Hello friends! Back with an update to this thing :) Thank you all so much for the love and the encouragement after the first installment- it was so appreciated.

A/N: warning for mentions of sexual assault, suicide, and self-harm. Picks up from where chapter 1 left off.

As always, I love to hear your thoughts! You can hit me up here or on twitter: lucythespencer

"Are you hungry?" he asks, and you shake your head in a vehement 'no'. "How about a glass of water?"

You can't remember the last time you ate, and the only thing that you can recall drinking in the last 24 hours is the little paper cup of water that they gave you at the hospital to take your pills with, but even the thought of a few sips makes you feel like retching. "Not thirsty. "

"Do you want to go lie down?" You nod, appreciating how he didn't assume that you would be able to sleep. "Good, me too. But you've at least gotta have something to drink first."

That must be a trick he uses on his kids, and you don't appreciate it. "I said, I don't want anything."

"I could use some water myself, actually," he says, ignoring your rejection of his offer. He goes into the kitchen and you hear the tap turn on and then off, and he comes back with two glasses in hand - one nearly full, and one filled about a quarter of the way to the top. "Just a little bit for you."

"Elliot, I said-"

"Just try. Please? I can tell you look dehydrated, and I know the last thing you want is to end up back at the hospital."

You're too embarrassed to tell him that you're not just being obstinate for the hell of it, that you literally don't trust yourself to be able to perform such a simple task. The more you think about it, the more overwhelming it gets, the less control you feel like you have over your mind and your actions. You feel numb all over, pins and needles in your limbs and your head encased in a cotton fog. How is it that just minutes ago you were ready to fight, insisting that you were fine, only to have all of that energy so rapidly drained out of you?

He must see your internal struggle playing out on your face, because he decides to break it down for you. "I'm going to hand you the glass now, okay?"

He transfers it to you as carefully as he would an egg already covered in hairline cracks, and you grip onto the base of the glass with both hands, resting it on your leg for reinforcement.

"Now that's what I call teamwork," he says with a little smile, not pushing you any further. "Take a drink when you're ready."

Despite not wanting any, you're desperate to prove to both of you that you can do this. Muscle memory, you tell yourself, your body knows what to do if you'll just stop thinking about it.

Both arms shaking, you lift the glass to your mouth. Don't think. Just do it.

{{pull the trigger, Olivia}}

You stop with your arms frozen in midair, eyes closed, a few droplets of water falling onto your lap. You can't feel your hands, and you brace yourself for the sound of the glass hitting the floor.

Instead, you hear a soft voice. "Almost there, you've got this. Just gotta open your eyes."

You bring the glass to your mouth with a jerky thrust and instinct takes over as you gulp down most of the cold liquid. Then he takes the cup out of your hands and you sit still and momentarily stunned, waiting to cough the water back up, but nothing happens.

"See? Knew you could do it. Do you want some more?"

You mouth 'no', and he doesn't push you to reconsider. But you have to admit that even that small drink did you good, made you feel less detached from your body and your surroundings. If only it wasn't so fucking hard... "I can't. Can't keep going like this."

"Liv..." You rest your forehead against his chest as you cry, arms hanging limp at your sides, and his voice is cracking again as well. "I'm sorry, you know? If there was something, if I could trade places with you...but I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. Know why? Cause no matter what, no matter how tough it gets, I'm so fucking thankful you're still here with me."

You wish that you could say the same. But you're grateful that he's by your side, even after you insisted that you didn't need him, and even more grateful that he's willing to cry alongside you. It reminds you that although there's so much he might not know or understand, he does understand the magnitude of all that you've lost in this last year. You're both stubborn and proud to a fault, enough alike that he can empathize with how you loathe feeling so helpless. Again.

He wipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "What d'ya say we get some rest now? I think we've earned it."

"Yeah. I'm gonna go change."

He's suspicious at how relatively quick you are to get up from the couch, moving as fast as your sore muscles permit. "Are you going to shower?"

"No." You already had one before you left the hospital, and as much as you'd like to have another, you'll wait until you're alone.

"Okay. Keep the door unlocked."

"Elli-"

"Just in case you fall down or something," he lies, like you don't know exactly why he doesn't trust you. "I've already put a hole in your wall, I don't want to have to kick the door in too. Then you'll really never get your security deposit back."

"I'm okay, I don't need you to -"

"I won't come in unless you're in trouble. Do you mind if I have a snack while you're in there? They didn't exactly feed me well in jail," he explains, unwilling to argue.

"Yeah, I'm...I don't know what I have, but you can take what you want." Neither you nor Brian ever grocery shopped with any regularity, and you can't recall eating any meals at home since he left last week. The last time your pantry was fully stocked was probably when Nick was living with you and filled the shelves with all his organic shit. "Just check the dates first."

You shut the door behind you as soon as you step into the bathroom and lean against it for a moment, the short trek across your apartment showing you how exhausted you actually are. But that was the easy part.

Gritting your teeth, you sit down on the toilet and try to ignore the sting. You do your best not to look, but curiosity gets the better of you and you confirm that the water in the bowl is tinged with several drops of blood.

Nobody else knew. When Nick bent down to free your legs, your unzipped pants were right at eye level. He looked up at you and you silently begged him not to say anything.

He glanced over his shoulder, seeing everyone else running in different directions and your new supervisor standing over the body on the floor. "Can I..."

" Please." He quickly pulled up the zipper and fastened the button on your waistband, but didn't ask any questions until much later, when the two of you were alone in the hospital exam room.

"I gave Amanda my spare key to your place so that she could go get you some clothes, hope that's okay. I know you don't like me going through your drawers, " he said, which he was right about. "So...everything checked out okay? That was pretty quick."

"I'm fine, just a few bruises. I know what you saw, but he didn't -"

"Yeah, Amelia told Rollins what happened." The conversation then turned to the girls, and no one else had pressed for details after you gave them the initial 'I'm fine'.

You take a few slow breaths- in, out. in, out. "Liv?"

"What?" you answer, a bit too sharply. "Don't come in, I'm getting changed."

"That's alright, just wanted to know if you want me to make up the couch for myself, " Elliot says, and you can hear a bag crinkle and the sound of crunching.

You take a tank top and pajama pants off of the hook on the back of the door, pausing in thought. "Um. No. You don't, unless...you don't have to."

"Got it. "

You unzip the jacket you're wearing and let it fall to the floor, eyes closed tightly before you pull your t-shirt over your head. Your arm muscles are aching and yet you barely notice as you unhook your bra. With your eyes shut, you can't see your half-naked body, but what you see instead is much worse.

{{God, you're so pretty. You know, I just realized, I've never had any of my girls come back for seconds before. Should've known you'd be the one.}}

You reach out blindly and clutch the edge of the sink to keep yourself upright, trying to will away the phantom humiliation, but you can still feel his fingers jabbing at a patch of scar tissue on your inner arm.

{{wait, what's- that one's new. No, it is, I know my own work and that's not it, that's still healing. Well, well. Isn't that interesting?}}

No. Stop. You get dressed as quickly as possible, eyes still closed except when you dig through the linen cupboard to find a long sleeved t-shirt to put on. It's mildly comforting, being covered from wrists to ankles again, because looking at your bare skin sets some kind of raging hatred rising from deep in your gut.

You open the drawer nearest you and pull out a pair of nail scissors, the cold metal burning your palm as you trace the blade with one finger, your pulse quickening in anticipation. Then you throw them back and slam the drawer closed with both hands as you shake your head to rid yourself of the impulse. What good would it do? The momentary distraction isn't enough anymore. Not when there's a more permanent solution to be found-

"Everything okay in there?"

"Fine!" you say, turning on the sink and splashing some cold water on your face.

"I'm not trying to hurry you or anything, but I kinda need to take a leak..."

"Gimme one second." You glance at your reflection in the mirror, frowning at your puffy eyes before opening the door. "It's all yours."

You know he can tell that you've been crying again, but he doesn't say anything about it. "Those artisanal Doritos taste like shit, by the way. "

"Take it up with Nick." It's such a small thing, but you're grateful for the casual chatter. He's not like Brian, who meant well, but who had the tendency to tiptoe around you (literally) and be oversolicitous, asking permission for every little thing as if you were a suspicious package he was trying to suss out without triggering an explosion. Elliot never coddled you, even at your worst, even at the risk of setting you off. He knew you could handle it, that you'd rather him fall on the side of being an ass than start babying you.

Of course, he didn't have to live with you day after day like Brian did until you drove him away. You pushed him to the breaking point until you did just that- broke him. And eventually, you may very well do the same to Elliot.

It's why you can't allow yourself that much time.

{{so you had your boyfriend, you had that psycho you'd been obsessed with - we had an interesting conversation about you, did he ever tell you that?- but yet here you are again. Guess neither of them could give you what you really wanted.}}

"Oh, I did," Elliot says as he emerges from the bathroom, temporarily saving you from your own thoughts. "I texted him just to let him know I was here in case he needed to get in touch with you, which...maybe tomorrow we should see about getting you a new phone?"

"I have to go down to 1PP at seven-thirty," you remind him.

"I thought you said eight-thirty. Those fuckers can't even wait until after breakfast?" You shake your head. "That's okay, I'm supposed to be meeting with my lawyer first thing." You're still curious about what exactly he got up to while you were indisposed, but you decide it's better not to ask. What you don't know, you can't be subpoenaed for, and you're looking at enough legal trouble of your own right now. "After that, I might swing by the house and get some of my stuff, if that's okay with you - you sure you don't want me on the couch?"

You shake your head again, and he climbs in on 'his' side of the bed. It was strange to think that not even 100 hours ago he was in this same spot under very different circumstances. You felt good, felt like you were finally headed in the right direction even if you weren't quite sure what you would find there. But now... "You don't have to ask me for permission, you know."

"If you need space, I want you to have it," he says seriously. "Even if you change your mind in the middle of the night, it's fine."

"No, I mean...it's your house. You should be there. Maybe you and Kathy can talk."

He snorts. "I'll be lucky if she hasn't thrown all my shit out on the lawn."

"Elliot..."

"What did I tell you before?" he asks, turning onto his side to look at you. You're on your side as well, arms crossed as you hug your favorite oversized pillow to your chest like a shield. "I don't want you to worry about it. She and I, we'll talk when things calm down. But I'm not changing my mind."

You know that this has been going on for longer than just today, and you know that most, if not all, of the conflict between them comes back to you. It's not like you've never felt guilty about it before. Hell, it's not even like you haven't told Elliot in no uncertain terms that you don't want him leaving Kathy before. But you always managed to silently justify your indiscretions to yourself - that you deserved this in the wake of so much cruelty, that you needed him more than she did. That you never meant for this to happen but once it did, it was a force too powerful for neither you nor him to fight. Now, though, all your excuses just feel hollow.

"You don't want me. Not like this."

He reaches toward you with one hand, so carefully that it looks like a tape in slow motion, but you still flinch when he gets within a fingers' length of your face. He lowers his hand until it's level with yours, and you let your fingers interlock with his as you press your palms together. "That's where you're wrong."