He sees her hurting. He sees her and he doesn't know what to do. He has always been able to read her, but now, now he is at a loss. She has been so distant lately, so cold, so quiet, so numb. "You doing alright?" He asks.

He always asks.

"I'm fine." She replies. God, he wants more. He wishes for once she would say; 'No, Elliot, I'm not alright. I'm scared and I'm hurt' and whatever other emotion she may be feeling at the time. But she's fine.

She's always fine.

And he always wants more. Wants her to stop being so damn stubborn and fall into his arms, cry on his shoulder, let him hold her and tell her that it will be alright. That whatever had happened to her was over and she never had to return to that horrible place where she had gone undercover less than a week ago.

"You know if you need someone to talk to-"

"I don't." She never does. She looks at him and sees the hurt she's caused and she hates it. She hates it but she can't stop herself because every time she tries to speak the anguish in her throat chokes her till she feels her stomach cripple and she thinks she's going to be sick.

She feels the cold metal on her back as she once again visits the unforgiving cement walls of Sealview. She hears the chain link fence ring at the sound of a baton sliding against it and she sucks in her breath.

He's coming.

Her heart is pounding and she finds herself walking steadily to the cribs despite her wanting to run. She feels as if all the eyes in the world are on her, mocking her, taunting her. Cruel green eyes surrounding her, amused with her suffering and pain.

But there is only one pair staring after her. One pair, and it is not mocking or taunting or cruel. They are filled with concern, love, and fear.

He sits up and goes after her, deciding if she was going to run from her pain she shouldn't run alone. And when he finds her on one of the benches, she's shaking but she says she's just cold.

So he wraps his arms around her and pulls her to him. He feels her stiffen and for a moment he wonders if he is hurting her. But then he remembers its not he who she is afraid of. He isn't the one who hurt her. "Liv, what happened?" He hears her sigh and knows that she is contemplating her answer.

He feels her shift against him and he wants to hold her down because he knows that if she leaves his arms he may never see her again. He wants her, as she rests in his arms. He wants to lie her on his bed and kiss his way down her body and make up for all the pain and hurt anyone has ever caused her.

But he can't; because she is shifting, and despite his need to feel her next to him, he lets her go. Because something had happened to her; and he wasn't about to make it worse.

Its good, he thought, that she pulled away from him; because if she hadn't, he would have kissed her. He would put his hands on her body. He would have hastily pulled off their clothes and held her again as he made love to her, right there, over and over and over until she felt safe again.

He sighs, hating himself for feeling the way does, for taking pleasure from the embrace that had been meant to bring her some peace.

She gazes over at him, her back resting against the lockers of the cribs.

He stands and walks over to her but makes sure not to crowd her or cage her in.

"Liv", he says again and he's scared because he can feel her trembling even from his distance, "talk to me. What happened to you in that basement?"

Again she feels it; the anguish. She misses his embrace from moments ago. She wants to feel that security but she doesn't want to need him to feel it. She wants peace she wants control she wants to fall into his arms and not feel as if she's in danger. She wants touch.

But she wont touch him, wont seek help, or comfort.

She'll just suffer.

Alone.

In silence.

"I'm fine."