A/N: Love, love, love everyone's feedback. :))

OLIVIA

Pain. Hot, Burning, Fiery,

Pain. Bitter, Cold, Freezing,

Pain. Crimson, Rage, Sharp,

Pain. Numb…Numb…Numb…

Numb, Numb, Numb…

Hot, cold, hot, cold…

I want…I want…to die…

Continuous searing, continuous writhing, it's worse than anything I've ever felt before. It's the jagged end of a knife twisting in my gut, it's the fine point of a needle propelled into my stomach over and over and over and over…it's worse than any God damned thing I've ever, ever felt.

If I could think about something else, anything else, I would. I would. I would. I need him to keep talking to me. Talk to me Elliot! Please…make me think of something else…anything else…

The gun. The gun, the gun, the gun. I saw it! I saw it! Why didn't I just move a little to the right…why didn't I just move out of the fucking way! Oh…that's right…I was tied…I was tied to a chair and Elliot was fighting…fighting….

Elliot…Elliot, Elliot, Elliot.

Where are you?

I can't hear you! I can't see you! Where…where…

Oh, God, I'm cold…It hurts so much and I'm so cold…again…am I alone again…so scared…

Elliot…please…please make it stop make it stop make it stop I can't stand it much longer!

Ellio-

"Shhhh…hold still, Liv, honey, please, try not to move."

Ahhh…. you're here, you're here…talk to me, talk to me… "El…"

"Yeah, I'm right here. Just relax, okay?"

Breathe, just breathe, just –

AH!

ELLIOT

I use my index and thumb on my right hand the try to pull apart the fleshy section of skin near her left hip. Before I can back out, before I can knock sense into my brain and convince myself that this is not a good idea, the tweezers prod at the hole made by the sharp bullet.

Her reaction is almost instantaneous. She seizes, recoiling from the offending object with such force that the table rocks. Although no loud sound comes out, her mouth forms the shape of a perfect 'o' and her brow is scrunched up so that her eyes are pressed tightly closed. I reach out with a bloodied hand to clutch her other side, trying to keep her still. She whimpers and tries to move away.

"Come on, Liv, come on, I know you can do this."

I look around the room, as a reflex, trying to find something, anything that will help me here. Unfortunately, past the crappy couch and other furnishings, it appears that I've already used up all available resources. Damn it.

Again, I insert the tweezers into the wound, searching for the bullet.

This time, Olivia screams.

Loudly.

I close my eyes, shutting them tightly for a few seconds, and then open them with a sharp intake of breath. As much as this is hurting her physically, it's hurting me mentally. I'll never, ever forgive myself for this. It was all my Goddamned idea to come in without backup anyway. I was the one that told her it would be alright, that it'd be fine if we investigated…this guy was supposed to be an idiot. He was supposed to be a dim, stupid, dumbass fuckup that mixed himself up with the wrong crowd, and made the wrong choices. It was supposed to go smoothly…

BEFORE

"Jesus, Liv, just go." It's been a long day, and patience is wearing thin. I give her a small shove with my hand, gently urging her to keep moving foreword. This crawlspace is really tiny, and the way she's pressed against me…God, she's gotta get out. We've got to find this guy quick.

"I can't! I don't know which way, El." She states this in an agitated voice, subtly transitioning her aggravation.

"Just try the door. If it's unlocked, then go."

She reached out and turns the handle. Sure enough, it opens with a swift click.

She quickly clambers through the open space, and waits for me on the other side. Her hair is slightly mussed from where it was pressed against my cheek. In any other situation, I'd laugh, but the sheer expression of fear on her face brings the bubbly feeling up short.

Her eyes, looking straight ahead, are trained on the asshole we came here to pick up. Fuck. He's been waiting.

His gun is pointed straight at Liv, and she's looking down the wrong end. Oh, no. Oh, crap.

"Liv!" I yell, desperate to get her attention.

"Shut up! Shut up and listen to me!" The guy, bigger than he looked in the picture, says with a gruff but sharp voice.

Olivia raises her hands above her head. I hastily do the same, because we're both under shock and really, there's nothing else we can do.

"Okay, okay, just calm down." Olivia tries one of our many tactics useful when staring down the wrong end of a 9mm.

Big Guy barks out a laugh. "Shut up."

And twenty long minutes later, we'd found ourselves phoneless, gunless, and in a cement cell of a room somewhere in his basement.

PRESENT

I lean in, trying to get a clear visual on the piece of metal embedded in her soft flesh. I see a flash of gold, and immediately dive in, scared of losing it again. Olivia's brow is coated in perspiration, and she pants heavily. I hope to God that the whiskey helped her, at least a little. I bite my tongue with the effort to not obey her pleas.

"Unnnhhh…stop, stop…."

"Please, please, no…"

She screams again, and her writing is almost violent.

I suddenly fear that I've done the wrong thing. Goddamnit, what the hell was I thinking? Now there's more blood than ever before, and it's only because I've gone and been an idiot again and prodded at her wound with a pair of fucking tweezers. The crimson red of her blood seeps out in a steady river and pools beside her in a deep red stain. Around the wound, some of her blood has thankfully started to clot, but it looks so horribly painful because now it's a kind of crusty blackish concoction. I resist the urge to vomit. Sure, I've seen much worse, but there is no magical ambulance here, and this is my partner, for crying out loud, this is Olivia, and she's dying…

With one hand flat and firm on her stomach, to steady her, and the other poised and carefully holding the tweezers, I fish for that bullet. I feel so incredibly horrid, so unimaginably cruel, to have to do this to her. But in the back of my mind, I know that if I want her to live, I need to eliminate all possibility of infection. I have to remove that bullet.

And Olivia continues to cry, continues to plead with me.

Suddenly, as if my some miracle, the tweezers come in contact with something hard. I hear the scraping sound, the clank that alerts me to the fact that Yes, I've hit the bullet. I've got it, I've got it, I've got it! Thank you God, thank you, it's a miracle.

I carefully (more carefully than I've ever done anything before) clamp both sides of the tweezers around the bullet, holding it securely between the two metal pieces. I can't loose it now that I've found it.

I take a deep, deep breath, and pull.

And pull.

And pull.

Jesus, is it supposed to be this hard to yank it out? It is so embedded in her flesh that it doesn't want to let go of her. Christ. Pull, pull, pull….

Sheeek!

The sharp, almost hissing noise sounds like scissors cutting through a fresh piece of construction paper sounds, loud in my ear, and then the bullet is there. In the tweezers, in my hand. It's gold, and the tip is bent at an odd angle. The once shiny colour is now tinged a rusty orange, is clamped securely between the tweezers, and I find my knees weak with relief. God, if this had not ended well…

I break into a fresh sweat, just with the happiness that overwhelms me. I'm so relieved, small sounds of something sounding close to laughter emit from deep in my throat.

Olivia's whimpering stops abruptly, the minute I extract the bullet from her. She lies on the table, panting, but she's not screaming and she's not crying as much and maybe, just maybe we're going to get out of here okay. Okay. Okay.

"Liv…" I stumble up to the front of the table, to where her head is, and brush the damp hair from her forehead. My face close to hers, I whisper reassurances in her ear.

"It's okay. You're okay. We'll get out soon, Liv, just breathe, sweetheart, relax…"

She instinctively turns her face to the sound of my voice, acknowledging my words, and her nose bumps with mine. Her heavy breathing sounds loud in my ears. I smooth my hand over her hair again and again, comforting her. With my other hand, I grab the dishrag and apply it as a damp compress onto her wound. She flinches, but doesn't cry, and maybe it's a step in the right direction.

"Shhhh, Shhhh, I'm here, I'm right beside you, it's okay, it's okay…" I realize that I'm trying to reassure myself as much as her. It's okay. It's okay. She'll be okay. We'll be okay. It is totally out of my control when a tear leaks out of the corner of my eye. It runs in a slight trickle down my cheek, and drops off my chin. It lands on Liv's bottom lip. She doesn't react, though, and I doubt she even felt it. More tears blur my vision now, and I can't believe it, I can't believe it, I just took a bullet out of my partner with a dirty pair of tweezers, but she's okay, she'll be okay, look, look, she's doing better, she's-

"El…"

"I'm here…"

Her breathing slows, and becomes deeper… freer.

"Th…thank you…" Her words are barely a whisper, and I know that she's exhausted.

I gently reach under her, one arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees, and lift her effortlessly off the high table. Turning, I swiftly and gingerly deposit her limp body onto the couch. The cushions creak under her weight, and Olivia sighs at the softness under her back. Good, she's comfortable. Or as comfortable as she can be, hopefully.

"Rest, Liv. Rest, but don't fall asleep, okay?"

"I'm…so tired…"

"I know, I know, but you can't fall asleep, okay? Relax, rest."

"O…kay."

I smile gently at her, and when she relaxes and closes her eyelids, just to rest, I'm glad that that is what she's seen before resting. My smile. Hopefully, she's comfortable.

I sit on the edge of the couch, and my head plunks heavily into my hands.

I sigh, a shaky, very exhausted intake of breath, but suddenly, I'm drowning.

It has come as fast as the relief did, this sudden flash of terror. This vast expanse of dread that overflows my mind and takes over my senses.

Like a bad movie, I'm drowning in images of Olivia, lying there, bleeding, and dying.

Images of myself, impaling her with the tweezers, over and over, sounds of her begging me to stop, please, stop echo in my ears. My vision is blurry, my breath accelerated. My hands shake in my lap, my whole body shakes, I'm numb but it hurts so much…

"Please…stop, El…no…"

The bullet. The gun. The blood. The table, the tweezers, her pleads, my hands.

My hands are covered in her blood.

Olivia's blood. Crimson, hot, coating her stomach, coating my hands.

Olivia almost died.

On the table, right in front of me, Olivia almost died.

In my arms, Olivia almost died.

Olivia. Almost. Died.

Gone.

I jump up, race to the sink, and vomit every single piece of food I have ever eaten.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought! I tried to fit in some more Olivia POV, but I was finding it pretty difficult – obviously I've never been shot, lol. Hope this still worked though, the thing with Elliot's POV. Yes? No? Anyone?