A/N: I have taken some liberties with the timeline in places, including eo's birthdays, and so I beg some leniency. Also, obvi, there's not a Marine base near Loudonville, just let me have this. Brewballs isn't in Loudonville, either.

September 15, 1989

It began, the way all the best stories do, in a bar.

The inauspiciously named Brewballs was actually a double-wide trailer parked on a gravel lot on the outskirts of Loudonville, New York. Every citizen of Loudonville - population 10,000 in the summer, swelling to a whopping 13,000 in the autumn when the students came back - knew Brewballs didn't card, and anybody could get anything they wanted there, so long as they were willing to risk walking up the cinderblock steps and into the smoke-filled haze of a trailer that fancied itself a pool hall but was, in fact, a dive bar of the highest - or lowest, depending on your perspective - order. The young ladies of Siena College did not venture there, and the boys didn't, either, because they followed the girls wherever they went.

That's what made it perfect, Olivia thought. It was dark, and a little rough around the edges, and no one from campus would spot her there. She could have a beer in peace, without anybody hassling her; it hadn't been that long since the drinking age got bumped up to 21 and bored cops with nothing better to do on a Friday night liked to lie in wait and catch the kids out, just to get a little excitement in their lives. The cops didn't go to Brewballs, though. Just the townies, and on this particular night a couple of clean shaven, high-and-tight boys from the Marine base on the other side of the highway. The high-and-tights were keeping to themselves, and the bartender was too busy talking to his buddy to try to look down her dress, and all in all Olivia figured this might be one of the better Friday nights she'd had since leaving the city behind for the hallowed halls of Siena College.

She'd chosen Siena mostly to piss off her mother. Things hadn't been right between them since Burton, and Serena had been hellbent on sending Olivia to Columbia. My alma mater, you know, she'd say, like Olivia was ever gonna forget it, where her mother had gone to college, where her mother had been raped, where her mother's whole life had come to an end. If Columbia wouldn't accept Olivia then Barnard would have been all right, in Serena's book; hell, she might have even settled for Hudson. She just wanted Olivia to stay at home, where Serena could keep an eye on her. I don't want you living on campus, Serena had told her more than once, staring at her daughter blearily over the rim of a bottle. I know what goes on in those places. I want you where I can keep you safe. If Serena had her way, Olivia would spend the rest of her life in that apartment, cleaning up after her mother, listening to her mother's rants, paying her mother back for the enormous sacrifice Serena had made, having a baby she'd never wanted. Well, Olivia didn't ask to be born, either, so she applied to Siena without telling her mother, and accepted before Serena had a chance to shoot her down. Serena had raised holy hell about it - that evening marked the second occasion when mother and daughter had come to blows, and it would not be the last - but in the end she had relented. Serena had given up, the way she always did, and Olivia would never forget it, watching her mother through the dusty glass of a Greyhound window, standing all alone on the sidewalk, fading away like the most pathetic ghost in the world.

So yeah, Olivia didn't have a lot in common with her classmates. None of them had moved in alone, stepped off a bus with no possessions save for one oversized suitcase. None of them, she was sure, had been engaged at sixteen, madly in love with a beautiful, worldly man who'd promised to show them the world and then disappeared. None of them had ever passed sleepless nights huddled over their mother's unconscious bodies, staying vigilant lest she choke on her own vomit and die. None of them had ever been so lonesome, she thought, or so scared as she'd been. And that meant none of them were as tough as she was, and she found them all exhausting, in a sweet, well-meaning sort of way. Olivia looked at the girls who lived in her dorm as if they were children, when they were all eighteen, same as her. Well, maybe not the same. Her eighteen felt a lot longer than theirs.

Still, though, Loudonville was a fresh start. A chance to breathe, to find out what life might be like without the constant tension of her mother's presence. Greek life was going to start the rush process soon, and it was all the girls around Olivia could talk about, and she was starting to think maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. Buying friends, she'd heard some determined GDIs - god damn independents - call it, but for someone who'd never really had any friends at all getting a whole passel of them ready-made and duty-bound to be by her side for the next four years didn't seem too bad. She could do it, she thought, sipping at her beer. She could pledge some sorority; maybe Phi Delta. Serena had been Phi Delta. That would make Olivia a legacy. It would mean she'd belong somewhere. Maybe that wouldn't be too bad.

For a little while she just looked around, let her thoughts wander and watched her fellow patrons, hard at work drinking away their paychecks on a Friday night. There was a band at the back of the trailer crooning some off-key country song, and a few tipsy couples spinning slowly just in front of them. A couple of grizzled old timers at the bar drowning their sorrows in Wild Turkey and Seagram's. The high-and-tights, over in the corner, seated at a round table with their backs to the world like the fucking knights of Camelot. A couple of rough looking guys giving each other shit at the pool tables. There were maybe six women in the whole place, including Olivia, and she was the only one there alone, but no one was talking to her.

Yet.

Life in Loudonville had been boring, so far, and Olivia was starting to itch for something more. Something a little louder, something a little brighter, something that felt a little bit more like stumbling through Chelsea on a Saturday night with her shoes dangling from her fingertips and a laugh on her lips. She'd not had fun like that since Burton went away, and part of her was starting to think maybe she never would again. Part of her was trying to fight it, though, trying to prove to herself that things weren't as bad as they seemed. There was a war raging inside her between hope and bitterness.

Life's ugly, Olivia, her mother's voice reminded her. Don't fool yourself into thinking it's not.

Your life is ugly, Olivia's heart seemed to shout back. Mine doesn't have to be.

Burton had taught her how to play pool, and some of the guys at the back of the bar were kind of cute, and she was feeling a little reckless. She chugged the rest of her beer, ordered a second one, and then made her way towards the pool tables, smiling.

He spotted her the minute he walked into the bar. Well, bar was perhaps a bit generous. It was a fucking hovel, but the drinks were cheap and the boys seemed to like it and he hadn't been in town long enough to know better. The inside of the place smelled like the burnt end of a Marlboro and the walls were about the same color, white, once, turning brown from smoke and age and inattention. They ordered a few pitchers for the table and then set to drinking with a will, laughing, talking shit about the Gunny and daydreaming about their girls. Elliot just let 'em talk; he was too busy watching her.

She was, he thought, too young and too pretty to be in that place by herself. Bad things happened to girls on their own in bars full of men, and it seemed to him that there was a great big neon sign hanging over her head, the word trouble flashing at him through the smoke. Long dark hair, soft tanned skin, black leather jacket over a too-tight, too-short black dress, pretty little pout, big dark eyes; Jesus, she was like nothing he'd ever seen before. The girls he'd gone to school with didn't wear dresses that short, and none of them had legs that long, and none of them, none of them, had eyes that hard.

But he wasn't supposed to be staring at pretty girls in bars, so he dropped his gaze, tried to pretend like he was listening to his friends when really he was wondering when he'd get a chance to call Kathy next. Kathy, that's who he was supposed to be thinking about, sweet, funny Kathy with her bright smile and her soft blonde hair. Kathy was his future; he was gonna spend a few years in the Corps and save up and they'd buy a place close to her parents in Queens, and he'd go to work at her dad's body shop and she'd get a job at the hospital and they'd be happy. They'd be together, the way they'd always wanted to be. They'd be a family, and they'd make damn sure family meant laughter, and warmth, and never raised voices or heavy hands. That was his dream.

That dream wasn't good enough for his mama, though. Mama had wailed, when he told her he'd joined up. The old man had just coughed and said semper fi, but mama had pitched a fit. She couldn't believe her baby boy would volunteer for such a dreary existence. You have choices, Elliot, she'd told him, blubbering. You don't have to end up like your father.

I'm damn sure not gonna, he'd thought then, thought now. Yeah, the old man had been a Marine, but that was where the similarities stopped. Elliot was bound and determined to be better, to be kinder, to be happier, than his father had been. Even if life seemed determined not to let him.

Mama said he had choices, but what choices did he have, really? There was no money for college, and his grades were for shit, anyway. He could go to work with Kathy's dad now, but it would take him a hell of a lot longer to save up for a down payment that way, and in the meantime they'd both be stuck at home, taking care of younger siblings and watching their future slip away. Maybe they could get an apartment, but they'd spend every penny they had on rent and they could kiss the dream of having their own house goodbye, and how the fuck were they gonna get ahead like that? A few years in the Corps would make all the difference. Get him away from his father, give him a chance to explore the world outside the five boroughs, put a little money in his pocket, look damn good on a resume, if he decided the body shop wasn't for him. Yeah, it wasn't perfect, but it was the only way to get what he wanted, and the only thing he wanted, really, was Kathy.

Kathy meant soft skin, and gentle hands, and shit, he was looking at the brunette again. She'd sauntered over to the pool table, and she was close enough now that he could hear her voice, and it was low, and warm, and made him shift in his seat.

"I don't know," she was saying to one of the guys. "I've never played before. How hard could it be?"

She was either the stupidest fucking girl alive, he thought, or she was about to hustle those guys for everything they were worth.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," the guy said, grinning. "We'll take it easy on you."

Somehow Elliot didn't believe that was true. What she got up to was her own business, but Elliot wasn't gonna just sit there and let some asshole take advantage of her. He'd stay in his seat, and he'd keep an ear out, and if things went south, well. The Corps had trained him well.

The guys at the pool table were half-drunk and they were suckers; they believed her, when she told them, wide-eyed and earnest, that she didn't know how to play, but when she tossed her hair and said she'd still bet money she could beat them they'd all grinned, and eaten it up. They thought she was easy pickings, and she'd let them go right on thinking that for a turn or two, and then she'd kick their asses and take their money and dance on back to campus, and maybe buy herself a new pair of shoes. There were worse ways, she thought, to spend a Friday night.

"I'll break, sweetheart," the ringleader of the little group said. His teeth were a little yellow but his face wasn't so bad. Or it wouldn't have been, if he wasn't ogling her like a half-starved dog looking at a steak.

"Break what?" she asked him innocently, and he laughed.

Like shooting fish in a barrel, she thought.

"Watch this," he said, and then did an admirable job of completely missing the cue ball on his first attempt, and she laughed when he swore. He didn't like that, but then he lined himself up, and did a better job the second time. None of the balls landed in a pocket, so he sidled over to her, stood behind her, a little closer than she'd like but not close enough to make her rethink her plan.

"Your turn, sweetheart," he said.

She wished he'd stop calling her that.

"Ok," she answered. "Here goes."

She got herself into position, mimicking his for shit stance, but before she could make a move he was suddenly way, way too close. Pressed up against her back, his hands surging forward, covering hers before she could get away. Olivia was suddenly sandwiched between him and the pool table, his calloused hands rough over hers, his arms stronger than she'd thought. No one was watching them, no one but his buddies, leering at her. She was pretty sure that even if she called for help no one in that place would so much as look up from their drinks, so she took a deep breath, and tried to relax. What was he gonna do, really, in front of a crowd of witnesses?

"Like this, baby," he said. Baby, she thought, was worse than sweetheart. His hands guided her clumsily, his hips rocking against her ass, and all right, she thought. I've had enough.

"I can't move," she said. "Back up a little, lemme-"

"Oh, I think you're fine right where you are," he sneered at her.

It hit her, then, just how completely fucking stupid she'd been. Life was like that sometimes, she found; she'd be floating along, thinking everything was fine, and then she'd be struck down by the reminder that her mother was always right. Everybody leaves and life is ugly, the central tenants of the church of Serena Benson, had been proven true, time and time again, and now was no different, because a night that had started out pretty nice had just turned ugly, and Olivia wasn't entirely sure how she was gonna get herself out of this mess.

"I said back up," she snapped, throwing her elbow back with as much force as she could muster and bringing the heel of her boot down hard on the toe of his shoe. The asshole grunted, but didn't move.

"You wanna fight, baby?" he purred close to her ear, and she shuddered, disgusted by his proximity.

I wanna kill you, she thought, trying to twist away from him. The hold of his hands against hers tightened, and she opened her mouth to swear at him, but there was no need, because in the next second help arrived in the unexpected form of a stranger.

"Think she told you to back up, asshole," a low voice said. A low voice with an accent that was all Queens, an accent that reminded Olivia of home and made her twist her head to look just in time to see one of the high-and-tights catch yellow teeth by the shoulders and push him away from her. The guy went stumbling back, but he recovered quickly, and his eyes were flashing with rage.

"Don't see how it's any of your business, asshole," yellow teeth said. When the Marine pushed him he'd lost his grip on Olivia and she stepped away from him quickly, trying to get a read on the situation.

The other Marines had stood up, were sidling towards the pool table, ready and willing to support their brother in a fight. The townies who'd been hanging around with yellow teeth had their backs up, too, and suddenly she was in the middle of a dozen guys who all looked ready to tear each other limb from limb. The wall was on her left and the pool table was on her right, bodies in front of her and behind her, and no way out.

"I had it under control," she said to her savior, trying to defuse the situation. "It's fine."

For a second the Marine looked at her, like he was trying to get a read on her face, trying to figure out if she actually wanted him to leave her alone with those assholes. He had nice eyes, she thought. They were blue, and warm, and honest, somehow. His mouth was soft, and his teeth weren't even a little bit yellow. His broad frame filled out his uniform; he was tall and lean but hard, too, all muscle from whatever the fuck it was they made him do at bootcamp. There was something about him -

"Didn't look that way to me," he said, grim but smug, somehow, like he'd seen straight through her.

Something infuriating, she decided.

"Nobody fucking asked you-" yellow teeth said, starting to move forward, shifting his stance and lifting his hands like he was about to throw a punch.

That was a mistake, because the Marine didn't miss a beat. Olivia's pool cue was on the table, forgotten, and he reached out, snatched it up, and broke it over yellow teeth's head in the space of a heartbeat, his hands a blur, the sharp crack of the cue breaking loud as a gunshot. Yellow teeth went careening back into the flimsy wall of the trailer and busted a hole clean through it with his elbow, the bartender started to yell, and suddenly everyone was moving. There were bodies everywhere, voices raised, curses and punches flying, and Olivia ducked, trying to find a path out of the brawl. A hand, broad and strong, caught hold of hers and started to drag her along, and she let herself be swept away by it, hoping it would lead her out of the fray.

In three paces they'd cleared the pool table and she looked up to see her Marine, grinning, running towards the door with his fingers laced through hers, dragging her along with him. She could have pulled her hand away, she supposed. She could have yanked herself out of his grip, and he'd probably let her, because he was enough of a gentleman to intervene when she was in trouble and so was probably enough of a gentleman not to force her to do anything she didn't want to, and he had to behave himself or face hell from the Corps. She could have stopped him, but he had a beautiful smile, and when he started to laugh, she did, too. It had been a long time since she'd laughed, and she didn't want to stop.

When they reached the door he jumped through it, cleared the steps easily and landed with his feet on the gravel, and he was still dragging her along with him but he didn't let her stumble, just spun on his heel and caught her, strong hands holding her by the waist as he helped her leap through the air and land on the ground beside him. The voices from inside the bar were getting louder so he didn't stop there, just kept right on running for the trees, and Olivia ran along beside him, her hand held tight in his, breathless, and wild, and free.

When they were about twenty yards into the scrubby woods he finally stopped, let her hand drop and leaned back against a tree. Olivia was gasping and her feet were killing her, but he looked unfazed. Probably, she thought, he spent a lot more time running than she did.

"You had it under control, huh?" he asked her, grinning.

"I can take care of myself," she fired back.

"I can see that."

It was dark, under the trees. No moonlight, no stars, but the canopy overhead wasn't as dense as it could have been, and her eyes adjusted as she stood there, hands on her hips, looking at him. It was quiet back here, too; they'd left the noise of the fight far behind them. It was a kind of quiet she wasn't used to, because the city was always loud. Even late at night, when Serena had drunk herself to sleep and Olivia was laying in bed, there were cars on the streets below, the creak of floorboards from the people upstairs, raised voices from the Linetti's apartment, sometimes. There were always people; Olivia had been alone her whole life, it seemed, but she had, always, been surrounded by the teaming mass of humanity. Out here there was nothing, nothing but the trees, and the dirt, and Olivia, and her Marine.

"What's your name?" he asked her. In the dark his eyes looked black, but she knew now that they weren't, and she could almost imagine them sparkling at her.

"Olivia," she said.

"Well, Olivia. I'm Elliot. Nice to meet ya."