Chapter One:

Tonight, her melancholy had no real cause. Things were fine at work and everyone in her life was doing great, but honestly - if she didn't have Noah, she'd be worried for her safety right now.

There's an unbearable weight on her shoulders and she's crying so hard that she's spent at least an hour bringing up bile, retching and sobbing her sorrow into the toilet bowl. She's so relieved Noah is at a sleepover tonight because she spent too many years of her childhood watching her mother like this and fuck, she's never going to do that to her son.

Her phone has been at her side too, and she keeps thinking about who she can call right now. She can't get herself out of this funk and how self-sabotaging it would be to just sit here for the rest of the night (though it's the least embarrassing option).

This won't just pass, though she realises, even as the vomiting does slow a little. And though she considers herself tough (she's always had to be) maybe she does deserve to have a little help taking the pressure off, after all.

She picks up her phone with a tremble in her grip and runs through a mental checklist in her head of who she can ask for help right now.

Amanda: her date night with Carisi had been on the card for weeks, and no matter how shit Olivia was feeling today, she'd never take any hint of happiness away from the younger woman to soothe her own melancholy.

Fin: a loyal friend and colleague, without a doubt, but he hasn't been around an upset Olivia since she was given the news of Ed's suicide. That wasn't the kind of friendship the two had and though she doesn't doubt he'd rush to her side - she wouldn't put him in that position.

Lindstrom: he's had almost 10 years of her shit. Though he wants to see her more regularly in the wake of her confession of her new 4 AM morning routine, she's not going to disturb his evening with the news of the newest symptom of the decline of her mental health. Absolutely not.

Fuck, that leaves Elliot and how can she talk to him when this state is so far beyond what he remembers of her. She hid this from him in the wake of Sealview, but ever since William Lewis (almost 10 years ago, too) this shit has been just below the surface every time she was put under the slightest bit of pressure.

However, back in the day of department-issued Nokias, all she had to do to connect to him was press the number '2' on her little keypad. Number '1' had to be 911 and number '3' was Cragen, but any time (day or night) Elliot was only a button press away.

Her throat burned as the bile returned once more, leaving her pathetic in her endeavour to finish throwing up once and for all. She rolled her eyes at herself, pressing the call button beside his name, because honestly; he owed her this.

Ring-

Ring-

Ring-

"Liv, hey," he greeted warmly, and for a moment she forgot she was lying on the bathroom floor in a mess of vomit and overflowing emotions. She was clad in crumpled loungewear which she could have sworn was stained as a result of earlier projectile vomiting. Her skin was clammy and her hands trembled, but my god- how did she live without that thick, thick accent like music to her ears?

"Elliot," was all she managed, for her throat was much too painful to say anything else. She could feel his tone shift over the line and she prepared herself for an onslaught of questions.

"Are you okay? You sound sick."

She considers lying for a moment, but when a sob rises through her throat - she knows she's lost this battle. Why lie? She needs help and she needs it soon.

"I'm not sick," she almost whines, grabbing onto the rim of the toilet bowl to hold herself up. "I think- I think I've lost my mind. I've been… God! It sounds so pathetic. I've been crying and throwing up for an hour and shit, I need someone. I'm sorry."

And all of a sudden, she can hear clothes rustling and keys being grabbed. It's just under 5 miles from Elliot's loft in Long Island City to Olivia's apartment on the Upper West Side - she only needs to manage through the next 40 minutes alone (less if he puts the lights and sirens on).

"Don't even think of apologising, Olivia. Stay on the line for me," he speaks firmly, and she thinks she hears him telling someone where he's going. She can't say for sure, she's too busy trying to control her breathing and shake the tingling which has taken up residence in her face and hands.

"I'm sorry if you're busy I-"

"No, what did I just say? No apologies, Liv. You need me, I'm there. This is a two-way street. You're stuck with me now, Liv."

She lays the phone down beside her, hiccuping out a sob, "Promise?"

"I promise, Olivia," and she wants to believe him when he says her name like that. She wants to believe in his voice, like music to her ears, and those new three-piece suits, far too modest for a man who spends so much time working out. She wants to believe in his kindness and loyalty, in the way no one knows her as well as Elliot knows her. But right now, all she needs to do is breathe in and out.

Suddenly the sound of sirens fills the line and she can't help but cry - maybe she knows him pretty damn well, too.