Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews! They light up my life like a koala getting electrocuted. But seriously. They're awesome. And Cinderella, God love you, you reviews are like a mini fic for me every time. I so appreciate your efforts.

Now, I'm not sure what to credit this new update to but perhaps it was the strange NYC crack den we stayed in over the weekend that may or may not have had a carbon monoxide problem (true and very bizarre story) either way something happened and now here this is. :) More (hopefully) soon.


Cold water pours downward as she clutches the wall for stability.

She holds a shaky hand under the frozen spray as goosebumps erupt across her flesh. She silently wills the water to run hot and when steam finally begins to arise from the spray she steps forward. Sweet relief fills her body as the liquid cascades downward. Water seeps into her cuts as she moves beneath the downpour. She tries not to gasp out loud as tiny pinpricks nip at her skin, a mixture of sweet relief and pain colliding in full force.

She draws in short sharp breaths. If she's quiet he won't hear the sobs. If she's quick she won't feel this pain.

She allows the water to seep into her matted hair and down her face but the sting of her bloodied nose takes precedence as she attempts to gently rinse the crusted blood beneath the spray trying not to wince as it cracks. She's in pain but she focuses on the warmth the shower provides as opposed to her bodily aches and if she stands still, unmoving she can block it out long enough to feel anywhere but here.

A few moments pass before she hears a noise from the other room and her eyes snap open under the spray. A reminder that she's not truly at ease. She waits a few beats, trying to ascertain what she had even heard before she bows her head once more under the spray.

She sees the culmination of dirt and blood intermingling beneath her feet and it causes her mind to flash back to that car. The first accident that took multiple lives. Don't think about it. She presses, closing her eyes. Not now. She's become so good at blocking out painful thoughts that her mind is instantly back in the shower. She moves her face out of the spray just in time to hear a second noise through the paper thin wall, she had heard it more clearly this time and it was a low groan.

She takes a solid breath, the concept that Elliot may not be alone out there is starting to fill her chest. She thinks about the bottle of vodka, the suitcases full of clothes. She should be concerned about the noises she's hearing but the heat from the shower is taking over, making her sleepy, reducing her capacity to concentrate on anything except the liquid stream of refuge before her.

As the water continues to trail downward she starts to feel lightheaded, it's been a while since she has consumed water and she rocks a little on her feet at the thought. Her hand comes out grasping the tiles as she crouches forward, her legs suddenly no longer able to keep herself upright. She just needs to be sitting, just for a moment so the warmth of the spray can continue to soothe her limbs but the moment she crouches down on the tiles, she knows she won't be coming back up anytime soon. She lets her fingers sink into the porcelain beneath her as she rests her head against cool tile with a heavy exhale.

She is too lethargic to stand.

She needs sleep, she thinks.

Just sleep.


He sits perched on the edge of the bed, twisting the lid of vodka off with a rough snap.

He can hear the heavy spray of pummelling water coming from the next room and he tries to dispel the stark sense of guilt he is feeling at the pain she must be in right now. He douses a rag with the booze and sucks in a breath, lifting the lip of his shirt upward, wincing as the thick cut on his stomach meets with the cool night air.

A shard of glass from the first crash had sliced into his stomach, he hadn't made Olivia aware of it. In fact, he'd blocked the reality of it even from himself. He was just on autopilot, fuelled by adrenaline. He needed to get them back to safety as first priority then he could sort out the mess he had found himself in. He had shoved his jacket against his stomach in the car to soak residual blood but now here he was about to infuse straight alcohol into the jagged gash to avoid infection.

He lodges a spare rag into the corner of his mouth, biting down on the material as he runs the alcohol soaked cloth across his stomach in one foul swoop. He moans loudly in response as a slice of pain rips through his stomach, his attempt at being discreet is shot to hell as he spits out the rag, gnawing down on his lower lip and bending forward with a moan. He waits a few beats psyching himself up before he goes back for one final swipe.

Sonofabitch. The sting is even sharper than the first but he knows it needs to be cleaned before it's dressed. He lets out a few strained exhales before he grasps the small rectangular first aid box from the suitcase, shifting through the bandages until he locates the largest one.

He begins to tear the corner off with his teeth, silently thankful that the car he had just happened to hijack had been owned by a couple more prepared than the boy scouts. He rips the backing off the bandage and begins to flatten the patch across the offending cut one handed, wincing in response before he drags the bottle of vodka to his lips and takes a full swig.

Liquid burns this throat as he exhales heavily into the empty room catching his breath, trying to calm his senses. He considers taking another swig, the residual pain in his abdomen isn't going to settle anytime soon but it's the sound of the shower turning off that makes him reassess.

His eyeline then shifts to the door between them and he blinks once before setting the bottle down on the nightstand. No part of him can comprehend the course of events that have taken place tonight but one thing is for sure, he has to tell her.

He has to tell her why she can't stay.

TBC