A/N We find out what happened to Lizzie – warning this chapter may be upsetting. So. Much. Angst. As ever, not mine. Please do review (and please don't yell at me for doing this - this fic is about exploring the emotional fall-out from their crazy situation).

He knew that the most likely explanation was that she had taken off for a walk in the surrounding trees, but he felt uneasy. He'd been distracted all day, going over and over the moment she'd said she loved him – was falling in love with him - his gut twisting more every time. Yet now he found himself thinking back to their later conversation, employing a trick of his, looking for something, some detail he had overlooked. Her eyes had been a bit glassy – she was upset, that was to be expected. Later on though she had seemed quite calm, which he'd thought was an odd transition. Shock, perhaps. She'd changed her clothes. And then…shoes. She hadn't been wearing shoes. How could he have missed that.

He was on his feet in a heartbeat, moving fast out of the house towards the jetty. When he arrived he called her name, and it echoed through the trees like a taunt. There was no reply. He scanned the surface of the water and the treeline and saw nothing, but he was already tearing off his socks and shoes. Exhaling to protect his lungs from the impact of the cold, he slipped carefully off the jetty into the freezing water before diving down, searching desperately for a glimpse of her.

He was a strong swimmer with powerful arms, but the ice cold of the water seemed to stab him like a thousand tiny needles with each stroke. Much as the weather was warm and sunny, the lakes were filled with mountain water - melted ice and snow – and were dangerously cold. His mind was growing foggy and his chest hurting, running out of air, urging him to go back to the surface. The pain in the right side of his chest was becoming agonizing. As he was about to go up, he saw a glimpse of white ahead of him and swam towards it with all he had. As the shape of her face and flowing hair came into view she seemed suspended in the water, like a ghostly mermaid.

He couldn't see, and each time he thought he'd reached her she was still there ahead outside his grasp. Finally, his hands met cloth and skin and he clutched her with one arm, swimming desperately for the surface. His body was screaming and his mind blank; there was nothing now except getting her out. When they surfaced, he gasped desperately for air and tilted her chin up hoping against hope that she would do the same. She didn't. Much he had felt relief when his hands had grasped her in the water, it was fast replaced with dread. He was a former naval officer; the water was freezing and he knew she had been under long enough. Perhaps too long.

He wasted no time getting her back to the shore, keeping her chin tilted and swimming for the nearest point. He dragged her out and laid her on the ground, leaning down to listen for her breathing whilst feeling for a pulse. Nothing. She was deathly pale and her sodden white blouse clung to her skin, puckering like blisters where the material was ruched and waterlogged. Trying to suppress his panic, he bent down and opened her mouth, breathing into her, willing her to respond. Come on Lizzie. Don't do this sweetheart, please.

He had made it clear to his people and even to her, he thought, that her life was more important than his. He knew it, but in that moment for the first time it was crystallized for him as he wished with everything he had that he could give more than his miserable breath, that he could somehow pour his entire life force into her if it would bring her back. He stopped after five breaths and clasped his hands together, beginning chest compressions, following the procedure automatically, just as he had been taught during his time in the navy. As he worked he heard gruff cries in the background, before realizing that they were coming from him.

When she didn't respond, he gave two more rescue breaths before resuming chest compressions, and every time he brought the heels of his hands down it was harder and more desperate. As his hands pounded her frail little body he was sure he would hurt her – possibly break ribs- but then, perhaps she was gone and would never be hurt again, by him or anyone else.

On the seventh, punishing compression she made a small strangled sound before beginning to cough, and he felt tears of anguish, fear and relief slip from his eyes, mingling with the lake water on his skin. He immediately turned her on her side so that she could expel the water from her lungs and stomach, which she did, coughing and retching violently. After she was finished he held her tightly, brushing her tangled hair off her face, his breath shuddering.

"Lizzie" he choked. "Lizzie, what did you do." As she lay in his arms she opened her eyes a fraction before closing them again, a single muted sob escaping her lips. "No Lizzie, keep your eyes open sweetheart, look at me. Can you hear me?" She nodded and then the relief really hit him, along with an aching coldness that made him tremble. He bent down and kissed her forehead before rising to his feet, hauling her into his arms.

Her skirt which had looked so fresh and light on her was now heavy and dark with the weight of the water. He carried her back to the house with some difficulty, his steps a little uneven, his own clothes wet and clinging uncomfortably to his skin whilst his chest ached from the exertion. He took her upstairs through her bedroom and into the en-suite, where he sat her gently on the bleached wooden window seat, before leaning against the wall to catch his breath. She stared vacantly at the floor, shivering.

Breathing hard, he tried to speak calmly, although he felt anything but. "Lizzie, you're so cold, we need to get you out of these wet clothes right now. Do you think you can do that? Lizzie?"

She didn't respond. He knew she was in shock, but that wasn't going to make this any easier, or feel any less inappropriate despite the intimate moments they had shared. He grabbed a large towel and a night shirt from her bedroom before pulling her gently on her shaking legs to a standing position. He carefully undid the buttons of her soaked blouse and peeled it off before removing her bra, standing behind her as he did it so as to preserve her modesty as best he could under the circumstances. She didn't protest, even as he hooked his fingers hesitantly under the waistband of her skirt and panties, sliding the wet garments off. He immediately wrapped her in a large, luxurious towel, her skin cold and damp under his fingers, his own hands shaking from the cold and adrenaline.

He worked quickly and methodically to get her warm and dry, circulating the towel gently to warm her up and toweling her hair. Even though she was standing right in front of him, he thought that he had never felt further away from her. She seemed so frail; she was shivering, her collar bones and shoulder blades protruded and dark marks on her neck seemed to silently accuse him. He longed for the vibrant, rosy-cheeked woman who had thought nothing of puncturing his carotid with his own pen. She was magnificent, and utterly fearless. Now he looked at her sad little body; she was still beautiful, but so fragile, perhaps already broken. Had he done this to her?

Once she was dry, he slipped the night shirt over her head, and guided her out of the bathroom to the bed, his hand resting gently on her lower back. He wrapped her in a warming blanket, drew back the thick covers and she slipped obediently between them. He was desperate for her to talk to him, to tell him it had been an accident, to say something, anything. But she had closed her eyes as soon as her head met the pillow, if not to sleep then to indicate that she wasn't ready to face him. He was still wet and needed to get warm and dry himself.

He changed quickly, and returned with hot soup for her which he placed on the nightstand, and a first aid kit. He sat on the side of the bed, the dip in the mattress causing her to open her eyes. "How are you feeling? Are you warming up?" He took her wrist and felt her pulse before reaching out to feel her cheek, relieved to find that she was considerably warmer. She watched as he removed a syringe from the first aid kit and filled it carefully.

"What's that?"

He looked at her apprehensive face, grateful that she had finally spoken. "It's a broad-spectrum prophylactic antibiotic – you've had a lung full of lake water, it's best to be safe. Neither of us can afford to get sick at the moment." She pursed her lips, regarding the syringe. He gave her an apologetic smile. "It has to be a shot I'm afraid – it saves space in the kit not having full courses of antibiotic pills, and you never know if you'll be in a position to take them at the right time – one of many strange things one learns about the necessities of life on the run. May I?"

She nodded briefly before turning her head away. He rolled up the sleeve of her night shirt, before tearing the packaging of an alcohol wipe open with his teeth and rubbing it on her arm. She winced as he slid the needle in, but didn't look. "There, all done. Have some soup Lizzie, you need to eat and keep warm. " She didn't move. "Lizzie" he said firmly.

She sat up against the pillows, knees drawn up to her chest under the covers and sipped the soup slowly, her eyes downcast. He watched her in silence for a moment before tentatively placing his hand on top of the covers over her feet, patting her gently.

"How does your chest feel? Are you injured?"

He saw her brow furrow slightly. "I'm fine."

He sighed. "Chest compressions can be brutal" he said gently. "Does it hurt when you breathe?"

She shook her head wordlessly.

"Did you fall? Hit your head?"

Again, nothing. It was exasperating. She was exasperating. She had been from the first day they met in the post office. He needed her to care about herself as much as he did; instead she'd been running after killers alone, living in dingy motel rooms, and now this – he couldn't bear it. He fought the urge to hold her down and examine her properly for injuries, so that he could make an informed decision as to whether she needed more medical attention than he could provide. There was a contingency plan, although it carried risks, especially now.

Instead, he asked the question to which he was dreading hearing the answer. "How did this happen, Lizzie? Talk to me."

She looked away from him again, and for a moment he thought she would remain silent.

"It was so cold" she whispered. "The water."

He nodded slowly. "Yes. In the spring the sun melts snow and ice off the mountains and it runs into the lake. Did you slip and fall in? You went out without your shoes. You were in shock."

She closed her eyes. "It hurt, Red." She whispered. "I didn't know it would feel like that."

For a moment he felt as though he were submerged again, the stabbing cold wracking his chest. Her statement was painfully ambiguous; she had bare feet on the jetty, was in shock, and hadn't eaten anything in a while – it could easily have been an accident. But then, she had lost everything and her general refusal to look after herself properly had always hinted to him of something darker below the surface, perhaps something which he himself had unknowingly fostered by supressing her childhood memories.

Either way he had heard enough. While she finished her soup he grabbed a bag and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He stared around the room for a moment before going through the cabinets and confiscating any medications, and removing a nail file he found in a small vanity case. Then he picked up her wet clothes from the floor. She shouldn't have to see them and be reminded of what had happened.

When he exited the bathroom she appeared to be asleep, her thick lashes closed against her cheek. He stood and watched her for a moment, mesmerised by her breathing, watching the rise and fall of the covers and the tumble of her dark curls against the pillow.

When he left her room he closed the door behind him, and paused to consider before turning the key in the lock and putting it in his breast pocket. He held his hand there for a second, drawing comfort from the thought that he knew exactly where she was and that she wouldn't leave. When she was strong enough to hate him for it, she would. It was a price he was willing to pay to keep her from harm.

TBC