Welcome to "Never Let Me Go".

Warnings first: This is a heavy and dark fic that will deal with subjects like sexual assault, violence, implied gambling addiction, eating disorder, PTSD, etc. It will also involve some explicit and less explicit sex scenes throughout, gay and straight. I will of course add TWs in my A/Ns when necessary.

The story will in some way follow canon, but with a few exceptions and creative liberties. After the prologue, even numbered chapters are set to the past while odd numbered chapters are set to present day.

As always, I greatly appreciate reviews and feedback.

Buckle up, because this won't be pretty.

Florence + The Machine - Never Let Me Go

Aurora - Runaway

CHAPTER 1 - PROLOGUE

And it's over and I'm going under.

But I'm not giving up,

I'm just giving in.

She doesn't know how long she's been running. Ten minutes? One hour? Two hours? It doesn't really matter because she doesn't know where she is or where she's going. But based on the fact that she can't really feel her legs anymore, she suspects that it's been a little more than ten minutes.

She doesn't look over her shoulder. Maybe it's because she's too scared, or maybe she's too fixated on getting out of this godforsaken forest that she has quickly come to hate with every single cell in her body.

Still, every other second she tells herself that it's ok to stop. Just stop, lie down on the snow-covered ground beneath her and wait for death to take care of the rest. Let nature have its way with her.

But images of her daughters forces her to keep going.

Jesse and Billie.

Jesse and Billie.

If I can just see them one last time, she thinks. I just want to hug them and kiss them and tell them how amazing they are and how proud I've always been to be their mama.

One last time, and it'll all be worth it.

It'll be worth the excruciating pain in her body and the hell he has put her through, if she survives long enough to see them one last time.

She has already accepted that her career is over. There's nothing that can convince her otherwise. This is not going to be some kind of cover-up where she lies her way out of it only to save her gun and badge. It doesn't matter, because she never wants to hold a gun in her hands ever again.

If she survives this, she realizes, there's nothing keeping her in New York anymore. Maybe she should just take the girls and move back to Georgia. Live a quiet life where no one will ever know what she has just been through. What she's done. What she turned into, in the end.

There's a metallic taste in her mouth and it takes her a while to realize that she's bleeding from her nose again. She doesn't do anything to make it stop because she knows it's pointless. And maybe, if it bleeds long enough, she'll eventually pass out and get some peace and quiet.

Jesse and Billie.

The images continue to swim behind her eyes. Making her legs go faster, forcing her to ignore how branches are cutting into her skin, left exposed by the fact that she's only wearing an oversized hoodie that reaches down to her knees.

But the images are fading with each running step now. Instead flashbacks from recent events fills her head.

Blood, a lot of it. The loud screams. And the rage. It's weird, she thinks, that after everything that has just happened, her own rage was what startled and pained her the most. It had been so utterly raw, to the point of euphoric if the end result hadn't been so horrid.

Suddenly she's reminded of a quote she once heard that now seems to fit perfectly.

"Monsters are real. And ghosts are real, too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win."

She can't remember who said it or where she heard it. But if one quote could sum up this last chapter of her life, that would be a as good a quote as any.

She knows trauma, on a professional and on an intimate level. She knows how it works, how it taints the mind and screws with every fiber of your being. She knows this, and it makes her wonder if each person has their own personal limit and if she has officially and finally reached hers.

The intrusive thought overwhelms her and suddenly she stops dead in her tracks, almost stumbling over her own bloodied feet that have gone completely numb from the cold.

For a short moment she stands completely still, as still as her frozen body will allow her to stand. She can see her own breaths leaving her, condensing into mist in the dark air.

And then she screams.

She screams until her voice cracks and it feels like she might've strained her vocal chords so hard that she might never speak again.

Good riddance, she thinks. In the slightest chance she survives this, she might not ever want to talk again.

Except to tell Jesse and Billie that she loved them. Loves them.

Jesse and Billie.

But they must know, right? Even if I don't get to tell them myself, they must know how much I loved them? How much I tried to give them the childhood that I never had? They must know.

She gasps for air and just as she's about to slump down in the snow, now stained with the blood still trickling from her nose and other parts of her wounded body, she straightens herself up and starts to move again.

I can't give up.

And there is one more reason she needs to stay alive.

As she keeps running, less determined now but moving nonetheless, another string of images fills her mind.

Nine years. Nine complicated, messy, undefined, awful and wonderful years. It wasn't the eternity she wanted but at least it was something.

She had lost count on how many times they had agreed on "this is the last time", until they slowly started to accept the fact that they had just been lying to themselves all along. There would always be a next time with them. No matter what drove them to do it. To run back into each other's arms, over, and over again.

So far, nothing had stopped them. Not the other relationships, not their nastiest fights, not the job or the complete mess that was their lives. They were magnets drifting around in each other's orbits, always seeking each other out.

And somewhere along the way, it turned into a rhythm so safe and predictable, a rhythm that neither of them wanted to disturb. Their bond was rock solid and still as fragile as glass. And so, wordlessly, they had just agreed to let it stay undefined and unspoken. Their little, massive secret.

But the text had changed everything.

"I want more."

That's what the text had said.

"I want more."

It was the closest she had ever come to an actual confession of love. Not including all the times Olivia had confessed it with her words, her body, her eyes, her hands, her mouth. Her soul. No. This text was different, because for the first time in nine years, there was no more doubt.

"I want more."

And now she would never get the chance to reply to those fateful and loaded words. She would never get the chance to show up at her door, wrap her arms around her and let her know in every way possible that she wanted more, too. And not just more. She wanted everything. All of it.

The beautiful parts as much as the ugly ones.

She wanted to wake up with her every morning, instead of sneaking out late at night. She wanted to feel her skin under her fingers, without the added guilt and constant feeling of making another mistake. She didn't want them as two lost souls, stumbling around in the dark, using each other for the occasional comfort. She wanted them to exist in this world together, side by side and hand in hand.

And now she would get none of it. Nothing at all.

But she needed to stay alive. Even if it was just to kiss her on the forehead one last time.

She could picture herself walk into the poorly lit room. How she would wrap her arms around herself as her eyes fell on the woman laying on that table in the morgue. Leaning in to whisper "I love you" against her temple. Crying while feeling her cold skin against her lips.

It's not enough to just picture it, though. She needs to actually see it. She needs to say goodbye.

If you just keep running, Amanda. Keep running and you'll get to see your girls again. And you'll get to tell the woman you loved that you're sorry, even if she won't be able to hear you or ever know just how much you wanted more, too.

Jesse and Billie.

And Olivia.

It becomes a mantra when she starts to feel her legs give in. She's too cold, too exhausted, too malnourished to go on.

There's only so much a body can survive and she knows deep down that this is partly her own fault. She's been putting her body through the wringer for years. Maybe if she hadn't been so hell bent on tearing herself down, slowly and gradually, she would've been stronger now. Able to endure just a little more.

But there's a light somewhere. Not that far ahead.

And if she can just get to the light, then maybe there's a chance.

As she gets closer, she realizes that she keeps closing her eyes, and she wonders if it's possible to fall asleep while running. God knows, she can't remember the last time she slept.

But I can't sleep now. I can sleep later. I can sleep forever if I just make it home one last time.

So she forces her eyes open and wills them to focus on the light ahead of her. It's a street light, right? A street. A road. Cars. People.

I can do this.

For Jesse and Billie.

And Olivia.

I can do this.

She's so focused to get to the light that when she finally comes out of the forest and her feet hits the ice cold road, she doesn't hear the car that moves towards her and screeches when it stops close to where she's now standing, practically bolted to the ground.

She gazes up at the light and stare at it like it's a long lost friend, emerging from the dark to greet her, to hold her, to tell her she's finally safe.

The sound of a car door being opened and a stranger's voice saying "Oh my god" is lost on her, because she has reached her destination and that was her last and only mission. The rest is up to the world around her, because she has nothing left to give.

Not when everything has been taken from her.

"Ma'am?"

She falls to the ground and as cold as she is, the hard surface that feels frozen to the touch still has a soothing effect on her. I can rest here, she thinks. Just rest for a little while.

She barely registers that someone is talking over her. The voice is annoying, bordering on maddening, because it continues to pull her out of her wanted state of unconsciousness.

"I've called 911, ma'am, help is on the way."

She feels herself nod as something warm is wrapped around her and only then does she realize just how cold she really is.

That's a good thing, right? That I can feel how cold I am?

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Mm-" She tries, but the taste of blood in her mouth is suddenly so overwhelming that it makes her gag.

The stranger turns her over on her side as a mix of blood and bile comes pouring out.

"Jesus… They'll be here soon, honey. Just hang in there."

"Rollins." She manages to croak when the vomiting finally turns into a weak string of dry heaves.

The sound of a loud gasp fills the cold winter night.

"Amanda Rollins?" The voice asks.

She wants to say yes, but she's too tired to move her lips. She wills her head to move in a single nod, but she's not sure if she's actually able to do it.

And finally, everything turns dark, and she doesn't hear the stranger telling her "they looked everywhere for you."

A/N: Scared? Worried? Intrigued? Do you want more?