A very alternate version of Lewis's return. I don't own anything, and thank goodness for that.

Notes: Hmm, well my last attempt at notes seemed to give everyone some skewed expectations, so here's try number two. This is not a happy story. Bear that in mind before you get into it. Also, despite initial appearances, it's much more of an Elliot story than an Olivia story. And a pre-apology to Cassidy fans, who may want to turn back now. Sorry. The idea just wouldn't go away.

Setting notes: This is arguably AU but takes place around 15x18 and doesn't directly contradict any events up to then, except all that retirement nonsense never happened. They still have roles to play. D:

1. Storm Rising

Olivia woke abruptly at five AM, her bedroom dark but for the faint blue light of early dawn and the soft glow of yellow from the cracks in the doorway. The other side of the bed was empty as usual, but the covers were rumpled and the sheets still warm. The clatter of cups and dishes sounded faintly through the walls.

Quashing the urge to go back to sleep, she rolled over and climbed out of bed, grabbing her bathrobe as she shivered in the morning chill. Cassidy was finishing up his coffee as she entered, and he smiled at her as she squinted in the brightness of the kitchen.

"Morning," she yawned.

"Hey. Can I make you anything?"

"No. You're already done." She suppressed another yawn. "Seems like you get up earlier every day.

"Gotta get to work."

She smiled a little. "Like always. Honestly, I wouldn't have expected IAB to be this much work. Didn't know the NYPD was quite so corrupt these days."

"Yeah, well, you know Tucker. Besides, if I don't do a good job here, they're never going to let me transfer. This is my last chance, Liv."

She sighed. "I know. You've told me."

She watched him hunt for his wallet and put on his coat, then caught his hand as he turned to leave.

"Hey. If you're free this weekend, maybe we can do something together. I feel like I see you less now that we've moved in than I did before."

"I'm sorry. I'm just -"

"Busy. I know. Just think about it."

He looked at her for a long time, an odd look on his face. Something wistful, sad. She waited for the peculiar softening of the eyes he had whenever he watched her. But it didn't come.

"I'll try my best."

"Have a good day." She kissed him gently on the lips, but something felt off, his body stiffer against hers than usual. She frowned a little. "Something wrong?"

"No. Just - tired."

"Okay." She didn't push, watching him leave before pouring her own coffee. After all, their relationship was built on not pushing. She didn't ask about his past and he didn't ask about hers, as though the thirteen years that spanned between their time together had been wisps of mist in the wind. They didn't talk about Lewis or Carissa -

- (or Elliot) -

- or any of the innumerable delicate subjects that swirled like grains of sand in water between them. They'd slipped easily into each others' lives without bending or shifting, filling some of the empty spaces and leaving others wide open. But that was fine, that was okay. It was better than being alone.

She skipped breakfast and went to work.

SVU was even more exhausting than usual nowadays. Cragen and Munch were edging up on retirement, which would leave her as the ranking officer. Cragen was trying to prepare her to take over when he left, but it was slow work, interspersed with the dread of the loss of two more figures of stability in her life.

Most of the time, she didn't mind, though. It was better to work. Coming home had always been an ordeal after Lewis. Opening the door to darkness and silence made her heart pound, her scars ache. It had been better when Brian was there, the blaring of football on the television reassuring her nothing sinister awaited her. But then he'd begun working even later than her, and the silence had returned. Her offer to Nick to sleep on her couch after his home had been vandalized had been half compassion, half self-interest. It was easier to come home with someone else around, someone to laugh or argue with, a distraction to get her across the threshold, backup in case something went wrong. But that had been temporary too. Maybe it had always been her fate to walk into the darkness alone.

She flipped on the lights and set down her purse. She was hanging up her coat when the faintest of noises came from the bedroom, like the shifting of cloth, or the whisper of wind. Her adrenaline spiked, heartbeat racing, one hand going to the gun at her hip. There had been a hundred false alarms since her four days in hell, but if Lewis had taught her one thing, it was that paranoia was better than carelessness, that it was better to assume danger than safety.

Her eyes swept the living room, searching the shadows and dim corners before heading to the bedroom, gun drawn. The room was dark, lit only by the lamplight filtering in from the living room. So when she saw William Lewis sitting casually on the end of her bed, she blinked and froze for the barest moment, too surprised for even fear.

He turned his head to smile at her, his teeth gleaming white in the darkness, the fading circular scar around his eye standing out starkly in the shadows. He made no move towards her, but only watched her, amused interest apparent in his features.

"Hi sweetheart," he said, his voice a low purr. "Did you miss me?"

She lifted her gun slightly to aim it at his head, and she found to her relief that her hands were steady. "How the hell did you manage to get out of prison?"

"You think walls were all you needed to keep me away? You know better. And I don't think the technical details are what you really want right now."

"You're right." Her voice was flat. "You shouldn't have come here. Put your hands up."

Lewis merely cocked his head at her, his smile still in place.

"Hands in the air. I mean it."

"Are you really going to shoot an unarmed man, Olivia? You've fallen pretty far since we first met."

Her lips curled back in a snarl. "You really think I won't? After all you've done, you really think anyone's going to question me if I blow your brains out all over my bedroom? The only reason I'm giving you a chance to walk out of here is that I don't want to pay the cleaners to get your blood out of the rugs. But I'm starting to think it's probably worth it. So you better decide fast."

He didn't move.

"One."

"You really ought to work on those anger issues, Olivia. Have you tried therapy?"

"Two."

His confidence was unnerving.

"Three."

Something hard and cold pressed against the back of her head, and she froze.

"Drop the gun, Liv."

The voice was familiar. She closed her eyes for a moment, panic nearly bubbling over. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. She'd had this dream a hundred times already, even talked it over with Lindstrom. All she had to do was wake up and it would be over, and she'd look to the other side of the bed and feel irrationally guilty.

She opened her eyes and turned slightly, still keeping her gun on Lewis. Cassidy still stood behind her, his own weapon unwavering.

"I said, drop the gun."

She was bewildered. The world felt surreal, distant. "Bri - Brian, what are you doing? What's going on?"

"Put your gun down, Olivia. Let's talk."

"I can't do that, Brian. Tell me what's going on."

He pressed the gun to her head just a little harder. "I'm sorry. You don't have a choice."

"And if I drop my gun," she whispered, "what happens after that?"

Cassidy didn't answer, unable to meet her eyes. But Lewis grinned slightly, shifting on her bed.

It was hard to think with the steel barrel digging into her scalp, but she tried to consider her options with some level of detachment. Finally, she shook her head.

"No," she said, and her voice cracked humiliatingly. "I can't do this again. I won't. Shoot me if you want. That's a department-issue weapon, Cassidy. How long do you think it'll take them to figure out what happened?"

Lewis laughed. "Really? What happened to the woman who fought so hard to stay alive eight months ago? You begged me to live, remember? You told me with tears in your eyes that you'd do anything. But you wanna die now, at the hands of your boyfriend, no less? You're no fun anymore. It was barely worth coming by."

She gritted her teeth, gripping the handle of the gun a little tighter, aiming it between his eyes. "If I die now, I'll take you with me. I promise you that."

"Liv." Cassidy's quiet voice cut through the air. "Listen to me. You can pull the trigger, and all our lives are going to end right here. But put down the gun and you still have a shot. It's better than nothing." His voice wavered a little. "Trust me. I know. And this isn't what you think."

She hesitated, glancing back, her grip slackening for just a moment.

It was all the opening Lewis needed. He lunged forward, knocking her to the ground with bruising force, the gun flying out of her hands as air whooshed out of her lungs. She took a breath to scream, but Lewis flipped her over, slamming her down hard enough that her chin hit the ground.

He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. "Actually, it's exactly what you think."

She tried to scream again, but Cassidy covered her mouth as Lewis wrenched her arms behind her back, his fingers tracing the tiny ridged scars on her wrists from their last encounter. She shuddered as her hands were once again locked behind her back, the memories of last time nearly overwhelming her, and almost against her will, she looked at Cassidy pleadingly.

He looked away, but still spoke.

"If I let go, do you promise to be quiet? I don't want to gag you, but I will if I have to."

She managed to nod against his palm. When he let go, she drew a shuddering breath and started to speak, surprised by the calmness in her own voice.

"Cassidy - Brian - listen to me. I know - I know you wouldn't do this. Not without a good reason. Let me go, and we can figure things out, just like you said. It doesn't have to be this way."

"I can't." There was a deadness to his voice, and she realized she'd heard it this morning but hadn't paid it heed. "I wish I could but I can't. Things have gone too far."

"Why are you doing this?" she said, shoving down the hysteria that bubbled at the edge of her throat. "Tell me that, at least. You owe me that much."

"I can't," he repeated, still not meeting her eyes. "And I don't think it would matter, anyway."

Suddenly, Lewis yanked her head back by her hair, and she bit back a cry of fear and pain.

"I think you're worrying about the wrong person, sweetheart," he said, his breath hot against her neck. "How exactly you managed to screw things up this badly is about to be the least of your worries."

When Lewis wrenched her to her knees, she screamed, half on instinct, half in defiance. They all knew that a bullet to the head would be cleaner than what was coming next. But Cassidy didn't shoot. He struck her across the face with his gun instead.

She'd been hit enough times at this point in her life to recognize the hesitation in his blow, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt, opening a gash above her cheekbone and making stars dance past her eyes. Somewhere through the pain she could feel a cloth being shoved roughly into her mouth, far enough that she gagged, and then another being tied behind her head. Lewis wasn't prepared this time, she managed to think. He hadn't brought supplies or a real plan, and maybe that meant something but she couldn't think what.

Cassidy was speaking again. "Please, Liv. Don't make this harder than it is."

As if she would listen. She twisted in their grips and kicked out, managing to land a solid blow on Cassidy. He staggered back slightly, and she had the barest of moments to feel a flash of bitter triumph before a heavy blow to the back of the head sent her spiraling down into darkness.