Author's Note: As I am typing this in my last few minutes in my room and will start writing this chapter at the airport, please excuse me for being disgustingly emotional. I have had this chapter planned out in my head for months now, but that doesn't make it any easier to write, because this story started out with a different tone and my universes have now officially combined. Thank you so, so much for all the encouragement in the form of your comments, particularly to those of you who also had to listen to me complaining when something wasn't coming together. Writing is an emotional outlet either way, but getting feedback is always nice and it reassures me that I am not crazy for caring so much about fictitious characters and having questionable priorities. Or that there are at least other people who are as crazy as me. ;) I appreciate it more than words can express. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. And I think I have officially covered every second of the Bensidy timeline now, so time to let them go (Lindstrom would agree). But if you have enjoyed this story, you could always read "Surrender", because this basically runs right into it and they are set in the same universe in my head. (I lied about that one, by the way: It will have a one-shot follow-up.)

The important thing is to keep setting one foot in front of the other. If she focuses on the physical movement alone with masterful concentration, she can avoid thinking. She can ignore the memory of everyone staring at her as she did her shameful walk through the precinct, their horror, their guilt, the change in how they looked at her. She can never go back there. Lewis took it from her for good. He took her life from her. No, she is not allowed to think about that yet, not when it takes her entire focus to just walk in a steady line, to be strong. She made a promise to herself that she would make it out of there. She made it. Now, she just has to keep on making it from one second to the next, forever.

"I've pulled the car around" Brian says just to say something, and she is grateful for the effort. He is so calm now; he asked her what she wants and gives her no hesitation at all about going to his place although she knows he must be freaking out on the inside. Frankly, he's overdoing this newfound cool act a little right now, but it's better than the alternative.

The parking lot feels like an unfamiliar place, a strange relic from another era. Just a week ago, it would have been like home. (Of course, she doesn't have an actual home anymore now. Another thing that she is not allowed to think about.) What a difference time makes. Telling the story, all the details –or as complete a version as she will ever tell- brought no relief. Neither did it make things harder. She is just done for today, finished with everything. She didn't realise that it was possible to feel so entirely dead even while she is alive. Alive. That was what she wanted, right? That was all she wanted when Lewis had that gun inside her mouth and she thought she would die. There was some rationale behind that, some foolish idea about how it would be over and anything could be overcome.

But Brian holds open the door for her now and they get in and drive in silence, and the car smells just like it always does, like that disgusting little air freshener he uses every once in a while, but her ribcage hurts, her wrist hurts, her skin hurts, her head is pounding and it's all too much…

"I'm so sorry" he mutters out of the blue as they pull up to a red light.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. No. He has been stealing glimpses at her, and he can't see her crying. She is not ready to have this conversation. She is not ready for him to start asking questions. "Don't…not now."

"Okay." He looks terribly worried, as if she might break if he says one wrong word, but Jesus, she didn't mean it like that. Already, she feels bad for him, sitting up all night with her at the hospital, a particular highlight of which involved her throwing up on his shoes, if she recalls it correctly. They were just having fun, and now he's stuck with this different person and in way over his is not what he signed up for. Nobody wants to be a living life raft. It's not that he'll blame her, it's that he will feel obliged because he is a good guy, and that is way worse. "No one wants my left-overs. He'll feel sorry for you, sure, but all he'll see is damaged goods and no one gets it up for that." She can't let him see. She has to be herself, but she has no idea what Olivia would do in this situation. She supposes she would be tough.

And she does a pretty good job of that, or so she thinks, as he asks her meaningless questions when they arrive that she can't make sense of. Everything is a blur again by now thanks to the painkillers, fuzzy and blunted around the edges. Walking up a couple of stairs to the entrance becomes a huge task, because she feels lopsided, as if her bad wrist is weighing her down. But she manages on her own, a small victory.

The elevator. Fuck. She had forgotten about the elevator, the way his apartment building has the tiniest old metal cage ever, because location is everything here and if the apartment is an ugly shoebox, it doesn't matter. There should be nothing inherently scary about this. Lewis never did anything to her in an elevator, and it makes her furious that she even gets this sense of panic at the impending entrapment, at being unable to escape from a small, moving room. She is not allowed to start with this avoidance thing. If she starts that, she will never stop. She has to power through. "It's fine."

The doors close, and it is not fine. It is not fine in the least. Her cracked ribs keep her from inhaling fully, she can't breathe like this, and the duct tape keeps her from screaming and she will run out of air, she will choke if she throws up, but no, that is not real, that is in the past and Lewis isn't here. "You try anything like that again, bitch, and you'll get something in your mouth that you'll like even less." She is slipping away rapidly, and Brian is right beside her, holding out his hand, saying something she can't hear because Lewis drowns him out. Why is Lewis' voice here? She has to get out. She has to get out now. She'll die if she doesn't. She has to draw attention. She has to be found. But no one can hear her here.

She stumbles out the door, leaning against the wall because it is the only thing that's holding her upright right now. Just breathe. Just breathe slowly or you'll get dizzy. It's over. It's over.

It's Brian's voice that pulls her out of her thoughts. "Hey…" He seems torn between touching her and realising that that's a pretty bad idea. "Can I…?"

The absurdity of the question hits home. He is asking permission. He won't do anything against her will. It's almost as if he sort of gets it. But he also looks so hurt in that moment, and it is then that she realises that they will never be the same with each other again. Nothing will ever be simple again in a world where her boyfriend touching her is a big deal. But he is here, and this is not what she expected. If feels okay as she gives him the permission he requires, as he touches her shoulder gently but not too much. It pulls her back to reality like an anchor, and he gets that, and if they have just survived this moment together, maybe they can survive the next, and the next after that, and the next after that.

She leans against him again, against his unwashed shirt, which she ends up clutching hard in her fist, because he can't leave now. She has to stay in this moment, whatever it takes. She can't fall apart. His hand remains steady on her upper back, but his voice is less so as he whispers. "You've made it this far, Liv. The hardest part is over. We'll get through this."

The way his breath is in her hair sends an involuntary shudder down her spine. It's too close, just like his voice was and he needs to get away from her, now. She pulls away and walks ahead of him again so he doesn't see, doesn't interpret too much into it. That's what Olivia would do.

When they enter his apartment and the familiar warmth of that place hits her, it's enough to make her dizzy, to make her steady herself by putting her hand against the wall. Once upon a time, she lived under the illusion that Brian Cassidy was an extraordinarily clean and neat guy. That was before she realised that he was simply trying to impress her. Gradually, this impressively tidy and romantic streak for "setting the mood" faded little by little, and months of irregular shift work and spontaneous hook-ups have taken their toll, so what she gets now is usually him hurriedly stacking dishes in the sink before she comes over. Or that's how it used to be, at least. Now, his place is a mess of papers, laundry, normal everyday things. And it's not that it looks terrible, it's that it looks so normal, so achingly familiar, as if they have just returned to a doll's house.

"I'm sorry. I haven't been…home" he mutters guiltily, before pestering her with a million questions she barely hears and getting her to sit down.

This is the TV where they used to watch stupid Sunday cooking shows. This is the couch they had sex on. This is where these different people used to sit. All past tense. There was a brief window, and it is gone now. Timing was never their strong suit, she supposes. She can't sit here and pretend otherwise, can't return to a performance of Olivia and Brian – the later years.

So she gets up and runs out, seeking refuge in the bathroom, turning on the tap so he won't hear the sound of her stifled sobs as she sits down on the toilet seat, doubling over. It hurts, it hurts so much and she is afraid of that mirror above the sink. Brian knocks on the door, asking if she is okay, and how is that even a question right now?

It's over, and Lewis is still here, and even if he dies, he will never, ever leave. "You thought you could just run out of here? Pretend it never happened? You'll never forget this, baby. What, you're gonna cry now? I expected more of a fight from you. It's like you're not even trying." He was right about her, and that is all there is to it. He saw who she was and why she would make the perfect victim. It's not her fault, but it is. The joke's on her, because maybe she was supposed to survive all along, maybe that's what he wanted. Maybe her mother was right, maybe Elliot was right, maybe this is all she is.

But he can't win. He can't. Her fingernails dig into her skin as she tries to pull herself back to the present, to breathe and to stay focused. She needs to sleep. All she wants is to sleep and never wake up. She has some pills that "will help with that" (although she doubts they would help with the never waking up part – a very ineffective way of trying), but then everything will go all mixed up again and if she slips away, she knows she will slip back into that beach house with him, where she can't go. And she doesn't have her gun anymore, and anyway, Brian is out there, and she can't do that to him when he's all "you're alive!" like it's some great fucking gift. Lewis can't win.

An eternity goes by until there is nothing left inside her, and she washes her face without looking in the mirror and breathes and walks out. At the sound of the door, Brian immediately comes out of the kitchen, studying her carefully, with that same worried look still on his face. "Hey."

One glance at the living room tells her that he has been cleaning up, and it almost makes her laugh, because clean dishes clearly solve everything, especially this. But she doubts she will ever laugh out loud again.

"How are you?" he asks, visibly afraid of the answer.

"Tired."

He nods and, in an unnecessary gesture, walks her over to the bedroom, holding the door open for her. He's got to stop doing that. But she can tell he has cleaned up in here, too, and there is a glass of water on the nightstand. As this registers, it fills her with something. Not quite feeling, but something that is not dead.

He trails after her and stands around uncertainly at a safe distance as she lies down in the clothes she is wearing on top of the covers. "You want to...uh…take anything?"

"No."

"Right." He looks like he is about to say something else, but closes his mouth and turns to leave. And just then, the thought of him walking out and shutting that door becomes unbearable.

"Hey" she says uncertainly, "stay?"

He swallows hard. "Okay."

~*~The End~*~