Happy Thanksgiving! Here's where I insert my stock apology about taking so long in between updates. But I had a couple of days off for the holiday, so I came up with this.

CW: this is not exactly holiday cheer. Suicidal ideation and flashbacks to a sexual assault. Once again, I promise all of you that things are going to get better for Olivia, even if she can't see that right now. If you want some happy fics from her future in this universe, check out my profile!

As always, the dialogue in between the {{ }} marks is from Lewis.

Happy Thanksgiving to all you Americans and happy Thursday to everyone else. Thank you in advance for reading and commenting!

You're calm on the ride home from therapy, so calm that you're surprised that Elliot doesn't suspect something is up. But he seems to interpret your slow movements and silence as tiredness, and when you get back to your apartment he hands you a water bottle from your fridge and looks at you expectantly. "You hungry?"

"No."

"That's okay. Drink your water and then you can lie down and rest a little before you have to go back to IAB," he says in a no-nonsense voice. "Couch or bed?"

"Uh, bed, I guess." He nods and disappears down the hallway. You open the refrigerator to put your water back inside and notice that it's mostly empty save for last night's leftovers and a couple of those yogurts that no one but Nick likes because he says they're made from the milk of cows who are read to every night or some shit like that. It's different from when you came back from the hospital last year, when Brian's tiny fridge was bursting with food from well-intentioned people who apparently thought all that assault and torture must have made you really hungry. Not that it was wasted- Brian ate like a king on Christmas, and he deserved that for everything he'd had thrust upon him, especially when you suspect that the alternative indulgence would've been booze. But now there's nothing, and your countertops are similarly void of all the flowers that had filled Brian's kitchen and spilled over into the living room. There were some peonies from 'Us' that Fin had left when he brought you home, fresh from the hospital gift shop, but outside of your immediate circle it's like nothing ever happened at all. And you don't need it, their deli platters and carnations and their fucking pity, and yet you wonder what changed. Is it that physically, you seem fine this time? If they can't see your stitches and bandages and bruises, then they assume you're unharmed? Did they expend all their sympathy for you already and now they're tired of caring?

Or maybe they thought you wanted it. Maybe they think you're a murderer. Maybe they think you've gotten what you deserved.

Fuck them all. You'll be dead soon enough and then you won't give a shit what they think.

Elliot has gone ahead and laid out a t-shirt and sweats for you to change into, and you give him a tiny nod of gratitude before slipping into the bathroom. You have a handful of cuts and purpling bruises on your arms and legs and hips, nothing particularly gruesome looking, but you still know how much it would upset him to see. The blankly horrified expression on his face mid-nightmare is still fresh in your mind, just like the sound of his choked sobs as he said I honestly didn't know if I was ever going to see you again. It wasn't the first time he'd shed tears in front of you, but it was the first time you'd ever heard him crying aloud, shuddering gulps for air and long groaning exhales mirroring your own.

You wonder if he'll cry like that when you're gone. You're glad you won't be around to witness it.

"Liv?" he asks quietly after tapping on the bathroom door.

"I'm fine."

"Okay," he says. "I was just gonna ask if it was okay with you if Junior gave you a ride to 1PP."

"You talked to Nick?" you ask, leaving the bathroom and going over to your bed.

"Yeah. I guess Fin was going to but then Nick fought him for it."

"He's just looking for an excuse to get away from Murphy," you say as you lie down, somewhat amused. You haven't had the chance to ask what the deal between him and the new lieutenant is, and you're not sure you have the energy to hear the answer when it probably involves Amanda.

"So if it's alright, I'll let him do that so I can go pick up some groceries and see about getting you a new phone." Elliot pats the comforter and then hesitates. "Do you want me to go in the other room?"

"Um. No."

He sits down beside you on his side of the bed, and you turn your face toward the pillow to hide how tears that you didn't think that you still had the capacity to form are welling in your eyes. It was the way he said it, do you want me to go in the other room, because he knew it would be easier for you to tell him to go than to ask him to stay. You really don't deserve him, just like you didn't deserve Brian. Except Brian knew it and that's why he couldn't see a future with you.

Elliot would figure it out soon enough. And maybe it would be better if he realized the truth while you were still around, but you just couldn't do that to him. You wanted to make sure that the two of you were at peace when you died and he knew that you loved him - if you can't give him anything else, you can give him that.

All you can do is hope that he'll understand eventually that this was what needed to happen. Even now, thinking about how it'll all be over soon is the only thing that can allow you to breathe without your chest going tighter with every inhale, without your stomach twisting and your muscles tightening and your skin breaking out into terrified goosebumps. You only have to live with this for just a little while longer. Where you'll end up, you're not sure, but you're willing to take that risk. Nothing scares you now.

You scoot down under the covers until your back is resting against Elliot's thigh and close your eyes.

—-

"Are you ready for this?" Nick asks cautiously as he pulls away from where he had parked.

"Yeah." Maybe you should act more concerned about your job potentially being on the line, not to mention the threat of criminal charges looming over you, but you can't bring yourself to care too much. All that you can do- all you will do- is tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may. After a year of so many lies, you want to go out being honest. "It'll be fine."

He carefully reaches out and when you don't pull away, he gives your shoulder a little squeeze. "I'm gonna be right outside waiting. If you think of something you need that Elliot didn't pick up, we can swing by and get it for you on the way home."

"Are you really that desperate to get away from Murphy?" you ask wryly, and he grins at you and shrugs like he knows he's been caught. "I don't think I'll need anything. But thank you."

"Nah. Thank you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I mean... none of us wanted to be in this situation but... thank you for letting me be here for you this time. Means a lot to me."

You look down at your hands, unsure how to react. "I'm sorry, about before. I wasn't trying to shut you out and I know you were worried-"

"Hey, no. I understand. You needed time and I get that. But I'm just glad that I can help now. It's what partners do, right?" He chuckles. "Even if I'll never be as special as your last partner."

That manages to coax a smile out of you. "You're ridiculous. Do I have to give you the speech about how you're both special in your own way?"

"Nah, we're good. You're a beautiful woman and all, but I'm not trying to... I know I can't compete with that ass of his," he says, making a hand motion that you think is meant to illustrate the outline of his ass.

"You're right, you can't. But I think you have enough women on your plate already anyway."

You give him a meaningful look, and he has the good sense to look sheepish. "What? You and I, we're alike. We can't help being as desirable as we are."

"Think that's why Cragen paired us up? He knew we'd be too irresistible to anyone else?" Nick nods with enthusiasm. "Well, Amaro, whatever the reason was… I'm glad he did. I'm glad I got to work with you."

You bite the inside of your lip when you hear yourself speak, and bite down again when Nick frowns, shaking his head. "Hey, none of that. You're gonna get past this bullshit and then come back as soon as you're ready."

"You're right," you say, and if he's surprised by your sudden change of heart, he doesn't show it. "I'm not. I can't let him win."

He seems satisfied by that uninspiring declaration. "I didn't tell you, Lauren Cole's home from the hospital. Her dad talked to Murphy yesterday- they let her go after they got Amelia checked out. He said the doctors are optimistic. Told her she might not even have visible scars because they were able to get the burns treated so quickly."

Which, of course, is a luxury that you didn't have. Not that it even matters. Or at least, it won't matter for much longer. And as much as you hope what Nick is saying is true, you know there's more than he's likely aware of.

You remember when you were about to leave Lauren's hospital room and rejoin Murphy, swallowing down the bile creeping up into the back of your throat, and you heard a tiny voice murmur "Wait."

"Yeah. What is it?" you asked, inhaling deeply and waiting for whatever it was, aware it could be the thing that breaks you.

Even still, you weren't prepared. "He said. That I should ask if you remember what happened in your apartment when you tried to bite him. What he did to you. Because he did the same thing to me. And I'm. I'm really sorry."

"Oh, Lauren." That this sweet girl had the capacity to offer sympathy to you on the worst day of her life... "I'm okay. I'm getting better," you added, because you didn't want to lie to her the way you've lied to so many others. Not when she's seen evil in a way that most haven't, in a way that you had the relative luxury of living almost 50 years without seeing close up. And then even closer, sitting in the courtroom and trying not to look at a photo of that particular scar that had been taken by the ER nurse, a Polaroid of it in all its bloody unsutured glory now blown up and projected on screen for all to see. But not looking at it meant looking at the assembled crowd and the way they all recoiled when the nurse pointed out the jagged teeth marks and used an anatomical diagram to show its exact location.

You kept your eyes trained straight ahead on an imaginary point on the wall, away from the inevitable looks of pity on the faces around you. In your peripheral vision you could see him sitting at the defendants' table, shifting in his seat, and the uninformed observer might have thought he was ashamed of his handiwork, but you knew it was the exact opposite.

All that, and they still didn't believe you.

"I'm getting better," you repeated to Lauren, as if saying it again would make it true. "And you will too."

"Liv. Hey."

You didn't notice that Nick had pulled over and stopped the car, arm resting atop the steering wheel as he looked at you with guarded concern. "Sorry. I'm fine. I mean- that's good. For her."

"It is. And since the fucker's dead, she won't have to go through a trial. Neither will you."

You're taken aback, the thought of having to (or not having to) endure another trial never occurring to you in the last few days amidst so much else in your mind. And while it certainly makes you feel better for Lauren and Amelia, knowing they won't have to testify, you can't say that it's any relief to you personally. Your second trial came in the backseat of an unfamiliar car on an abandoned driveway with your hands cuffed behind your back and dark eyes burning your bare skin, as searing and scarring as any cigarette.

{{y'know, you should really be thanking me. I remember how pathetic you were, moping over your ex-partner, and now here you are fucking him! Well, well, well. Crazy how fast things can change.}}

He unzipped his pants and you turned your head to the side, not wanting to look but knowing what would happen if you closed your eyes. His fingers traced over a burn scar on your inner thigh, and although the touch was mockingly soft, the spot was still tender enough that you couldn't stop yourself from jerking away.

{{oh, my bad.}} The way he laughed wasn't apologetic in the least, just in case there had been any doubt. You lifted your chin up to avoid having to see what was happening, struggling to stay silent, but a high-pitched whimper broke free from your throat and he laughed again. {{do you want to go see the little girl or what? Then I don't have time to fuck around waiting for you to get wet. Quit bitching.}}

Amelia. You told yourself that was the reason you weren't fighting back, why your limbs were as frozen and rigid as a corpse while you laid there unblinking and unthinking and unable to hear anything but the sound of him grunting into your ear. Not because you were afraid. Not because this is what you deserved, what some sick part of you had been chasing for months.

But then he shifted, further splaying your legs apart and before you could stop yourself, you winced and squeezed your eyes shut.

You heard the sound of his palm connecting with your cheek before you felt it, and the only small comfort when your eyelids flew back open was that the unshed tears swimming in your eyes blurred your vision enough that you didn't have to see his feral grin. {{oh c'mon, knock it off. We both know you can take more than this. do your little boyfriends know you had my cock and three of my fingers stuffed in your cunt and you were still begging for it?}}

And suddenly you're back in your room at home, drunk and clawing at Brian with a hand bloodied from your latest 'accident' as he holds you down and fucks you into the mattress.

more god please I want-

what? Liv, no, I'm not gonna...

you think I can't take it? cause I know I can.

no I think it's, I don't wanna hurt you and-

goddamnit, Brian, that's the fucking point!

Later on, when you were dressed again but still shivering in the backseat, the metal cuff around your wrist clinking rhythmically against the door handle as your hand trembled, he looked at you in the rearview mirror and flashed a smile full of fake concern. {{Acting out sexually can be a reaction to trauma- but I guess you'd already know that, Detective. So predictable. You were always the good girl, and now here you are, cheating on your boyfriend with a married guy- and whoever else you've spread your legs for, I'm sure there's more.}}

And you're back in your office with Jimmy Mac, who'd so easily been able to trick you into thinking he was your friend by buying you drinks and pretending to listen, but all he really wanted was a good story and a good fuck. He would've gotten both out of you if it wasn't for Rollins, because when he was on top of you, you felt nothing but apathy. A weak 'no' and then you gave up, just like you'd done today. Walked right into it.

{{It makes you feel good as long as you're leading them around by the dick, huh? Like if they want you, maybe you're not completely damaged goods? But you still don't feel clean no matter how long you stand in the shower cause you can't scrub those scars away, and you still cry when you see your reflection in the mirror cause you know neither of them really love you- how could they?- and in the end you're gonna be all alone except for me, because I'm the only one who won't leave you. You're stuck with me for life.}}

Thank you again for reading and putting up with my extended absences :) More to come.