The small, sterile examination room felt impossibly cold, and the hum of the overhead fluorescent lights seemed louder than it should have been. Olivia lay back on the examination table, her body tense, her fists clenched at her sides. The paper sheet beneath her crinkled with every movement, a sound that grated against her already raw nerves. Elliot sat beside her, perched on a small stool, his broad frame looking out of place in the confined space. He had moved it as close to her as he could without being in the way, his hand resting lightly over hers.

Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to focus on the warmth of Elliot's hand instead of the cold efficiency of the doctor's gloved touch. She tried to slow her breathing, tried to summon the strength she'd always relied on. This isn't who you are, she told herself. You've been through worse. But the reassurance rang hollow in her mind. She was here, in this moment, and it was unbearable.

She opened her eyes, needing to see him, needing the grounding of his presence. "I'm okay," she whispered, her voice almost steady. It was a lie, but she couldn't bear for him to think she wasn't holding it together.

Elliot met her gaze, his blue eyes shadowed with emotions he wasn't letting surface. "You don't have to pretend," he said softly.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm not pretending," she lied again. She held his gaze, willing him to believe it—or at least let her have the illusion that he did.

For Elliot, every second felt like a battle he was losing. He wanted to shield her from everything, but there was nothing he could do to change what had already happened. The sight of her like this, pale and fragile under the harsh lights, tore at him in ways he couldn't describe. He hated himself for the helplessness he felt, for the fact that he had to sit here and watch her endure more when she'd already been through enough. For the fact that he had pushed her to do it. She hadn't wanted to. She was doing it for him, he knew. He felt sick with guilt.

"You're doing amazing, Liv," he murmured, his voice thick. "Just a little longer." He hoped the words sounded stronger to her than they did to him.

Olivia nodded, but the lump in her throat grew heavier. She hated that he was here, seeing her like this, one foot in the stirrups and the broken one stretched out, stiff and unnatural, like a marionette's lifeless limb. She also couldn't imagine doing this without him. She tightened her grip on his hand, needing something to hold onto, someone to anchor her to the world outside of this room.

The doctor's voice broke through the tension, calm and measured, explaining each step as delicately as possible. There were just so many injuries to work around. But Olivia's focus was entirely on Elliot—on his steady hand, on the slight tremor in his breathing that mirrored her own.

As the doctor inserted swab after swab, sterile cotton tugging along raw, bruised flesh, Olivia's strength faltered for a moment, and she turned her face toward him, tears slipping silently down her temples. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Elliot's grip tightened immediately, and he brought his face to her ear, his voice low and firm. "You have nothing to apologize for. Not to me, not to anyone. You're the strongest person I know, Liv."

She let his words settle over her, absorbing their weight, even as she didn't quite believe them. But in his eyes, she saw a reflection of the woman she used to be—the woman she hoped she could be again someday.

The doctor's quiet announcement that they were finished broke the fragile silence. The doctor stretched a sheet back over her middle, modesty restored. Olivia exhaled shakily, her body sinking into the table as if a heavy weight had been lifted, though the ache in her chest remained.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible. She wasn't sure if she was thanking the doctor, Elliot, or both.

Elliot stood, gently brushing her hair back from her forehead. "It's over, Liv. You did it."

He gave her his arm, steady and strong, and she used it as leverage to pull herself into a sitting position. The movement sent a wave of dizziness crashing over her, and she wobbled, gripping his forearm tightly until it subsided. The doctor wheeled over a waiting chair, its metal frame gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

Elliot crouched beside her, his hands hovering, ready to support but careful not to push. "Take your time," he murmured, his voice low and steady, grounding her.

Olivia gave a faint nod, gritting her teeth as she shifted her legs. Her uninjured one responded, though weakly, but the broken one remained stiff and unyielding, trailing like dead weight as she maneuvered. Elliot slipped an arm around her back, his strength doing most of the work as she was gently eased into the wheelchair. Olivia was quietly grateful for the padded seat of the wheelchair; despite the sutures—or perhaps as a result of them—the doctor's examination had caused fresh bleeding to seep through her gown. She glanced up and noticed that Elliot had seen, though he pretended otherwise. She was grateful for that, too.

The orderly approached with the IV pole, expertly positioning it to follow alongside her without tugging on the lines. Elliot nodded his thanks before gripping the wheelchair handles firmly.

The trip to her room was quiet but heavy with unspoken words. The hum of the hospital corridor was broken only by the soft creak of the wheelchair and the faint rhythmic click of the IV pole's wheels. Elliot's focus never wavered, his grip on the chair steady.

When they arrived, he guided the wheelchair into place by the bed, pausing to ensure the orderly adjusted the IV setup. "Home sweet home," he said, attempting a small smile, though his voice carried a tinge of bittersweetness.

Olivia exhaled slowly, her gaze fixed on the bed in front of her, bracing herself for the next round of pain and effort it would take to transition into it.

The orderly moved toward Olivia to assist her into the bed, reaching out with well-meaning but unfamiliar hands. She flinched instinctively, shrinking back into the wheelchair.

Elliot immediately stepped between them, his voice sharp. "I've got her," he snapped. The orderly hesitated, looking taken aback, but stepped aside with a polite nod.

Olivia sighed as she addressed Elliot. "You didn't have to scare the poor guy," she whispered, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk despite her exhaustion.

Elliot softened, glancing at the orderly, who busied himself adjusting the IV pole. "I didn't mean to," he muttered, then turned his focus back to Olivia. "But I'm not letting anyone else handle this."

With careful precision, Elliot slipped his arms beneath Olivia, lifting her as gently as he could. She winced as pain flared through her battered body, but she didn't protest. He carried her to the bed and laid her down with the utmost care.

The orderly, seemingly unfazed, stepped in to adjust the IV line and offered a polite, "Call if you need anything," before leaving the room quietly.