1

"Liv, can I have a word?"

Just about to leave his office, she stopped in her tracks, turned and looked at him. It wasn't exactly unusual to be called back for a one on one with her Captain, but there was just something about his solemn tone and the barely disguised sadness in his eyes that told her that whatever it was he wanted to talk about, it was something serious and unpleasant.

"What is it Captain?" she asked nervously, still hoping that she was just being paranoid. She knew she was still jumpy, her emotions heightened. It wouldn't be the first time she had overreacted about something that turned out to be mundane.

"Can you close the door?"

Unease further gripped her as she complied and then tentatively approached the desk, sinking into the chair as he indicated with his hand and a nod

"If it's about earlier, I…"

"Liv," he hushed her. "It's not that."

She gazed at him in confusion, watching as he leaned down into his desk and a few seconds later withdrew a thick brown file.

"What is it, Captain?" she asked. She figured it was probably something to do with a case they were working on and took a deep breath, feeling a little silly for having got so skittish.

"It's the results of your rape kit, Olivia," he said softly, holding out the file.

Stunned, she stared at it in horror. She'd almost forgotten all about it. Well not exactly forgotten, but certainly deliberately put it out of her mind. She knew from experience that these things took time, sometimes several months and had thought it could still be a while before she heard anything back about it.

As she tentatively reached for it now, memories of the nearly four hour ordeal at the hospital bombarded her and she fought against the rising sense of nausea that now threatened her semblance of calm.

She remembered how her partner had sat with her, his shoulders slumped, a sombre expression of incomprehension on his face as he had listened to her answer the very questions she was more used to asking. He had remained close by, as she had slowly removed all her garments, so they could take them to be examined and at one point he had placed his hand on hers as they had continued to take photos of the numerous wounds and blemishes that her body had suffered. Numbly, she had accepted the gesture, glad for his touch, for it reminded her that this was real, that she was in the hospital now, that she was no longer at the mercy of that animal. She had survived. She kept repeating the mantra silently throughout the entire process.

With silent tears streaming down her face, she had allowed the full medical exam. It was the last thing she had wanted, but how could she possibly refuse? How could she ever look another victim in the eye again if she didn't do what she avidly pushed others to undergo? It would have been the epitome of hypocrisy not to have agreed and so she had subjected herself to the humiliation of having strangers and colleagues see it all: the burns, the bruises, the brands and the undeniable fact that she was now officially a victim. She could almost hear them muttering to one another, overwhelmed by pity towards the sex crimes detective who had succumbed to that which she fought so hard to curb. It was devastating.

Then Brian had arrived and she had found herself in turmoil, partially horrified that he would see her reduced to this state, but at the same time so glad that he was there, for he was a reminder of what it felt like to be normal, to have a life outside of the job. More than that though, she needed him right now. She needed someone who would take her into their arms and just hold her. It was the simple truth: she didn't want to be alone right now.

When the process had finally ended, her wounds stitched and dressed, her arm secured, she had gone to the precinct, still feeling dazed. The effects of the alcohol had long dissipated by now, yet she still felt dizzy. It was as thought this were all some kind of horrifying nightmare: except she was awake.

Now, as she fingered the brown file that her Captain had handed her, she wondered whether she was actually strong enough to open it and see the contents: the photos, the official reports and the DNA evidence that would scientifically confirm her horrifying ordeal and thereby make it even more real.

She wondered briefly if he had already read the file. What was she thinking though? Of course he had. It was naïve to think he wouldn't have. She stole another glance at his face. His expression was sad but stoic. It was impossible to glean anything much other than the fact that he was upset. She could imagine that seeing the photos she knew were in there would unsettle anyone. Absentmindedly she found her fingers seeking out the wound beneath her left breast, through her shirt. This was one of the ones that would never fully heal. Every single time she stripped naked, it would be there to remind her viscerally. She closed her eyes briefly as she tried to force the memory from her head. It wasn't the pain that truly got to her either. It was the sickening smell of burning flesh.

"You need to do this, Liv," she heard him say. His words confused her. Why was it so necessary that she see it? As her fingers moved to hover over another hidden scar, this time on her stomach, she debated just handing it back and walking out of the office, for she already knew exactly what was in that file. It was the memories of those four days during which she had been held and tortured that ensured most of her nights were still long and broken. How would she ever forget?

She suddenly wondered what on earth she had been thinking kidding herself that she could still do this job. Maybe she was too broken now to help other victims. Maybe it had changed her too much. She couldn't get it out of her head. Every single day, every single case she drew parallels to her own experiences. It never left. She knew deep down that her Captain was right though. She did need to look inside that file, but she had never been so scared in her life. She decided she just needed a minute to refocus. Where was all that resolve that her colleagues insisted she possessed? It took all of her willpower to shift her thoughts away from the idea of running and back to actually opening that abhorrent file.

The Captain was still watching her intently and she suddenly felt self-conscious. She could almost see the pity in his eyes and for some reason it angered her. She wasn't some run of the mill victim. She was Olivia Benson, a seasoned detective. She was strong and determined; a survivor. She refused to let that bastard take away her identity.

With the rush of anger fuelling her resolve, she finally opened it and began to read.

Memories bombarded her as she thumbed the photos documenting her injuries. She cringed at some of the more distressing ones, knowing that those scars would never heal. She glanced over the initial hospital report and the interview sheets. She quickly skimmed over the results of the DNA tests. It was hardly a surprise to have it confirmed who her attacker was, but there was something satisfying about seeing it written there in black and white, proving without a doubt that he was the one responsible. She was secure in the knowledge that he wouldn't be weaselling his way out of justice this time. He was already being held on remand for two murders, kidnapping and a host of other crimes against her, a combination of which would certainly lead to a life sentence. At least she would be able to sleep easier knowing that he would never be able to hurt another woman – or her - again.

Then her eyes fell back on the medical report and she began to read it more slowly, taking in every terrifying detail of the injuries she had received. Concussion, a broken wrist, broken ribs, cuts, burns, bruises… it mirrored some of the worst cases she had ever dealt with and she could hardly believe it was actually about her. Then she halted her gaze lingering over words she could barely comprehend. This couldn't be right. They must be mistaken. Her disbelief was so complete that she even turned over the file to double check the name on the outside was hers, even though the photos had already more than proved that to her.

Her eyes refocused on the offended sentence and she drew her hand to her mouth as she began to understand what it meant and why Cragen had been insisting she see the file for herself.

Internal examination: seminal fluids present.

"Liv," are you alright?" she heard him say. His tone was thick with concern.

"I think I need to go home," she finally muttered, not even registering the extent of his surprise that she had actually asked for the leave rather than needing to be forced into it.

"Sure, Liv," he had said immediately. "Do you want me to call Brian?"

She shook her head adamantly. "No, Captain. I need to be alone right now."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea…"

"Please, Captain – Don - I just need some air, some time to get my head around this. I'll be fine, honestly. I just need to get out of here."

"At least let me drive you home."

"No! Honestly, I'll be fine."

"I'm sorry Liv, but I insist someone drop you home. If not me, then Amaro."

"Fine," she sighed giving in. At least her partner wouldn't ask questions or expect her to talk about anything. He would know better. She knew her Captain would never mention the contents of that file to anyone unless she gave her permission. She trusted he would never betray her confidence like that.

"Take as long as you need."

"I'll be back on Monday," she replied as she headed out of the door.

Cragen sighed, doubtful that a single weekend would be anywhere near enough time for her to come to terms with discovering what Lewis had done to her. She had vehemently maintained that she hadn't been raped from the start. He wondered if she had blotted it out or if the combination of drugs and alcohol had wiped her memory. He had been doing this job a long time though and he knew her well enough to notice that expression of reluctant recognition in her eyes when she had read the file. Something told him that even if she had somehow been able to blot out what had actually happened to her, she had definitely remembered now.

She remained silent in the car, ignoring her partner's friendly attempts to engage her in conversation. It was a relief when they finally arrived at her and Brian's new place.

She eagerly moved to open the door, but was halted when she felt his hand on her arm.

"Is everything ok?" he asked simply. She tried to quash the irritation that coursed through her. Why couldn't he leave her alone? Surely he could see she was in no mood to talk?

"Thanks for the lift," she muttered through clenched teeth. Then she softened, as she saw the expression of hurt briefly cross his features.

"I'm sorry. I just need some time." She knew she was being unfair. He was just worried about her. Opening up had never been one of her strong suits though.

"Understood," he said. If he was disappointed, he hid it well. She smiled gratefully and this time he didn't obstruct her from getting out of the car. He waited until she reached the door to her apartment block. She turned and waved once before slipping inside.

It was dark when he returned home. He wondered if Olivia had been caught up in another case, since there was no light seeping out from under the door. He sighed, wishing she would try and take things a little easier. He had been beside her every night these last few months and had witnessed firsthand the nightmares ravage her sleep. He had held her when she woke dripping in perspiration from the sheer intensity of recalling the absolutely horror she had been through. He had seen the desperation on her face as she had crumpled in his arms one moment and then pushed him away the next. He had seen the whole spectrum of emotions, exactly in tune with what he knew was completely normal from his stint at the special victims unit and exactly the reason he had left. He had never liked dealing with the victims. Only this time he couldn't just leave, because this was Olivia.

He stepped inside and immediately fumbled for the light switch. Then he saw her and he stopped in his tracks, his heart sinking as he took in her desolate position slumped on the floor, leaning against the sofa, her head resting on her knees.

For some reason he didn't like to go ahead with switching the light on. Instead, he crept over towards her and knelt down, gently laying his hand on her arm.

"Liv," he said quietly. "It's me."

Slowly she looked up and his suspicions were confirmed. Her cheeks were still damp, her eyes red, and a slight streak of mascara had worked its way downwards from her left eye. She absolutely embodied the notion of abject misery and it tore at his gut. How were they supposed to get over something like this? It seemed so futile to even attempt to try sometimes. Not for the first time he found himself floundering, not having a clue what to do to help her – to help them.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped his arms around her. He felt her leaning in to him and he was glad that she was receptive to his attempt at comforting her. He tightened his grip, desperately wishing that a simple hug really would be enough to make all of this go away.

He could tell she was silently crying again. He could feel the tears seeping through his shirt and the way her body was gently heaving with the sobs. He was puzzled. She hadn't cried like this since that third night after she had been found and when it had suddenly seemed to really hit her. He started to wonder if something specific had happened that day to bring this on and debated bringing it up. Despite their closeness, she wasn't always completely forthcoming about things and tended to bottle things up. He assumed that she was at least talking to her therapist about things, so tried not to be too demanding about what she shared with him. Right now though, he knew he had to ask her.

"Liv," he murmured with his mouth close to her ear, his hand circling her back comfortingly. "Talk to me. What's happened?"

He felt her taking in a deep breath and he waited patiently, wondering what on earth could have shaken her up so thoroughly.

After a while, she seemed to gather herself. Her vicelike grip on his shirt loosened and as she moved her head to the side, still leaning against his chest but allowing him to see her face; he saw that her tears had temporarily subsided.

"Tell me," he repeated watching her carefully. She seemed to be struggling for words.

"I saw the official report of my rape kit," she said tentatively.

"You did?" he asked surprised. He too had almost put it out of his mind.

"Just seeing it, I guess it brought back memories."

"It would," he said comfortingly. He was still convinced there was much more to it than that.

They had lapsed into silence again. She remained with her head against his chest, enjoying the feel of his arms around her. It felt safe and comforting. She breathed in his scent, noting that he had used the aftershave she had purchased for him – her favourite. His hands were warm. Not like his. When that monster had touched her she had recoiled, surprised by the coldness of his touch. She shuddered as she remembered how he had caressed her arms, her face, anywhere he could reach where her skin was exposed, fuelling her fear and causing the hairs to stand on end. He had complimented her as he ran his hands over her, calling her beautiful, but his words and the icy fingers on her skin had been nauseating.

"I've got you, Liv," she heard him whisper. Usually she would recoil at such an overt suggestion that she needed another person as much as this, but right now she was comfortable and had no desire to pull away, so she basked in his concern for her, enjoying the sensation of allowing another person to truly comfort her.

"Are you sure I'm not hurting you?" he asked. He knew her ribs still gave her discomfort sometimes, especially at night after a long day at work.

"I'm fine," she replied quickly.

"Do you want some water?"

She shook her head. Then suddenly she was back there, in that car. He was holding the water bottle so tantalizingly close to her lips, teasing her, torturing her. Her mouth had never been so dry, thanks to the sleeping pills and all the alcohol he had plied her with. Her hands were pinned behind her back, her own body's weight heightening the strain and discomfort. Dizzy from lack of food and repeated chemical abuse, she had begged for some water, but instead he had forced yet more vodka down her throat and she had given in, almost glad to be receiving liquid in whatever its form.

Then, instead of stopping there like it usually did, the flashback continued.

"One more, lights out. I'll do you cold," he barked at her. The words resounded in her head, the fear as strong and as real as it had been then. Then she remembered. How pinned like that in the car, he had yanked down her pants and forced himself inside her. How could she have forgotten? How could she not have remembered? She remembered being so dizzy and disorientated. It felt almost like a dream, but she remembered the smell of his breath close against her face, the sound of him grunting as he moved, the feel of his hand around her throat as he neared the end. It had been fast, of that she was certain. A quick and temporary release for him, which made no sense in the context of what they thought they knew about his usual modus operandi but made total sense to her now. Seeing her pinned, disorientated, helpless, begging for something as simple as a sip of water had proved too enticing for him to resist the appeal of instant gratification. She remembered him apologising afterwards, saying he meant their first time to be more special and that the next time he would treat her right and take his time properly. Then he had forced more vodka down her throat, causing her to splutter, except this time she had swallowed it eagerly, welcoming the chance to escape from her horrifying new reality and ignore the new pain; the one between her legs.

"Liv!" she heard him, his voice insistent, almost a shout. She suddenly remembered where she was. She could feel the panic in her chest, her breaths coming fast and hard. She was no longer safely ensconced in his arms, but sitting, leaning forward, her heart racing, her palms sweating.

"Liv, you were gone there for a moment!" he said.

Her breathing wouldn't slow down. If anything it was getting faster. Her hands and feet felt numb. She felt like she was having a heart attack. What was happening to her?

"Breathe with me!" he was instructing her. "You're going to be okay. It's just a panic attack."

She complied and slowly over the next few minutes her heart rate slowed and she felt secure I the belief that he was right, that she wasn't about to die, that her heart was still beating and that she was still alive. Relief washed over her and she grasped his hand, grateful for his help in bringing her back to an even keel.

"Another flashback?" he asked her gently after a few more minutes.

She nodded, still feeling shaky.

"Something happened today, didn't it, Liv." he said. It wasn't a question.

"It was in the file," she admitted miserably.

"Tell me."

"I had forgotten, blocked it out maybe. I don't know. Just now, it came back to me and I remembered everything."

He felt nauseous as he feared what she was about to tell him. Her words just confirmed what somehow he had always feared deep down.

"He raped me, Brian. I remember it now, every single second."

With tears now forming in his own eyes, he stared at her helplessly. He had no idea what he could say that would in any way ease her obvious anguish.

"I'm okay though. I mean I will be."

He immediately tightened his grasp, holding her close, pulling her head downwards into his chest, partly in an attempt to comfort her, partly in an attempt to hide the fact that tears were now streaming down his face. How could it be that she was facing something as terrible as this, yet there she was attempting to comfort him?

"I know you will be," he managed to whisper, and he believed that wholeheartedly. The thing he wasn't sure of though was the answer to the question: would he?