Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or ideas from The Killing. It's all just for fun.

Author's Note: OK, so this chapter is by far the longest of this story so far… by a LOT. There's some chapters where I struggle with writing enough, sometimes when it flows well, and then there's this one, where I couldn't seem to stop. Am I probably a little overly dramatic about it? Well, yes, and I can admit it, but I don't really care. It's my story, after all. I love these two, and I just want to hug both of them and fix all of their issues... As far as whether or not this chapter's "too much…" I dunno, I guess you'll have to decide that for yourself. Either way, I hope you like it.

Spoilers: Season 3, episode 8

Holder finishes up at the station before Linden. Skinner shows him some compassion and lets him go after only a few hours, then instructs a uni to drop him off at his apartment. Linden doesn't like that Holder's left at home alone to stew over the events of the day, but she's stuck at the station for several more hours before she's able to get away. As soon as she can, she heads straight for Holder's place.

He's been sitting on his living room couch in the dark, having changed into a white undershirt and jeans. He hasn't moved from the spot in several hours, and has no intention of doing so, except possibly to get more beer. Yeah, he's going to need more beer soon, at the rate he's going.

He hears the door click as she comes in, and he looks up with mild interest, though not enough interest that he would've opened the door for her if she hadn't let herself in, since that would've required leaving the couch. But suddenly, there she is, already half way across the room. "Green flower pot," she says, holding the spare key that she'd taken from its hiding place under the green flower pot in the hallway. "You weren't gonna answer if I knocked." True enough, he thinks to himself without actually showing any reaction to her statement.

Linden looks at Holder on the couch in front of her. He looks even worse than she'd expected him to. She watches him carefully as he continues smoking and takes a drink out of a beer can that sounds almost empty as he sets it down again. She wonders how many of those he's had as she deposits the key on the counter that separates the kitchen and the living room and takes off her jacket, setting it down nearby. She can't blame him. Sometimes, the pain is just too much. She knows that better than most people, though she doesn't usually use alcohol to deal with it.

She walks over slowly and sits down beside him, unsure of what to do, only sure that nothing she can say or do is really going to fix anything. It's a helpless feeling. I'm no good at this crap, she thinks. Yes, death is a big part of their jobs, but whenever possible she deals exclusively with the facts, not the emotions, of the people in those cases. It's easier to keep her own emotions in check, even when a case threatens to consume her, but to see them flowing so freely out of someone that she cares about… she's at a loss. All she can think to do is to sit there.

Holder is sitting in the middle of the couch. It's large enough that she could have sat down with space between them, and most days she would have… but this time she chooses to sit closer, leaving only about an inch between them, if that. She feels like he needs her a little closer, and her instincts are usually right when it comes to Holder. So she sits close to him, even though she can't say she's exactly comfortable with the proximity.

She looks at him as he stares ahead of him and down, his forearms resting on his knees. He glances up at her, then back down. He pushes the pack of cigarettes and lighter that are on the coffee table in front of him over toward her, and she takes one and lights it. He sits back on the couch, and she does too. He stares off into space somewhere to his right, away from Linden. She looks at him, wanting to say something, even though it probably won't help.

"It's not your fault," she says softly.

He doesn't answer, just stares straight into space. When he speaks, he tries to change the subject. "Did you ever talk to Adrian?" he asks.

She allows the diversion, for the moment. "Yeah. He ID'ed Mills, but Mills was out of town the night she was killed, so… Adrian lied." Her voice is flat, empty. When it comes to the case, she's feeling defeated.

"He must've seen him on tv. You know, it's everywhere now. He was just trying to make you happy."

Holder sits forward to flick the ashes from his cigarette, then he sits back again. Linden is now staring straight ahead, just like Holder, lost in thoughts of her own.

"No one knows that Mills was out of town except Danette. So…" Linden doesn't need to finish her sentence. Holder looks over at Linden, who's still looking straight ahead of her. He knows exactly what she's suggesting. "I could still use Adrian's testimony to get Seward a stay. It won't hold up, but…"

Holder scoffs at her.

"It'd buy me some more time at least." She's desperate, and they both know it.

"You'd be burying evidence," he reminds her.

"Yeah, but Ray Seward's gonna die tomorrow if I don't."

Holder looks away. Linden sits forward to flick the ashes off her cigarette, and doesn't sit back again when she's finished. She lets out a sigh and looks down at the patch of floor in front of her. Holder sighs as well, and Linden looks up, straight ahead now. They sit that way for thirty seconds or so, silently. The air is thick with both smoke and the thoughts that are churning inside their heads.

Finally, Holder circles back to what he had been thinking all along. "I should have picked up," he says miserably. Linden had known that he'd talk about it when he was ready.

She turns and looks back at him over her shoulder.

"Don't do that," she warns him seriously. She turns her body and leans back toward him, so that she's almost in his face.

"I should've called her back," he whimpers again.

"Don't do that," Linden repeats sternly. "You wanna sit here and die?"

He just looks at her, his eyes pleading for… something.

"It's not your fault," she repeats to him, willing him to believe it. "It's not your fault."

He leans towards her suddenly, moving to kiss her, and she quickly drops her head so that the top of her forehead connects with the bottom of his forehead instead. They freeze that way for half a second, before he pulls back from the contact, lifting his head but not looking directly at her. She keeps her head down, sighing heavily, and after a slight pause she awkwardly pats his leg with one hand. He inhales sharply. He's shocked by what he's just done, even though he was the one who did it.

"I'm sorry," he manages to choke out.

"It's okay. It doesn't matter," she says quickly. It's the truth. It doesn't matter. He's been drinking and he's devastated by grief and guilt. Would he have tried to kiss her outside of this situation? Probably not. Was she bothered by it? Other than being uncomfortable, no. More than anything, her heart is breaking to see her best friend hurting so much.

He leans forward and put his elbows on his knees, kneading his forehead with the heels of his hands. She sits forward beside him.

"It's okay… It's okay," she repeats. She wishes she knew something else to say, something she could do that would help, but this is out of her league. Solving crimes? She can do that in a heartbeat. The emotional stuff? She has no idea. The only thing she knows to do with emotions is swallow them, push them aside and pretend they don't exist. It's easier that way. They can't hurt you that way. You can't end up the way Holder is now, feeling broken, if you don't let yourself feel those emotions in the first place. Still, for him, she wants to try to help, even if it's completely out of her field of experience.

"Oh… I'm sorry," he moans again.

She's watching him transfer the intensity of his grief and guilt over what had happened to Bullet into his guilt and regret at having tried to kiss her, and she doesn't want that. She doesn't want him to be feeling those things at all, and certainly not because of her. She had been surprised, shocked even, and yes, intensely uncomfortable, but she can't hold it against him. She just wants desperately for him to stop torturing himself. Very awkwardly and very lightly she puts her hand on his back. It isn't something that she does normally, isn't even really sure how it's supposed to be done, but she knows that for most people it's a comforting gesture, and she wants very much to comfort him.

"It's okay," she tells him again.

He put his arms down, dropping his head to his chest.

"It's okay," Linden repeats. At that, Holder starts sobbing, keeping his head down. "It's gonna be okay," she whispers to him again. He can't even hear her anymore, he's already fighting a battle with himself inside his head.

Holder hunches forward, his arms crossed and his elbows resting on his knees, his head resting on his arms. Linden sits back against the back of the couch, exhausted by the effort she's expended, putting her hands in her lap, feeling useless. "It's all gonna be okay," she whispers, though she feels at that moment that nothing will ever be right again.

Holder

I should've…

I could've….

It's my fault…

I shouldn't have…

I should've…

I can't…

Breathe, Holder. In and out.

I should've…

No! Stop it!

But it is my fault… It is! All I had to do was answer my damn phone.

But you didn't kill her.

No, but if not for me, if I'd done things differently, then whoever he is, he wouldn't have been able to kill her… So I may as well have killed her myself.

Stop it. That's not true and you know it.

No, it IS true. That's the only thing I do know. What I do now? I have no fucking idea.

Just Breathe. For this moment, that's enough.

Linden

Seeing Holder like this feels like slow torture. I can't do anything to help him. I don't know how to do this. Emotions are not… my thing. I don't know how to do them, I never have. I've avoided emotions, avoided people, for so long for exactly this reason. Feeling things for people just leads you to this… to where Holder is now. Eventually, it all falls apart, no matter how you convince yourself that it won't, that this time will be different. It always falls apart.

I wish I could help him, but I just… I can't. It's not something I've ever known how to do. People have to show you these things, and the only one who's ever shown me a little bit of how to do it is… Holder.

But for him, I have to try.

…

Linden had gotten up to get Holder a box of tissues from the bathroom, coming back and setting it on the coffee table in front of him. She'd tried one more awkward pat on his back before sitting back in the same position she'd been in, her back against the back of the couch and her hands in her lap. She'd fallen silent, her whispered assurances feeling empty to her. How could she tell him that anything would be okay? How could she of all people promise anyone that things would turn out okay? Sarah Linden, the one for whom nothing ever seemed to go right where feelings were concerned… It felt hypocritical of her to tell him that things would be alright, so she'd fallen silent.

They'd been sitting that way for what felt like hours. Linden was really at a loss as to what to do to help him, though she had desperately wanted to do just that. All she felt like she had to offer was her presence, for all the good it would do, but she had no problem giving that. She wasn't confident that it helped, but she liked to think that it did, even just a little bit. In any case, she wasn't leaving his side any time soon. Their roles had been reversed only very recently, even if she hadn't been quite as open about her feelings. She hadn't needed to tell him anything though, he'd just known, and that was possibly the best part of their whole friendship. She never would have been able to tell him that she needed him there, but there had been no need for her to – he just knew. He hadn't left her side until he'd decided that she'd be okay, and she wanted to return the favor, even if she didn't know how. The situation was different, but in a lot of ways, it was the same.

Finally, his tears had run out, as had his energy. He'd sank back on the couch beside her, slouching down and crossing his arms across his chest. He let out a heavy sigh, his breath coming out raggedly. It was obvious that the pain still raw, even though he seemed calmer now. Really, what he was feeling was more exhaustion than calm. She glanced down at him, since he had slouched down and was sitting a good deal lower than she was, and saw that his eyes were closing.

"Holder," she whispered. "You should go lay down. You're exhausted."

"Mmmm-hmmmm…." he replied, as his eyes slipped all the way closed.

"Holder, I'm serious," she said gently, gently nudging his shoulder with her arm. He opened his eyes sleepily.

"Huh?" he asked, his eyes only opening partway. "Serious 'bout what?" She knew that she'd caught him just before he'd fallen asleep, and it was a good thing. He definitely needed to sleep in his own bed, and she was not going to be able to get him there herself.

"Come on," she said, sitting forward slightly and holding onto his arm. "Up. You need to sleep in your bed, not sitting on the couch. You'll thank me tomorrow."

"Linden, did you just tell say you were takin' me to bed and that I'd thank you tomorrow?" He raised his eyebrows at her, more like himself than she'd seen him all day. She smiled at his joke, rolling her eyes in pretend annoyance.

"Shut up, Holder. Come on, get your ass up," she told him, glad to see even a spark of his personality resurfacing. She tugged at his arm one more time before letting it go, standing up herself and stretching. She felt like every part of her body was tight from sitting in the same position for so long. He stood up slowly and unsteadily, suddenly looking queasy. She wasn't sure how much he'd had to drink before she had arrived, but he certainly hadn't been what she'd call clear headed, and it looked like it was hitting him now, one way or another.

"I'm just gonna…" he started, almost tripping over his own feet to get to the bathroom. Linden just walked slowly to the window that overlooked the street. She thought back to the time she'd been there in the middle of the night, during the Rosie Larsen case, unable to sleep more than two hours. The view from that window had been so ominous. It was dark outside now too, but somehow it didn't look menacing. It just looked dark.

She heard the bathroom door open and the sound snapped her out of her thoughts.

"OK?" she asked.

"Much better," he mumbled sleepily.

"Good. Go get yourself in bed. I'm gonna get you something for that hangover you don't wanna have tomorrow," she told him in a voice that suggested that he not argue. He shook his head, which he immediately regretted because it made him a little bit dizzy. Linden was always bossy, but she wasn't usually in his apartment being bossy. At any other time he would have found it more than a little bit amusing, but tonight he didn't have it in him. He walked unsteadily towards the bedroom, putting his hands out to catch the walls that seemed to rush towards him without warning, definitely thinking that sleep was a good idea and hoping that he'd make it to the bed before his legs gave out.

Linden walked into the small kitchen and began opening cupboards, sure that Holder must have some pain relievers in there somewhere. The kitchen was well organized, and she found them after only a short search, then repeated the search for a cup so that she could bring him some water to wash the pills down. She padded down the hallway, wondering if he would already have passed out. He was exhausted enough that it seemed like a distinct possibility. "You decent in there?" she called out from beside the doorway.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he called back, his voice sleepy, a little slurred and not quite himself… but still teasing her. She hoped that was a good sign.

"I'm gonna hope that's a yes," she said, rounding the corner through the doorway. She found Holder under the covers, looking like he was already half asleep. Considering this, she opened the bottle and shook out two pills for him instead of handing him the bottle. She held out her hand and waited for him to hold his hand out to take them, dropping them into his palm, then held out the cup of water. He took it without comment, just a weak smile. She watched him swallow the pills and the water, then set the cup on the nightstand. She stood awkwardly, shifting back and forth.

She sighed. "Holder, you okay?"

"Why? You leavin'? Cause I'm pretty sure you missed that ferry," he said drowsily. She looked at her watch and cursed under her breath. That whole "living on an island" thing that's she'd thought she wanted was constantly coming back to bite her in the ass.

"Oh, that's okay, I'm just gonna—" she started, but he didn't let her finish. She didn't know how she was going to finish the sentence anyway, so it didn't matter.

"You're gonna what, Linden? Go sleep in your car? Don't make me fight you on this. I'm too tired, and I know you're tired too, even if you deal with it better than I do," he snapped, a little more forcefully than he'd meant to. He looked a little sheepish, but in a gentler voice he said, "You know you can crash here."

She looked at him for a second, slightly taken aback, then, realizing that she was indeed tired and was being ridiculous and stubborn, she sighed heavily. She hated when he was right. "Well then, guess I'm crashing on your couch," she mumbled.

Holder suddenly propped himself up on his elbow, looking like he was concentrating on not falling over. "Linden, I swear to God I'm not making this up… but as awesome as that couch is… sleeping on it… sucks."

She did not like where this was going.

"You remember that night last year when you and Jack crashed here, and I slept on that couch?" She narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to remember something from that night besides staring out into the blackness outside his living room window. Finally she nodded, staring at him blankly, willing him not to say what she was pretty sure he was going to say.

"And you remember, when you got up in the middle of the night, how I was awake?" She nodded again, understanding exactly what he was saying. "Sleeping on that couch sucks," he repeated emphatically, now looking slightly more awake.

She wished she could have frozen time, because she wanted a minute to think of how to stop him from saying what he was about to say. He must have read all of this in her face, because suddenly he looked sheepish, as if he'd been chastised. She was good at lots of avoidance behaviors, but keeping her feelings from showing on her face was a skill she'd never mastered.

He looked down at the floor, then before he spoke, looked her straight in the eyes. "Linden, I'm… I'm sorry about before. I don't know why I did it." He paused, glanced down, then back up at her. "I would never…" She shook her head quickly, insistently. His speech was a little bit slurred, likely from both exhaustion and alcohol, but she knew Holder, and she knew that he meant it. She knew without him having to say it that he wouldn't purposely do anything to hurt her.

"Holder, I know that. I told you, it doesn't matter…" She looked like she would rather fall through the floor than be having this conversation, which pretty accurately described how she was feeling.

"All I'm sayin' is, you missed the ferry. The couch sucks..." Now he too looked like he would rather die than spit out the rest of the sentence, mostly because of how she'd already reacted. He glanced at the other side of the bed, opened his mouth as though he was going to say something, but then seemed to change his mind. He shook his head. "Linden, stop giving me the death glare. We're both adults here."

It didn't seem possible, but somehow she was even more uncomfortable now than she'd been before.

"It's either that, or I'm takin' the floor and you sleep in the bed. I would sooner sleep on the floor than that couch again, and I'm certainly not puttin' you on the floor or that couch, no matter what state I'm in," he added. He watched her carefully, thinking that she was looking more and more like she might just run, wishing that she could see that it didn't have to be as big a deal as she was making it.

She bit her lip, hating this whole conversation. She wanted nothing more than to run. But to where? If she could've thought of a viable destination, she might have done just that. But that was kinda the problem with keeping yourself cut off from people on purpose – when you wanted somewhere to escape to, there was nowhere to go. She silently cursed the ferry, the couch, her house and herself, for having chosen to live on an island. She cursed all water in general, while she was at it. Her head was throbbing, the way it did when she got herself completely and totally worked up about something.

Calm down, Sarah, she told herself. Be rational. Of course she wasn't going to let him sleep on the floor in his own apartment, and certainly not after the day he'd just had. He wasn't going to let her sleep on the floor either, because he was a nice guy. He's your friend, for God's sake, that voice in her head insisted. He's not an axe murderer, and he's not telling you he wants to kill you. She exhaled loudly. She was trying hard to calm herself down, but calm had never really been her thing. She did freak out far better than she did calm.

"What? You don't trust me now?" Holder asked suddenly, looking and sounding hurt. That made her forgot the argument she'd been having in her head, and it was her turn to look pained. That was the last thing she wanted him to think, and certainly not today. He'd been through enough, and she immediately felt guilty. She was supposed to be here trying to make him feel better, not worse.

She pleaded with her brain to stop working so hard at thinking. It was the thinking that always made her panic, but it was usually impossible for her to turn it off before she ran in the other direction, literally and figuratively. She tried to keep her voice as steady as possible. "Holder, you know I trust you," she said. And as exhausted as he was, he could hear it in her voice… she was begging him to understand. "After all, how many times have you saved my life?"

It was all suddenly too much for her. She sank down to sit on the edge of the bed without thinking about what she was doing, and he scooted back to make room for her.

He knew he'd struck a nerve, and he felt guilty as soon as the words left his mouth. They knew each other's baggage pretty well by now, and now she was sitting in front of him looking like she was having a panic attack. The pain he was in didn't give him permission to forget everything he knew about her, and now he felt the need to backpedal. He was afraid she was going to run and just… drive off somewhere. He didn't want her to do that, both for her safety, and because… he was glad that she was there.

Now he was the one trying to keep his voice calm. "Linden, I'm sorry I said that. I…" he began, but she shook her head at him insistently.

"Don't be sorry, it's me…" She stopped, leaned her elbows down on her knees and put her head in her hands, pushing her palms into her forehead as hard as she could to counteract the pressure that had suddenly built up in her head and was making it feel like it was about to explode. Dammit, why can't I just not think? she asked herself.

He sighed, watching her and suddenly wondering which of them was really comforting which one, or whether they were just both killing themselves to help the other. He sighed again and shook his head, chuckling softly. "Ironically, I think we'd have this conversation more successfully if we weren't both so exhausted," he said, yawning.

She looked up slowly and smiled ever so slightly, realizing that she was simply too tired for the battle her mind was fighting. Dammit Sarah, just stop. It's not some random person. You're not afraid of Holder. Suddenly she was just exhausted, and the softness of the bed was too much. "Okay okay," she mumbled. "Scoot over."

Holder moved back to the pillow on the far side of the bed, and Linden laid down, turning on her side so that she was facing him. As she laid her head on the pillow, she noticed that it was warm and couldn't help but smile.

"Not so bad?" Holder asked tentatively.

Linden shook her head tiredly. "There's a blanket over on the chair if you get cold out there…" Knowing that he was referring to the fact that she was laying on top of the blankets, she sighed, repeating to herself You're not afraid of Holder, and, making a face at him to show she knew exactly what he was saying, she moved around so that she could get under the blankets.

"You sure you're okay? I can take the floor," Holder asked sincerely, though he looked very happy with his head on the pillow and the blanket over him.

"No, I'm okay, thanks," she said, touched by his concern. Now that she was laying there, she couldn't help but wonder why she'd just made herself so crazy. Everything seemed to be fine. She paused, looking at him carefully. "Are you okay?"

He was laying on his back, and he closed his eyes and exhaled, then opened them again. He shook his head slightly as if he wanted to clear what he had seen when he closed his eyes, but also as an answer to her question.

"It's not your fault, Holder," she told him again. "I mean it… Don't do that to yourself, okay?"

Holder sighed heavily, turning his head toward her. "You readin' my mind now?" he asked, pretending to sulk slightly. She just gave him the look that told him that she wasn't going to let him joke it off, staring at him intently until he looked away. "OK fine, Linden," he sighed.

"Besides," she said, suddenly smiling, "Did you forget? This is a demon-free zone. You told me so." She'd just recalled Holder saying that to her the night she and Jack had crashed there the previous year.

Holder chuckled softly at the memory. "So I did…" He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Thanks for keepin' me company."

She shrugged away the thanks. "As you pointed out, I missed the ferry," she told him.

"You coulda left a long time ago and had plenty of time to get to the ferry," he said quietly, "Hell, you didn't have to come over here in the first place today, and you know it."

She made a face like she was considering his words, then looked at him seriously. "Yeah, but what kinda friend would I be then? Besides, I'm stubborn," she said matter-of-factly, a small smile finally breaking through her usual deadpan humor.

"You said it, not me," he replied, a smirk creeping across his face.

"I'd hit you with this pillow, but I'm too comfortable," she told him, her eyes starting to close.

"Works for me," he said, his eyes starting to close for the tenth time, at least. "Good night, Linden."

He smiled when he noticed that she was already asleep, and it was only a few seconds before he was, too.