Disclaimer: You know the drill. Characters belong to Dick and NBC.

Chapter Four

Who am I?

Can I conceal myself forevermore?

If I speak, I am condemned

If I stay silent, I am damned.

-Who Am I, Les Miserables

Olivia shook herself out of her momentary stupor and looked over the clock. 9:15! How the hell did it get so late so quickly? She quickly put the top back on her whiskey and slid it into the fake bottom of her file cabinet. It was just a glass, she told herself, no big deal. One time thing. She threw on her trench coat and headed towards the door.

Damn. She just remembered that she hadn't met with Barba to review her testimony. She winced; Liv knew that this was something that she had to do and it really wasn't like her to be this careless. But her nights had been getting shorter with the time to Lewis' trial shrinking. Waking at 3am drenched in sweat from a flashback was getting more common now…again.

While Lewis had been recuperating, Liv's many sessions with Lindstrom had gone a long way to help ease the flashbacks and the other effects of PTSD. She had come so far in such a short time but, with a growing sense of frustration, she felt like she was sliding back. When is he ever going to be out of my life, out of my head? How much more must he take from me?I have lost ENOUGH. He doesn't get to take any more from me.

I can do this.

Making a decision, she decided to walk, well, run (the storm still had shown no signs of easing up anytime soon) and Liv had no desire to be caught out in the middle of it. Ah well, she thought, who needs daylight and nice weather to take a nice run? She opened the squad room door and made a quick dash for it.

It didn't take her long to get to Barba's office. Fortunately, people were still working late and the doors were not locked. She shook off the rain from her trench coat and stomped her feet on the carpet. Her boots made little sound on the marble floors as she quickly walked to his office.

With a bit of relief and some trepidation, she saw the lights on his office. Liv braced herself; she was never quite sure what to expect with Barba. A majority of the time their casual conversations, even over a drink, somehow turned into a cross-examination. He was very hard to read, even harder to get to know. But she sensed he was a good man, although difficult, thorny, and a little bit high maintenance. When she talked to him, he really listened. And when he asked her for "sidebars", he really wanted her input. It wasn't simple lip service.

And, her lips turned up in a wry smile, he does have a rather interesting sense of style.

Liv respected Barba, even liked him a little.

The shattering of glass caught her attention and she hurried to the door. Jiggling the knob, she found it was locked. Liv rapped on the glass, "Barba?" She asked. "You in there?" Another sound of glass shattering made her jump and she cursed herself as she found herself flinching.

"Rafael?" She tested his first name.

The door swung open. Rafael Barba stood there, in his usual sartorial splendor, a bit disheveled. His collar was undone, jacket tossed over a chair, and his hair rumpled. Gone was the usually put-together legal barracuda and here was just a man.

Benson wasn't sure what to think. She was so used to seeing him as the ferocious legal tiger, it was always disconcerting to see him as a man, vulnerable to his own demons and monsters.

"Is this a bad time, Counselor?" Liv peered into the room, noting the shards of glass scattered on the floor and wet stains on the probably pretty expensive carpet.

"No, no, of course not." Barba ran his hand through his hair, trying to repair his dignity and his walls. "How can I help you, Olivia?"

"I know we were supposed to review my testimony." Liv started, feeling a little awkward, noting his obvious discomfort.

"Don't worry about it." He flashed a tight smile at her, bending over to pick up shards of glass. He swore as the edge of one of the crystal shards slashed into his finger. And, for a moment he forgot his customary elegance and reached back to his childhood trove of vulgar obscenities, muttering a few choice Spanish expletives.

Liv stared at the blood, transported back to when she first entered her trashed apartment, seeing the blood stains on the floor. She froze.

"Detective!" She didn't hear Barba's sharp bark, hypnotized as she was by the blood. There was so much of it…on the floor….staining the carpet. Burn it all. Burn it all. "Olivia." His voice came again, still sharp. She still could not move and cursed herself for her weakness.

"LIV." His voice was the softest she had heard it yet. Startled, she looked into his eyes. "Are you all-right?" He asked softly.

"I should be asking you the same thing." Benson quickly pulled herself together. He scanned her face quickly and turned back to his finger, now wrapped in a white handkerchief.

"Long day. Todo está bueno." He waved his hand, completely dismissing the shards of glass on the floor.

"Are you sure that's all it is?" Liv turned his inquisitiveness back on him.

He smiled faintly, "Using my tricks, Olivia? You should know better." The quirk of his lips let her know he was more amused than offended.

"I'm serious, Rafael." Liv said, seating herself. "You okay?"

"Never been better." He smiled, a little sadly. "Just some ghosts from the past. You know how it is." He turned and looked out the window, a strange glint in his eyes, as if from the faint shadow of tears. But that was not possible, was it?

Barba the invulnerable with tears in his eyes?

Benson stared at the floor, at the shards of glass still there, shimmering in the faint light.

"Yes," she said softly, "I know how it is."

"But enough about me." Barba said, pouring another glass. "What about you?"

She smiled. "Nothing to tell. I came to see you about going over my testimony. I'm just a little late."

He looked at his silver Burberry watch. "You have an interesting definition of late, Olivia."

She smiled. "Better late than never."

He sat on the edge of his desk and looked at her consideringly. "Well, it's a bit late to start tonight but we can get preliminaries out of the way."

"Fire away, Counselor."

He scanned her face closely. "Are you ready for this, Olivia?"

She barked out a laugh. "Define ready."

He was very serious now. "Are you going to be able to tell your story and stick to it?"

Liv couldn't meet his eyes. "I'll be fine."

"Olivia." He crouched down in front of her. "I need to know if you can do this." His eyes grabbed hers, held them. She saw no pity, just compassion and kindness, and a steel determination.

"I can do this." She said firmly. "He doesn't get to get away. Not this time."

"Good." He stood up. "That's what I needed to hear. Now," he leaned back on the desk, "are there any things I should know about? Things that they could use to sandbag us?" He tilted his head to one side, waiting her response.

"No." Far from being the firm denial that she was going for, it came out unsure and tentative.

"Olivia, if you're holding something back, I need to know. If you don't tell me, Lewis will find it, he will use it, and he will get away again." Rafael held her gaze intently.

Benson stayed silent.

Barba sighed and decided not to push. For now.

He handed her a glass of scotch. "Drink."

Olivia didn't bother to tell him that she already had been drinking and took the glass. Took a large swallow and coughed slightly.

"What's in that thing? Motor oil?" She made a slight face.

He looked mildly offended but the slight twinkle in his eyes assured Benson that he wasn't upset. "First, you're hours late and now you're insulting my scotch? Really, Olivia." He smirked.

She had to laugh. And Barba relaxed his guard slightly.

"Feeling better?" He inquired, eyebrow raised.

"I wasn't feeling badly before."

"Please don't lie to me." Barba said seriously, looking at her. "We both know the truth."

Benson's fingers tightened around the glass and the lump in her throat grew bigger. She had talked about her ordeal with Lewis so many times with Lindstrom that she had her "lines" memorized. But it was different when she had to talk about it with a colleague, with someone that she was beginning to consider a friend.

The last thing she wanted Barba to do was see her as a victim. To treat her like she was a piece of fragile china, ready to shatter at any moment. Dealing with that from members of the precinct had been exhausting and demoralizing. Lewis had tortured her, humiliated her, degraded her in unfathomable and unspeakable ways – but he had not made her weak.

That was a power he did not have. And a power she did not want to give him by appearing vulnerable and helpless.

"Liv," Barba said, his voice firm but gentle. "What he did to you was unconscionable. No one would blame you for not being fine."

For a long moment, she didn't say anything at all, just stared at the golden amber liquid in her glass, her throat dry.

"It's no weakness to say you are not okay." It's as if he was reading her thoughts. But, of course, that was ridiculous – Barba was merely very astute. Not psychic.

A single tear rolled down her cheek and she turned her face away in shame.

And she brought down the bedpost once, twice, three times on Lewis handcuffed to the bed, letting out an animal cry of rage and anguish, a cry that had been boiling up in her body and her soul over the past few days. She screamed and she sobbed as she heard the crack of his bones.

Barba put his hand over hers in a rare physical display of concern and solicitude.

"We don't need to talk about this tonight, Liv. But we do need to do this."

Benson smiled wanly. "You know what I tell survivors? That they heal more quickly when they have a chance to be heard. And, yet, I can't bring myself to follow my own advice. What kind of person does that make me?"

"Human." Barba said simply.