A/N Thank you for your amazing, continuing support. I have had a fantastic lazy day off and have happily spent it pecking away at my laptop. As I said previously, this story has been brewing for a while and some parts, in particular just flow. So sen though I only updated a few hours ago, I have another update. I can't believe three of you have already made the effort to review my previous update.
thelisa17: Thank you as always, I really appreciate the feedback, I'm sorry for upsetting you, I took at least 3 breaks during the episode...
my 2 un-named reviewers; Thank you.

Please keep telling me what you think, or any suggestions or observations, even if they relate to old chapters?

"Rafael, You don't have to….."

She starts to tell me, but she can't even finish the sentence…..

"I know Liv. I want to…."

I haven't seen the horror I heard she was confronted by, on that Bronx beach... I haven't spent the last days between Chicago and Manhattan, chasing a killer who has haunted my dreams for over a decade…... I haven't spent the last day searching for a girl who isn't just a name on a report, she was a colleague who had been part of the team, my team, chasing down that monster…. I haven't just seen the alternate reality of how my own kidnapping incidents could have ended... I have experienced none of this but I am still helpless to resist the avalanche of agony, grief and failure currently consuming everyone.

She begins to straighten the piles of paperwork weighing down her desk before realizing its futility. No amount of tidying can change this outcome…...She sighs deeply, and picks up her bag, leading me out of her office, switching off the lights and locking the door as if this was the end of any regular work day.

Her actions alarm me to my core, I wonder is she is shock, until I see her normally bright brown eyes, dead and unfocused on her tasks. I understand, she has switched-off, the only way she can function is to switch off…..

For the first time I feel real fear at my decision to pick her up. What if I am not the person she should be with now? What if I don't know what to say to ease her obvious agony? What if I can't deal with the force of emotion I can feel radiating off her, even now, in her currently dispassionate state?

I hand her the coat I had picked up off a chair in her office and she looks at it questioningly. I help her into it and we head to the elevator. There is no mistaking her absence, as she steps into the elevator on auto-pilot, leaning fully against its cold wall, as if holding up her own body is becoming too much.

I doubt she will remember getting into my car, the short drive to my apartment, another elevator journey or standing outside my door as I impatiently swear at my uncooperative hands whilst trying to unlock it.

She shrugs off her coat and suddenly realizes her surroundings are unfamiliar…

"I don't live here…" she mutters looking at me in confusion.

"Its ok, Liv, this is my apartment. I assumed Lucy is with Noah at your apartment, I thought you may need some space…"

Dammit!

I probably should have asked her….maybe she wants to hold her son?

She nods, tears pricking at her eyes.

I throw my own coat and briefcase carelessly into a heap on the floor.

"Can I get you a drink, Liv, something to eat? Would you like to go to bed?..."

She continues to stand uncomfortably in the entrance to my apartment, and I belatedly realize how my words could be misinterpreted…"my spare room is made up, ready for you…." I hastily add.

She shakes her head softly. I unconsciously reach a hand over to her….."What can I do for you?"

It takes a few strained noises before she is able to find words, "can….. Can I have a bath, please?", she finally forces out.

"Of course, let me run one for you….." I almost run to the bathroom, so glad to be able to do anything….

I run a hot bath, constantly adjusting the water flow to make it just right, wishing desperately that I had some nicely scented bath stuffs, or candles, anything to make it nice for her…...

All I have is Epsom salts and I throw some of them in, to try and soothe her exhausted body.

I put a couple of clean towels on the heated towel rack to warm for her, leaving my inappropriate but cleansing toiletries accessible for her, as I go to fetch her.

She is still standing where I left her, in the entrance. But her previously dead eyes are now brimming with emotion and tears….

I help her off with her suit jacket, leading her to the warm steamy bathroom without a word. What words could help her now?

I barely recognize the voice that escapes my throat, "towels,…..products….I'm just outside….." I gesture to the towel rack, pile of toiletries and finally the door as she starts to pull her shirt over her head. I catch a glimpse of scars on her back as I pull the door closed behind me. Photographed images of burns and cuts from Lewis, assault my memory, as I find I've never considered how many of them left permanent reminders behind on her skin…..?

I try not to imagine her body.

I fall into the nearest chair I can find, my head in my hands. One hand scrubbing across my forehead, I try to erase the images from my brain.

Fuck!

Clothes,….. I never thought of clothes….

I rush to my closet, scrambling through the racks of brightly colored suits, shirts, ties, cashmere sweaters,…none of it even close to what I need. I quickly settle on an elasticated, draw-stringed, pair of pale grey lounge pants and a darker grey t-shirt, and a bright blue over-sized, soft, zip-up, hooded, top.

I fold them into a pile and place them hesitantly on the floor in front of the bathroom door.

"Liv, are you ok in there? I've just left some clothes here, just outside the door….I'll make some tea…take your time….."

I step closer to the door in anticipation of some answer but draw back quickly, when all I hear is muffled, heart wrenching, sobs. I want to say something, …..anything,… but can't find the right words, so leave her to sob her hurt away in private.

As I place the filled kettle on the hob to heat, I find myself wondering why she wanted to bathe, fear squeezing my heart as I recognize the feeling of being unclean.

God, I hope it's not that she somehow feels unclean, that the feelings that have to be battering her, the memories of her own kidnapping, of Lewis, have reignited the belief that she will never be clean, never be free of him…

Don't be so ridiculous, Rafael, I vainly try to tell myself. She has been working all day on a windswept beach looking for the body of a serial killer's victim…..but somewhere deep inside me I know it's more than just that, much more.

The whistling of the kettle calls me from my thoughts as I pour water thru my tea thingy. I can never remember what this seldom used tea-leaf filled, handled, cage is called, and for some reason, this, now, irritates me greatly.

I debate finding my phone to google the name of this stupid kitchen accessory, but instead find myself looking longingly at the big complicated coffee maker. I definitely don't need a further stimulant now, I already feel like my head is too small for all the thoughts running around in it. My gaze slides to the scotch bottle beckoning me to partake in its bright, golden, amber, warmth until I find the oblivion I crave.

I exasperatedly shake off both options and try to content myself with the hot herbal tea I'm making. I grimace and sigh, sipping gently at it before heaping sugar, in to try and counteract its foul taste.

I don't know how long I sit, staring at the bathroom, in contemplative silence, the tea further untouched, before I hear the door creak open and then closed.

A few more minutes pass as I hurry to reheat the kettle before she steps timidly into the kitchen.

Her hair is swept up into a towel, piled high on her head, occasional wet strands escaping around her face. She is dressed in my lounge pants and the zip-up I left for her. She has clearly been crying, it is evident even without me having heard her sobs, but she looks incredibly beautiful in this natural state. I feel the beginnings of a familiar sensation stir in my groin.

Jesus, Rafael. Not now.

I hurriedly return to my tea making, trying to hide the flash of embarrassment that courses through me at my body's reaction.

I pass her a mug of steaming tea, as she pulls her hair down rubbing it dry. She takes a sip without really looking at it….

"Rafael, I'm surprised at you…."

Oh god she somehow knows what passed through my mind a moment ago…..

"Tea!" she says sipping deeply from the cup.

I embarrassedly hold up the tea cage thingy, admitting how I seldom use it and even less often drink tea…

"I just didn't think I needed anymore coffee….."

"Well, they are words I never expected to hear leave your mouth Rafael." She smiles but her eyes betray her attempt at lightness.

I lead her to the large over stuffed couch in the living room, our respective tea cups in hand.

I chose to say nothing, unwilling to force her back into the agony, but knowing she hasn't really left it.

She leans her body closer to mine, her shoulder and arm firmly pressed against mine, sipping at her tea distractedly.

I am content to sit here, beside her, and wait for her to broach the subject.

"How did you hear?"

"It's all anyone is talking about, I suppose, since the manhunt stretched into Manhattan" I explain. "it's horrible…." I add unnecessarily.

She swallows hard, her forehead crinkling in memory of some horror.

"I really thought, maybe we could save her, even when we were pulling bodies out of the ground….."

I know what this admission takes her and just nod.

"She was gone though….."

I try not to flinch and tense visibly, in anticipation of the horrors I know I will vicariously live through her, instead reaching my arm loosely around her shoulders, trying to hide it, and comfort her at the same time

Her hands clasp together tightly in her lap. She screws her eyes firmly closed, shaking her head as if trying to shake loose whatever thoughts infest her brain.

"I'm just so tired….." she breathes.

I nod, relieved to not have to endure the images of her experiences, but bitterly disappointed she cannot share them with me.

I stand up, slowly reaching my hand out to her. She takes it, slipping her hand into mine, squeezing. I lead her by the hand to my spare room.

I let her hand go reluctantly as I pull the covers back, gesturing to her to slide under their down-filled protection. She takes off the blue zip-up, placing it carefully on the bedside chair before she slips between the sheets.

I cover her gently, reaching to turn off the bedside lamp I had turned on while she bathed.

"No, Rafael….."

I pull my hand back quickly, trying to look nonchalant.

"Leave it on, please….." she pleads.

"Of course" I nod, I would do anything she asked….

She looks embarrassed at her request.

My hand reaches, unbidden by conscious mind, to gently stroke her cheek, soothing away her embarrassment.

I stare aghast at my own actions.

My voice further shocking me as it announces, "My room is just across the hall, if you want anything…please…..call for me….my door will be open…..".

My hand is still stroking her cheek as I lean over her recumbent form.

She looks at me softly, her gratitude clear.

As I grudgingly, pull my hand away from her soft cheek, she sits up slightly, catching my retreating hand in hers.

"Rafael,…. thank you…" she mouths at me, almost silently, her voice faltering almost completely.

Her hand reaches up to gently stroke my cheek in return before tenderly grabbing my shirt front and pulling me down to her. I think she needs to be held, and my arms reach delicately around her, as I feel her lips press gently against mine. My mind stops completely, incapable of processing her action, but my body reacts, pressing my lips back against hers. Her tongue gently licks my lips, my lips immediately parting for her, our kiss deepens.

Her hand delicately returns to my cheek as she withdraws, halfheartedly, from our kiss. My eyes open to see her sigh sadly, as her thumb traces over my lips that only moments before had felt her lips upon them. I press my face into her hand, mirroring the gesture on her cheek…

"Sleep!" I bid her, and she starts to lie back down onto the pillow.

She nods, her eyes closing slowly as my hand runs across her face one more time.

I quietly pull the covers over her shoulder and leave the room. As promised, I leave her door ajar as I make my way into my own room.

I flop onto down my bed. The only light in the room the soft light stealing in through my open door, from her lamp, I don't even think to turn on my own bedside lamp as my mind rushes to process the last few moments…

She kissed me…..

It definitely wasn't a platonic kiss. It spoke to the promise of a passionate future…...

Oh stop Rafael!

Her emotions are all over the place. She probably only meant to kiss you, platonically, a good night kiss, and you turned it into something else… Or even if she did initiate a non-platonic kiss, she wasn't thinking, she has lived through a truly horrific day,….. she probably already, regrets it. She allowed her body to seek some sort of comfort without involving her brain. Or worse, she felt she owed you something….. I took advantage, in a small way, but nonetheless I took advantage of her state.

I struggle to reconcile the euphoric feeling in my body with the reason in my head. Failing to make my body stop its reaction to the continuously replaying kiss. My mind sympathetically tries to recreate the sensation of her lips pressed against mine, her tongue sliding across them, entering my warm mouth, dueling with my own tongue….

Before I can register what I am doing, I find an erection tenting the front of my trousers, my want engorging my penis in full arousal. And then the reality of the situation crashes down on me, I can hear her gentle sniffles as she cries herself to sleep while I lie here in my fully aroused state….

My disappointment in myself, and my betraying body are my last conscious thoughts as I habitually roll my covers over my fully clothed body and fall into a disjointed sleep.