Less than sixty days.

Words she would forever be grateful to hear.

In fact, less than forty days. In fact, only three weeks.

Miracles.

She had spent the better half of the entire morning staring at the little glass bottles, 'Menopur' written in soft green letters. Oddly enough, she wasn't as intimidated by the bottles as she expected herself to be. The needles on the other hand still sparked a little bit of fear into her.

She had gotten lucky, extremely lucky since her cycle was almost perfectly timed to begin the process as quickly as possible. The less time chemo was postponed, the better.

Two weeks of hormones, followed by a trigger injection, and if the perfect timing holds true, then the retrieval.

She forced herself not to think about what life would become after the process was done. She'd need to go back to being face to face with a full-fledged tragedy. No safety net in between, no barrier that kept that life at least an arm's length away. Anyone who was looking at her through the looking glass would believe that IVF was just a way for her to push this demon down a little longer.

But the bottles gave her hope.

She couldn't help but to laugh at the irony. Some people drowned their fears in bottles of liquor during their worst moments. Then there was her, who was investing that fear into faith, an entirely different bottle with an entirely different purpose. Faith the size of a mustard seed could grow into a mountain, and hope was just the same.

The specialist had taught her the spots of her body where she could inject the drugs. Stomach, thighs, upper arm, lower back. She would become bruised and sore from the constant jabs and stabs of the needles, but she was already used to the consistent bruise that grew in the junction of her right arm. Blood work was becoming a second nature, and surely this would too. She could handle the two injections twice a day for two weeks.

If she couldn't handle that...

"No," her conscience whispered. There was no 'if', not about IVF or chemo or any sort of upcoming battle. She wasn't allowed to have 'if's or 'but's. She would die on this hill if she was forced to. She'd taken her stance, it would stay that way.

The sound of plastic crinkling filled her ears. As she pulled the syringe out of its sterile packaging, she felt her muscles stiffening. The needle underneath of the safety cap was a hell of a lot more intimidating than the medication itself. Forced deep breaths filled her lungs, a mantra in her head repeating that she could do this, she was strong enough.

The cap rolled against the granite as she punctured the top of the bottle, holding it close to her eye as she measured the dose. She tried to focus on the contrast between the bottle and the needle. The calmness that came with one and the fear that came with the other. One wouldn't work without the other, she had to feel the pain in order to receive the gift.

That was just how it worked.

As if she weren't already on edge, the sound of a knock on the door behind her had startled her. She re-capped the syringe before slamming it down on the counter.

She headed towards the door with a deep breath, "Casey, I know you're worried and I appreciate it but I promised you that I was fi— oh," she whispered, opening the door to see Elliot standing sheepishly in front of her. "How'd you get in?"

"The neighbor recognized me..." he paused, pursing his lips. "Can I come in?"

She hesitated for a moment, leaning against the open door. "That depends," she whispered cautiously. "I'm really not interested in hearing about the hundred different ways that I'm royally screwing up my life."

He closed his eyes, bowing his head with an exhale. "That's not why I'm here, Liv. I came to apologize."

She stared at him, searching within his expression for any hint that she was walking into a trap. She was tired of the fighting. Enough in her life had already changed, the idea of destroying their partnership any further only brought more pain.

His eyes were always his tell. He had a stellar poker-face around the people who didn't know him, but she always knew exactly where to look. At least this time there was sincerity in those eyes.

Wordlessly, she stepped away from the door and gestured for him to come in. He quietly thanked her, stepping into the kitchen as she shut the door behind him. He instantly spotted the injection set-up she had laid out on the counter. "Uh... what are you doing?"

"It's my IVF injections." her words came emotionless as she stepped around him, avoiding making eye-contact in fear that it would only spark another argument. "Today's my first day. Two injections, twice a day for fourteen days." she picked up the loaded syringe again, removing the cap and flicking her finger against it to pop any bubbles.

"Here," he reached his hand out. "Let me do it."

Her brows shot upwards in confusion. "Like hell am I gonna let you stab a needle in my ass!" she laughed. Instantly, she realized how strange it felt to actually laugh. She wanted to savor it, even if it were for just a second.

"C'mon, Liv. We both know you're freaked out right now." he chuckled back, grabbing an alcohol swab package and tearing it open with his teeth.

She held the needle away from him. "What the hell qualifies you to do this?" she laughed again, allowing herself to feel the warmth of even just the sliver of happiness.

He tilted his head, sticking his hand out again. "Just turn around."

She wasn't sure exactly what convinced her to hand him the needle and turn her back to him, but her body moved at its own volition. She braced her hands on the countertop, allowing her head to fall forward as she took another deep breath.

His fingers carefully lifted up the hem of her shirt to reveal a patch of olive-toned skin on her lower hip. He took the cotton swab, gingerly wiping away the area. His voice came soft in her ear, bringing her a calmness she wasn't aware she even remembered. "Kathy had gestational diabetes with the twins and needed insulin. Trust me, I'm good at this. A little too good, actually."

She could hear the smirk in his voice, causing her to chuckle and roll her eyes.

"What's so funny, Benson?" his voice rising in faux shock as he started to position the syringe.

"Well," she tilted her head, thankful that her hair was draping down enough to cover her smile. "You have a very sharp needle pointing directly at my ass, so it's probably best if I don't answer that."

"Good choice," he said as he pushed the needle into her skin.

She hissed through her teeth, biting her lip as she tried to breathe through the stinging pain in her skin. He pressed a cotton ball to her skin as soon as the needle was gone, gently massaging the skin until the pain subsided.

She felt his arm reach around her for the bandage on the counter, replacing the cotton ball with it. "Good as new," he whispered.

As soon as she heard him speak, she knew the moment of happiness was over. Not that it really qualified as happiness, but maybe just normalcy. The banter that came with the honest intention of comfort.

She turned to face him, practically pinned between his body and the countertop. "Thank you," she whispered back.

It was a peace offering and she knew it. She knew he wasn't a man of words as much as he was a man of action. A simple favor being so much more than just that beneath the surface. A man who preferred to show his apologies through actions, but he hadn't yet apologized.

She knew everything he had said was said out of fear. It was said with shame and the inability to control himself. Not that it took away any of the pain from what he said. She could forgive him, eventually. That didn't mean that the words wouldn't haunt her from now until her last breath.

He finally stepped away, allowing for her to follow him over to the barstools. He sat down with his shoulders sinking, burying his head in his hands.

The silence didn't bother her. Not really. Not when it was compared to how the last few encounters with him had been.

He took one more of a million deep inhales, turning his head to finally look at her. His words came cautiously, carefully calculated to make ensure he wouldn't do more damage. "I will never be okay with the idea of you being at risk... or sick. But I was wrong. Everything I said was so outta line and you don't deserve that. This isn't about what I want or what I think is best. This is about what you need to do in order to be at peace with what is happening, and I'm sorry I was negating that."

"Elliot... I need you to know that I didn't keep this from you because I don't trust you. I kept it from you because I couldn't be the one who..." who what? Broke him? Cracked off another piece of his already shattering soul? "...hurt you. I couldn't do it." The breath that escaped was that of something helpless. A white flag risen in defeat to the fact that she wasn't able to do the deed. "You and I both look at each other as two people who have had enough shit handed to them in life, and don't ever even want to dare to be the one who adds more. I was trying to protect you."

"You don't have to be alone, Liv." His voice shivered, a chill as cold as ice that was woven into the fear of his words. His tearful eyes pleading with her. "I don't want you to be alone. Not now, not ever, but especially not like this... and it kills me knowing that I played a part in making you feel alone."

Her mouth opened and closed, giving nothing but a heavy breath as she fought to bring the words to the surface. "I just... I need room to make decisions for myself, whether or not they're for the best. Because, I promise you, if I'm making a decision, then I've usually thought about that decision in every shape or form. Hell, I'll think it in and out, upside down, until it barely even qualifies as a thought anymore."

"I know..."

"You can't walk in front of me on this journey, El, but you can walk beside me. You can help me through it, you can be the one who keeps me from being alone, but it isn't a battle that can be fought for me. I'd say that I wish it was, but I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy." she carefully leaned closer to him. "You gotta let me do the fighting."

"I know that. I just," he stopped, scrubbing his palms against his face. "I just want to make this all go away and I don't know how."

The break in his voice, the hurt that she could hear from a million miles away, it was crushing every ounce of her.

"I know the feeling," she murmured, her head hanging low. Her head shook ever so slightly, a broken cry finally breaking through her expression. "But there just isn't a way to snap your fingers and make it go away." she sniffled, not bothering to wipe away the tears that started to run down her cheeks.

She had seen the beginning of him breaking. The watery eyes and the inability to stay still. But it was a rare occurrence to see him actually break. The final moment where the dam cracks open and attempting to hold it back is futile. He wasn't a cryer. His tears, as rare as they were, fell along with the water in the shower. They soaked his pillow at night. They did not fall when vulnerability was as ripe as it was, not if he had any say in it.

Watching him cry was foreign to her. She'd occasionally teared up in his presence, before her life had become what it was now; a million lifetimes ago. A case once in a while, or a family matter. But seeing him cry, there were no words to explain what it stirred within her chest.

"I don't wanna lose you, Liv." he wept.

And the dam broke.

With a rapid breath, she launched out of her chair and wrapped her arms around him before she could stop herself. Her eyes squeezed tighter than they'd ever had before, begging herself to just be able to console him without letting herself break in the process. Her right hand pressed his head against her neck while her left hand gripped his back, holding him as his sobs came in unwavering rounds. She felt him shutter against her, his shaking arms wrapping around her waist, gripping as if his life depended on it; as if the feeling of her against his skin was the only reminder to him that she was still alive.

Hugging him was always powerful. The rare, break-in-case-of-emergency gesture had become like a drug to her. It was the one and only action she could ever count on to soothe any peril in her body, heal any emotional wound she was battling. She preferred that she stay unaccustomed to it for fear she would become addicted to the way he held her. But any time she had ended in his arms had given her the feeling that she belonged absolutely nowhere else.

She had never been the one to hug him. The idea had always seemed unorthodox. Not now, though. Not when he was crumbling beneath her fingertips. Not when his body was shivering against hers with grief and fear. He was the one who had always held the reins. Only now his cries came uninhibited, a side of him she had never witnessed, or ever thought she would witness. It only cracked her further, granting her own tears permission to continue falling.

"You're not gonna lose me," she whispered, swaying with him flush against her chest. She turned her head to rest on top of his.

She couldn't bring herself to think that this was out of character for him. Not really. Nobody knows how someone will react in such a situation. Any reaction could be entirely out of left field and still be authentic.

He wasn't a cryer.

Or maybe he was.

'Be who she needs you to be.'

She may have feared the addiction of his grasp would become unbearable, but her discomfort would always send her searching for him. Sometimes it was something small enough to tide her over. Her fingers underneath the door, resting on his. But sometimes that wasn't good enough. Sometimes she needed the whole dose of the anxiolytic that was his touch.

She never once thought that it was mutual.

With his head against her chest, he could hear the heavy thumping of her heartbeat in his ears.

Usually she needed him. Sometimes he needed her.