so pleased with the reaction to the last chapter! can only hope you continue to enjoy where this goes. there will be a lot of original content between the next few seasons as we rekindle our favourite relationship between Liz and Steve! I am really, really excited! as always, make sure to leave comments and feedback but most of all enjoy!
The cell door creaks open, an officer looking down at him where he sits on the hard stone block he has called a bed the last few nights.
He anticipates another berating, another harsh chide spat his way.
"You're free to go," the officer says instead, turning her back on him and walking away, leaving the cell door wide open.
What? he frowns, Is this some kind of sick joke?
He remains sitting, still, too wary to move in case this is some kind of trick. He cautiously leans forward, trying to see around the doorway if anyone is standing there laughing at him. Waiting for him to slip up… again.
A figure moves slowly around the doorframe, then.
"Kate?" he croaks, not having spoken in days, throat sore from sobs.
She takes a few steps into the cell, a small smile on her face, "Who else would it be?"
Steve exhales, feeling tears prick his eyes. He sniffs to hold them back, throwing his head into his hands. He looks up at her again, just to make sure, seeing the relieved expression she is sending him, encouraging him to believe it.
I'm actually free?
He stands, pushing himself off by the wall, shakily stepping towards her. Steve bites back tears as Kate's arms wrap around him, also exhaling herself as she squeezes.
He had thought she abandoned him. Believed him to be what they accused him of being. He thought they all did.
But had they always believed him? What changed?
Kate must have found something. Something that proved his innocence. That he was framed, caught up in all this by accident. All he was guilty of was making one stupid mistake after the other. Conspiracy, blackmail, murder? No. He hoped they knew him better than that.
It seemed Kate did.
As she said, who else would it be?
Of course there is someone else. At least, he hopes...
"Lizzie?" Steve finds himself asking after her, unable to think of anything else once she crosses his mind. The woman in his arms leans back as he does, smiling endeared at the apprehension she sees on his face at mention of the other woman.
Kate lowers her arms, taking a step back and turning to the doorway.
Steve almost gasps as she appears. Lizzie...
She is looking to the floor, eyes rimmed red and bloodshot. Her cheeks are wet from old tears, her hair wet as if it has been washed, her cheeks furiously red as if they have been scrubbed, her hands pale and shaking as they play with the hem of her tracksuit, one similar to Kate's, clearly provided to them by the force.
What happened?
Before he has the chance to ask, his feet take him hastily closer, the young woman finally looking up at him as he does, eyes blurred with unfallen cries. She reaches her shaking arms out, practically falling into his own as he circles them around her shoulders. Liz grips his prisoner sweatshirt around the back of his waist, pulling herself as closely as possible. Steve winds a hand into her somewhat matted damp hair, cradling the back of her head as he presses his face into the crook of her neck, soaking in her warmth.
He can feel her crying, the tears soaking through his sweatshirt onto his chest. He struggles to hold back his own, now crying freely onto her shoulder. He moves his arm further around her, trapping her tightly against him, feeling encouraged and endeared as he feels her do the same around his own waist. The way she tugs at his sweatshirt almost chokes him, pressing it down onto his neck. But he doesn't say anything. Too lost in the embrace to care.
He feels her sigh, her hot breath seeping through his clothing, warming the area just above his heart. He can feel her heart thrum against his own, both drumming against each other in a wild beat.
She sobs, hiccups occasionally escaping as they get caught in her throat. In fact, as he listens closer, he is sure some of those sounds are coming from him too.
"I'll be just outside," Kate says, quietly, moving past the pair to the door, neither of them even remembering she was there.
Steve pulls back slightly, awoken from his weeping daze, moving his hands up to cup the woman's face. Liz flinches at the cruelly familiar gesture that she struggles to believe she could ever find comforting again. He had held her somewhat like that, just before he...
But soon, she melts into it, moving her own hands to place them against his chest.
Her eyes don't quite meet his as he stares down at her, embarrassed at her state. Liz is sure she looks terrible. She had tried to scrub away every speck of… blood… from her body in the hours they waited for the evidence to be processed and the request for Steve to be released approved. But she still felt it. On her face, in her hair, under her nails. It would never go away, she doubts. Her eyes were sore, her throat raw, every muscle screaming at her to relax. But how could she? After all that?
Steve's eyes rake over her, inspecting every inch of her face. His brow furrows, concerned. Her face heats, eyes still looking anywhere but him. That is, until he speaks.
"What happened?"
She closes her eyes, inhaling sharply through her nose in an attempt to ground herself. Liz can feel her thoughts begin to run from her, escaping their confinements to cause havoc.
She doesn't want to talk about it. Not yet.
She can feel herself begin to panic again, but the soothing way the cool pad of Steve's thumb caresses her cheek helps a little.
He seems to understand, refraining from asking again. He will find out from the others eventually. Liz will tell him when she is ready.
She hears him sigh, peeking her eyes open to see him glaring at the gash on her forehead, cutting through her hairline. The medics, already present at the AC-12 office due to the officer who had been shot, had already looked at it, cleaning the wound and stitching it. It looks hideous.
He ghosts a thumb gently over it, then moves his gaze down to look at her again, staring up at him.
His chest aches.
She studies him, then. The darkness encircling his eyes, like bruises. The grey pallor of his skin. His chapped lips.
Liz reaches up her own hands, cupping his face too.
She lets herself smile, slightly, the sensation burning. The fingers of one hand brush against his jawline, feeling the stubble that has grown out there.
"Ever thought about growing out your beard?" her voice cracks as she speaks, though he is relieved to see the amused glint in her eye, brightening her face slightly, "It would suit you."
He chuckles, humoured and taken back by her quip, not having expected her to be making a joke by the state she looked to be in, "You think?"
She hums in acknowledgement, eyes grazing over the space where her fingers touch.
After a moment of taking him in, relieved she has the chance to see him again like this, a single tear trails down her cheek. He wipes it away with his thumb.
They can only stare, holding each other's faces.
But soon, Liz's thoughts begin to cloud over.
"Steve, I-"
"Don't," he insists, shaking his head slightly, brows turned upwards in frustrated concern at what she was about to say, "Please, don't."
She has no reason to apologise. He had thought she turned her back on him. And it hurt. It really hurt.
But Lizzie was here with him, now. It seems she always had been.
That meant more to him than anything else.
He wraps his arms around her again, pulling her once more into his chest. She does not hesitate to return it, gripping gently onto the back of his sweatshirt again, pulling him closer. Steve hopes that tells her all she needs to know; that she is forgiven. Not that she needs to be. Liz hopes the same for him.
A knock on the door has them both turning around, arms slowly and regrettably falling to their sides, though a few fingers find themselves entangling with the others, neither ready to let go just yet with both afraid the other will disappear and be taken from them again.
"We should go," Kate says, smiling softly as she looks between them.
Steve smiles, a few stray tears falling again as he releases a heavy breath. Liz turns and looks back up at him with a squeeze of his fingers, smiling too, as brightly as she can.
Steve sits in the back of Kate's car, Liz beside him. The woman offered to drive them both back to Liz's, with Steve's apartment being cleared up by the forensic search team that had occupied it for the past week. Gratefully, Kate managed to drop by and grab some clothes for him on their way to pick him up from the holding cell. He's not even sure if he wants to go back to his own place just yet, with Sam having broken up with him the day before, and seeing the police tape and forensics equipment strewn around his space. The reminders that anonymous bodies have inspected it, picking apart every aspect of his personal life and displaying it bare for all to see and scrutinise. No, Liz's flat is the best place for him to be. That's where he wants to be now anyway. Where he has wanted to be since they locked him up in that dank room. With her.
He rests his head on the back of the seat, taking deep breaths, enjoying the freedom of it as the world passes by out the open window. Those few days in that cell had been some of the worst of his life. Dark, suffocating, painful. But not as painful as the days leading up to it. Thinking they had all turned their backs on him, even Liz. Seeing the way they had looked at him from the other side of that interview table. It was hell.
Looking over to the woman beside him, he takes a moment to study her, particularly the way her pale face reflects the moonlight, highlighting the stress lines he sees protruding there.
"What happened?"
The two women seem to tense as he asks it aloud, Kate gripping the steering wheel tighter where she sits in the front and Liz shifting in her seat to the window more, her face turning further away from him.
Kate clears her throat, knowing the other woman will not want to speak, "You were right. It was Dot. He set you up. He's The Caddy."
Steve sucks in another breath, his head dizzying at the concept. He had not been sure, had even hoped it would be otherwise, but looking back it made sense.
"Has he been arrested?"
The women tense more, if possible.
He hears Liz whimper quietly beside him.
"He's dead."
Steve sighs at Kate's reveal, throwing his head back again and rubbing the space between his brows with his fingers, trying to relieve the ache that was growing there.
Shit.
He turns to look at the woman beside him, hearing her sniff deeply a few times, though quietly as if to not bring attention to herself. He knows, though. She is crying.
He reaches his hand over slowly, resting his fingers over hers where they fidget in her lap. She responds to his touch immediately, turning her palm so her fingers can lock between his. Steve gives them a comforting squeeze, stroking his thumb back and forth to sync with her breathing. He watches as she wipes at her face, still looking away from him out the window.
Steve frowns, still not having the full story, but knowing how upset Liz must be at his passing and deceit. He wants to know more, needs to. Especially considering how much this concerns him. His head hurts trying to comprehend it all and fit things together until he is briefed.
But Lizzie is his priority right now. She is hurting, and he needs to be there for her.
Just as she has been for him.
"Look after him, yeah?" Kate says to Liz as they pull up outside her apartment building.
Liz wipes once more at her face, sniffing, "Thank you, Kate. Really, for everything."
The woman smiles, sadly, knowing she means for more than just the lift home. She watches as Liz opens the car door, stepping out and closing it behind her.
Steve waits behind, watching as Liz walks to her door before turning to Kate.
"What happened?" he asks again, hoping for a more detailed answer, assuming Kate had kept it brief to avoid upsetting Liz who was clearly distraught.
"Trying to make sense of it all myself," Kate sighs, looking down to her hands in her lap, "I wouldn't know where to begin."
"With Liz," Steve urges, only caring about the elements that involved her and the reasons she was in such a state. How else could he best support her?
She tells him. The list Lizzie made, the evidence, the chase, the shooting. All of it.
The way Dot held Liz hostage, the way she almost talked the man out of it, the way she was hurt in the crash, the way she managed to convince him to lower his gun, the way the man had jumped in front of the bullet to save her, how she crawled over to his body, pressing her hands to the wounds desperately, how he reached up and held her face as he recorded his dying declaration, how she could not move when he took his last breath, how she hadn't spoken until they were in that cell together an hour ago.
He feels sick.
Not for Dot, not about his duplicity, not about the abuse, not about the wider conspiracy - that all lingers quietly and fuzzily in the back of his mind - but Lizzie. Oh, God.
"Shit," Steve exclaims, processing it all.
"I know," Kate sighs.
"Shit," he repeats as it hits him.
The pair sit in silence for a moment, Steve trying to comprehend it and Kate doing the same, remembering the blank look on her friend's face when she pulled her away from the body. It still scares her.
"Well, thanks, mate," Steve reaches for the door handle with a sigh, but Kate calls out to him. He turns to her, curious.
"It's Liz you want to thank," Kate says, sincerely, looking at him over the seat, "She was the one who never gave up on you. Doubt she ever will."
Steve nods, throat suddenly dry, unsure what to say. He opens the door, closing it behind him and jogging around the car to catch up with Liz. With one final wave back at Kate before she drives away, Steve approaches Liz where she stands by her open front door, waiting for him to come in.
She shuts the door behind him, both standing in her hallway for a moment, neither sure what to say or do now.
A silence falls over them. But it is comfortable. Familiar. Soothing.
"You need a shower," Liz says, the hint of a smile on her face as she looks him over.
He looks down at himself, rubbing the beginnings of his beard and cringing at the prisoner tracksuit he still wears. He huffs, amused, "Yeah, I really do."
Steve takes the small pile of clothes from her arms, sending her a small smile. She looks up at him, her eyes not quite as bright as he remembered when he was sitting alone in that cell. He had longed to see them again, though worried to see them so dull when he did. But they are soft. Forgiving. Comforting. Not the strained, conflicted gaze he had suffered under in the weeks previous, the look that had scared him more than anything else.
"Thank you," he says, quietly, choked. It is not enough - it never will be - but it is all he has right now.
She looks away from him to her feet, her eyes sparking slightly and her cheeks tinting pink before turning her back on him and heading to the kitchen.
"I'll put the kettle on."
The scalding water did little to ease the tension in his shoulders and neck, but Steve revelled in the feeling anyway.
Throwing on his joggers and shirt, he hastily leaves the bathroom, eager to get back to Liz and check up on how she is doing.
He hears a tap running as he walks down her hallway, approaching the kitchen. Turning slowly into the room, he sees her bent over the sink, scrubbing furiously at her hands with soap. Steve slowly moves closer, wary of her state. The backs of her hands are red raw from the violent friction. He can see her nails have been cut away, aggressively shortened. Her eyes, silent tears streaking down her face, are glossed over in some sort of crazed daze as she fixates on the scouring of her palms and fingers.
Kate had said she used her hands to try and stop the bleeding on Cottan's chest. That her hands had been covered in his blood.
He knows trauma when he sees it.
He can't watch anymore.
Moving over quickly, he gently takes hold of her hands in one of his, the other reaching over her to turn off the tap. Liz flinches, eyes snapping up to his face, bewildered. They then flick down to her hands again where they flop limply in his hold, the redness causing her eyes to widen and more tears to fall as she realises what she was doing. He looks down to her hands too, moving his own slightly to see bruising around one of her wrists.
That must be from where Cottan dragged her.
Steve's hold loosens then, wary of hurting her more or reminding her, in any way, of what had happened earlier that day. Steve slips his hand down to hold one of hers, grabbing a tea towel to gently dry their hands. Then, with her still gazing up at him, rattled, he leads her over to the sofa where he sits beside her, a hand still enclosed around hers.
He shudders at the coldness of her hand and gaze.
"Steve-" Liz croaks, her breath hitching as she grips his hand.
"Don't," he shakes his head, knowing she is wanting to apologise. She has nothing to apologise for. Nothing.
Steve wraps his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her into him. She tiredly and eagerly collapses into his hold, resting her head on his shoulder and squeezing her eyes shut. His hand clamps a little tighter around her, encouraged by her response. He looks down at her, catching her eye, "Let's put some crappy telly on, eh?"
She lets out what sounds like an amused huff, him feeling her nod against his chest. He leans forward slightly, careful not to jolt her too much or prompt her to move, enjoying the comforting touch. Pulling her laptop over closer to them he opens it, finding some random documentary on the BBC website for them to watch, it not really mattering, he presses play.
The two of them sit there like that, with the sound from the laptop filling the silence, with neither of them knowing what to say - or having the energy to.
He glances down at her after a while, wincing at the way her eyes have glossed over again, looking at the screen but not quite focussing on it. Steve has no doubt she is replaying everything over and over in her head - just as he is. But worse, so much worse. He dreads to think what this will do to her, what it is doing to her. All he knows is that he is going to be there, right by her side, whatever happens now.
Lizzie never abandoned him. Never turned her back on him for a second. Kate said she had gone out of her way to pick up leads, jotting down anything she though irregular that could help him, knowing it not to be her place but doing so anyway. The woman had told him, if it were not for Liz, she would not have realised she was looking at things too objectively. Treating him like another case, not her friend.
But Lizzie knows him. Better than all of them. And she fought for him. Again.
Of course she was conflicted. He would be too. The evidence planted against him was convincing, even convincing himself, somewhat, that he was to blame.
But he is, isn't he?
He ignored her warnings time and time again, making terrible decision after terrible decision. He was playing into their hands - she had told him that - but he had been deafened by his own arrogance. He hates himself for it.
Yet, after all that, after all he did to her, she stood by him.
And he will never forget it.
Eventually, Lizzie begins to relax against his side, her head drooping further onto his chest as her eyes flutter closed. She fights it for a while, Steve not wanting to say or do anything that might discourage her from giving in and sleeping. When she finally does, her breathing becoming softer and her frown easing into a more peaceful expression, he slowly nudges her with his shoulder, using his arms to gently place her head against his lap where his legs are outstretched on the sofa. Hers are already tucked up into herself, one of her arms strewn over his thigh with the other where he has placed it delicately under the side of her face, leaning against it.
He pauses the documentary, supposing he should try to sleep himself. It is not the most comfortable position he has ever tried to sleep in, but anything is better than that brick slab he was forced to lie on in that cell. In fact, being here with Liz is better than anything.
He looks down at her as he feels himself start to drift, the hand not already wrapped over her shoulders coming to stroke the side of her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen there, careful to not irritate her wound. He tucks them behind her ear, slowly, noting her hair does not feel as soft as he remembers, from where she has clearly vigorously washed it a few hours ago.
But it comforts him anyway.
Her eyelashes rest against her skin, the peace bringing about a more colourful rouge hue to her cheeks. The crease that had cut between her brows has eased too, her face immediately becoming more gentle, sleep bringing about a tranquillity he had hoped to see when they were reunited.
His hand moves upward to her hairline, fingers stroking carefully across the stitches that corrupt it. Steve can feel himself start to choke up, outraged by the events that caused it.
Those stitches, that wound, is on him. A consequence of his own stupidity. None of it would have happened if he had not been so bloody stupid and selfish and-
Why did any of it have to happen? Why did it have to happen to us? Why did it have to happen to her?
What do they do now?
He takes a breath.
There will be plenty of time for pity and planning. They will talk about it when they are both ready to. For now, they need to rest.
With one last glance to the woman resting on his lap, vowing to never let her get hurt again. He will be the man she believes him to be. For her.
Steve closes his eyes, immediately and thankfully succumbing to sleep himself.
Liz wakes up the next morning to the smell of cooking. Lifting her head, stretching it slightly to relieve a crick there, she realises she must have fallen asleep on the sofa. She sits up, rubbing her eyes, still sore from salty tears.
After a moment of rested bliss, it all comes flooding back. Everything that happened the day before. She moves her hands up to her head, leaning forward so her elbows rest on her knees.
She wants to cry again.
Memories of Dot, memories of her mother's passing, feelings of grief, feelings of confusion, thoughts of Kate, thoughts of Ted, Steve-
Steve.
Where is he?
Her heart flutters as she looks around the room, knowing they had been sitting together on the sofa, not remembering actually having fallen asleep.
Turning her head to her kitchen, she sees him there, with his back to her, facing the oven hob. She breathes out in relief, standing from the sofa to make her way over. He turns as she does, hearing her sniff back some tears.
Steve sends her a small smile, Liz trying to do the same but knowing it probably looks strained.
"How did you sleep?" he asks, rubbing his hands on his trousers.
She shrugs, the ache in her shoulders worsening as she does, "Ok. You?"
He turns away from her then, back to the hob, smile falling, "Yeah, fine."
He is lying again.
Didn't take him long, Liz thinks, bitterly, immediately berating herself for doing so, knowing he just does not want to worry her.
She looks beyond him to whatever has his attention in the hob, seeing two pans. One is full of four slices of sizzling bacon, the other full of some sort of mixture she assumes is eggs. Her heart warms.
"Hope you don't mind," he says, bashfully now that she is awake and just staring at him, awed, "Thought we could do with some proper food."
She shakes her head, her insides on fire with endearment, "No, of course. Thank you."
He nods, studying her carefully as she looks to the food. The worry-lines have reappeared, a sharp crease defining her brow. There is darkness encircling her eyes, a cruel contrast to her pale skin.
He had managed to get at least an hour altogether. That was more than he had in the last week. So that was something.
She had slept the whole night through. Still, other than the occasional whimper. Steve found himself just looking at her, trying to work out what was floating around in her head. The worry kept him up more than anything else.
But she doesn't need to know that.
"You should shower," he suggests, Liz looking up at him again, "I'll be finished in a few minutes."
She nods, agreeing. She felt awful.
Liz can still feel it. The blood. His blood.
Even as the water runs down her body, her mind tricks her into thinking it is hot, thick crimson. Under the stream, she looks down to her hands, eyeing the bruise that has formed around her wrist from where he had pulled her along with him. The backs of them are red, scratches lining the surface from where she had furiously scrubbed at them. She had cut down her nails - being tempted to bite at them if not for the feeling of his blood beneath them. They looked terrible now. Jagged, short and chipped. They hurt when they catch her skin as she lathers her body clean.
Even her hair seemed to torment her now, the redness reminding her of the darker red that had stained it. Liz had washed it through at least three times since. But nothing could stop the itching of her scalp or her compulsion to cut it away.
Her cheek stings. The area where his hand held her burning whenever she thinks of it. It aches her jaw, grinding her teeth together, biting back sobs.
Water hits her face, streaming down her cheeks and dropping to the floor. Liz can't tell if it is the shower or her own tears anymore. It seems she has little control over it, unable to stop herself.
Wrapping herself in a towel and redressing, wrapping her wet hair into a bun, loathing the feeling of it dripping down her neck.
Taking a breath, she walks back to the kitchen, her heart melting at the sight of Steve plating up the eggs, a tea towel draped domestically over his shoulder. He looks up at her as she approaches, sending another familiar smile before putting the pan down. Throwing the towel onto the side, he takes a seat, urging her to do the same.
She slips into it, reaching for the hot mug of tea he has made her, looking down at her plate of food. Her stomach churns looking at it. But she will eat it after he has gone to all that trouble. She will force herself to.
He picks up a fork as she thanks him, taking a mouthful.
"My pleasure," he says as he wolfs down another bite, hungrier than he had originally thought. It felt good to eat food. Proper food. Not gruel. And without an officer's spit in it.
Steve looks over to Liz as he swallows another mouthful, seeing her push the food around on the plate with her fork, absentmindedly. She stares down at it, distracted.
He pauses eating, concerned for whatever is on her mind. She seems to notice his pause, shaking her head and scooping up some egg, embarrassed he had caught her and not wanting to seem ungrateful.
But Steve understands.
She catches his gaze as she swallows, hard, "Thank you, it's really nice."
"Not sure how you like your eggs, so just went with scrambled," he comments, dumbly, unsure what else to say.
She looks back down to her plate, nodding gratefully, her eye brightening a little as she recalls something, "My mum always made me scrambled eggs. Every day before school. Not exactly special but she used to add milk to the mixture. Made them more fluffy."
"Noted," he says, a gentle smile curling his lips as he sees her face liven slightly at the memory. She blushes, unsure why she had told him that.
It seems strange. To talk about anything else. Anything that isn't what everything is.
They fall into another silence, both thinking it. They both struggle to find anything else to talk about, their minds still processing it all. Or, at least, trying to. Liz shudders, wondering how long it will be until they can move on, if they ever can. There was more to this than just Dot. And the pain at the memory of him, his body lying there, was excruciating enough.
"What will you do now?" she asks him, to distract herself.
"Not sure, guess I'll see when I get back to the office," Steve shrugs, swallowing another fork-full of egg.
"You're staying with us? At AC-12?"
"If Hastings will have me back, yeah. Why wouldn't I?"
"Maybe because we let you suffer in a cell for a crime you didn't commit?"
Steve just shrugs, somewhat amused at her bitter wit. He sees the corners of her mouth turn upward slightly as his own face breaks out into a relieved grin seeing her brighter.
"Well, I guess busting me back out makes the balance about even," he quips, the pair smiling together, "What about you?"
Liz thinks, "Continue working on O.K., I suppose."
Steve nods, though hopes she does not push herself too hard. The woman needs time to recover, to process it all. Though, knowing her, she will try to push it down. Not thinking of herself.
They finish their food, taking their plates over to put them in the sink.
Turning to look at each other when Liz thanks him again, Steve sends her a sad smile, "Kate called. Wanted to know how you are?"
"How is she?" Liz asks, ignoring the question, "Is she alright?"
Steve sighs at the way she deflects it from her, as usual, "Yeah, asked if you were ready to make a statement?
Liz tenses. He winces at the way her shoulders rise, her hand freezing and coming to rest on the counter-side, as if to steady herself.
"Yeah," Liz lies, "Do I have to go into the office?"
She's unsure she can face it. Not just yet. She had been in a daze the day before, when Kate had taken her with the evidence.
Hastings had been away, in several aftermath meetings. Liz is unsure if she can face his pity so soon.
"I can record it on my phone. We can do it here. Whenever you're ready."
She nods, contemplating it. Liz looks around her small apartment, shaking away the bad memories there. He had been there. The sofa, the kitchen counters, the mugs of tea - even her own space was corrupted.
She takes a breath, "Would you like to go for a walk?"
He nods. They could do with the fresh air.