Liv has changed in a lot of ways. She's changed in ways that bring a smile to his face and an itching to touch in his hands. Her hair is the longest he thinks it has ever been. Tempting blends of gold and chestnut that fall down her back and frame her pretty face. She's somehow, extraordinarily, astonishingly sexier than his memories give her justice with her full lips and soft curves. She radiates with a fierce, lioness-like protectiveness that he chocks up to her beautiful son. She walks into a room with an unstoppable demand for respect that makes his mouth water. She's otherworldly now, almost like a fictional Goddess written in some old folktale. Known to be generous, valiant, compassionate, and ferocious in the fight for justice. A legend.

But she's changed in ways that form a bowling ball heaviness in his stomach, in his throat. Despite her powerful and selfless presentation, he can see her. That's something that will never change. He sees her, always sees her and what he sees when he really looks at her makes him want to lower himself onto his knees in front of her and beg. Wrap his arms around her waist, burry his face into her belly, and swear on his life that he'll never break her trust in him again. He sees her shadow of sadness. The uncertain, unbalanced, and fearful cloud of anxiety that follows her everywhere she goes. It results in an exhaustion that she thinks she's hiding but he sees her. He hears her exhaustion in the heavy sighs that leave her mouth when he pushes a little too hard. He sees her exhaustion in her shoulders when he says something a little too honest. Behind every playful jab or elusive sweet smile, he can see the shadow that hides within her.

And despite his greatest efforts to make this budding relationship a two-way street, this woman has a stellar aptitude for changing the subject and talking about him instead. She won't talk to him, continues to duck and deflect and avoid. Since they worked together on the joint case, that shadow that follows her seems to take up even more space. Since he accidently met her son, she's built impenetrable walls around her lovely, fragmented heart. He hasn't heard from her in a few days and he's trying to back up, allow her to breathe but he's beginning to feel a desperate need, a powerful throbbing in his bones that can only be relieved by her presence.

He's just finished getting their home cleaned up and renovated. Eli and his mother have moved back in and things in his life seem to finally be settled, a sense of equilibrium finally fills their apartment with a light and hopeful energy. It's Saturday night, almost 10pm and his mother is awake in the kitchen baking cookies. Eli hides out in his bedroom gaming with some of his buddies and Elliot nurses a glass of whiskey. His need outweighs his caution and he reaches for her.

Hey partner, he sends.

How are you doing? he sends.

I miss you; he types and hovers over the send button before going for it.

As his mama bids him goodnight and heads to her room, he snags one of her cookies before plopping down on the couch to mindlessly watch something. Forty-five minutes later, there's a soft knock at his door. He's still on edge from his recent undercover stunts and his heartrate picks up at the unexpected arrival.

He sets his whiskey glass down before walking gingerly to the door and looking through the eyehole. When he sees her his body instantaneously calms.

"Liv…" He opens the door wide and comes face-to-face with her.

She looks entirely drained. Empty. Wearied.

"Liv, what's wrong?" He asks her softly. She looks so small on the other side of his door; standing there with big watery eyes, wrapped in black leggings and a matching, soft cardigan, her hands folded together against her chest. Her hair is pulled back into a loose, low bun. She's the prettiest woman he's ever seen. She doesn't say anything, just stands there frozen out in the hallway.

His chest feels as heavy as her burden looks. She's come to him. She hasn't spoken to him in days and hadn't responded to his texts but here she is. He needs her to see, to trust, that he is here. That he is right here. That he wants to make it all right. He needs her to know that she can come to him when the world feels suffocating, when her long day is over, when she can barely drag her feet through her door. He will carry the weight of the world for her. She has brought her worries to him and he's going to help her drop them at the door.

He reaches one hand out to grasp hers, untangling them and squeezing her right hand tight, pulling her into his chest and wrapping both arms around her back, rests his face into her hair. Slowly, her arms wrap around his lower back, and she remains silent, softly breathing into his chest. He gently closes his door and locks it before they stand frozen in time, swaying there at the entrance of his home. Its only when he hears her quiet sniffle that he notices she's crying and his heart cracks inside his chest.

"Hey… you're alright." He whispers into her hair as one of his palms cradles the back of her head.

"I got you," he adds. As if the gently muttered phrase gave her permission to fall, she begins to sob in his arms. She cries with grace, quietly and heartbreakingly tender. Her shoulders shake and her trembling breaths come out too rapidly. He's never seen her like this before and it feels like devastation. He holds her so tight, trying desperately to make her feel like he's strong enough for both of their weight. He can anchor them both. He's sturdy and unwavering and he won't let her go. Their bodies sway together as one for minutes until she's calmed in his arms. Her breathing is more even, and her soft sniffles come less frequently.

"I'm sorry, El." He hears her broken whisper even as her face remains buried in his neck. He feels her start to pull away from him and anticipates her default setting demanding she flee, run, escape.

He shakes his head, but he doesn't let up on his hold. "Don't you dare be sorry," he demands soothingly.

"I'm so glad you're here." He won't leave any room for her to question herself for coming to him.

"I know I wasn't before…" He chooses his words carefully. "I know I wasn't here for you before, but I am now. I'm here, Olivia and I won't leave again. You can always come here. You can trust that I'll be here."

She exhales a deep, slow breath before pulling away and meeting his eyes. "I'm so tired." Her tearful voice cracks with exhaustion and when she closes her eyes, he watches one tear roll down her cheek bone.

"Do you need to get back for Noah?" He hasn't forgotten her boy.

Shaking her head softly, she says nothing.

For just a split second, he questions what he's about to do. Is she ready for this? Is this too much at once? Will it be helpful or damaging? He's scared shitless that he's about to ruin everything but something in his gut says it's what she needs.

He glides both of his hands down the backs of her arms until their palms lock together.

"Come on." He whispers before he's guiding her to his bedroom, leading her through the night.

Wordlessly, he lets go of her hand when they reach his bedroom and he goes around to his side of the bed, turns on the dim bedside lamp and pulls back the comforter and the top sheet. He tries not to think too hard about what he's doing when he peels his shirt over his head and climbs into bed in just a pair of sweatpants. He settles on his back and meets her eyes across the room.

Liv had just silently observed him from the doorway, studying him.

"Come here."

Her facial expression still reads a kind of heavy weariness he hasn't seen anyone wear in a long time and he'll do anything to ease her pain. "It's okay, just come sleep, Liv. Don't overthink it." He turns his upper body toward the empty side of the bed he expects her to get in to.

He's mesmerized as he watches her body surrender just before her mind does. She's tentative as she makes her way over to the bed. Peels her cardigan off her shoulders, slips out of her socks and shoes, and climbs into his bed wearing just a black tank top and leggings. For a few moments she's too stiff, too unsure. He turns toward her and opens his arms, inviting her in.

Liv finally, finally, lays down her armor. He watches in real time as she's ultimately been stripped down to her most vulnerable layer and his entire body aches to protect, to shield, to tear apart anyone who dare try to hurt her.

She curls her body into him, rests her head on his pillow and tucks her face in the little space between his face and shoulder. He can feel her soft breaths on his neck, and he closes his eyes and breathes her in. She smells like vanilla, a little like lavender and a realization takes his breath away.

He's so in-love with her. So in-love that it feels dangerous.

His fingers comb over the dainty skin at her temple and then through strands of hair, his lips pressed up against her forehead. The room is filled with the sounds of their breathing and eventually he feels the languid weight of her in his arms. The peaceful expansion of her chest with each breath becomes his sole focus as he begins to lull himself.

A sudden cacophony of noise erupts from the other side of his bedroom door, and he startles awake. He quickly realizes it just sounds like Eli rummaging around for late-night snacks, probably a much too large bowl of cereal. His next realization is that Liv didn't react even a little bit to the ruckus. He has no idea what demons brought her to his door tonight. No idea who or what caused the haunted look in her eyes and the bone-deep exhaustion she carried to his home, but it doesn't matter right now.

The only thing in the world that matters right now is that she remains where she is- safely slumbering in his arms, in his bed. Protected from the dangers outside these walls, from that dark shadow that's been following her. Liv carries the weight of the world on her tired shoulders and Elliot can lift some of that burden from her. He can be her safe place to land, her candle in the dark. It's with these unspoken promises that he follows his partner and falls victim to the pull of sleep.