Title: Night Terror
Summary: Post-"Night"; Just as the dream was a nightly occurrence, the aftermath of it was a nightly occurrence as well.
Spoilers: "Night"
Pairing: Casey/Olivia (not graphic)
Disclaimer: I stole them when Dick Wolf wasn't looking. I'll put them back, I promise.
Author's Note: I hate it when plotbunnies lodge themselves in my head and won't go away. ;P Since I've written all of two things in my life in first person, I hope this doesn't suck. ;)

I watched her toss and turn in her sleep and idly wondered if I should wake her. Sleep hadn't been coming easy for her and I knew that if I were to awaken her, it would be hours before she drifted off again. However, I also knew that if her restlessness transformed into the nightmares that had been plaguing her every night without fail, there would be no hope of any further sleep at all. I watched her for a moment longer, my heart breaking as her quiet groaning turned into a soft whimper, then I reached out and tapped her shoulder. "Casey, it's all right."

She pushed at my hand and turned her back to me, seeming to relax. Hopefully, I had disrupted her sleep enough to pull her out of the beginnings of the dream without waking her fully.

I glanced at her bedside clock, frowning at the little red numbers. Two-thirteen. She had been asleep for almost an hour and a half, which was something of a record. I propped myself up on my elbow and peered at her in the dim light provided by the small nightlight she had purchased. She had calmed considerably and her sleep appeared dreamless; she was even snoring softly. Tentatively, I settled back down on what had become my side of her queen-size bed.

The fact that I had practically become a fixture in her apartment and the newly purchased nightlight were the only outward indications that anything was still wrong. Her bruises had faded, her limp was gone. She had gone back to work and was actually doing better than she ever had been. I was the only one who knew that it was still affecting her as much as it was. The others suspected that she was putting up a front, but I was the only one who had seen it firsthand, who dealt with it every night. Elliot told me that it was survivor's guilt that kept me coming back to her apartment every night, but that wasn't the reason at all. Over the past month, I'd come to care for her more than I'd ever expected to care for someone. Perhaps it had been survivor's guilt in the beginning, but it certainly wasn't anymore.

She turned onto her back with a barely audible sigh, startling me out of my reverie. One arm was flung on the pillow above her head and the other was resting on her stomach. She seemed calm, almost peaceful. Convinced that she would be all right for a few minutes, I closed my eyes. I was asleep in seconds.

Casey's whimpering woke me almost an hour later. Cursing myself for falling asleep for so long, I sat up and took a deep breath. I was going to need to be strong and alert for this, if the past few nights were any indication; the nightmares were getting worse with each one she had.

I threw the covers off my legs, rounded the bed, and sat down at her side, taking care not to startle her. I'd learned the hard way that the process of waking her from this particular nightmare needed to be gentle. Just as I rested my hand on her arm, her whimpers turned into full-blown sobs. She smacked at my hand in an effort to make me let her go. "No." The word was strong even though it was muffled by sleep and fear.

"It's okay," I whispered soothingly. I reached out to her again, touching her shoulder.

That was a mistake. She turned over, startled, and swung her hand up at me hard. I caught it just before she could make contact with my face. Surprised at the amount of force she had used, I glanced down at her. Her face was contorted in anger, fear, and pain, and I could tell that, in her dream, she was fighting for her life.

I gently guided her arm down until it was resting on the mattress again, then I placed both of my hands on her shoulders. "Casey, wake up," I said, my voice stern and insistent.

For a split second, it seemed as if she had heard me; she quieted and stopped tossing. Then she tensed again and began swiping her legs under the covers, kicking at her imaginary assailant.

I was left unsure of what to do. She had never been so hard to awaken, and the nightmare had never gripped her so strongly. I knew any sudden movements or rough contact would only frighten her further, and after the smack in the face I'd almost received, I didn't feel like being on the business end of any more of her efforts to fend off her attacker. Deciding quickly that an indirect approach was best, I climbed off the bed and switched on her overhead light.

The sudden burst of light broke through her nightmare. She sat up straight, gasping for air and blinking against the bright light. "It's okay," I said gently as I made my way back to the bed.

She was panting, her green eyes darting around the room in obvious panic and confusion. I touched her arm in an attempt to get her to focus on something, but she jumped at the contact and wrenched out of my grasp. "Don't touch me!" she hissed with a venom I'd never heard before.

"Casey, it's me, it's Liv." I approached her from the front and tried to catch her eye. "You're at home, sweetie."

"Liv?" She blinked at me and squinted, almost as if she wasn't sure if she could believe me.

"Yeah," I answered, tenderly taking her hands in mine. "He's not here anymore. You're safe with me."

Her eyes finally focused on me as the remnants of the dream drifted and broke. Tears gathered in her eyes as she pulled out of my grip and took a shaky breath. She laid back down and snuggled under the covers. "Can you turn the light off?"

"Sure," I answered with a small sigh. I switched off the light and climbed back into bed, tugging the covers up to my chin. Just as the dream was a nightly occurrence, the aftermath of it was a nightly occurrence as well. She refused to talk, she refused to let me touch her, and going back to sleep was out of the question. I usually dozed off about an hour after waking her, feeling guilty that she was in pain and I didn't know what to do to help her.

Silently, I watched her; even though she had her back to me, I could tell that she was trembling with fright. I understood why she was refusing to talk about the nightmares, but I hated that she was shutting me out. I also hated that I resented the fact that she wouldn't talk to me. Maybe it's high time that I forced her, I thought. "So are you ever going to tell me about it?"

She flinched at the break in the silence. "Tell you about what?" she muttered.

"Oh, gee, I don't know. Maybe that pesky little nightmare you've had every night for the past month?"

She hesitated a moment, undoubtedly taking offense to my verbal downplaying of her dream, then gave a barely noticeable shrug. "What's to tell?"

I sighed; she was playing dumb to keep me quiet. Unfortunately for her, it only strengthened my resolve to make her talk. "Well, how about telling me what it's about?"

"You're a detective, Olivia," she replied. Though I couldn't see her face, I could tell just by the tone of her voice that she was rolling her eyes. "You can't tell me you don't know what it's about."

I looked her over, trying to decide if I wanted to jump head first into forcing her to talk. It wasn't going to be easy for either of us, and quarter past three in the morning wasn't exactly the best time to try to do something like this. I cared too much about her to do something that would hurt her, but I also cared so much about her that I couldn't let her spend another night shaking in sheer terror. "I do know what it's about. I was just wondering if you did."

She turned over to face me and fixed a glare on me that was so cold, it made me cringe. "What?"

"Do you remember anything?"

At first, she thought I was talking about the dream. Only after taking a moment to mentally go over our conversation as a whole did she understand that I was talking about the night of the attack. "No. Every time I dream it, it's different."

She turned onto her back and fixed her gaze on the ceiling. I eyed her up and down, silently debating whether to reach out and touch her cheek comfortingly. Not wanting to startle her further, I just gave her a calm smile. "Do you want to remember?"

"I don't know." She closed her eyes and paused a moment before explaining. "I hate that there's a whole chunk of my memory that's just gone. But I also think that maybe it's a blessing that I can't remember. It's bad enough dreaming about it every night; I don't know if I want to know what really happened."

Unable to suppress my urge to comfort her, I ran my hand down her cheek. "Maybe if you remembered, though, you wouldn't have the nightmares. Maybe your subconscious is trying to force the memory out and the nightmares are a result of that."

"Maybe." She sighed heavily and opened her eyes, returning her gaze to the ceiling. "I hate this, Liv."

The helplessness and hopelessness in her tone broke my heart. I wished I could rewind time; I would never have left her alone that night. I wished it had been me instead of her. I wished I could take away all her pain and fear with just a touch of my hand. There was no magic cure, I knew, but I wished more than anything that I could be more of a comfort to her than I was. "I hate it, too, Casey. I want to be able to say the right words and do the right things to make you feel better."

"You are making me feel better, just by being here every night. I like listening to your breathing after you fall asleep. It makes me feel like I'm not alone." She threw the covers off her legs and climbed out of bed. "I can't lie here anymore. Go back to sleep. I'll be okay."

"What are you going to do?"

She shrugged as she pulled a pillow off the bed. "I'll find something on TV. Late-night infomercials and I have become friends. You know, even though I'm never in my kitchen, I find myself in the market for a Magic Bullet."

I smiled at her weak attempt at a joke. "Are you sure you don't want me to come out there with you?"

She shook her head, bit her lip, and quickly turned her back to me. Frowning, I climbed out of bed and stepped up behind her. "Casey, are you okay?"

She turned around, tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm just so tired. Emotionally, physically … I can't stand the nightmares, I hate being so afraid, I dread going to sleep at night but I hate staying awake even more. I can't keep it all together. I can't keep doing this, Liv."

"So don't." I pulled her into a tight hug. "Let it out, Casey. You'll feel better."

She wriggled out of my grasp and backed away from me a couple of paces. "I can't."

"You can't keep it together anymore, but you won't let yourself fall apart? Something has to give somewhere, Casey. Just cry. Let it out."

"I can't," she repeated, her voice softer, quieter. As she met my eye, her tears spilled over, trickling down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. I wrapped my arms around her and led her back to the edge of the bed. "Liv--"

"Shh," I whispered. "It's all right." We sat down on the edge of the mattress and I held her tightly while she cried. Ten solid minutes later, she started quieting down, her sobs dwindling to shuddering deep breaths. I kissed the top of her head, but I didn't say anything. Neither did she.

After another few minutes, I felt her muscles twitch and relax. I looked down at her, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and saw that she was falling into an exhausted sleep. Not wanting her to fall asleep completely sitting up on the edge of the bed, I nudged her. "Casey, you have to lie down."

She groaned quietly and pulled out of my embrace, then crawled to her side of the bed. As she nestled her head on the pillows, I tugged the covers up over her shoulders and tucked her in. Sleepily, she propped herself up on her elbows and gestured for me to lean closer. I did as she asked and she met my lips with hers. She pulled away after a moment and smiled as she closed her eyes. "Thanks, Liv."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," I whispered back. I settled down in bed next to her and ran my thumb over her cheek. Within seconds, she was asleep.

I turned over, snuggling a little closer to her, and closed my own eyes. I hated the asshole that did this to her; I hated that he had made her terrified. I hated knowing that she was in so much pain and that I couldn't do anything to make her better. All I could do was be there for her when she woke up screaming or when she needed to cry. And I just had to pray that that was going to be enough.