you," Nick said quietly.

She glanced up at him and then back down too quickly, rocking back onto her heels and then climbing to her feet.

"No, just… let the super deal with it." She took a step back, hesitated, and then managed to meet his careful, concerned gaze. The corner of her mouth twitched with a sad, grateful smile. "I mean… Thanks, Nick. It means a lot."

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Olivia felt hollow, like a tin can with a marble in it that would rattle around if the can was shaken. She was desperate for stillness. Alex set the chain behind them, and Olivia waited for her, leaning against the wall and silently asking to borrow her wife's strength once again. A familiar hand found her own and grasped it firmly.

"You look exhausted, sweetie. Why don't you take a bath?"

Olivia returned her wife's grip and pushed away from the wall, nodding.

"Come with me," she whispered.

xxxXXXxxx

It had been weeks already. Olivia didn't know why she couldn't bring herself to talk to Alex about those days or show her wife the scars. Lindstrom told her not to pressure herself, but it was hard to listen to him; she just kept hearing herself telling victim after victim the same message and realizing how very meaningless the words seemed now. She was a woman of action, and she needed to see something—anything—change, for better or for worse. In a strange way, she felt grateful for the flashbacks that had plagued her all day; her exhaustion was enough to overcome her guilt and shame at long last.

The sound of running water washed over her, and focusing on the promise of a hot, soothing bath, Olivia drew her wife closer, taking a hand in each of her own and placing them high on her chest. Alex fingers moved, working the first button free, and Olivia closed her eyes, letting her hands fall to her sides. She breathed deeply. It almost felt good or would have if Olivia could just calm her nerves. A vision of the last time someone had undressed her—fear, pain, tearing cloth and warm blood—flashed through her mind, and her eyes popped open.

Alex was so close to her now, her fingers poised to push the shirt off of Olivia's shoulders. Not giving herself time to think, Olivia quickly leaned forward and brushed her lips against her wife's. She touched her fingers to Alex's waist.

"I'm ok," she whispered.

One breath later, her shirt had fluttered to crumple on the tile. A second, and her bra had followed suit. Alex's palms ghosted over her skin, so close that Olivia felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She took a long, slow breath, resisting the urge to shrink away.

"Shit. One sec."

Olivia jumped, reflexively covering herself. Alex took two long steps and closed the taps, looking back over her shoulder to smile at her wife.

"Sorry," she said quietly, gesturing to the water and sitting—a little uncomfortable, a little relieved—on the edge of the tub.

The lump of fear that had swelled in Olivia's throat shrank a little, and she took a step closer, stretching out her good hand to touch the edge of Alex's suddenly flaming red ear. She tried to speak, to say she was fine, but no sound came out. Hands crept over her hips and caressed the small of her back, urging her closer. She gasped softly. Her eyes started to burn, and she squeezed them closed, pressing the rough edge of her cast to her lips, anything to keep the sobs in. For one moment, she thought she would be successful. But then she felt the familiar, feather-light touch of her wife's lips and cheek against her belly, and her control faltered.

A/N: I have to say that my lizard brain is going to miss Lewis. The guy was fucked, but he was entertaining. Also, sorry for the pregnancy. I had to do it. I'm obsessed with prego-Liv, and the promos for the finale are doing the opposite of helping. Hope you're enjoying!