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

Spoilers: Post Season 3, episode 10 through Season 4, episode 1

Somewhere on the way to Linden's house, her grip on his hand slowly relaxes a bit. She hadn't really been hurting him, not badly anyway. He hopes that the lessening pressure is a sign of her stress level also coming down slightly, though he knows her too well to think that she'll be anywhere near relaxed. And really, it would be pretty fucked up if either of them was relaxed right now, considering what they'd just done. He shudders inwardly at the thought of it, tries to just focus on right now. They're both okay. That's what matters.

His eyes dart over to her in the dark. The look on her face is as far away as it had been the last time he'd looked at her, a few minutes before. He looks back at the road and squeezes her hands with his gently, hoping to send the message that he's thinking but not saying: We're in this together, Linden.

How many times has she seemed to forget that over the time that they've worked together? That they're on the same team. He knows he's said it to her on more than a few occasions, and he knows that when there's the slightest doubt in her mind, she tells herself that she's alone, that she has no one. Most people would probably take it personally, but Holder doesn't. He gets that about her. Over time he has discovered the key to understanding Linden – the first part is to remember that she has always felt alone. The second part is to know the way her mind works, that her logic says that if you push everyone away, they can't leave you, and that's what she fears most from people. She won't admit it, but he sees how much she's been hurt by being left.

It doesn't matter that he's already shown her, more than once, that she isn't alone, and that he isn't leaving her. It's something that she needs repeated to her over and over before she'll ever consider believing it, so that's what he tries to do. He knows that she may never believe it, but he tries anyway. Sometimes in words, but mostly by his actions. That neediness from anyone else might have bothered him, but not from Linden. Maybe it's because she works so hard to deny it to everyone, herself included. But besides that, it's just that connection between them. Most of the time he just feels like he gets her, as much as it's possible to "get" someone else, at least.

Glancing at her again, he notices that the look on her face has changed since he squeezed her hand, and she now appears more pained than it had before. One thing about Linden, she either has the stony expression that reveals nothing, or she wears her feelings plainly on her face. There's no in between. When she can't manage that steely, evil look that she gives to so many people to keep them at bay, her face gives it all away. It makes sense. After all, she's a very "all of nothing" person.

He exhales heavily and takes a slow breath. "You okay, Linden?"

Her eyes close for a second and she presses her lips together tightly before she opens them again and looks out the front window, nodding almost imperceptibly. That nod again. The "I'm telling you I'm okay even though I know that you know that I'm not okay" nod. Dammit, but she's stubborn, he thinks. He doesn't press her on it, though. Suddenly, the pressure on his hand increases again, slightly but noticeably.

"You can trust me. You know that, right?" Her eyes clench shut almost immediately and he catches a glimpse of one tear escape from the far corner of her right eye as she nods quickly. Does she believe me? he wonders. He's pretty sure that she wants to. And again, if she doesn't quite trust him, he knows that it's not personal. As many fucked up things as have happened to him in his life, he just can't fathom how it must feel to be her. After all, you have to be in some serious pain to have that kind of a reaction when someone tries to be nice to you. It's hard to watch.

He can hear her taking deep breaths and knows that she's fighting against panic. Though the events of the night have him pretty freaked out himself, he tries to project calm. They could both use it right about now.

It will be okay. No one's going to know. He says it so convincingly in his head, he almost convinces himself.

Almost.

…

She'd forgotten that she's holding onto his hand. Really, it's more like she's clenching it for dear life. And yet she'd been so lost in her thoughts – which had become more like waking nightmares today – that she's almost surprised when she feels him squeeze her hands, which are wrapped around his on both sides, fingers woven together.

She can't remember the last time anyone had held her hand. Rick, probably, though even with him, she can't remember when they'd last held hands. It was one of those simple gestures that's not necessarily anything romantic, just like it isn't right now – though it can be that, too, of course. She knows that Holder offered her his hand for support, because she needed it, and because it's what they do for each other.

At the moment, though, as she squeezes his hand so hard her own knuckles are almost white, she's conscious of the fact that his hand might just be the only thing tying her to reality, keeping her from losing touch with what's actually happening around her. It's no wonder she's holding on for dear life.

"You okay, Linden?"

It feels as though knives are piercing her heart. She knows that he doesn't really expect her to be okay, not really, not after everything she'd been through today. She knows that he's asking more about whether she's still consciously there with him, in the car, and not somewhere far away, lost in thought. The bar for "okay" just now is far lower than usual, and still, she thinks miserably, still she can't meet it. That thought just makes her feel worse, and she arranges her lips in a tight line and nods just enough for him to have an answer, even if it is a lie.

She knows that she's lying, and she knows that he doesn't believe her. What she doesn't know is why she bothers to say she's fine when she so clearly isn't. She knows that she isn't fooling anyone. But it has always been scary for her to admit that she needs anything from anyone, and keeping it all bottled up is a habit that she can't seem to break.

"You can trust me. You know that, right?" he asks quietly.

Before she can even think about how to react, she has clenched her eyes shut. Trust is a scary word. One of the scariest, in fact. She wants to nod her head yes again, tries to move her neck muscles even just a little, but can't find it in her. She's too exhausted. Besides, what's the point when she's so clearly not okay?

She isn't okay. On the contrary, she's a mess.

Trust? That's much too scary. Not that Holder scares her. Not Holder himself, anyway. If anything, he's the only person she knows who's worth trusting. Still, a little part of her brain tells her that it's only a matter of time. She pushes the thought away every time, not wanting to believe it, but the old habit is too hard to break.

Trust? But how? How could she ever manage that?

She doesn't feel the single tear on her cheek until it's halfway down her face, and she curses herself silently. She hates that he can see her like this, hates that anyone can see her like this. She forces herself to take deep breaths to keep the panic from rising, tries to clear her mind, but her thoughts are racing too quickly for her to control. Mostly, she sees Skinner's pleading face, and then watches herself shoot him, hearing the bang of the gun ringing in her ears over and over. It's too much. She begs silently for someone to make it stop, but there's only herself in her head.

She glances at Holder quickly. His eyes are on the road ahead, the lights from the dashboard illuminating his face just a little. He looks so… calm. How? How can he be calm at a time like this? How can he not be freaking out after what she's done?

Still, she focuses on the darkness, on taking deep breaths and holding onto his hand, and she feels herself relax just a little, ever so slowly. By the time they've almost made it to her house, she's breathing normally. As they approach her driveway, she realizes that she's still holding onto his hand, not as tightly as before. She also notices that she feels safer having someone she can hold onto that way. She doesn't immediately feel the urge to pull her hands from his. All of this, of course, is enough to scare her. She shakes her head slightly at herself, knowing how ridiculous it is to be scared of something that calms her down, especially when that something is the best friend you've ever had.

At exactly that moment she feels him squeeze her hand again, and she looks up in surprise. He isn't looking at her, but he has a knowing look on his face. She turns her head only slightly and raises one eyebrow at him, as she has done many times, knowing that he can see her even though he's looking straight ahead. For a split second, she forgets about the events of the night and a feeling of calm is all around her.

Then what feels like a split second later, Holder stops the car in front of her house and looks at her seriously… and it all comes rushing back. Her breath catches in her throat and the panic returns to her face.

"Linden," Holder says, now looking directly at her. She looks up at him, almost gasping for breath now. "Calm down." His voice is soft, firm but not unkind. "Go take a shower. We gotta get rid of these clothes, and all the blood."

Blood? She looks down at her hands, still loosely clasped around his, and sees it. Her eyes grow wide with alarm. It's on both of them. Where did it all come from? She hopes it's not going to leave traces in his car.

As if he's reading her mind, he says, "Imma take care of the car, don't worry. You go get yourself cleaned up and change clothes. I'll meet you back here in a couple hours."

She nods numbly. How did the blood get on them? What exactly happened after she'd shot Skinner? She can't quite remember now, and it scares her. She looks down at her hands around his and slowly releases her grip, feeling the circulation slowly return to her fingers. She stares at the blood, turning her hands to see just how much there is.

"Linden," he says again. She tears her eyes away from her hands slowly, looking up at him in confusion. "Go shower. Clean up. I'll be back." She nods again, and turns slowly toward the door. Feeling like she's moving in slow motion, she pulls the handle to open the door and gets out of the car. Closing it behind her, she doesn't look back as she walks up the stairs to her door and lets herself in.

Holder sits and watches as the lights come on behind her front door, then waits another minute just to be sure. Sure of what? He doesn't know. Finally satisfied that he can't do anything else to help her, he turns around and drives as calmly as he can back to his apartment.

…

He'd thought the shower would calm him down, but if anything, it has had the opposite effect. Instead of feeling better, he emerges from the steamy bathroom feeling angrier than he's felt in a very, very long time. How the hell could she do this?

No, he hadn't had to clean up her mess, no one had forced him… but what else was he going to do? He isn't a heartless jackass. He considers himself a good guy, or he tries his best to be, anyway, though he knows that he's fucked up plenty of times along the way. Mostly, he's pissed that he has ended up in such a fucked up situation and is having to make choices that no one should ever have to make. To have Linden's back or let her go down for murder, alone? Okay, she was the one who shot Skinner, but there are so many fucking extenuating circumstances… and he just can't let her take it all on herself alone. He knows that she would, and as fucked up as it is, that's exactly why he can't let her do it.

But he feels trapped, because he finally has something in his life – his relationship with Caroline – that could be completely destroyed by something like what's happening to him now. And not just because it's fucked up – though that would probably be enough to send most women running the other direction by itself – but it's even worse because she works for the fucking DA's office. So there's no chance in hell he can talk to her about what's going on! He can't tell her… ever. If it weren't for her job… maybe, though he can't imagine a conversation like that going well. Not with anyone. But she's a lawyer, one who'd be directly involved if anyone found out about Skinner, so telling her… well that would just be like throwing both himself and Linden under the bus.

But what kind of relationship can they have when he can't talk to her, can't be honest?

If you didn't do anything wrong, you can be honest with her, you know, the voice in his head tells him. Once again, you're covering for Linden. She sure does get you into a shitload of trouble. Why do you do this to yourself?

Fuck you, he tells the voice angrily. He can't figure out exactly when it happened, exactly when he became so fiercely protective of Linden. Rationally, he knows that the road he's going down because of her may mean a lot of fucking trouble for himself. So why is he doing it? Why does he fight so hard to be loyal to her? He was cool with his partners at County in the past, knew some cops he'd hang out with when he had time… but it was never like this. He can't think of much he wouldn't do for her – because if he was willing to help her with Skinner, there can't be much that's worse than that, can there?

Whatever it is, whatever the reason for his behavior, for his fucking loyalty without logic, it's making him angry. He knows he has to chill the fuck out though. There's too much at stake.

He gets dressed and finds a trash bag, collecting all the clothes he had been wearing, which are now splattered liberally with his boss' blood. His boss' blood. He orders himself not to think about it, but he can't seem to think of much else.

Don't think of him as Skinner. Remember, he was the fucking Pied Piper.

He ties the bag and drops it by the door to his apartment, then retrieves the bleach from under the kitchen sink and paper towels from the counter. Slowly, methodically, he retraces his steps around his apartment. Looking for any traces of blood that he can see, and wiping down all the surrounding areas for good measure, as well. Even in places where he can't see blood, if he thinks he may have touched it since he got home, he wipes it down thoroughly. The bloody paper towels are deposited in their own trash bag, tied at the top. He scrubs his hands until they're raw, then pours bleach all over the inside of the sink and wipes down the faucet.

Finally satisfied, he replaces the bleach and the paper towel rolls in the kitchen and puts his jacket on – the only thing, besides his boots, that he was wearing earlier that wasn't thrown away, since it's his only jacket. He checks it, though, and it seems to somehow have remained clean.

The two bags are now like dynamite, and he needs to be rid of them as soon as possible; definitely before the sun comes up. He drives through the dark city streets, circling blocks and doubling back numerous times. He's almost the only car on the road, but he does it anyway, just in case. It's just after four in the morning, and the city is still asleep.

After stopping at two different dumpsters about six miles apart to get rid of the trash bags from his apartment, he makes the trip back out to Linden's house. He hopes he'll find her in better shape than she was in when he left her, because she needs to start coming back to reality if this is gonna work out. That thing where her emotions show clearly on her face… that's gonna get them in some serious fucking trouble if she's not careful. He really hopes that she's ready to face the reality of what she's done. Of what they've done. Because he did not just help her clean up her mess just so she could get herself caught, get both of them caught.

When he pulls up in Linden's driveway, he can see flickering light coming from around the corner of the house, and he wonders if she's burning her clothes. He gets out of his car slowly and sees her peering cautiously around the corner in the shadows. She appears to be more in control now.

Good, he thinks, and walks towards her slowly, feeling anger threaten to rise from the pit of his stomach again.

She didn't make you do it, Holder, he reminds himself. You did that shit on your own.

…

She thinks that her clothes – the evidence – in the metal barrel behind her house are about halfway done burning when she hears a car pull up in her driveway. She curses under her breath. The fire is the only light and the only sound outside, since the sun won't be up for a few more hours, so it's visible even from around the side of the house. Of course, her nearest neighbor is nowhere nearby, so there isn't much danger of being seen. The isolation and lack of other lights or sounds has also meant that she had seen the headlights and heard the engine of the approaching vehicle easily. There's very little chance that it's anyone besides Holder, she reminds herself, since it is still pretty much the middle of the night… but after what she's just done, paranoia seems very appropriate, healthy even. Slowly, cautiously, she walks toward the noise and peeks through the shadows around the corner of the house, her gun ready, to see who it is.

It's Holder, of course, as she'd told herself it would be. She puts the gun away as they walk slowly through the dark yard towards each other. The security light outside her front door automatically goes on when they meet underneath it, and suddenly they're bathed in what feels like far too much light. It's as if there's a helicopter above them with a search light trained on them… or maybe that's just her imagination, because if anyone knew what they'd done, there could have been just that kind of light on them…

He's staring at her, she notices, and he's not smiling. Quite the opposite, actually. His face is blank and unreadable, almost hostile. She's never seen that look on his face before, not directed at her, and a chill runs down her spine. Suddenly, he looks like a stranger. He's looking at her like she's a stranger. The feeling unsettles her, but she tries hard not to let it show on her face.

Maybe I never really knew him, she tells herself. That feeling begins to creep up on her again, the sensation that she's falling off a cliff into nothingness. Maybe it was too good to be true to think that he was going to stand by her after all of this, after all. She hadn't expected him to in the first place. Maybe she'd been right about that, about him.

You're both scared, the rational voice in her head says. He's just been through the same thing as you, except that he cleaned up after you and he didn't have to. You know him just fine. It's just a fucked up situation.

But the seeds of doubt have been planted, and Linden's automatic response to doubt is, has always been, to shut down. To assume the worst. Now is no different. She feels like she's choking, though she feels herself breathing normally.

"We just gotta keep our stories straight, Linden," Holder says seriously, staring at her. "No one's gonna find him. No one's gotta know what we did." In the time it had taken him to go home and shower, the gravity of the situation they're in, of the shit that they could be in if someone finds out what they did, has really hit him. He can admit it, at least to himself – he's freaking out. After all, he's not a junkie anymore. He has something to lose now. He's a goddamn cop, for fuck's sake! Linden is his partner and his best friend, but he'll be damned if he's gonna let her get them caught, that he's gonna go to jail for something that he tried to stop her from doing in the first place.

Yeah, Skinner deserved it. Yeah, Holder thinks he understands why she did it. It doesn't mean he thinks it was right. And yeah, he recognizes that he got himself involved, not just by being there and not calling it in, but also by dealing with Skinner's body and his car. He could have left. Linden told him to go. But how could he?

No, they're in it together. They've always been in it together. Of course they are. Of all the people he knows, she'd be the last one he'd leave hanging, ever. It may be something about her insistence that she doesn't need help, not ever, when everything he knows about her screams just the opposite. On the contrary, she needs someone more than anyone else he knows, she's just too fucking stubborn to admit it.