Warnings: Includes sensitive topics such as rape, incest, and school shootings. The latter is not discussed much further than one scene in the story.


"Fate chooses our relatives;

We choose our friends."

- Anon -

The phone had rung only a few times before it'd been picked up, but the caller hadn't dialed though that information wouldn't be know for a few hours yet. Instead, they were all treated to the noise of a woman, her voice impossibly old for someone they knew was barely an adult, as she pleaded and cried.

Standing over the receiver, hearts twisting, they all heard the words and were frozen in place. All training, all experience went out the window at the name that was peppered in the begging despite minds screaming to call emergency services.

"Oh, god, oh, god. Casey, wake up! You can't be dead. Wake up! Come on, Case, you can't leave me. Casey... Please! You promised me – you promised! Don't leave me with him. Please, Casey! Wake up." A bare moment of silence, then, "God, he killed her. Casey..."

"I do not seek.

I find."

- Pablo Picasso -

Munch had been the first to meet the girl, though he wouldn't realize who she was at first, and in a manner that made him want to scream at the sky, to rail against something in contrast to his normal demeanor. He'd never been prone to outbursts during his cases, but then his cases didn't normally collide with his personal life.

And finding Casey Novak's younger sister – an intelligent girl with hair more red than her sibling's had been and her eyes a brilliant blue – with bruises in impossible places was certainly a head-on collision.

She'd been brought to the emergency room by a friend for a sprained ankle that she swore was from tripping down the stairs, only for the staff to call the department when her x-rays came back showing multiple healed fractures. It hadn't helped matters that she became visibly upset when the doctors had started asking questions about her home life.

Being the nearest to NYU Downtown, dispatch called him and even though he was supposed to be headed back for lunch at the station, he went with the bit of information they could give him.

"Detective Munch from the 1-6," he told the admitting nurse, who only nodded and led him through the maze of beds, medical equipment, and trauma rooms to a curtained off area where the seventeen year old was.

Long legs hung over the side of the gurney, swinging back and forth while she bopped her head along to some song on her MP3 player. She was on the shorter side, however, and as she leaned back on her elbows, she looked all of twelve.

It took a moment for her to notice him, but once she had, her entire posture changed and the headphones were ripped from her ears. With them set on the bed, her legs were pulled up as she scooted back and wrapped her arms across bent knees.

Defensive posture.

He spared a moment to wonder if Olivia would have been a better choice for a teenage female, but he let it go quickly. Displaying his badge, a curious look came over her face which passed before Munch could truly identify it, telling him, "Eliska McDuff."

"I'm glad to meet you, Eliska," He greeted, pulling open his coat to retrieve his notepad. "Now, is it alright if we talk for a few minutes?"

She nodded in response, though her entire body remained taut with nervousness, "Sure, I don't have to be back for 036 until three."

"036?" Munch asked as he slid into a nearby chair. He was glad for the distance from the gurney, hoping the space between them would help the girl feel more confidence and perhaps engender a trust toward him.

"Short for E85-point-0036. It's a class, music theory. Well, music theory two at least."

"You're a musician or a dancer?" He asked, unsurprised given the girl's short but flouncy skirt and lean body that she was a student of the arts.

"Dancer," Eliska answered, adding, "I'm actually double majoring in Psychology and Music Theatre at NYU with a minor in Law and Society. I tend to spend more time on stage and hitting books than much else these days."

The smile she gave accompanied a clear easing of her shoulders, and Munch smiled gently before pressing on. "May I ask how your ankle got sprained?"

"Tripped on stage." The reply came with a shrug, her eyes casting away from him to the floor.

"And the bruises on your arms and legs?" His tone was soft, gentle; almost unassuming although now that he had seen the marring of her skin himself as she moved, there was no doubt in the man's mind. This was a teenager – a child, legally – who was weary of males and was likely to push the lie as far as she could because it was what she'd been taught to do.

"I'm a clumsy dancer," she told him, but her voice was flat and somewhat despondent.

"Clumsy? Eliska, those bruises on your forearms look a lot like fingers," John commented, ignoring the fact that the hospital had noted several bite marks hidden just below the collar of her shirt. "Is there someone hurting you?"

"No! No. I am not molested or abused. It's not like that." There was steel in her voice as she spoke, "She wouldn't let him touch me."

"Who's she?"

She hesitated, "No one. Can I go?"

And as if on cue, the curtain was pulled back so John Munch could come face to face with Casey Novak, black eye and all.

Without a word from either the detective or the former prosecutor, Casey turned to the girl, telling her, "Elle, go sit in the waiting room. I'll be out in a second."

"Marochka," she started, but the woman only shook her head and waited for Eliska to disappear around the bend of the nurses' desk before turning her attention to Munch. "They really shouldn't have called you."

"Judging by the black eye and the way you're carrying yourself, I think they were right to call. What's going on, Casey?" He asked, standing and moving closer to his friend, an experienced eye searching for that which would indicate further injuries.

It did not help his fears when she flinched away when he neared.

"It's really nothing, John, trust me. I wouldn't let anyone hurt my sister," she replied. A murmur added, "You look good. Tell everyone I said hello."

"Casey..." He tried, hoping she wouldn't run from him – from a friend – but not knowing for sure; it'd been months since anyone had seen the woman and no one at the precinct would be able to say anything about her life with certainty. Casey Novak had become a past tense and in the moment that she started to walk away, he hated that.

She never so much as cast a look back at him as she disappeared into the busy ER.

"Acceptance is not submission;

it is acknowledgment of the facts of a situation.

Then deciding what to do about it."

- Kathleen Casey -

It was barely twenty four hours later that Olivia had her own personal collision of work versus life.

Her latest case closed and another thirty-six hour marathon shift under her belt, she'd been headed out of the station with her metro card in hand when she remembered a distinct lack of food in her apartment. She was so conditioned to the long hours that she rarely kept anything that would go bad in a relatively short time, but with a string of cases and getting called in twice for emergencies, there was maybe half a jar of mayo and some canned beans to be had.

Making a quick mental list, she slipped into the subway and tossed around her morning case in her mind, glad it had been easily enough proved the boy had been abused. One more criminal put away, one more child who would spend the night better off than the night before.

Twilight had begun to set in as Olivia entered the store, snatching up a basket as she passed through the front doors, and she settled on getting whatever she'd need for the night and the next morning. She promised herself she'd do a more extensive shopping trip later in the week; as much of a New York apartment dweller as she was, she did try to avoid eating out for all her meals.

She'd just rounded an end cap full of diet aids when she bumped into the worker and as she faced the girl to apologize, her heart skipped a beat. "Casey?"

"Damn," Casey murmured, before giving her friend a quick smile and saying, "Olivia."

The rational part of Benson kicked at her, telling her she should say hello, ask how the woman was – ask why she was working in a grocery store, of all places – but the trained detective part of her was sending an assessing eye over every inch. Taking in the black-eye that she'd tried to hide under concealer, taking in the bruises that weren't hidden terribly well under a long-sleeved shirt, and taking in the very stature of someone she'd once considered far more confident than herself.

"Are you alright?"

A sigh, then, "I'm fine. How is everyone?"

Deflection, a change of subject – common behavior in someone conditioned to keeping secrets. Yet, Olivia was willing to play along with it for the moment, hoping to find an opening in the ensuing conversation to ask a pointed question.

Only it seemed that Casey was quite good at deferring attentions, twisting and turning words without giving away anything. Even in her suspension, she clearly couldn't let go of her training, still speaking and acting like a lawyer.

"Casey!" Someone called from the front and the two women turned to the man walking down the aisle. His tag read Manager beneath his name; he was clearly unamused by her ceasing to work while talking and Olivia was just about to reach into her coat for her badge when Casey shook her head.

She stood by as the man ripped into her for entertaining friends on company time. "The guy yesterday I let slide because you said he was your old man, but you do it again and you'll be looking for another job, ya' got me?"

"Yes, sir," Casey answered, her voice lackluster and subservient. She returned to her work as he moved away, almost ignoring Benson altogether while she got to her knees with a wince and reached for the goods on the floor. "Please. Leave it alone."

"I don't think I can." She watched as the woman moved, waiting for the sleeves of her shirt to pull back and she bent down to be eye-level with her friend. "Your wrists are bruised, Casey. I can see one around your eye. Talk to me."

Novak shook her head. "If you knew what you were asking, you won't be asking it. Please let it go, because you wouldn't want to hear it anyway." As the last word came from her mouth, her body language hardened and it was clear she was done with the topic.

But Olivia would not be so easily dissuaded. "If you're saying it, I will want to hear it. And if you don't want to tell me because you think someone's going to look down on you for it..."

Casey snapped. "Leave. It. Alone. Do you understand me? It's not me I'm worried about and no, it's not him either. There's something more important." She got to her feet there, schooling her features down to blandness and then Casey was walking off, through a stockroom door.

Benson nearly followed, stopping short at the door and sighing. Casey had put a physical barrier between them, an indicator of how unwilling she was to talk and, in effect, telling Olivia that any more would push the boundary of their friendship.

For a moment, she contemplated not listening to instinct until reason kicked in. If Casey truly was involved in a relationship that was abusive, she had to be treated like any other victim and badgering wouldn't help the situation.

"True friendship isn't about

being there when it's convenient;

it's about being there when it's not."

- Anon -

Neither Munch nor Benson shared their discovery with the rest of the squad, nor with each other. Both regarded it as their personal secret, something they carried while they decided how best to tackle the issue and they told no one out of respect for their friend.

Olivia had been making the effort of passing by Casey's apartment building, trying to catch the woman going in or out but she only ever saw the other tenants. She hoped that if she caught up with Casey, talked a bit, she would confide what was going on. Hell, the irrational side of her almost wished the abuser would show up and try something where she could see.

And when she was alone, away from Elliot and the others, she thought through the things they'd shared with each other through the five years Casey had worked at SVU. A schizophrenic fiancé, a drunk mother, views on abortion and so many others, and never had Olivia suspected. Granted Novak had tried to get out of being the ADA for the unit, but then few people were ever comfortable dealing with that league of cases right off the bat.

Yet the reactions, the way she seemed to radiate defeat, plus the long-sleeved shirt and the jeans in a store that had been hot even in late August's early evening... She sighed against the raging thoughts.

For his part, John was more focused on young Eliska, whom he worried was on the verge of becoming a statistic. Young, beautiful, clearly above average intelligence given her course load – she would be easy prey for someone since she also lacked a fair amount of confidence. Any abuser would latch onto that and run with it.

He'd seen her once in Central Park a week after the ER visit, the matter dropped as Casey herself had emailed him Eliska's medical file revealing a propensity for injuries due to an active lifestyle. She'd been playing a small game of soccer with people who appeared to be her age when he looked up from a cordoned off section of the park; he'd watched her fall or catch herself on friends several times, confirming that she was indeed a bit unsteady on her feet.

Though it did not ease his mind in the slightest: a neurological injury could cause Vestibular Ataxia. Of course, Eliska could have Vertigo or a balance disorder, or she really was simply a klutz. But a dancer with a lack of stability didn't sit well with Munch and it continued to bother him.

It was still heavy on their thoughts as it neared mid-November. They'd barely had time to sit down for five minutes during the heat of the last weeks of summer and most of fall, so when SVU was called to NYU, even Cragen wondered if there was something in the water.

"Hey, someone called for SV?" Olivia asked the minute she'd gotten out of the car.

The ground floor of the dormitory had been closed off to foot traffic to allow emergency services access to victims and multiple units had been called to deal with the students arriving back from classes who hadn't known what was going on.

"Yeah. Victim's upstairs, floor eighteen," the uniform relayed, adding, "Hope you've got strong stomachs."

"Wonder what that was about," Elliot remarked, slipping into the lobby. More uniforms littered the area; one of them beckoned the detectives over to the elevator and hit the button for the floor. They passed most of the ride in silence until they hit floor thirteen.

"There's blood everywhere," the guy told them. "Kid snapped. Killed a buncha his classmates, then himself."

Olivia recovered from the small shock first and thanked the officer as the doors slid open to reveal a massacre that hadn't even hit the police gossip line. Cragen had told them both what he'd been told: a student claiming she'd been raped by a classmate. Nothing about an attack within the school; she made a mental note to make sure that crisis protocol had been initiated, especially for the sake of the witnesses.

They were directed almost immediately by CSU to the student, Mena Hudson, who was nearly hysterical in the corner of her own dorm room. The girl had blocked herself in beside her desk and the wall with her storage trunk at her feet, making it nearly impossible for anyone to grab her without injury.

It was a lesson in futility. Mena was in shock from the day's events, and in the end, Olivia was unable to get her to calm down enough to talk to her. Paramedics managed to tranquilize her with some effort and as they wheeled her out of the room toward the elevator beside the one they'd arrived in. She was quickly loaded in, Olivia telling them she'd meet them downstairs so they wouldn't be cramped in the small space.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal Munch with a redheaded girl, who looked nervous and worried.

"Eliska McDuff, Detectives Benson and Stabler," John introduced.

"Where's Mena?" She asked without allowing either of them to reply. "She's probably flashing back. She won't stop freaking out until she's got her reality trigger."

Elliot picked up on the strange term. "Reality trigger?"

A momentary pause before she sighed and offered up, "She was abused when she was a kid. When she hears a car backfire or a door slam or a gun shot, she flashes back to the memories, but if you put a piece of ice or something cold like that it brings her out of the memory."

"You're sure?"

"I've done it!" She answered, as she walked over to a nook in the corner of the atrium. A small kitchenette had been set up, and she popped open the refrigerator to snatch a reusable freezer pack. Eliska tossed it to Olivia who slipped into the elevator Munch had been holding and the now-foursome rode down.

"Eliska, how do you know Mena?"

She glanced up at Olivia and said, "She's a freshman so she was assigned housing with no choice. She heard about my floor, about how we are and asked if she could move there next sem when some of the seniors leave. She's in one of my majors, too, so I've been helping her with concepts."

"So you know who she'd have contact with?"

"Mena's new and she's a Baggage kid. We're not exactly the most well-liked on campus."

The ding of their arrival at the lobby interrupted the conversation and taking the ice pack, Eliska shimmied through the crowd to the ambulance. Attempts to keep her away from Mena were overcome, the girl shoving the pack into a slack hand and murmuring, "It's alright, hunny. You're alright. They can't hurt you anymore, remember?"

Olivia tried, and failed, to contain her surprise when Mena's eyes focused and she spoke, "Eliska?"

"Secrets are made to be

found out in time."

- Charles Sandford -