Hello! I'm back with another chapter...thank you to everyone reading this for your infinite patience. :)

A/N: Warnings for mentions of sexual assault and self-harm. In case you've forgotten because it's been so long (sorry, sorry!), this is set during Post-Mortem Blues.

As always, comments will be warmly received!

"That's the second time you've said that," he continues. His hand stays loosely clasped with yours, enough to be comforting while giving you the freedom to let go if this small touch becomes overwhelming. "And my answer hasn't changed. You can ask as many times as you want," he adds, and you can see a flash of white teeth as he smiles in the darkness, "but you'll get the same thing every time. Still love you. Still want you. Still not leaving."

You remember when he said those words to you before, just a few short days ago in this very bed. He'd told you he loved you earlier that evening, the two of you sitting naked on the living room floor and kissing lazily, lips collecting the salt from each other's flushed faces. You'd cleaned up and gotten into bed at your insistence - after all, it was still a 'school night'- but he was about to be the first one asleep until you blurted out I love you too, hand on his shoulder to make sure he was listening.

He was. And even though you'd said those words before, this felt different. Maybe because of the months that had gone by in the interim and all that had happened between you and within yourself, culminating in you being newly single for the first time since you and Elliot had begun this...whatever this was. But you knew he felt it too. You felt it in the way he turned around in your embrace and kissed you, the way his mouth trailed down your body and the way he looked you in the eyes and waited for you to tell him to keep going before he buried his head in between your thighs. The way he got up afterward without being asked and went to brush his teeth despite his (very impressive) hard-on.

The first time that night it had been frenzied, both of you so hungry for each other that you couldn't even make it to bed and he ended up fucking you right there against the living room wall. The second time was the opposite, prolonging every touch, every movement, every sensation for maximum effect. Whispering sillysweetdirty things to one another and falling asleep sprawled out on top of him.

It was the closest you'd come to normal in so long. You should've known it wouldn't last- you just never imagined that this would be the reason why.

"Liv? Where'd you go?"

You shake your head and roll over so that you're facing away from him. "It's fine. Let's just sleep."

"Would you feel better if we had a light on? Cause we can, it won't bother me."

"No," and it's almost laughable to think that turning on a lamp would make any of this even the least bit easier.

"I can still go and sleep on the couch, if you want."

"Will you please just stop talking?" you snap, embarrassed that he must've noticed the way you're lying on the very edge of the bed, arm flung over the side and hand gripping the bottom of the mattress. "I'm sorry I'm not in the mood to cuddle, okay, I-"

"Livia," he says quietly, firmly, in the realm between pet names and the one your mother bestowed on you.

"Leave me alone."

He takes the hint and stays quiet. You wish he would've taken the bigger hint and understood your desire to be left alone, permanently, but it's a start. And anyway, why should he understand anything about you when you don't even understand yourself?

You want to go back and stop time to where you could've had that night as your final memory- the last thing you see before you die, as your tormentor so eloquently put it. Maybe that was your mistake, that you didn't end it all as soon as you got that first ominous text message. Or at the very least, you could've ran; caught the first available flight to a far off destination and started a new life, made yourself believe that your past was nothing but a blank page.

But you didn't, and this is what you're left with.

"I don't...I don't think I can sleep with you," you blurt out suddenly, and he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed without complaint. "No, no," you add before he can stand up. "Not like. That."

"Okay." He stays sitting up, facing away from you, and waits to see if you'll say anything else. "You know- I'm so tired. Couldn't get it up even if I wanted to."

You laugh humorlessly at his attempt to set you at ease. "I didn't mean tonight."

"I know."

"I meant...ever. I don't think I ever can."

"Okay."

"Elliot," you say in a warning tone, face ducked against your pillow.

"If I tell you that this is the last thing you need to be worried about right now, would you stop worrying about it?"

"No."

"I figured, even though I wish you would. We have a lot of time to figure things out, Liv, we don't need to make any big decisions."

You suppose that he's trying to reassure you with the promise of time. Instead it's just a reminder of how much of it looms before you, seconds and minutes and hours becoming months and years, and you don't want any of it. Before, after the first time (you hate that you can no longer say 'the only time', that this is now a reoccurring event), you came home from the hospital determined to get your life back, to reclaim the things that you had lost. Now you're not sure if that's an impossible task, or if you're just too tired to try anymore. "I know that you think I'll change my mind. But I won't."

"And I know you're trying to scare me away. But it won't work," he says affably. "Trust me, I'm used to doing without."

Under normal circumstances, you'd be highly uncomfortable with the mention of whatever he is or isn't doing with his wife. Right now, though, it's barely a minor irritation. "But. It's not the same."

"You're right, it's not. "

"There's a lot you don't know," and if that isn't the understatement of the decade. You've never even really talked with him about what you'd been through the first time, or what had gone on between you and Brian, let alone what had happened in the last 24 hours.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No." You can tell that he thinks you're giving away your secrets by bringing up this particular topic, but little does he know that you're just barely scratching the surface.

why are you crying? isn't this what you wanted?

Elliot had already seen too much that day in his garage, didn't know why you cried the whole time and didn't understand why you never told him to stop. Just like Brian, hissing god I fucking hate you while you sob in a mixture of pain and ecstasy.

your old partner, he didn't believe me when I told him how much you loved it.

"Then let's try to get some sleep, okay?" Elliot suggests, lying back down and making sure to leave as much room as possible between you and him. "I'm right here if you need anything."

but you came back. Guess that makes me the only one who knows what you need.

The next morning you stand in the vestibule of the entrance to 1 PP, closely watching the cab you just got out of until you see it turn the corner.

You're not sure how you convinced Elliot to let you go in alone, given that you hadn't done a very good job of acting like someone who was capable of being independent. Sure, you got up when your alarm went off after a sleepless night, got dressed and did your makeup and even let yourself get talked into taking a few sips of coffee. But as soon as you stepped out of your building's front door, you found yourself clutching Elliot's hand so tightly that he winced. "Sorry, sorry."

"You're fine. Should we go back inside?"

"Wha- no," you said quickly, shaking your head.

"Liv, you don't have to do this today," he said, keeping his hand in yours as he turned to face you. "We'll tell them you need time-"

Time is what you didn't have. Over 24 hours had already passed, and it'd be at least another hour before you could go take care of it. "No, I'm gonna, I just. Everybody's looking at me."

"Then let me hurry up and get us a cab, okay?" You're relieved that he didn't try to argue, didn't point out the many people walking past without so much as a glance in your direction. Again, it was a feeling you'd dealt with before. You knew you had become a minor celebrity in this past year, but you'd mostly learned to deal with it. Sitting behind a desk for the majority of your working hours helped cut down on your interactions with the public, and Nick and Fin in particular were quick to jump to your rescue when someone starts with the 'hey, aren't you-'. Outside of work, you really didn't go out much besides a few familiar places in your neighborhood where you knew you wouldn't be bothered.

Most people up until now had been sympathetic - the ones that approached you, at least. They'd tell you that they prayed for you or that they were so relieved when they heard that you survived. The unsympathetic ones just nudged their friends and whispered to them while they stared from a distance. But that was before you went on primetime TV and admitted that you lied, that you hadn't bravely fought for your own life the way that you had claimed.

now everyone's gonna wonder what else you lied about, huh? I should've had you tell the whole story. tell them how much you loved it and how much fun we had together. but the media's so conservative these days, y'know, they'd never let that air during the dinner hour. but people are smart. they get it.

"Liv, it's here," Elliot called to you from the curb, arm outstretched to beckon you closer. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself and followed him into the cab, taking hold of his hand again as soon as you sat down. "Now, you're sure you don't want me to come with y-"

"No! I mean. You need to go see your lawyer, and Kathy. Please. I'll feel better if you do," you lied, glancing furtively at the cabbie every few seconds to scan for any sign of recognition in his eyes.

"I can always go later-"

"No." The way your hand was gripping his didn't really make it seem like you were ready to part ways, so you added "Besides, with Tucker, if he sees us together..."

"Right, you're right." And you were, but you still hated that you had to bring up such a sensitive subject to get him off your case. You're just doing what you have to, you reminded yourself. "Junior's gonna give you a ride home, though, and he'll wait around with you until I get back. No arguing, it's already arranged."

"Okay." You wanted to tell him that he doesn't have to worry, that anything drastic you might have been planning to do had been temporarily postponed. The realization came to you last night that if you died, they would do an autopsy and a tox screen, which means you'd have to wait if you wanted to be sure that your secrets died with you.

He must have been able to feel how you tensed up when he started idly rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, unnerved by the familiarity of the gesture, because his finger stilled right away. "It's not that I don't trust you. I just don't like you being alone until we can get you a new phone."

"I said it's okay." Too much touching, too much talking, it's all too much for you.

When the cab pulled up in front of 1PP, Elliot turned and looked you straight in the eyes. "If you change your mind, then just stop talking. Don't let them push you."

"I won't," you said, not letting go of his hand until you physically can't reach far enough. You mouthed 'goodbye' and headed into the building.

Once you're sure that the cab has driven away, you duck into a restroom near the entrance before you can run into anyone you know, finger combing your hair and then tying it back in a messy ponytail. Then you reach into your bag and pull out a baseball cap and sunglasses. The hat looks a bit overly casual when combined with your slacks and blazer, but it also serves its purpose as far as making you (hopefully) unrecognizable.

Confident in your disguise, you hurry out of the restroom and through the front door, careful not to make eye contact with anyone on the street. When you're two blocks away from headquarters, you flag down another taxi and give him the address of a Duane Reade near Hudson's campus.

You could've taken care of this yesterday. Elliot would be furious if he found out that you lied and would insist that you go back to the hospital to get checked out, but you weren't going to go through that again. There's no trial to preserve evidence for this time, and since the only other person who knows what happened is lying on a slab in the morgue, your secret will stay that way.

Besides, you're probably worried for nothing. He said it himself.

«you actually thought you'd get pregnant? that's cute. after how many times I...if it didn't happen for us, sweetheart, it's not going to happen with anyone.»

On an intellectual level, you know that's not how it works, which is the whole reason you're making this clandestine trip in the first place. But on a more primal level, it's just one more reminder that some things in life were not meant for you.

When the cab gets stopped in traffic about half a block shy of your destination, you pay and jump out of the car without looking back. The sooner you can get this done, the sooner you can begin worrying about your meeting with IAB- something you haven't even had the mental capacity to think about yet.

You're grateful to find that the store is mostly empty save for a few bleary-eyed students shuffling down the aisles in hoodies and pajama pants, too preoccupied with their own lives to notice anyone around them. The pharmacist, on the other hand, takes one look at your hat and sunglasses and assumes the worst.

"I'm looking for Plan B," you explain as he starts to reach for the panic button under the counter.

He sighs in relief, grabbing the box off of the shelf behind him, and you hand him the money before he can even finish reading off the total. "Do you want a b-"

"No. And keep the change."

Leaving as quickly as you came in, you hurry through the growing crowd on the sidewalk until you turn the corner. With your back against the window of a Subway, you reach into your purse and open the box, careful to keep it hidden until you have the tablet in your clenched fist. Then you pop it into your mouth and say a silent prayer before you swallow it dry.

You tell yourself that the lump in your throat is from the pill.

Once again, thank you so much for reading!