Author's Comments: Anyone else getting excited for the season finale? Oh God, I don't know if I can handle it . . . what are they going to do next? I predict lots of fanfic coming up in the next month . . .

In the meantime, enjoy . . .

Chapter Twenty-Seven

"What did Lucy say?" Olivia glared at him, waiting anxiously for an answer, and when it didn't come instantly, she demanded, "What did she say, Elliot?"

Elliot looked like an animal caught in headlights, but he answered her now. "She said she was . . . concerned, and that if you kept leaving Noah with her for long periods of time, she was going to call Child Protective Services."

"What?" she gasped. She clasped her hand over her mouth, and then removed it to say, "We have to go get him, Elliot. Why didn't you say something sooner? We have to go right now."

The thought of losing Noah made her start to pace again, and Elliot just stood there watching her. "We can't," he said. "Not when you're like this."

She went to him and squared up, facing him. "We need to go get him now, Elliot."

He had a desperate look on his face, like he wanted to hold her steady but was afraid to lay a hand on her. "Liv, it's okay. She said she would keep him for a few hours until you rested—"

"And now I'm rested."

"But you're in a bad state."

She threw her hand up in the air. "Because I need to get my son! You don't understand, Elliot. Before I got him, he was in one foster home after another. The neglect that he went through . . ."

She had to stop, because the thought of his life before her made her want to cry. Instead, she did the only thing she could, trapped in this apartment with a security patrol named Elliot guarding her—she paced. And shook her head. "How could I let this happen? I don't know how to deal with this, El. Look at me," she said, stopping for effect, and then resuming her back and forth striding again. "I'm literally losing my mind. Insane. Maybe . . . maybe I should be locked up."

She saw him shaking his head out of the corner of her eye, but he didn't say anything. "Maybe . . . maybe Noah would be better off without me. Maybe he needs someone who can take care of him better . . ."

The thought had her choking back tears again, but one got away from her and meandered down her cheek. She wiped it away, and Elliot squared up to her now, and held up a hand, saying gently, "Can I touch you?" She nodded, sniffling back more tears, and he laid a hand on her arm, massaging it with his fingers. "It's going to be okay, Liv. Remember what Dr. Lindstrom said—all you need is time, and a little bit of help, and you'll get better. And I know you—I know what a great mom you are. There's not another person in the world who could raise Noah better than you. So let's go get your suboxone prescription filled, and get you calmed down, and we can go get Noah. Okay?"

Her chest heaved from crying, but she nodded, and she didn't pull away when he tugged at her until she leaned into his chest, his arms enfolding her. She put her arms around him as well, and his presence soothed her until she was no longer a blubbering, babbling mess.

Elliot's hand gently nudged Olivia's back, and she took a step outside her apartment, trying not to hyperventilate. She closed her eyes to block out the echoing sounds of the hallway, but then the voices started in, saying, "I missed you Sunshine," followed up by, "One move, lights out."

And she wasn't even to the elevator yet.

She didn't even notice that she had stopped to a standstill until Elliot said, "What's wrong, Liv?"

She shook her head, not wanting to talk about it, unable to portray the severity of the dread she felt in this moment. But she didn't need to, because he took her hand in his and squeezed it, saying, "Deep breaths. Walk with me."

She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes, focusing on his hand grasping hers as she took her first step, and then her second. She made it down the hallway and into the elevator that way—one step after another, with Elliot's hand as her anchor.

When they got outside, though, her heart started to flutter, and she began to wonder if she would have to move a cabin in the wilderness to escape the overwhelming sounds of the city. Car doors slammed, and horns honked, and the people—the unavoidable people in New York could paralyze the sanest of people under the right circumstances, the way they brushed past and nearly knocked a person over without even saying "sorry".

But she was determined to do this. She had to do this. Her sanity depended on it, because if she lost Noah, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she gave up and let the paddy wagon come and take her away to the psych ward.

None of these thoughts helped her hands and legs stop quivering, however. Elliot squeezed her hand tight and said, "You ready for this?"

She closed her eyes and took in huge gulps of air, and then said, "Yeah. Pharmacy's just down the street. Let's do this."

They turned, and they walked, and she stopped to drink the polluted New York air and fight back tears of terror. And then they walked again.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she spun around to find . . . no one. Someone else's hand grasped her shoulder, and she gasped before realizing the hand was real this time—and it was Elliot. "You okay?" he asked again, and she wondered if he would eventually tire of asking her that and just give up on her.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "Fine—I'm fine."

He gave her one solid nod and said, "Keep going?"

Without answering, she clutched his hand again, like her life depended on it, because maybe it did, and she moved one foot in front of the other again. She made it to the end of the street and got ready to cross, Elliot standing like a tree beside her. "Welcome home, Detective," said Lewis' voice in her ear, and she stepped out in the street only to have Elliot whisk her back by her arm, narrowly avoiding a taxi cab barreling toward her.

She stood paralyzed now as a swarm of people passed her to cross the street, traveling in accordance with the flashing walker light that she had completely ignored a moment ago. She looked over at him, her nostrils flaring as her nerve endings filled with needle-point shocks. "I can't . . ." she said.

He caught her gaze with his eyes, keeping it entrapped while saying, "Focus on me, Liv. Block out everything else. It's just you and me."

She stared into those eyes, full of life and glimmering hope, and she held onto that hope that she couldn't contain inside her own jaded mind. At first, all she could see, her entire existence, was those eyes. And then she noticed his hands on her arms, holding her there, keeping her from sprinting off into wild psychotic abandon. Then it was as if he breathed for her, the rhythm of her chest slowing to meet his. And then she could relax once more, for a few moments anyway, and she was ready to try again.

They crossed the street, hand in hand. They made it to the pharmacy, his arm around her shoulders, encouraging her forward. They went to pick up the prescription, and she didn't flip out at the counter or cause the clerk to stare at her like she was a mad vagrant woman.

And somehow, miraculously, they made it all the way back home, whispers and darting shadows following her all the way but not immobilizing her. And just before they stepped through her door, she turned to face him, and said, "Thank you, Elliot."

Then she buried herself against him, hugging him tight, and his chest rose and fell in a slow, grateful cadence in time with hers. He kissed the top of her head, his arms a protective barrier around her, and said, "You're welcome, Olivia."