HELLO! It's been so long without an update...consider that my summer hiatus. But I'm back. Part of the reason this has taken so long is that I got sucked into starting another fic, which you may want to check out if you haven't already (hint hint). It's called After All and it's a bit of an epilogue to this story, so you can read it and feel assured that Liv really does get a happy ending...uh, after all. (yay for puns!) So chapter 1 of that fic is posted and chapter 2 should be coming soon...and THANK YOU to everyone who's already read it and reviewed. I love you all.

A/N: minimal sex or violence in this one. It starts off from where chapter 44 ends and takes place roughly during the events of Jersey Breakdown (although I've changed things around and rewrote some of the conversations for my own purposes). At one point, there's a reference to Nick gossiping with Amanda about Liv and Elliot. If you would like to know what Nick said to her, you should read the companion fic, Fall From Grace, by my lovely friend cheertennis12. Actually, you should read it no matter what because it's amazing and made me cry. So read it and review it and wish her a happy birthday while you do. In other news...title and quotes from elastic heart by Sia, thanks to a recommendation from Mari. Love you bb.

{and I will stay up through the night
and let's be clear, won't close my eyes}

You wake up to the sound of tapping and a muffled voice, and before you even open your eyes you're reaching blindly across to the other side of the bed- only to find it empty. It's just after 4 AM and Brian's already gone. Again.

"Liv? Liv, it's me, it's Nick," he calls from the other side of the door. "Can I come in? Are you decent?"

He always says that, like he assumes you must be naked or in some elaborate sexy getup, and you're not quite sure how that makes you feel. "Yeah, I'm...it's fine, come in."

"Sorry, just, I could hear you..." You're about to turn on the lamp before you decide you'd rather not be able to see the pitying look on his face that clearly. "What's up?"

You appreciate his attempt at keeping it casual, at not asking 'are you okay?' when he already knows there's no way in hell you could honestly answer yes to that question. He always takes it upon himself to go check on you if he hears you're having a nightmare and Brian's not around, but he never pushes you to talk about it, just sits with you and asks if you think Carminha on Avenida Brasil really loves Max or tells you stories about funny things Zara did as a baby until you decide you're ready to go back to sleep. As embarrassing as it is and as guilty as you feel about bothering him, you admit that it's a huge comfort to have him there. Most of the time. But tonight he's not who you need, tonight is one of those rare instances where you want Brian there so you can hold onto him with everything you have and listen to him tell you lies about how you're strong and you're beautiful and he'll never let anyone hurt you like that again while you cry until you can't anymore. You want him to promise that he believes you, that it was a stupid fight and not a catalyst for you to do something crazy like run off with a psycho just to prove that you don't need him. You want to promise him that he wasn't to blame, that if you had been a better girlfriend he might have thought something was wrong when you didn't call back, rather than assuming you were giving him the silent treatment because you were angry at not getting your way.

But. He's not here. Instead, Nick is here, halfway dressed for work and watching you expectantly for an answer. "Nothing, I...you're up early."

"Yeah, you can thank your boyfriend for that. Who the fuck eats tacos at three in the morning? They're the loudest food ever."

"I'll tell him to eat quieter next time," you promise, shaking your head in irritation. Brian is one of those people who are ravenous from the minute they wake up and will eat whatever they can get their hands on, breakfast food or not, although you suspect in this case he purposely went for the crunchiest choice. "He was leaving early so we could make dinner reservations before midnight...um. We being him and me," you add when you see Nick perk up at this news. "I, ah. He wants us to spend more time together and-"

"Nah, I get it, it's okay. I don't wanna intrude. I'll probably go by the house after work anyway, just to check and see if everything's been cleaned up..."

"Nick, I'm not trying to push you out the door, really," you say, perhaps a bit too quickly. You both know everything was cleaned up within a couple of days, but there's been this silent understanding between the two of you that he should probably stay here for a while longer just...because. "Take all the time you need. There's no hurry."

"Yeah, but...I know you've got a lot going on and...you've gotta take care of yourself, without worrying about me too." There's no way to know for sure in the darkness, but you swear you can feel his gaze landing on your bare upper arms and you stiffen because you get it now, this is his way of politely extricating himself from the crazy at Casa Bensidy.

"I'm fine," you assure him with all the confidence of someone who was just screaming in their sleep not five minutes prior, trying to hide your hurt and failing miserably by adding "Don't make Amanda late for work."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you're dressed already so I assumed that meant you got an early morning booty call- because I know you're not going in to get a jump on your paperwork."

He scowls at your dig on his lame excuse from the day before. "You know, I could be doing something other than sittin' at my desk all day if you-"

"Save it, Nick, I don't want to hear it again. You know IAB has the final say on that."

"Yeah, but they won't do anything until you sign off on that piece of paper you stashed under your laptop."

"How do you know where it is?" you ask, eyes narrowed. "I don't want you going through my stuff. Why were you at my desk?"

"God, will you relax? I was in there looking for a file that you asked me to bring home. Remember that?"

"Whatever. Stop snooping." You sigh, mentally reminding yourself that your emergency 'water' bottle is safely hidden away in the back of a locked drawer. He would inevitably find it and get the wrong idea- it's not there because you can't get through the day without drinking. It's there as a safety net, as your fallback plan, because as long as you know it's there you can shift your focus onto other things. But he would inevitably overreact, and probably go running to Brian so they can confirm their diagnosis of you as an alcoholic and start plotting some unnecessary intervention.

You don't have time for that shit. When you have a problem, you'll be the first one to let them know.

"And you call me paranoid," he huffs, like asking for a little privacy is akin to sitting in a basement with a tinfoil hat. "But seriously, Liv, I'm getting tired of asking when you're going to un-ground me."

"And I'm getting tired of hearing it, so I guess we're even. Now stop. Please." You're beginning to see why coworkers living together is frowned upon, because these are not the kind of conversations you want to be having in the early-early morning while you're still in bed and still hearing your dead mother's voice echoing in your head. you brought this all on yourself.

"Is this because of Amanda? You're punishing me now?"

You resist the urge to point out the paranoia right there and purse your lips together in a straight line. "Nick, if I was trying to punish you- you would know it. You went through something traumatic, okay, and I'm giving you time to process. Y'know, my therapist-"

"Yeah, I don't need my head shrunk. Especially not by that dude. Elliot said he's creepy, that he doesn't blink-"

"Elliot also said he'd never voluntarily go see a shrink, but he changed his mind," you say, realizing too late that he probably didn't want you sharing that, especially with Junior.

"And look at you two now! It's done wonders, I can see."

You feel like Mr. Truman the cat when Eli had him cornered, back arched and fur standing on end as you bare your teeth. "I'm trying to help you get your life together, and-"

"Maybe you should stop trying to be my mother, okay, and focus on your life for a change, cause that's more than enough to keep you busy for a while."

"Oh, so I'm-" Your phone chimes and you all but tackle it in your urgency, your face falling when the caller isn't who you hoped it'd be. "Whatever, Nick, do whatever the hell you want. I've gotta head up to Mercy."

"Want me to come with?" he asks, like the entire point of the argument you just had was completely lost on him.

"Don't worry about it. I'm calling Amanda."

{you did not break me
I'm still fighting for peace}

You're leaning against the drab wall of a busy hospital corridor, thumbing through your old texts while you wait for Amanda to show up. She's late, surprise surprise, and you're bitter at the thought that she might have been sleeping soundly, the way normal people do at 4:30 in the morning instead of fighting with the guy who sleeps on their couch.

[I love you]

Your last text to Elliot, still unanswered, the cursor in the empty reply box reminding you with every blink that the conversation is still unfinished. It's not fair for him to leave you hanging like this. He has every right to be angry with you, you're not denying it, but he knows you don't say (write) that lightly. For him to just ignore it feels like a giant breach of trust. Again.

Amanda comes hurrying off the elevator, conspicuously wearing sunglasses that are totally unnecessary for a dark midwinter morning, and you can tell right away that she hadn't been sleeping. Like recognizes like and all that. She obviously wasn't up all night fucking Nick, and the thought makes a flash of anger run through you because how dare she cheat on him? Not that you want them together in the first place but still, how dare she?

Once more she has some ridiculous excuse or another that you don't even listen to because you don't care, she's not telling the truth anyway and you're tired of being the only one in the entire precinct who knows how to check their personal issues at the door when they come to work.

And then the vic is another liar, this smartass teenage girl who claims nothing happened. She also must've been an A+ student in 8th grade civics because she informs you it's her 'right' not to talk to you and nonono, she's not getting out of this so easily. You want to tell her that you've been exactly where she is (literally, they brought her out of the same exam room you'd been in) and no one gave you the choice to say nothing happened and go right on your merry way home. You couldn't have escaped even if you had the physical strength to, not when you were always surrounded by doctors and nurses and Nick and Brian and Cragen popping in and out because no one would just let you be alone for five fucking minutes. It was almost a relief when they drugged you to sleep simply because you didn't have to talk anymore.

But of course that wasn't the end of it. You had to talk to IA, doctors, lawyers, your therapist...and ultimately you had to sit in front of a room full of strangers and recount in detail every single time he touched you, had to watch people's horrified faces while you told the story behind every photographed injury, had to answer every humiliating question he came up with and stay perfectly stoic while he screamed in your face, dreading he would give away something you'd been hiding and then the whole thing would start to crumble around you like so many towers of buckling steel.

So no, she wasn't going to leave. She was going to talk whether she wanted to or not.

Amanda promises her that the worst part is over.

Amanda knows nothing.

{now another one bites the dust
yeah let's be clear, I'll trust no one}

As soon as Nick spots you getting off the elevator, he charges at you with this excited look on his face like he's already had more than his recommended daily allowance of energy drinks this morning. When you left the apartment he had still been sulking in front of the TV, so you're not sure what changed between now and then. "Liv! Hey! Got a minute?"

"One. You have 60 seconds."

"Is it okay if I leave a little early Friday?" He holds up his hand, showing off his wedding band like it's a fucking Super Bowl ring, and you are confused. "Maria and I, we're back together!"

You're equal parts happy that he's doing the right thing and annoyed that he's fixed his relationship in three hours while you're still waiting for a goddamn text message. "That's...wow. Since when?"

He side-eyes you like that wasn't a completely legitimate question seeing as how he spent most of the weekend with another woman (and it sure as hell wasn't his abuela). "I did some thinking. Just everything that went down at the Stablers...I don't want all that shit in my life, Liv, I wanna have a nice solid, secure family, right? I don't want the fucking around and passive aggressiveness and sneaking off-"

"I get it," you say, holding up your hand to interrupt him. "And I'm glad, Nick, I'm glad you could talk to her and get things sorted out..."

"Oh no, this is gonna be a surprise! She won't answer my calls but I know if I show up there, she'll see right away that I'm serious about us."

"Wow. Do you really-"

You're rescued by Fin calling to you from across the room, telling you to come take a look at the report that the hospital had sent over. It saved you from having to deal with Nick for a short time while he was with one of the suspects, but in the meanwhile you found yourself being lectured by Amanda about your supposed lack of empathy. You've never been so relieved as you were when Nick interrupted and gave you an excuse to get rid of Amanda by sending her and her bleeding heart off to deal with your vic.

He's fidgeting like a little kid watching the clock tick down to recess time, and you can only imagine what breakthrough he's had now. "Yes?"

"I'm ready to go back out there, Liv, I swear I am. Pleeease?" he asks in a tone usually reserved for begging a parent to let you keep that puppy you've found, and you really, really want to smack him.

"We just talked about this a few hours ago, Nick, the answer's still no."

He's now bouncing on the balls of his feet and you wonder what the hell he's been eating while you were away. "But I told you, I've done a lotta thinking. I've got things sorted out!"

"You decided what you wanted to do about Maria," and you hope he notices how you purposely didn't say they were getting back together, "and that's great. But Nick, you shot a kid. You're still processing. PTSD doesn't disappear overnight."

"Oh, so you're diagnosing me now? I get it, you've been to therapy, you've seen the light, that doesn't make you some sort of expert."

"I didn't say I was," you point out, bristling at his remark about you having 'seen the light' because you get it already, he doesn't think you're a therapeutic success story, "but I know about traumatic experiences and whether you think so or not, that stuff weighs on you. If you can't acknowledge that and recognize what you're feeling, something's going to trigger you when you don't expect it and I have to look out for everyone here, I'm-"

"Jesus Christ, will you stop? I'm not Elliot, okay, I'm not gonna go off the deep end and abandon you after I shot a kid just because that's what he did, so stop treating me like I am."

You automatically take a step back at the sound of his name, then another, and when you can't move backwards any further you tilt your head at Nick. "Don't. You don't...keep him out of this. I don't want you talking about him, I swear to God-"

"Woah, okay." Nick holds his hands up to signal a truce, acting like he had no idea you'd take offense to that. "I touched a nerve, got it. Thought you guys were cool again."

You tell yourself he was out of line whether you and Elliot were 'cool' or not, that your visceral reaction had nothing to do with the feeling of abandonment weighing heavily on your mind right now. "Not that it's any of your business, but. He walked out on Kathy after we left the other day...he's staying at his brother's."

"Oh. Oh, wow. So now are you two..." He makes a nondescript hand gesture that you think is supposed to mean...what? Together? For Christ's sake, he knows you were home with Brian last night- but then again, yesterday he was with Amanda and now he and Maria are...what? Back together?

"No. We are not..." You imitate the way he waved his fingers. "I don't know what we are. I haven't heard from him since I was over there, he won't talk to me and...I'm done. Finished."

"Holy shit, what the hell happened in that garage?"

"Nothing. Now I'm warning you, if you mention Elliot to me one more time-"

Amanda peeks out from around the corner, making the same face Maureen did when she caught you and her dad arguing. "Uh, sorry if I'm interrupting something, but I just got off the phone with the hospital and they lost Erin. She's gone."

You don't even bother to muffle your swearing as you storm off, but you can still hear Amanda asking Nick in a low voice, "What happened with Elliot now?"

'Now'? As in, she wants information added onto what she already knows?

Oh no. No.

{I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard
yeah I may snap and I move fast}

You're not sure who you're angrier with, Nick (for gossiping to Amanda and harassing you about the whole desk duty thing) or Amanda (for being Amanda), but while you and Rollins are headed to the hospital you come up with a way to strike back at both simultaneously. "I know you were on call last weekend, but I'm gonna need you to do it again for this coming one."

"No problem, Sarge. I figured, with Nick still on desk duty and all."

You couldn't have set it up better if you tried. "Yeah, I'm not sure if he'll be cleared by IAB before then- but anyway, it doesn't matter because I already told him he could leave early Friday. He wants to go down to DC and meet up with Maria."

"Ohh. Got it," and she's doing a good job of hiding her surprise, but you were watching carefully and so you didn't miss that little flicker of confusion in her eyes. As you predicted, he must not have mentioned anything about Maria to her. And you know she's probably hurt and you should probably feel bad- but you don't. Whatever, she's fucking around behind his back anyway and it was never going to work out between them so really, you're doing them both a favor by helping them get to the breakup process sooner. You refuse to think that you're being immature, or vindictive, or petty, or that maybe you just want everyone else to be as miserable as you are. Because you're not, you're not any of those things.

Fuck, you really want a drink right now.

{I want my life so bad
I'm doing everything I can}

You part ways with Amanda as you leave the hospital, sending her to try and track down Claire (or whatever her name is) and calling Fin to have him join her. While you're on the phone, you ask him to give Nick a bullshit errand to run. Preferably one that'll take him until five o'clock to complete, because if you have to talk to him one more time this afternoon you will not be responsible for your actions.

"I'm on it. Want me to tell him to stop botherin' you?"

"It's okay, Fin, just get rid of him. Please."

Fin comes through as always, and you're about two steps away from your office and sweet blissful silence when you hear someone calling after you. It's a uni whose name you haven't bothered to memorize yet, a baby-faced kid who looks about 19 and graduated from the academy about ten minutes ago, with a question that he probably thinks is simple but will actually take at least 45 minutes to properly explain. Although you're not even officially a sergeant yet, the minute you gained an office you were also promoted to the rank of People Who Know Stuff. So now you've got a steady stream of folks passing by throughout the day, calling you on the phone, emailing you at all hours- it's exhausting, this knowledge thing. And you know this kid means well, he's trying to learn and his fascination with soaking it all up reminds you a little bit of a young Brian, so you force yourself to humor him.

Besides, you know you're being watched. (How does it go...just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you? Munch would be proud). They've been watching since the day you came back last August, everyone from your closest friends to total strangers from other floors or other precincts whose eyes widen when they see you. Wondering if you're okay. Wondering if what they heard was really true. Wondering what you're hiding. You're constantly on guard, trying not to give anything away that would make people think you're about to lose it. Especially now, when you've been thrust into this huge new realm of responsibility that shines an even brighter spotlight on you, that turns the whole squad into a mirror reflecting your image.

And nobody gets that. Not even Nick, who you can almost always count on to have your back, because he's too busy whining about being chained to his desk to realize that you too are grounded. You never envisioned yourself on the supervisory track; you're too restless and you need to be out there getting your hands metaphorically (or literally) dirty, not sending others to do it while you're inside signing your name on endless mountains of paper. But you understand why it happened, that it was no coincidence that you were suddenly given this chance at a promotion when you weren't even back full time yet. The powers that be couldn't quite find a reason to relegate you to permanent desk duty, but they also weren't terribly comfortable having you and your famous face and damaged psyche interacting with the public. Especially while armed. Making you a sergeant was an ideal way to minimize the time you spent outside the precinct, and you have a feeling that they would've encouraged you to apply even if Munch and Cragen weren't retiring. The timing just made it even more convenient.

Of course, you had a hand in that as well. Even if no one has the balls to say it, you know their abrupt departures were at least partially because of you. No one knew how to be around you anymore and, at least for them, you think the associated guilt just became too much. It didn't matter how many times people assured you that you had nothing to do with it- you can sure as hell spot avoidance when you see it. After all, you have decades of experience in reminding people of the worst day of their lives by simply existing.

The whole thing had pissed Elliot off from the moment he heard about it. He thought it was shitty of Cragen to dump all that responsibility on you with barely any notice- and to do it just weeks after you'd returned to work post-trial. And maybe he was right, but what choice did you have? You weren't going to let them bring in some stranger to run the unit, for one, and you sure as hell weren't going to admit to anybody how overwhelmed you were. So you swallow your feelings and you promise everyone that you can handle it and you never, ever reach for that little bottle hidden in the back of your desk drawer. Because you don't need it, the same way you don't need Munch or Cragen or anyone else who's left you, and you abso-fucking-lutely don't need Elliot. Because you're doing fine without them.

{why can I not conquer love?
and I might've thought that we were one
wanted to fight this war without weapons}

By the time you leave work, snow has started to fall- or, it would be falling if the wind wasn't whipping it up and sending it flying straight at your face. Brian has actually gotten home early as promised, but he takes one look at you as you walk through the doorway and suggests skipping the restaurant and ordering in.

"Fine by me," you assure him as you head into the bedroom, grabbing your warmest sweats out of the dresser drawers.

"Italian? Chinese?" He follows behind you, looking at potential choices on his phone. "That place where- oh."

You turn your head toward him instantly when his voice drops off and find him watching you, chewing on his bottom lip like he's unsure of something. Your face gets hot as you turn back away from him, one arm awkwardly trying to cover your bare midsection and the other reaching for your sweatshirt.

"Wait, no, don't," he says, and you pause with your arms in the sleeves. "I mean, not that you can't, I just mean...you always go in the bathroom to change. That's all. You never..."

"Oh. Yeah. I...I just figured you've seen it all now so why not...but, I don't. If it bothers you..."

"No, God no. That wasn't what I was...it doesn't. Doesn't bother me. I was surprised, but it's good. Good, I mean, that you're okay with..." He shrugs as if to silently say 'help me out here'.

"I get it," you promise. You reach out and pull him into a tight hug, and you can't see his face but you would bet he's more surprised by that than by your willingness to undress in front of him. Not that you never initiate any sort of physical affection- because God knows that if that was the case, you'd never get laid. But you don't usually hold onto him like this, with the fleece of his hoodie balled up in your fists and your face ducked against his neck, the way you wanted to this morning when you woke up all alone except for a note on the table and a haunting voice echoing in your head. «remember that fight you had with dumbass? just wanted to make sure you hadn't forgotten»

"Shit, you really are cold," he says, and even though it's true that your skin is still chilly to the touch underneath your sweats, it's not the only reason you're shaking. "Maybe...you wanna go take a shower and get warmed up before the food gets here?"

You shake your head and whisper 'no' almost too quietly for him to hear over your ragged breathing and the pounding of your heart.

"Want me to come with you?" he jokes. He gets a laugh out of you with that, but your tiny chuckle quickly dissolves into a flood of silent tears. "Babe?"

"I...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

"I know, Liv, I know you are," and you can tell he thinks you're apologizing for your drunken meltdown last weekend, which is why he's specifically not saying you're forgiven, but he's only partially right. You're sorry for that, just like you're sorry for everything else you've put him through, and you're sorry because you're virtually certain it'll happen again. But you're also sorry for how you've torn your squad apart, how you've let your mother down, how you've made Elliot think he's a monster and fucked up his entire family because you're selfish and scared of being alone.

You're sorry you didn't shoot him square between the eyes when you had the chance and you're even more sorry that you didn't put a bullet through your own head right after that.

So you lie and tell him you're done drinking (again) because it seems to make him happy and he still believes you every time you say it, and you don't mention how you already stopped and had a few on the way home to get you through until he goes to sleep.

You're sorry for that too.

{but you won't see me fall apart
cause I've got an elastic heart}