This is going to cover on- and offscreen moments in Major and Liv's relationship throughout the series (sticking to canon through the end of season 4, and then who knows what they'll do with the final season). I do take requests, so if there's a scene you'd like to see between them, please let me know. Thank you for reading!

The sun woke Major as it streamed through the windows above his head. He squinted in the brightness, sitting up with a groan, finding the game controller still in his hand. He'd fallen asleep on the couch in the middle of a marathon session, apparently. The TV screen was black, but he assumed his character had died when he'd fallen asleep, and his last save had been … sometime after midnight. This was why he needed Liv in the house, to keep him on the straight and narrow, he thought, putting the controller down and reaching for the remote. He switched from the game screen to live TV and was about to turn the TV off entirely when the live news feed on the screen caught his attention.

"Boat Party Nightmare" said the loud red banner across the bottom of the screen. Major leaned forward, his heart thudding in his chest in sudden alarm. It couldn't be the boat party Liv had gone to, could it? Without taking his eyes off the screen, which was showing increasingly violent images taken from someone's phone, Major reached for his own. No messages. Nothing.

The camera panned across the lake shore, across … bodies. Bodies under yellow tarps.

Liv! Automatically he hit the speed dial, waiting to hear her pick up, to make some stupid joke about sinking or swimming, anything to wake himself up from this nightmare where literally the worst thing he could ever have imagined might be true.

Voice mail.

He tried again. Voice mail again. "Come on, Liv, pick up," he whispered under his breath the third time, as though she could hear him.

Next he tried Peyton, who was watching the footage on the news with the same horrified fascination that had Major's eyes glued to the screen, but she hadn't been able to reach Liv either. "Come over, Major. Whatever—" Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat and tried again. "Whatever we find out, we might as well be together. Oh, Major, what am I going to do without her?" She was out and out crying now.

"You won't have to find out. Neither will I," he said, and wished he believed it. "I'll be there soon."

It was nowhere near as soon as he'd wanted. He had trouble tearing himself away from the TV, hoping against hope he'd catch a glimpse of her, and then he had to call in to work and get someone to cover his afternoon shift, and then he had to take a shower to hide the tears he could no longer hold back. Who he was hiding them from in the shower spray, he didn't know. Himself, maybe.

Peyton was waiting for him at the door of the apartment. She threw it open almost before he had a chance to knock. "What took you so long?" she asked in a loud whisper.

Major blinked, surprised by the change in her. Peyton was concerned, upset, but not gutted. Not about to dissolve in grief. Did that mean— "What happened?" he asked her.

Still in the whisper, Peyton said, "She's here. I was just about to call you."

"Liv's here? Liv's—" But he couldn't say "alive", couldn't admit he had been so close to believing he had lost her.

Peyton nodded, but there was something strange in her face. Well, of course Liv would be acting unusually, Major thought. She had been through a traumatic experience. Reaching out, he squeezed Peyton's shoulder reassuringly, and then went to Liv's door, knocking softly. "Liv. It's me."

"Major?" Liv had been crying; he could hear it in her voice. Of course she had.

"Can I come in?"

There was silence in response, and then the door opened. She was across the room, her back turned to him, her arms crossed protectively, by the time he had opened it. There was a towel wound around her hair, as if she had just gotten out of the shower. Major shut the door behind him and leaned against it, all his training telling him to give her the space she so obviously needed, even though his heart was telling him to run to her, to hold her and reassure himself she was really there. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Can I— Liv, I was terrified. I thought …"

"I thought so, too." She gave a watery chuckle. "I really thought so. But apparently not."

They both stood in silence for what seemed like ages to Major, before Liv gave a little cry, almost a moan of pain, and turned around, running to him, putting her arms around him and holding on as though she'd thought she'd never be able to again.

Major held her close, content just to have her here in his arms. But eventually the closeness turned to need, and he tilted her face up to him, seeking her mouth with his own.

Liv pulled away as though his kiss burned her. "Don't!"

"I'm sorry. I really am. I should have known better, after what you went through. Are you—are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"No. You have to leave, Major. Please."

"I—"

"Now."

"Okay. I'll call you later?" But of course, her phone was probably at the bottom of a lake.

"I'll … I'll come over. Once I've had a chance to—once I've made some sense of everything. Okay?"

"Okay." He reached out without thinking to touch her cheek, and she flinched. "I love you."

"I love you, too." There were tears in her eyes again, and as he closed her door he heard her start to cry, keening sobs like her heart was breaking.

"What is going on with her?" Peyton asked, coming toward him from the kitchen.

"She went through a lot. We just have to be patient until she's ready to talk about it."

"I just … I hate that I can't do anything to help."

"I know. Me, too. But Liv's strong; she'll come out of it."

"I hope you're right."

He had trouble settling in to his day, constantly checking his phone to see if Liv had called, unable to focus on any project or activity in case she showed up. By nightfall he had scrubbed his kitchen cabinets from top to bottom, reorganized his bookshelves, changed the batteries in all the smoke detectors, and had been reduced to walking through the house flicking the lights off and on to determine whether any light bulbs needed to be changed.

Even though he had been listening for her all day, it still startled him when the doorbell rang. Of course it did, he realized, hurrying to open it. Liv had a key. She had never rung the bell before. Maybe she had lost the key?

But he could tell, looking at her there on the other side of the door, that she had lost more than a key. Something was off about her, and it was more than the unfamiliar black stocking cap that she wore over her hair. Liv's eyes were empty as she looked up at him, seeing through him … or not seeing him at all, still trapped in a mental image of nightmare.

"Liv," he said gently, reaching for her hand, but she pulled it back.

"Major, I— I came here to say— There's … no easy way to—" Her voice rasped over the words as though they were physically painful. Reaching down, she fumbled with her left hand, and then abruptly, unbelievably, she was holding out the winking piece of gold and gemstone that he had placed on her finger with so much joy. "I can't marry you, Major. Not now. Not ever."

It was more than a punch to the gut. It was a gunshot, straight to the heart. Or, at least, what Major imagined a gunshot must feel like. Only the knowledge that she had just been through a terrible trauma and couldn't possibly mean what she'd said kept him standing upright. "Liv, don't do this. Take some time. Think—" His voice echoed even in his own ears, like it was coming from a long way away.

"I don't need time." She shook her head. "The last thing I need is time. If I could— If I thought— Just … forget me, Major, please. I can't—" She placed the ring in his palm, closing his fingers over it, and turned to go.

With his free hand, he reached for her, managing to tug the stocking cap off her head. Her hair was bleached white. "Your hair—" he said, as if that mattered right now.

With a look of terror, she snatched the stocking cap from him, tugged it back down over her head, and was lost in the darkness before he could manage another coherent thought.