Once you've cried yourself out and your body has stilled in my arms, you take a deep breath and take my hands in yours, holding them to your chest as your sobs fade to soft whimpers and then barely audible sniffles. My heart constricts and I squeeze your hands. "It's okay," I whisper in your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple. "It's okay, Alex. We're okay."

You look up at me, your eyes large and glassy, imploring. "When I was little, I wasn't allowed to cry. My father hated it. He never wanted me to be weak."

I exhale deeply. That explains a lot, and I'm glad you're opening up to me. "Crying doesn't make you weak, Alex. I'm sorry your father told you that. When you're with me, you can always cry if you need to. Always."

"When I was five, my best friend moved away. My only friend, really, and I had a bit of a crush on her." You smile weakly through the moisture pooling once again in your eyes. "And I thought the world was ending. When she told me she was moving – she told me at school, and I told her I didn't want her to leave, and she said she had to, and I was crying, and I cried all the way through my nanny picking me up at school until we got home, and then I cried until my father got home, and he asked me what was wrong, and I told him Daniela was moving away, and he just looked at me, like he was disgusted. I tried to hug him, but he pushed me away and told me to stop being a baby. 'Cabots don't cry,' he said, especially not about something so silly. He thought it was silly. He told me to go to my room and stay there until I was ready to be a good girl. He didn't speak to me for almost two days after that."

I hold you close and kiss your forehead. "I'm sorry he did that, princess. I'm sorry he made you feel that like your feelings didn't matter. They do, Alex. Your feelings matter to me. I promise you, baby, it's okay for you to cry when you're with me. You are not weak, and being sad doesn't make you weak." I tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm so proud of you, baby, and I'm honored that you trust me enough to share this with me."

You drop your eyes and play with a thread on your shirt. "Why are you so perfect?" you ask softly. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

I gently lift your chin and hold your gaze. "You're you," I say simply, and you burrow deeper into my embrace.

"I love you."

"Oh, Alex, I love you, too. I will always love you. You're my girl, and I feel so blessed that I can say that."

You wrap your arms around me with an intensity that makes my heart clench. "You're mine, too, Liv," you whisper into my shoulder.

I hug you back. "And that makes me the luckiest girl in the world."


That night, you won't sleep again. When I see your eyelids start to droop, I take your hand and start to lead you to bed, but you shake your head as a few tears escape your eyes. "I don't want to sleep, Liv." You drop your gaze. "I don't want to dream."

I feel my chest tighten at the obvious pain in your voice. "Baby, you don't have to sleep. Would you mind just lying down and letting me rub your back?"

You sigh, your body going limp. "That's fine," you say quietly, and let me lead you into the bedroom.

"Here, sweetheart. Why don't you get into your pajamas? I have something I think you'll like."

You sigh again and mechanically reach into the drawer to take out your pajamas.

I try not to feel an ache in my heart as I go into the washroom and grab the small bottle of lavender massage oil I bought earlier. I read that it can sometimes help insomnia, and even if it doesn't, it should feel nice. You deserve to be pampered, especially after the day we've had. You always deserve to be pampered.

I bring the oil back into the bedroom and set it down beside me on the bed, where you're sprawled out on your stomach, wearing pajama pants but no shirt.

I gently run my hands over your soft, smooth back, enjoying the feel of your skin under my fingers. I press a kiss to your shoulder blade and murmur, "I love you," against your milky flesh. I feel your body release some of the tension you've been carrying and give you another kiss. "You okay?"

You nod, and I uncap the small bottle of lavender massage oil and put a few drops on my right hand.

"Relax, baby," I whisper, starting to gently work the muscles at the base of your neck "Relax. Just let me take care of you."

You make a soft noise of contentment as I move my hands down your back, massaging with the lavender-scented oil and soothing your tense muscles. "Feels nice," you murmur. "Thank you, Liv."

I lean down to kiss your hair and continue to rub your back. You whimper slightly as I get to a particularly tight spot, kneading the coiled muscles. I can count the bones in your spine, but I don't comment – you had French fries today, after all. I hope you'll start gaining some weight soon. I will always find you incredibly beautiful, no matter what you weigh, but you do look sick. You are sick. It's not your fault, but you are.

I push away the thought and focus on bringing you as much pleasure and comfort as I can through the motion of my hands on your back. After awhile, you've relaxed into the touch, and I feel your muscles loosening beneath my hands. "Love you, Liv," you mumble.

"Love you, too, princess."

By the time I've finished massaging your back, your breathing has evened out and you've fallen sound asleep. I go to put away the bottle of lavender oil and when I return to the bedroom, I don't even put your shirt on for you, not wanting to risk waking you up. Instead, I lie down beside you and pull the covers over us, glad that you're managing to get some much needed rest. I take you into my arms and gently kiss your cheek.

"You are perfect, Alexandra Cabot," I whisper, carefully brushing your hair back from your forehead. "I wish you could see that. Someday, you will see that. And I'm going to help you get there."

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