Author's Comments: I just decided I needed a really sweet chapter like this.

Chapter Seventeen

"Who's been taking care of you, Liv?"

Elliot said it like he was looking for someone to string up, glancing around her apartment at the trash piling up in the garbage can and the dishes scattered on the kitchen counter.

"I have," she said, staring at the stem of the wine glass in between her fingers.

But she realized he wasn't just talking about the condition of her apartment when he said, "So who's helped you change your dressing?" When she didn't answer, he said, "So, nobody?"

She shook her head, taking a sip of red before mumbling, "Lucy takes care of Noah. I handle the rest."

"When's the last time you went to the doctor?" he said, bundling up her trash and putting a new bag in the can.

"Last week," she said, taking another swig of her wine from her chair at the kitchen table.

He stood, looking at her with an expression that made her want to cry from all the sympathy in his eyes. "Can I look?" he said softly.

"At . . .?

"Your back."

A silence grew monumental between them, and she wondered how such a small decision could seem so heavy and consequential. "Y-yeah. Okay."

Immediately her body tensed up at the choice she made. How could I let him—or anyone—touch me? she thought.

Granted, he had seen her in her most vulnerable condition just a few short weeks ago, and he had been with her through most of the treatment she had received at the hospital. But somehow this was different. She was better. She no longer needed him. And now she was going to allow him to tend to her wounds, which were well on their way to healing.

"C'mon," he said, taking her hand and leading her into the bathroom.

She stood facing the mirror, trying not to look at her reflection. How could she face herself, after what she had done today. PTSD or no, she had put other people's lives at risk, had almost taken out Elliot, and she couldn't stand to look at her own face.

She was grateful that Lucy had kept Noah for the night, but worried that the increasingly anxious babysitter might eventually call Child Protective Services if Olivia didn't get her shit together soon. She had a hard time remembering all of the last two weeks, but she got the sincere impression she had become more and more neglectful as the days went by.

She slipped her shirt over her head, and Elliot avoided glancing at her chest, flashing worried eyes at her face first, and then staring down at her back. "Can I . . .?" he said, touching her bra strap in the back.

"Yeah," she whispered, shivering at the touch of his fingers.

He carefully maneuvered the latch until it popped open, and then ran his fingers down the bandages on her back, finding the edge of the medical tape. Gently he pulled back the bandaging until the whole chunk of it was off, and she flinched when it stuck to her skin.

He ran his fingers lightly down a spot of skin where the lash-marks had healed. "It's looking better," he said, meeting her eyes now. "But it needs to be redressed, and you need medicine."

She didn't even wait for him to ask, just nodded and handed him the antibiotic ointment, and he set out touching different areas with his fingertips while she tried not to wince and pull away. He reached a spot on the outer edge of the wounds that was becoming intolerably itchy, and it felt good when he ran his fingers over that patch of skin with his fingers. She sagged, closing her eyes and taking in his touch with a sigh.

"Feel good?" he whispered into her ear.

"Yeah," she said, wishing that he would take that same hand and move other places, and her nipples hardened at the thought.

He must have noticed, because he kissed her ear, and she shuddered. His hand moved up to the nape of her neck, and his lips moved down to join it, nibbling her flesh in his mouth. She wanted so bad to moan, to allow the tingle in her breasts and her spine to travel downward, wanted to turn in to meet him with her body, allowing him to have her, to finish this unbearable pleasure.

But he stopped, gasping, still cradling the back of her neck in his sturdy hand. "I better . . . ," he said, panting in between words, his eyes closed, his chin pressed into her hair. "I better bandage you up."

"Yeah," she exhaled. "Good idea."

But it wasn't a good idea—she had merely agreed with him to let him out of feeling guilty if he took advantage of her at her most vulnerable. He would not do it, even if she begged him, and she couldn't hate him for that. In fact, she loved him for that, for keeping her best interest at heart, despite her impulsive desires.

He carefully applied the bandaging, pressing the tape into her skin with his thumb and repeating the process over and over again until he finished his handiwork. Then he said, "Do you have night clothes you want to wear?"

She nodded, and he left her alone to dress. But even the time alone in her bedroom almost set her off, voices of Lewis echoing in her head as she dressed. Every time a truck braked outside, she heard Tucker's whip next to her head. Every time a car door slammed, it was Lewis' gun going off next to her, his head exploding, spilling blood onto her face.

She shook her head vigorously, jarring the memories out of her head. Then she rushed out of her bedroom, slowing her pace when she got close to the living room so Elliot wouldn't notice. He was doing dishes, and he hung up the dish towel, turning to her to say, "You don't want to sleep in your bed?"

"No," she mouthed, and he waved his hand toward the couch.

Without question, he said, "Lay down, I'll get you a blanket."

She curled up on the sofa, shivering away her demons. He laid a blanket over her and then sat down on the floor beside her, caressing her hair, his own eyes closing in exhaustion now. "Why don't you go lie down, El?" she said, suddenly feeling sorry for him, for all the crap she had put him through today.

"Nah," he said, and rested his head on her shoulder, still playing with her hair.

She closed her eyes, keeping her focus on those fingers and the gentle pull on her scalp. When she had this kind of heaven to give her attention to, hell could no longer reach her, and she fell into a solid sleep for the first time in days.