Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Crossing Jordan.

A/N: I felt that Lu's character didn't make a lot of sense. She started out quite intriguing and then just fell flat. She had no storyline and spent most of the time following Woody around and whining. I was very disappointed when she'd had such a promising start. Her first scene with Woody, she struck me as a woman who didn't take crap. Next thing we know, Woody's pushed her against a wall and is yelling at her and yet she says, NOTHING. I was not impressed. Therefore, to make sense of Lu's odd personality, after something that struck me in "Thin Ice," I've created this. This is my way of understanding her character.

You're Going To Be Okay

Her eyes flitted nervously and she ran her fingers through her hair, again. She held her head high, if it weren't for her eyes, you'd have no idea something was even bothering her. I knew to remain silent, to let her be the first to speak but the silence was beginning to feel oppressive. I felt like it was closing in on me. I never feel this way with a patient. I have to remind myself, she has training in the art of psychoanalyses. That she is aware of what I am doing. I try not to break eye contact, but find it increasingly difficult. Finally she opens her mouth to speak and I remind myself, I have not failed.

"Everybody hates me," she says softly, quite sadly actually.

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I'm investigating Jordan Cavanaugh for murder," she answered, like I should have already known. I actually had expected that. I nodded, willing her to continue. "Have you ever seduced a patient Dr. Stiles?"

"No, I've never felt the need to cross that barrier," I tried to answer sensitively. I'd been aware of her relationship with Detective Hoyt.

"It's whole different level of dating," she answered honestly, dropping her gaze to the marble floor and twirling her blonde strands of hair around her thin, manicured finger.

"How so?"

"It was like for the first time I knew what I was getting into. I knew his weaknesses and his strengths. I understood him."

I nodded and waited for her to keep talking.

"I felt safe."

"Why is it so important to feel safe?" I prodded gently. Her gaze met mine momentarily before falling back to the floor.

"That way I can't get hurt."

"Hurt how?"

"I've been hurt before," she answered delicately, obviously trying to avoid talking about what was bothering her.

"Does this have to do with why you left Virginia?"

"No it's only the beginning," she said sadly.

"Well let's start at the beginning."

"I was happy with Woody, until Jordan found out about us," she said gently. I had thought often of how Jordan had responded to Woody's moving on. She had never openly discussed her relationship with him but I always knew how she felt about the homicide detective.

"What happened when Jordan found out?"

"Everything suddenly felt wrong. I didn't want that. I'd found happiness for the first time since the incident and then the Page case."

"The what?" I asked, suddenly completely lost.

"A case about a rape victim, the same day Jordan found out. I had to work with her."

"Was it hard working with her?"

"It wasn't her that was hard. It was the case and her being right."

"Why don't we start at the beginning of this case?"

I could see the tears forming in her eyes and she brushed them away with her hand. "Shannon Page, a rape victim. She said she had been raped by, . She had willingly got drunk with the guy and then followed him back to his hotel room, only to turn around and say she'd passed out and he'd raped her. Jordan believed her. I didn't. The case made me so mad. I guess I didn't want to believe her. I was mad at her for making the same mistake I did. I began relating her case to mine," she said so quietly, I had to lean forward to hear her.

"Jordan?" I asked with confusion.

"No, Shannon."

"What happened?" I asked as gently as I could.

"I was raped," she choked the words out in a whisper.

"When?"

"Years ago. Many years ago. I haven't been able to trust men since. That's why I wear this ring," she said lifting her hand so I could examine the wedding band that sparkled on her finger. "That was until Woody. After I told him about Hannah, I realized how safe he made me feel. I needed that. I needed someone I could talk to and trust."

"So what happened?"

"He chose Jordan," she spat. The words venomous as they spilled off her tongue.

"And now you're investigating Jordan for murder?" I asked, cocking my head to the side for emphasis. "Hmmm."

"I'm trying not to be biased. I really am," she said as tears leaked from her eyes.

"That's hard when the woman you are investigating was chosen over you, by the man that makes you feel safe."

She looked at me again, her eyes pleading this time. "I finally felt safe," she whispered.

"It sounds like a false sense of security," I responded.

"What do you mean by that?"

"He chose someone else, your relationship obviously wasn't as safe as you perceived. Detective Simmons, you shouldn't have someone's dating profile in your hand before you date them. Love cannot be forced. There is a reason dating a patient is unethical. You know too much about them. It's simple to manipulate someone if you know how."

She narrowed her eyes at me. I expected that.

"I didn't manipulate him," she growled.

I looked at her sternly for a moment. "Are you sure?"

She leaned back in her chair and lifted her gaze to the stucco ceiling. "How could I have manipulated him? He entered the relationship of his own free will."

"I don't believe you did it intentionally. Perhaps subconsciously."

She watched me for a moment and I could see the anger slowly disappear from her face. "I didn't manipulate him. I loved him," her words were sad and broken.

"Did he love you?" I asked, waiting for the outburst, I knew would be inevitable.

"Obviously not," she said icily.

"Why don't we go back to why you left Virginia?"

"To start over."

"Or to escape and run away from your problems? Wearing a ring to keep the boys away, isn't going to help you. It won't fix the injustice that was done to you. The fact that you refer to your rape as 'the incident,' tells me it hasn't been dealt with."

She frowned at me. "I'm not avoiding anything."

"So let's talk about your case of transference with the rape victim."

"Shannon Page," she said the name aloud, as if releasing it would take away all the pain that her own rape had caused her.

I nodded, willing her to continue. "His name was Dan Carver. I'd had a crush on him, for years. He played football in highschool. He had long, flowing, sandy brown hair and big, emerald green eyes. He was gorgeous. He invited me out to the bar one night. It was after highschool, I was working as a waitress at the time. I got really drunk and then he offered me a ride home. I said no. He followed me in his car begging me to let him. Finally I agreed. Once I was in the car, he locked the doors and wouldn't let me out. He took me to the middle of nowhere and he raped me," the words spilled from her mouth quickly, making the sentences run together. She leaned forward and I watched her gag over my garbage bin. She looked so vulnerable and fragile. She looked broken.

I had learned how to distance myself from my patients but as I watched her hunched over my garbage bin, her blonde hair spilling around her tear stained face, I wanted to comfort her, to take away all the pain that lived within her. I never felt this way and it was frightening. "Did you charge him?"

"I tried. His rich parents brought the best lawyers to town and he was let off. He moved away and I did what I could to get over it. I studied law and became a cop and then ended up studying psychology so that I could be a practicing psychologist."

"So you avoided it?"

"No, I dealt with it years ago."

"So this case with Shannon Page, tell me about it."

"It just brought back all the memories. All the pain. I hated myself after the incident. I blamed myself for being so stupid and for putting myself in such danger."

"I think you still hate yourself. I don't think you know how to forgive yourself."

She looked out the window before returning her gaze to mine. "Shannon put herself at risk and I know, it's still not her fault. I know just because she made a stupid mistake that she shouldn't be held responsible for what happened to her. I also know that it makes me mad, to think after all these years, girls are still letting themselves get hurt. She should have known better and she'd still be alive."

"So you transferred the anger you felt towards yourself to Shannon?"

"I guess you could say that."

"You said you didn't believe her and Jordan did. Why did that bother you?"

"I didn't want to believe her. I didn't want to believe that she had done to her what had been done to myself. It just reminded me that that could have been my fate. I didn't want to think that she was going to go through what I have since I was raped."

"And what is that?"

"An inability to trust people, especially those of the opposite sex. I never feel safe, even with a chain and two deadbolts on my door. I still don't feel safe. I can't help but think that every time I turn around he'll be there, lying in wait to hurt me again."

"Well you can never be too careful in this day and age, anyway. It's good that you take the necessary steps to keep yourself safe now. However, not everyone is out to hurt you."

"I want to believe that but I am afraid I probably never will."

"Maybe with time and some counselling, you will be able to love yourself again."

"Maybe but for right now, I'd just settle on other people not hating me."

"It's more important to love yourself than it is for other people to love you."

"What am I going to do?" she suddenly asked me. I was taken aback by the question.

"Well I'd be more than willing to counsel you…"

"No, about Jordan. I have to treat her like a suspect but at the same time, I don't want them to hate me for doing so," she admitted.

"Forget about other people Detective and follow the truth. You know the old saying, 'the truth will set you free?'…"

"Of course but…I don't hate her…"

"Who? Jordan?"

"Everybody thinks I hate her."

"But you don't?"

"No. I mean we weren't friends or anything, but I didn't hate her."

"Were you jealous of her?"

She pondered the question and I watched the lines of confusion form on her face. She glanced briefly out the window again and then returned her gaze to mine. "Sort of."

"What do you mean 'sort of'?"

"Woody's heart will always remain with her. He made me feel so safe and yet he didn't love me. He loved her."

"Sometimes in life, we just can't have what we truly desire. Detective Hoyt is not the only man in the world that can keep you safe. Besides which, if you're that concerned about your safety, instead of relying on a man to protect you, perhaps, self defense classes?"

"I've tried that. It didn't give me the sensation of safety I thought it would."

"After your rape and he was acquitted, what did you do?"

"What do you mean? what did I do?"

"Well, the man had harmed you and he was free. How did you handle that knowledge?"

"I…I went back to school."

"Not physically, but emotionally."

More tears slid down her crimson cheeks. She ran her fingers through her blonde hair and then wrapped her arms around herself. "I don't remember," she said honestly. I watched the myriad emotions play out across her face. It seemed she had never thought of this.

"So you didn't work through it emotionally?"

"Yes I did," she said defensively. "I must have…"

"Detective Simmons, women are still going to get raped. Women are still going to put themselves in danger. You have to learn to let go and forgive yourself."

"I don't know how," she admitted, sheepishly. "I just want to forget it ever happened."

"Forgetting it happened won't erase it from your past. It won't help you sleep at night or trust people around you. You have to overcome it. You need to be able to look yourself in the mirror and say, 'I forgive you'. Can you do that?"

"Of course I can say it, but how is that really going to mean anything?"

"Well if it's so easy then try it."

She looked at me suspiciously and then stood up and wandered to the full length mirror at the opposite end of the room. She stared at her reflection, really stared, perhaps for the first time in many years. She opened her mouth to release the words and I watched her struggle.

"Forgive yourself, Detective Simmons. Free yourself of the anger, the pain and the hatred. Let it out, let it go."

She looked her reflection in the eyes, recognizing the pain that floated within them. She tried again to release the words from her open mouth, as more tears slipped down her face. "You can do it," I offered gently.

"I…I for…I forgive you…" she said softly. "I forgive you," she repeated again, this time with more strength.

"That's it. Forgive yourself for what he did to you. It isn't your fault."

"It's not my fault," she repeated, the simple mantra many rape victims are given and yet struggle to believe.

"That's it. You can overcome this."

I watched her trembling hand reach out to the mirror. Her body rumbled with heavy sobs and she slid down to the floor, as she released the pain she'd held inside for so many years. The sight was horrible to watch but I knew deep inside, it was the only way she could ever heal.

Many moments later, she made her way back to the couch and sat down. "You're going to be okay," I said with a smile. She returned the smile, weakly, but it was a start.

"Why would any man want me?" she asked gently.

"Your rape does not define you. You are still a human being capable of love and commitment. You just have to find the right man."

"Thank you Doctor," she whispered.

I reiterated my earlier statement. "You're going to be okay."