This chapter is for the lovely WriterKC- and it would have been up hours ago but fanfiction wouldn't let me post it last night and then we've had a crisis here this morning, I'm so sorry! I hope it's worth the wait!

I'm honestly a bit blown away by the response to the last chapter. Thank you so, so much if you took the time to review, it honestly means the world.

Thoughts/suggestions/requests always appreciated!

-IseultLaBelle x

Chapter 13

August, 2022

He doesn't wake straight away.

He's exhausted, up twenty-two hours straight on a case before he finally collapsed into bed, and perhaps there's an element of denial about it.

It takes him several moments to respond, to be pulled from sleep just enough to realise that the shrill blaring to his left is his cell phone, Olivia's ringtone, painfully persistent for however ungodly early it is- still pitch-black, cold, harsh blue-light of his phone screen burning his eyes as his wife reaches over him to grab it off the nightstand, equally half-asleep but apparently rather more impatient for the damned thing to stop.

"Elliot," Kathy hisses tiredly, irate. "Elliot, take it, please. Just shut it up, go do whatever you need to do, I don't care…"

He moans loudly, stretches his arm out to take the phone from her. "Liv?"

"Office wife, landline," Kathy reports innocently, and he's so sleep-deprived and running-on-empty that it takes Elliot several seconds longer than it should to piece it all together, realise that this is rather more alarming than he's so far given it credit for. "Who still has a landline these days, anyway…"

He's startled himself to fully-alert in mere seconds, sits bolt upright, grabs hold of the phone with more force than perhaps he should have. "Why didn't you say…"

"I've only just looked!" Kathy protests. "It's 3am Elliot, I'm not awake either…"

But he ignores her.

He ignores her, too caught up in utter panic, slides his thumb across to answer the call and his heart is in his mouth, pulse racing, because he knows exactly what this is, exactly what's needed of him, and he can't stand it.

He can't stand that it's going to take another half hour to drive over to the Upper West Side of Manhattan, maybe just under if he's lucky, not when she needs him now.

Not for the first time, Elliot finds himself wondering if it would really be so terrible of him to slam the portable sirens he keeps in the glove compartment of his car onto the roof and drive over there as though he's on duty, not off, because what's the point of being a cop if he can't make use of his position to race to her aid, after all?

He hates this.

He hates this so goddamned much, but there doesn't seem to be a thing he can do to stop it- or even lessen her pain a little, he'd settle for that.

And that just makes it even worse.

The call connects.

"Lollie, talk to me?" Elliot pleads frantically.

He can't even explain how he knows it's her.

Process of elimination, he supposes; if it was Olivia, she'd use her cell.

But even so.

He can't deny that there have been times, not several, but enough for him to recall a pattern of sorts, when she's been so hopelessly disorientated and lost in the inferno of her flashbacks that she's apparently forgotten she possesses a cell phone at all and called him from the landline, but somehow, he knows, tonight, just knows.

It's inexplicable.

In some ways- in a lot of ways, if he's going to be entirely honest with himself- he's more in tune with his partner and her daughter by extension than he is with his own wife and children nowadays.

God, Elliot knows how awful that sounds, but it's true.

It's not as though he planned it.

He can predict Olivia in a way he's never quite been able to predict Kathy, even after all these years, and perhaps that's the end result of spending more hours of his waking existence with her than he has with his family, over the course of their more than two-decade-long partnership with its brief interlude two thirds in.

He knows it's her daughter calling him, knows before there's been any response at all from the other end of the phone line.

That's how Elliot knows it's bad.

"Uncle Elliot?" Lollie whispers- almost shyly, adopts the tone her mother does when she's terrified of bothering anyone, awkward, so unused to the idea that anyone might be happy to step in to help her that his heart aches with the mere realisation that this is what her life has been like, that this is what the world and Serena Benson and her lack of anyone who truly, unconditionally loved her before him has taught her. "Uncle Elliot, Mommy's…"

Abruptly, she cuts off, and even over the phone, Elliot hears the harrowing, piercing cry in the background, somewhat muffled, as though from another room, but loud enough, pained enough, Olivia enough that it stops him in his traces.

He can't bear this.

It seems to have been getting progressively worse, these last few, and it doesn't exactly take much in the way of detective work to pinpoint why.

"I'm coming, Lolliebug," Elliot tells her simply, switches the phone onto speaker as he practically throws himself out of bed, pulls on the first clothes he can find, knows they're most likely the ones he discarded half-asleep last night to the bedroom floor, but no part of him cares, absolute least of his priorities right now. "I'm on my way. Alright? I'll be there as soon as I can, I promise. How bad is it?" he presses urgently now, rummages for his badge and gun on the bedside table in the darkness, slips out the bedroom without so much as a passing glance at his wife- god, he's going to hell. "Lollie? How bad, have you…"

"She was having another flashback when I woke up," says Lollie quietly, and Elliot wishes more than anything that particular word wasn't even in her vocabulary yet, not at eight years old. "I went into her room and I tried to wake her up because I thought she was dreaming, but she thought I was someone else and she started screaming and she wanted me to go, so…"

"So you called me. You did the right thing, Lollie," Elliot soothes, rummages for his car keys in the darkness. "You did the right thing. It's alright. I'm not going to be long, okay? I'm leaving my house now, I'm going to be as fast as I can…"

"Should I go and try again?"

In his mind, he can practically see her, biting her lip anxiously, brow furrowing, lower lip trembles the way her mother's does when she's desperately upset but trying not to show it.

He has to make a choice.

He has to make a choice because it's not just about Olivia anymore.

It's about both of them.

It's about both of them, and he knows that Olivia would never forgive herself if she hurt her own child, but right now, she's too utterly consumed by past trauma dragged back up again by William fucking Lewis and the looming family court date to be safe around her- and so right now, he has to make the call for her.

She's pulled her gun on him before, when she's been like this.

Not for years, admittedly, but all the same.

Elliot knows full well that the very possibility of Lewis winning his battle for shared custody of Lollie has shaken Olivia to her very core, knows that she's vulnerable, more so than she's been in years, just now, that her flashbacks have been spiralling further and further out of control again, enough to land her back with a regular appointment at Dr Lindstrom's office.

He knows she's likely to be freaked enough, disorientated enough, that she might perceive anyone and everyone who comes to close as a potential threat, and he cannot, will not, stand back and watch her having to live with the guilt of knowing she was so far gone she pulled her weapon on her own daughter, not on top of everything else.

He won't let Lewis break her.

Not like this.

"Leave her be, Lollie," Elliot tells her firmly. "Alright? You promise?"

"But she's…"

"I know. I know, Lollie, but you know how she gets, when it's bad." He fumbles with the house keys, locks the door practically sprints down the drive. "You stay in your room. Okay? You stay in your room, you stay quiet for me, can you… can you try and go back to sleep? … No, no, you can't go back to sleep, can you, honey?" he sighs; frightened, horse cry from the master bedroom, wild-animal-like, desperation. "Okay. I'm driving now, Lollie, I might lose signal but I'm on my way, alright? I'm on my way."

"Mommy keeps cursing," Lollie whispers, voice trembling. "And I think she thinks…"

"I know. I know, but she's alright. She's alright, sweetheart, everything's alright. Or it will be, anyway. As soon as she's calmed down, she'll be fine, I promise. You'll see. I'm coming, Lollie. You got a book you're reading?"

"Uh huh."

"Alright. You want to put your light on and read until I get there? Yeah? Or until you can fall back asleep?"

"But Mommy's…"

"I know. I know, but it's better you wait for me to get there, honey. Okay? You promise me you're going to stay in your room until I get there?"

"Because you're bigger than me," says Lollie matter-of-factly, and god, Elliot can't stand this. "You can restrain her."

"… Exactly, Lollie," Elliot forces out at last. "Exactly. Exactly that. Your mom's going to be fine, honey," he promises. "She always is, isn't she? She's going to be fine. You do me a favour?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you leave the phone on until I get there?" he requests. "Yeah? Just so I know you're both okay?"

"Okay. Mrs Watanabe came over and asked if Mommy was alright," Lollie reports, almost guilty, torn. "She shouted through the door."

"Right, okay."

Fuck.

He'd thought it was bad, when he first heard her screams in the background, but it's so hard to tell over the phone.

"She asked if she should go and get her spare key," Lollie confesses, and despite it all, Elliot lets out a sigh of relief that Olivia has good neighbours, neighbours who understand the dangers of Manhattan at night, know that they should always go in with their own keys in a crisis, not encourage Lollie to think that opening the door in the middle of the night when her mother is too out of it to defend her is anything but dangerous.

"Alright," Elliot acknowledges, slams the sirens on to run the red lights. "And what did you tell her?"

"I told her I was going to call you."

"You did the right thing, Lolliebug," Elliot tells her, heart aching. "You did the right thing. I'm going to be there soon, okay? Really, really soon."

Just over twenty minutes and some not entirely legal sirens later, he's knocking gently on her apartment door, panting, a little, because he raced the stairs three at a time, wasn't about to hang around waiting for the elevator that must be almost as old as her goddamned building.

"Liv?" he calls, gently, calm as he can manage. "Liv, it's just me! It's El! I'm coming in, okay? I'm coming in, it's alright. I'm coming in right now."

The apartment is horribly, sickeningly quiet.

Cautiously, he pads across the floor towards the door into her bedroom, hands outstretched in surrender, desperate to show her that he isn't here to hurt her, that he is not and never will be the figure from her nightmares, that he'll fight anyone who ever dares try to hurt her like that again.

"Liv?" he calls, pushes the door open the tiniest fraction. "Liv? You okay?"

Faint sobbing, now, retching; agonising, pulls at his heartstrings in a way nothing else ever will.

He finds her collapsed on the bathroom floor, hanging onto the toilet basin like it's the only thing holding her up, face pale, hair drenched with sweat.

She startles, practically jumps into the bathtub behind her, jolts herself so brutally that he's afraid she's going to hit her head, and then she looks up at him and for one horrible moment, there's nothing, nothing but blinded, primal fear in her eyes.

"No!" she protests, visibly shrinks, pushes herself right into the corner between the toilet basin and the bathtub as though she truly believes she's under attack, as though her every instinct is screaming at her to get away, defend herself, trapped in that nightmare all over again.

"Don't!" she shouts, wraps her arms around herself protectively, cowers, bows her head. "Don't… please… I can't, please don't make me do it again, I can't…"

Her eyes dart to the sink, and it's only then that Elliot notices her gun resting there beside the taps.

"Liv," he begins, gently as he can manage, holds out his hands in a desperate bid to prove to her that he's not going to hurt her, calm her, somehow get through to her and convince her that he's not the man from her nightmares, could never, ever, bring himself to harm her. "Liv, you're alright. You're alright. It's Elliot, Liv, I'm not…"

"Stay away from me!" She's starting to hyperventilate now, and urgency builds within him; he knows from experience that if he can't get through to her before her breathing is out of control, this is going to be a long, difficult battle, and he can't bear seeing her suffer like this. "Don't… please…"

'I'm not going to hurt you," Elliot promises. "I swear, Liv. I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to."

"No…" She shakes her head, pulls her knees to her chest, trembles violently in her attempts to shut him out- and Elliot doesn't know whether to be relieved or shaken by the fact she's apparently so far gone that despite the very real danger she believes she's in, she's forgotten her gun is within her reach. "No, no, no, no, no… please…"

"You're dreaming, Liv," he tells her, thanks god that his voice is far, far calmer than he feels inside. "You're alright. It's just a flashback. It's a bad flashback, but you're safe. Okay? It's over. It's over, Liv, you're safe. No one's going to hurt you. I won't let them. Alright? Deep breaths," he tries. "Take some deep breaths for me, okay? Focus on me. You're safe, I promise. You're safe. He can't hurt you anymore."

God, if only that part were entirely true.

Because Lewis can't hurt her again physically, but psychologically…

Elliot doesn't even want to think about it.

She blinks at him.

She blinks at him in utter exhaustion, defeat, and yet there's recognition in her eyes, and her whole body seems to physically relax in utter, overwhelming relief.

"Penelope?" Olivia whispers.

Even if he hadn't heard it in the background on that awful drive over from his place in Queens that felt like a lifetime, Elliot would know she'd been screaming from the hoarseness to her voice, bloodshot eyes, exhaustion.

He's staying here tonight.

Kathy can do her worst, but he's staying here tonight.

He nods, gently, tries to soften the blow. "Think you woke her up," he murmurs apologetically, approaches her slowly, carefully, lowers himself to the bathroom floor beside her. "She called me, she was worried about you, she said she tried to wake you but you didn't know her, so…"

"Fuck," Olivia sobs. "Fuck, fuck, is she…"

"She's fine. She's fine, I had her on the phone on the way over."

There's panic in her eyes now. "Can you go get her, make sure she's…"

"She's alright, Liv," he soothes. "I promise. She's fine, she was talking me through the plot of the first Harry Potter when I was driving over. She's fine…"

She shakes her head furiously, distraught, maternal instinct overwhelming her. "El, go get her," she protests. "I mean it, El, go make sure she's…"

"As soon as I know you're alright." Gently, he reaches out for her, holds out his arms, relief flooding through him when she curls into his side, head against his shoulder, breathes, at last, surrenders, safe. "I'll go get her for you in a minute, okay? I promise. Let's just calm you down first…"

"I'm going to freak her out like this," Olivia agrees faintly. "Not that I haven't freaked her out already… fuck…"

"She's not freaked out, Liv. She's alright. She's worried about you, but she's alright. I'm more concerned about you right now." He squeezes her shoulders, and she smells of sweat and sheer, paralysing terror, pupils visibly dilated even in the darkness. "Talk to me?"

She shakes her head. "Just… you know. The usual. Except…" She closes her eyes. "I can't even say it…"

"Might make you feel better?"

"Might make it real. No, she… it was, you know. Back there. With him, when he…" She trembles against his side, buries her face in his shirt, so horribly vulnerable. "Except…" She shudders. "Pia was there," she forces out at last, visibly disgusted with her own mind for even going there. "Pia was there and he… he made her… he made her watch…"

Elliot grips her tighter.

"I was reading over the documents Langan sent over for the custody hearing last night," she confesses quietly. "Right before I went to sleep. I know I shouldn't have, I know I've only got myself to blame. But he… god. Langan seems to think joint custody won't happen but he… he thinks…"

"Breathe, Liv," Elliot tries. "Just keep breathing for me, it's alright…"

"Langan thinks he could easily get every other weekend," Olivia forces out at last. "Right to have a relationship with her father, and all that crap. I mean, we're going to fight it, but… I can't even… the thought of her alone with him… god…"

There's nothing he can say.

There's nothing Elliot can say, and so he simply holds her, hugs her tightly to his side and comforts her, because there's nothing else he can do.

He can't stand this.

It's so fucking unfair.

"I hate myself," Olivia confesses, voice laced in self-loathing. "I didn't think I'd ever hate myself more than I did when he… he…"

"I know," Elliot tells her gently, rubbing her back. "I know what you mean. It's okay."

He decides that just now, while she's like this, isn't the right moment to point out to her that no part of her should ever, ever hate herself for what Lewis did to her- that's something to address later, once he's calmed her down, once the most pressing, urgent aspect of all of this has been put to rest in her mind.

She nods weakly in gratitude. "I didn't think it was possible to ever hate myself more," she continues quietly, voice barely even a whisper, as though she can't quite bring herself to admit this out loud, and so her only option is to confess it so painfully quietly that Elliot has to strain to hear it. "But now…" she shudders furiously, pales. "God, I feel sick just thinking about it… he can't… he can't have her unsupervised…"

"I know," Elliot murmurs. "I know, Liv, I know…"

"I hate myself so much," Olivia whispers, crying openly now, can't seem to hold the flood back any longer. "I hate myself for not taking his deal… why didn't I just take it, for god's sake? If I'd taken the deal, if he'd been convicted of raping me, none of this would even be an issue, Penelope would have been protected from…"

"You didn't know," Elliot tries to calm her gently. "You didn't know, Liv. You can't beat yourself up for…"

"But I should have, El," she protests desperately. She presses her fingers to her temple now as though she's trying to both comfort herself and snap herself out of it at once, shaking violently, more so than Elliot has seen her in years. "I should have known- I was practically full-term when he offered the deal, for god's sake! I should have worked out I was pregnant long before then, I should have taken the deal, and then he'd never be allowed near her, would he? Shared custody wouldn't even be a question, the Rape Survivor Child Custody Act would have kicked in and he wouldn't be able to…"

"And if you'd known you were pregnant, he would have too, Liv…"

"No, he wouldn't have," she insists- and she's working herself up again now, Elliot realises with a sinking feeling in his heart. "He wouldn't have had to know. I didn't even look pregnant, for god's sake… I mean, okay, looking back, I probably did look four months, or so," she agrees, apparently back with him enough now to take in his apologetic expression, breaking it to her gently. "Five months at an absolute push- I mean, I passed my pre-undercover physical, didn't I? Which admittedly was rushed, but still. I didn't look full term. So even if he had realised at the trial, it never would have occurred to him that Pia was his, would it? He would have assumed Brian was the father, he would have…"

"He would have found out, Liv," Elliot sighs. He runs his fingers through her sweat-drenched hair, desperately trying to comfort her. "You know how he is. Somehow, he would have found out, it wouldn't have made a difference in the end. He'd have found out you were pregnant, and then if there had been even the slightest possibility of it being his, he wouldn't have offered to plead guilty to the rape charge, would he? He would never even have offered the deal then…"

"But I should have just taken it!" Olivia sobs. "I should have gotten over myself, I should have put my stupid victim complex to one side and taken the deal, for god's sake! How many times have I told rape victims there's no shame in admitting what happened to them, and what did I do? I was so fucking proud I couldn't bear anyone knowing he'd… you know. That he went that far. I should have just taken the fucking deal and then this wouldn't even be an issue, he'd never be allowed anywhere near Penelope, he couldn't…"

"But you didn't know, Liv," Elliot soothes. "You didn't know. You would have taken the deal in a heartbeat, if you'd realised that day…"

"Of course I would have…"

"Exactly. Because you love her. Because you'd do anything for her, I know you would. But you didn't know," he murmurs. "You didn't take the deal because you'd been raped, you were struggling, you didn't know how to process it. Which is completely understandable…"

"I know better…"

"But it's different, when it happens to you," he insists gently. "It's completely understandable. You would have done it differently, if you'd known, no one's doubting that. But you didn't. You can't beat yourself up for that."

"It's all my fault, though, El," she whispers. "If he… god… I don't even want to think about it. If he… if he wins, if he gets… it's going to be all my fault…"

There's a gentle knock on the bedroom door now, distant, but still Olivia startles in his arms.

"Uncle Elliot?" Lollie calls out uncertainly. "Mommy?"

He's about to call out to her to go back to bed and he'll come and see her in a minute, but Oliva beats him to it.

"You can come in, honey," she calls faintly, and she's fighting so, so hard to hold herself together; Elliot can hear it in her voice. "You can come in, it's okay."

There's a momentary pause, and then she's standing there in the doorway into the bathroom through from her mother's bedroom, hair dishevelled, rainbow print pyjamas, clutches the plush animal fox Kathleen bought her from the hospital gift shop when he was finally allowed to blow her undercover job and confess to his family why he hadn't been home for two days tightly against her chest.

She's not afraid- not exactly.

But she hesitates, bites her lip as though she's a little apprehensive, and Elliot knows all-too-well it's going to break Olivia's heart, and so it breaks his, too.

"Come here, sweet girl," Olivia offers, reaches out for her at once. "Come here. It's okay. It's all okay, sweetheart…"

"Are you alright?" Lollie allows herself to be pulled onto Olivia's lap, nestled in between the two of them now, as though this dysfunctional unit of the three of them is the way it was always meant to be. "Mommy?"

"I'm fine," Olivia comforts her. I'm fine, Pia. I promise. It was just a bad one, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

"I called Uncle Elliot because I…"

"I know. I know, you did the right thing. Thank you. I'm sorry," Olivia confesses, squeezes her as though she never wants to let go of her again, kisses the crown of her head. "I'm so, so sorry, Penelope. So, so sorry."

She isn't just talking about the flashback, and Elliot knows it.