There was a small, petulant part of him that did not want to open the door. Why should he, when she had so thoroughly closed it, when she continued to insist that they had no future together, when she'd as good as told him that she didn't love him enough to give her heart to him, that she never had, not since the first time? Why should he open the door, let her inside, when all he could think every time he saw her face was how she'd loved him once, loved him enough to marry him, but not enough to stay with him, loved a version of him he could not recall, a version of him he would never be again? How could a man compete with himself?

There was a part of him that did not want to open the door.

He opened the door. He was always going to open the door.

"What are you doing here, Liv?" he asked her, sighing. It was Liv who'd walked away from him, or sent him away, or whatever. It was Liv who decided they weren't gonna work before she ever gave them a chance to try. Why would she show up at his door, in the middle of the night? Had she changed her mind? What would he do if she had? It wasn't like he could just forget it, the way she'd wounded him, the mind-bending secret she'd confessed to him. Did she expect to just pick up where they left off?

Jesus, he wanted to pick up where they'd left off.

"I need to talk to you," she said.

" 'Bout what? Work?"

She'd be back on the job by now, he figured. Not like she needed to work, being an immortal almost-angel thing with a toddler to chase after, but he knew her. Knew she couldn't stay away. Liv needed something to do, someone to save, some purpose greater than herself to make up for the mistake of her birth. The truth of who she was, where she'd come from, was different from the story she'd given him when they first met, but the broad strokes remained the same. She remained the same. And he knew her, inside and out.

"No," she said, and for the first time since he'd opened the door he let himself look at her, really look at her, at the wild look in her eyes, the wrinkles in her clothes, the nervous way her hands twisted together. Something was wrong, he realized. She was upset about something, worried about something, and she'd come here for help. Goddamn it, he thought; she wouldn't let him hold her, but she'd still come to him when she needed something, and he was gonna give it to her, whatever it was, and what did that make him? A fool, maybe, but a fool in love.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah." Really, he should've just invited her in to begin with. He held the door open for her, and she slipped by him, went to stand in the middle of his kitchen, still wringing her hands agitatedly.

"Maybe we should sit down," she said.

"Ok." He gestured towards the couch, started to walk there, but then she frowned.

"Maybe I'll just stay here," she said.

"Will you just tell me what you need? You're freaking me out a little here."

More than a little, truth be told; she was scaring the hell out of him. What could have her so spooked? Michael was gone, disintegrated by the power of angels or whatever the fuck, so what did she have to be so worried about?

What if something's wrong with McKenna? He wondered, fear settling heavy as lead in his gut. That precious little girl; he'd only known her for such a short time, but he cared for her, fiercely, and he missed her something awful, had wondered every day how they were getting along, Liv and McKenna, alone with no one to look after them. What if the girl was hurt, or sick, or something awful like that? He'd help in any way he could; he'd do anything for the them.

"The thing is," Liv started to say, and then she fell silent, chewing on her lip. How could someone who was thousands of years old look so lost, so young, so scared?

"Liv-"

"Gabriel came to see me tonight."

"Ok." Fucking Gabriel, again. More riddles and angel nonsense. Elliot hadn't met the angel, but Liv said he was one of the ones who'd gotten rid of Michael. Liv had said some other stuff, said that Gabriel talked to her, but Elliot couldn't remember what all the angel'd had to say. Knowing Liv she probably hadn't told him the half of it, anyway.

"They changed the rules," Liv rushed to explain. "The nephilim won't be barred from heaven any more."

"How could they do that? How could they just change the rules?"

It didn't make any sense. What about the nephilim who'd already died? Would they be allowed in, or kept back? What about the ones who were still living, would they still have some hoops to jump through to earn their eternal rest? Would they have to be baptized, make confession? Was any of that shit really necessary, anyway? Who had it right, he wondered; did anyone on earth have it right? Those were the kinds of questions that kept him up at night.

Across the room from him Liv spread her hands helplessly, as if to say I don't know.

"That's not all, though," she told him. "Gabriel says…Gabriel says I'm mortal now. I'm going to die."

Elliot rocked back on his heels, taken aback by this news. It shouldn't have shocked him, hurt him; Elliot had spent thirteen years believing Liv could die. Just like everyone else he knew, just like him and Kathy and the kids and everybody. It did hurt, though. The thought of a world without Liv in it, that grieved him.

"When?" he demanded.

"How the fuck should I know? Do you know when you're gonna die?"

"Take it easy, I just meant -"

"I know what you meant. No, he didn't say it was imminent or anything but he did say…this is my last chance, Elliot. There's not gonna be a next time, you know? I've only got this one chance to get this right."

That, he realized, must have been why she came. Why she showed up at his door with a look in her eyes like the world was ending. It was, ending. She'd lived for thousands of years, started over God only knew how many times, always knowing that if she fucked up where she was she could try again somewhere else, and she'd run out of time. She'd run out of time, and she'd come here, to him, and it should have made him hopeful, and maybe it did, but shit it galled him, too. She'd only come to him when she knew she was dying.

"What exactly is it you wanna get right?" he asked her slowly, and her shoulders slumped, defeated, crestfallen, almost, like maybe she'd expected him to be on the same page with her, to dive right in to whatever she was suggesting but he didn't know what she was suggesting and he hadn't forgotten the way she'd hurt him.

"There's three things I have to tell you," she said. "I don't know which to tell you first and I don't know if it makes a difference but I think it does."

"Start at the top," he said. "Go in fucking alphabetical order, whatever."

"You're really angry, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"Did you think I wouldn't be? Jesus, Liv, after everything -"

"I love you," she rushed to say, and all he could do was stand there staring at her, his mouth hanging open stupidly. In some ways he'd expected that, given how this conversation had started, but still, it shook him. How long had he waited to hear those words from her? How many years had he spent, suspecting she felt as much for him as he did from her, and yet believing she'd never come right out and admit it? How much happier would they both be if she'd said that to him two months ago, instead of abandoning him?

"That's the first thing," she said. "I love you. I love you, Elliot. I didn't know…I didn't know until we were in the cabin with McKenna that you were…you. I didn't love you because you used to be someone else. I loved you, I love you, this man you are right now."

He wanted to believe her; he wanted that more than anything.

"The second thing is, I'm sorry."

She was dying, and she loved him, and she was sorry, and he was still angry with her, a little. Just a little, but the anger remained, because she loved him, and she was sorry, and she was only telling him because she was dying.

"I thought…I thought you'd be better off without me. I thought you could just be happy with your family. I thought I was only gonna hurt you. I thought I didn't…I thought I didn't deserve you. But you were right, that night. I made that choice myself and it wasn't fair. I didn't ask you what you wanted and I didn't listen and I'm sorry."

The anger cracked like a walnut, shattered into pieces, ineffectual and inconsequential. Yeah, she'd hurt him, and yeah, it wasn't fucking fair, but he knew why she'd done it; hell, he'd probably have done the same thing, in her shoes. Sacrificed himself for her happiness, because he loved her, hadn't he done that before? That little boy Ryan, Jenna; hadn't people died, because he loved her? Sometimes love hurt; he knew that better than most.

It didn't matter, he thought. It didn't matter that she'd left him, didn't matter that he was still struggling with the whole reincarnation thing. What mattered was this: they were, both of them, dying, with a finite number of years left, a clock ticking somewhere, counting down the minutes until they died, and they had a choice, right here, right now. They could choose, in this moment, how they spent the rest of those years. One last life, one last chance to get this right, like she'd said. Maybe they had five years left, ten, thirty if they were lucky. He'd take his chances with her; he loved her more than his pride.

"You love me," he said, walking slowly towards her, intent on taking her in his arms, holding her the way he'd wanted to do for so long now. "And you're sorry. That's two things, Liv. What's the third thing?"

When he reached her he caught her by the hips, settled his hands there and held on tight, and she didn't flinch or step back or try to step away; she swayed towards him, just a little, and she was beautiful like this, up close like this, and he could remember it so clearly, the way she'd felt moving over him, the shine of her wings and the way she moaned when she came and he wanted that again, wanted it over and over, and maybe she did, too, because when she looked up at him her eyes were hungry.

"I want you to remember," she said. "I want you to remember I said I love you first. I said I'm sorry first."

"Whatever it is," he said. "Just tell me, and we'll figure it out together, ok?"

He slid his hands over her hips, caught them together at the small of her back, pulled her in close to him, and she went willingly, buried her face in his shoulder and drew in a deep breath, and as he held her he realized she was shaking.

What could it be, he wondered, what could be worse, what could be more terrifying, that her admission of her mortality? What could scare her more than dying, more than loving him?

"If I say it I can't take it back," she whispered. "You'll know, and everything will change, and you might hate me, maybe-"

"Never gonna hate you, Liv." He never would; he never could. Even when she hurt him, even when he was sitting alone in his apartment brooding and missing her, he'd never hated her. The way he loved her was an immutable fact, as unchanging, as much a part of him as the color of his eyes.

"Tell me."

"Ok."

She leaned back in his arms, and looked him right in the eye as she spoke.

"I'm pregnant," she said.