Chapter Seven

They found her.

She's coming home.

Alex leaned with her hands on either side of the pedestal sink in the master bathroom, the coolness beneath her palms somehow soothing against the heat that had just pooled there since the news of her wife's return. Her blood had begun flowing once more, the life somehow re-entering her being, the pinkness returning to her cheeks, the moisture to her mouth, upon news that Olivia was alive, was OK.

And she looked at her face in the reflection, studying it carefully.

Or was she?

Somehow, in the depths of her belly, there was a sensation that the brunette wouldn't be OK. At least not for a while. Call it intonation, call it intuition, call it connection, call it whatever you wanted, but Alex could feel, even from miles away, that her wife's mind was not the same. She already sensed a disconnect, two wires not quite touching. Like one, tiny bulb on the hundred-light strand on the Christmas tree was out.

She just felt it.

Olivia.

Still, whenever she thought of this woman, even felt her soul from miles away, she had the warmest sensations of love. From day one, when they had met for the first time in the squad room, she had felt it, and it continued to this day, only having built within the past years of being married. But whatever that feeling, that sensation, had been upon their first encounter, it had intensified two-fold, three-fold, ten-fold, a million-fold.

And their link was stronger than ever.

Her wife had only been gone for a day and a half, but it seemed like an eternity and she had missed her more than she ever would have thought, especially coupled with the hard facts and evidence of knowing what she had been going through.

She swallowed the lump that was threatening to stop her breathing and then took a deep breath.

The blonde jolted as her phone in the back of her jeans pocket began ringing the classic iPhone tune—cheerful and quick—and she reached back for it while simultaneously being ambushed by Theo throwing himself into her left hip, hugging her with force. She smiled as she reached down and ran her fingers through his thick, chocolate locks.

"Hello?" Alex looked down at her son and began raking her fingers backward through his hair, looking at that endearing smile on his face.

"Cabot…"

"Yes? What? What is it, Fin?" Alex's heart began to thud in her chest, her anxiety returning.

"I think…well, I'm not sure…" Fin stammered.

"Fin, tell me. What's going on?"

"It's Liv…we just finished at the station, three hours of questioning, and before that we were at the hospital for a while. I think she's done, Alex. I think she's ready for some downtime…"

Alex furrowed her brow and then reached her hand out to Theo who took it happily. "What do you mean, Fin? Of course she needs down time. I know that."

"Are there a lot of people there, Alex?" he asked.

"W—w…no…I mean, yes...I mean…my parents are here…what are you saying?"

"Alex, I don't think she's gonna want any other company than just you and the kids. Amaro said she didn't talk at all on the way back from Montauk. And, she didn't say it or mention it outright, but…I just get the feeling she's gonna need silent support right now, if that makes sense. The only time she's spoken was the interview. Other than that…she looks...she's exhausted, Cabot and I think any extra stimuli right now is a bad idea."

Alex nodded and sat at the foot of the bed, Theo joining her and then leaning against her, his head on her side. She wrapped her arm around him and kissed the top of his head.

"I got it, Fin. I can tell my parents and have them stay at a hotel tonight. I'm sure, given what Olivia's gone through, they won't mind."

"And it's another thing…" Fin began.

Alex furrowed her brow again and looked to the left, down the hallway, and watched as Cathy Cabot held the twins' hands and they began down the staircase.

"Alex…what he did to her, physically, you can see the starting of bruises and her recounting of exactly what happened to her says there's even more, much more, that we can't even see. I just…I feel like you need to be warned, 'specially with the little ones."

Alex felt her eyes fill with tears again. She leaned over to her son and whispered, "Why don't you go down and see what your grandma and sisters are up to. OK, Baby?" She tried a smile, raising her eyebrows.

"OK, Mommy!" he chirped. He lifted his head and face up for a kiss, planted one on Alex's cheek, and then jumped off of the bed and darted down the hallway.

Once he was out of sight, she continued. "Do you think the kids should see her?"

"That's up to you. I think they probably need to so they know she's OK. But I'm saying the bruises…what he did to her…it's only gonna show worse in the next couple of days. Might be better to prep the kids if you decide to let them see her right away."

"That bad…" Alex's voice was a mere whisper.

"She's gonna need patience, Alex. Quiet, patience, love, understanding…"

"She's got all that here, Fin," Alex whispered, her lower lip vibrating with emotion once more.

"I know she does. I wanted to give you a heads up. We'll leave here in…" a slight pause, "…about forty minutes and be there by eleven."

"OK, Fin. I'll make sure everything is ready to go here. The kids are still awake. Knowing their Mama's coming home, I just couldn't make them go to bed. They're so excited to see her." Alex sniffed.

"I'll bet they are," Fin offered. "See you in a little while."

Alex nodded and disconnected the phone and brought her hands to her lap, staring ahead at the small fireplace in their master bedroom.

She thought of her wife and what she would look like, what her demeanor would be like, what she would and wouldn't be ready for. She had to tell her parents the news and prepare the kids, as well.

From this point forward, the blonde knew it wouldn't be easy. But she knew her wife and what she needed, what she longed for, and what would soothe her.

She only hoped she would get her wife back and she could begin to mend from this ordeal. And Alex would be there every step of the way to be the support, be the stability, and be the love that she knew the brunette needed now, more than ever in her life.


Olivia shut the door behind her, enclosing herself in the small, darkened space of the diminutive bathroom of Captain Donald Cragen. She needed the privacy of his personal facilities—didn't want the blinding fluorescent light of the public women's room, and so she had opted for the cramped, darkened area just to the right of his desk.

She moved to the sink and looked at herself, studying her eyes, letting them roam before she scanned across her forehead to the two, sheer white pieces of bandage holding her cut together—no stitches needed.

Her gaze moved to the gash on the right side of her upper lip—one of the first injuries she had sustained while under his captivity. The bruising around her left eye.

And that was just the beginning.

The damage that had been done to her body was what Olivia didn't even want to glance at. She knew what was there. She remembered every strike, every scratch, every burn, every twist, every singeing and piercing of her flesh.

She had done what she needed to do to survive.

She had said that over and over again. In her mind. To the investigations committee.

She had done what she needed to do to survive.

And she had survived. She would see another day with Alex. She would see those little beautiful creatures that filled her life with joy, morning, noon, and night. She would kiss them and hug them and talk with them and watch them grow up. She would have another anniversary with her wife. She would celebrate more birthdays and holidays and go to plays and dances and games.

And for that she was thankful.

She cradled her left wrist then, the injury she had gotten when he had forced her to look at the deceased older woman. It was now in a sling, a sprain not a break—another reason to be grateful—and then she took her focus to her eyes again.

The eyes of a coward. The eyes of a NYPD detective who was weak. The eyes of a woman who had been helpless, had almost let her life be taken away, leaving her family to grieve their loss.

She was sure she had killed him. The blood pooling, the open, wounded flesh she had created on his face, his body. The way he just lay there—no movement, no sound, no inflammatory remarks.

Just still. She knew he would suffer after the beating she had given him. There was no doubt that this would happen. She had disfigured him, continuing to beat him well beyond the point he stopped moving. Well beyond the moment he stopped talking. Well beyond the moment she knew she was out of danger.

Olivia's lower lip began to tremble then and she lifted the pair of scissors to her hair as her face contorted with anguish, wanting to be free of this experience, wanting to remove some of what he had done to her, wanting to somehow move on and continue her perfect, wonderful life.

With tears streaming down her face, she let the blade of the open scissors touch her locks, squeezing them, hearing the sound of tiny follicles being severed from each other, split in two, and somehow she felt a certain relief, as the large clumps of locks began to float to the floor.