Elliot sat up in bed, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Breathing heavily, he reached out with his hand lazily to touch her. When he felt the cooling sheets where she usually slept, he turned his head quickly. Frowning, he tried to recall why he woke up in the first place. He heard it again. And again. It was incessant and his strides were long as he made his way down the hall and into the kitchen. Part of him wanted to grab her and shake her and another part wanted to gently pull her into his arms. He wasn't sure which she'd accept.

"I woke you." She looked over slightly to her right and saw him out of the corner of her eye. His red and blue flannel pajama pants stood out against the stark, white wall behind him.

"Did you get it?" Elliot slowly walked up behind her and pulled her to him. He rested his chin on her shoulder and looked downward at the mess on the floor.

"Does it look like it?" She sighed and mumbled an apology. She felt her shoulder sag and rise again as he nodded.

"What were you trying to do, Liv?" He lifted his head and moved around her. He braced his hand on the cabinet and kneeled down on the floor. The weight on the door was no match for the items that blocked it from shutting fully. He got on one knee and pulled the door open.

"I couldn't get it shut. I…I guess I got frustrated." She turned her back to the dishwasher, not minding one bit as the handle dug into the small of her back.

"You mean, the first few times didn't do it?" Elliot chuckled and stole a glance up at her. He knew she was on the verge of laughing or crying.

"No. Damnit." She bit her lip to keep from laughing and rolled her eyes when it didn't help. She grabbed the ledge of the counter behind her and pushed off. She watched Elliot stack the pans first, then the pots. It reminded her of a Nesting Doll.

"What's really bothering you? You've been irritable all week." He accepted her hand and pulled himself up.

"Nothing. Everything. I don't know. I'm sure there's some psychology behind all this." She flicked her wrist.

"Do you want to go in today?" He studied her features. She'd been sleeping better since the day with Huang. They'd been to numerous follow-up sessions, and things seemed to be going well for the both of them. George had cautioned him not to get complacent, that outbursts were to be expected. It was her mind's way of sorting through everything; 'residual emotions', he'd called it.

"No. I'll be fine. Thank you, though. For everything. I haven't been the most pleasant person to be around this past week." She let out a self-deprecating laugh.

"That's to be expected. You know that. I've never seen Munch move so fast, though, when you threw that stapler. I think he thought it was the end for him." He remembered how still the room had gotten the moment she realized what she'd done. Everyone had gone about their business afterward.

"Yeah, well it nearly was. That'll teach him to hand me a box of Kleenex again, won't it?" She opened the cabinet above the sink and took out two bowls.

"You showed him. What'll it be? Cap 'n Crunch Berries or…Cheerios?" He held up both boxes and shook each one.

"Cap 'N Crunch Berries. Yum." She smiled and grabbed the offered box. She watched him put the other box away and poured the cereal into each bowl.

"Wait 'til you come off that sugar high. You're going to be dead to the world, Liv." He filled each bowl with milk until the cereal floated precariously near the top of the bowl.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks." She handed him a spoon and sat down at the table.

"So, what was all the racket?" Elliot began eating, thoughtfully. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had Dickie's favorite cereal.

"I was trying to get the sauce pan. I was being lazy and it kept falling off the smaller one when I put it on top of it. The door wouldn't shut. I guess you found that out." She crunched loudly and chewed slower so it wasn't as noisy.

"Finally, I get to use my detective skills. The banging of the door kind of gave you away. What'd you need the sauce pan for?" He talked around the cereal that threatened to spill out of his lips.

"Don't talk with your mouth full. Your so-called skills have little to be desired, El. I was putting the pan away." Olivia reached over and grabbed a napkin. She pointed in the direction of his chin and held the napkin out for him to take.

"Yes, mom. You're not gonna' lick your finger and wipe it off, yourself?" He dabbed at the milk and touched his chin with his other hand. Satisfied that he'd gotten it all, he continued eating.

"Yeah, no. Thanks for asking, though. Are the kids still scared of me?" She'd been living there for over a month and his kids hadn't been over once.

"They're not scared of you. They just wanted to give you some time. Why? Do you want to see them?" Elliot had been alternating between the older girls and the twins, spending time with each child as much as he could.

"It's their house, too. You're their father. I've been taking up all of your time. We should have them over for dinner tonight. I'll cook spaghetti. Do they like garlic bread?" Olivia made a mental list of all the groceries she'd need.

"They'll eat whatever you make. I think Kathleen would want to help, though. She likes to help Kathy cook." He set the spoon down in the near-empty bowl and pushed it away.

"If she wants to, that'd be great. Done?" She wiggled her fingers for him to give up his bowl.

"Yeah. I got it, though. Here." He grabbed her bowl and rinsed both out before loading up the dishwasher. Seeing it was full, he filled the reservoir with soap and shut the door.

"I'm going to shower before you run that. Why don't you call the kids and see what they're doing tonight?" She pulled her top down where it had ridden up, and studied her hands. Minor scarring could be expected, she'd been told. She'd have to accept it. The first few days she'd gotten the bandages off, she refused to look. It was too much of a reminder of what had happened.

"I will." He walked over to her and kissed her forehead.

"Thanks. I needed that." She smiled up at him, happy to be able to push aside her emotions. She'd gotten better at handling them. Aside from the stapler incident. And the cabinet.

"I know. Detective. Remember?" He grabbed her arms gently as she started to smack him on the arm. He released her and watched her walk away. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. They'd gone from friends to friends with benefits and it surprised him at how they'd accepted their new roles with ease. He had gotten so attached since then and he didn't know what he'd do without her. He heard the shower start and let his mind wander.

Elliot had stood by her side as she met with each parent. Each person had gotten her undivided attention. She'd hugged the ones who needed it, shook the others' hands. The parents that simply couldn't handle the physical contact with the last person to see their loved one alive simply stared. She'd been remarkably calm, collected until the very end. The last person to approach her offered her the one thing that would let her sleep at night. Understanding. A mother. A hand clutching that of her young son while the other held a wadded up tissue. She'd broken down at the sigh of Olivia. The two women sobbed, each telling the other what they both so desperately needed to hear. The mother had held onto her son still. She was too afraid to let him out of her sight, even in the confines of the precinct.

Two nights later, they handled the press together. He'd sat behind her as she typed out the information. Signed, sealed, and delivered, they'd gotten their story. No one could complain with the details that were given. The police report had given the technical account. She was the human aspect, and the only one who knew what really happened.

He wondered how many nights she'd lie awake, unable to fall asleep. If there were others out there feeling her pain. The crash had been horrible. The trauma from witnessing such a mind-scarring event was insurmountable. Olivia had gotten through it, day-by-day. She had the days where she didn't want to get out of bed. Others, she got angry or upset. Most days, though, she lived to prove that the impossible could be possible.

A man and a woman were out there, somewhere. One held his wife and refused to let go. The other sat in class, writing away with the hand that bore the date that changed her life. They were there that night at the precinct. The detective didn't know it. She didn't need to.

Three people. Two had been saved from having to bear witness to what had happened that night. One woman had seen it all, and had survived.