Awakening: Part Seven

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A/N: Sorry for the excessively long delay! I've been a bit busy, graduating college and moving out into the real world :). I'm also leaving in a few weeks for Cambodia for the Peace Corps, so there's lots of stuff to do.

This was a very difficult part to write, and I'm not sure I'm completely satisfied with it. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thanks to everyone for the reviews (and the congratulations!). I really appreciate them all.

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Bobby makes a mug of hot chocolate with a shot of peppermint Schnapps. He searches his cabinets until he finds a half-empty box of candy canes, left over from Christmas. He unwraps one and places it in the mug as a stirrer. He opens a bag of mini marshmallows and sprinkles a few on top. He folds a clean white napkin into a neat square.

He peaks into his living room, and is both relieved and terrified to find that she is still there. She is curled into the corner of his black leather couch, wearing his oversized flannel pajama pants, rolled up three times, and a grey zip-up sweatshirt. Her eyes are staring vacantly at the wall.

Bobby takes a deep breath, then walks purposefully into the living room and sets the steaming mug on a coaster on the end table next to Alex. He stands in front of her for a long moment, waiting for her to look at him. She doesn't, and he shifts uncomfortably, unsure of whether or not he should sit next to her. He finally sinks down beside her, leaving a few inches of space between them in case she needs it.

The silence is suffocating.

"I made you hot chocolate," he says obviously, needing some sort of noise, some sort of activity. "With peppermint Schnapps, just like you like it. I can make you food too, if you'd like. Maybe chicken soup, or we could order pizza from the place on 93rd…"

"It was three months after Joe died," she says suddenly.

Bobby's mouth closes abruptly.

"I'd never lived alone," she continues. "I was 29-years-old, and we'd been married since college, and I'd never lived alone. And the house was so, so empty." He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she tenses. He carefully pulls back. "I couldn't stand to be there. I couldn't sleep there, I…I couldn't even stay there. In that bed, where we…I couldn't be in that apartment."

She reaches for the hot chocolate and wraps her small palms around the warm ceramic. "I started sleeping at the precinct. I was working vice then, and I…we'd be out all night, on the street, and then I'd nap in the crib during the day. I couldn't sleep much there either, but…" She shrugs. "At least I couldn't smell him. And when I woke up there, I didn't expect Joe to be…" She stops and takes a deep shuddery breath.

"They wouldn't let me work seven shifts a week," she says softly. She takes a sip of the hot chocolate, then places the mug back on the end table. "I asked, but they…my captain wanted to make me take time off, they all tried, but…I just couldn't go home."

She stops talking for a moment, and Bobby studies her face, wondering if she is going to continue. "I started drinking a lot," she finally says, clutching her hands tightly together. "On the nights when I wasn't working, I was drinking. And it was like…" She trails off and shakes her head painfully. "It was like I had to. Because when I was working I could forget about him, you know? And I could just concentrate on finding johns and staying warm in those little skirts. But then on the nights I wasn't working, I just…"

She shakes her head again, and turns to look at Bobby for the first time. Her eyes are filled with tears, but she successfully holds them at bay. "I was so alone," she whispers.

Bobby can't sit still anymore, can't sit two feet away from her as if they are discussing work or the weather or politics. He leaps across the chasm and gathers her into his arms. She lets him hold her for a minute, leaning her head against his chest. Then, gathering her strength, she pulls away. "I can't do this like that," she says softly.

He reaches for her hand and she nods. He squeezes gratefully.

She hunches forward, her shoulders tensing. "It happened on January 16th," she says abruptly. "It was below freezing out. I was working 9th Avenue, but…it was so cold. No one was out and…we were all shivering. They called us in by 11:00, and I tried to go home, and then I went back to the precinct and tried to sleep in the crib, but I…"

She chews on her lip and runs her free hand through her hair anxiously. "I just couldn't sleep," she whispers. "I was so tired, and I couldn't sleep, and I thought that if I could just have a few drinks it would go away. And I'd be okay."

"Why didn't you go home?" he blurts out suddenly. "To your parents, or to your sister or someone."

Alex shrugs and raises her eyes to the ceiling, as if doing so will keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. "They thought I was so tough," she says thoughtfully. "I didn't cry at the funeral, and they…I just told them I was okay. I didn't want them to worry. I didn't want to cry in front of them." She chews on her lower lip.

"So what happened?" Bobby asks quietly, after a long moment of silence.

"I went to a bar," she says emptily. "In Chelsea, way out on the west side. It was pretty sketchy, but…" She trails off and shakes her head at her stupidity. "It was the kind of place where no one paid attention to you. Where you could sit on a barstool in a corner and get drunk on cheap vodka and no one would say anything to you." She slips her hand out of his. "The kind of place where you could be alone."

She stands up and walks a few steps away, and he aches at the loss. "I didn't have that much to drink," she says, and although she tries to be steady he can hear the tremor in her voice. "Just a few shots, and I didn't think I was that drunk. I thought I was okay." Her back is to him, and he watches as her shoulders tighten and hunch. His breath catches in his throat.

"I was walking down 10th Avenue," she says, and her whole body is shaking now. He watches in near-terror. "I wasn't that drunk, I really wasn't, but I shouldn't have been there. It's so dark there, and I didn't hear him…" She chokes, and Bobby grips the couch to keep himself from going to her. "He came up behind me, and I didn't hear him."

"No," Bobby says softly, as if he can stop the attack from happening, as if he can still protect her from the horror and evil she has lived through.

She braces herself against the wall, her face still hidden from him. "He had a knife," she whispers, and all Bobby can hear is the horrible pain in her words. "He told me he'd kill me if I screamed. I—I'd left my gun at the precinct. I tried to fight him, but he slashed my arm through my coat." She takes a few shallow, choking breaths.

"The scar," Bobby whispers. "You said…you said it was from falling off your bike. From when you were little."

She is crying now, although she is trying to muffle her sobs. "It wasn't," she chokes. "Okay? I lied. I didn't want you to know, and I lied." She presses her body into the wall as if she might be able to disappear into it.

"Alex," Bobby starts, standing to go to her, to comfort her, to stop her. "You don't have to…"

She turns around harshly, abruptly. "Don't talk," she snaps. Chastened, he looks away from her angry eyes. "He dragged me into an alley," she continues, and her voice is no longer weepy but bitter and pained. "He ripped my pants off, and I…I tried to kick, but he had a knife to my throat and I was so…"

She stops talking for a long, agonizing moment and leans against the wall for support. He screws up his courage and looks up at her face again. He cannot read her. "Scared," she says finally. "I've just never been so scared."

Alex sinks down onto the plush cream carpet. "And then he raped me," she says with a shrug. "He raped me, and then he got up and left and I…I lay in that alleyway until the sky started to get light. It was freezing, but I just couldn't bring myself to get up. And then I…I didn't want anyone to see me so I…I got up and walked back to our apartment. We lived on the Lower East Side then."

She closes her eyes, remembering, and Bobby watches in horrified fascination. "I had to go home," she explains. "I couldn't go to the precinct, because they would ask questions, and I…I just couldn't handle it. So I went home, and it was okay that Joe wasn't there because I wouldn't have wanted him to see me like that.

"I showered," she says thoughtfully. "Five or six or seven times…I can't remember. I was so cold, and I felt so, so dirty. And then I went to Planned Parenthood, and I told them I'd had unprotected sex, and I got the morning after pill and STD tests." She rubs the scar on her arm distractedly. "They asked about the bruises. They wanted me to tell them…what happened, but I…" She shakes her head. "I didn't want to be a victim."

She leans her head back against the wall, and then turns to look at him tiredly. "And then I went to work, and…and put on the hooker clothes, and tried to walk the street. But I couldn't handle it, so I put in for a transfer to Major Case." She shrugs. "They thought it was cause of Joe. And then I found the house in Rockaway…I moved a month later." Her brown eyes bear into him, and he feels as if his cheeks are on fire under her gaze. "I've never told anyone."

They sit in silence, watching each other. Bobby is shaking, tears streaming unbidden and unchecked down his cheeks. "Alex," he says, finally, desperately, when the silence becomes too much to handle.

"So now you know," she says abruptly. "That's what happened to me."

Bobby doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to say. He watches her turn her eyes away from him to stare vacantly at the wall. "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispers finally. "Why—why didn't you want me to know?"

"I didn't want you to treat me differently," she says softly. She picks unconsciously at her nails. "I didn't want you to think I was weak."

He is across the room and kneeling in front of her in two strides. She turns away from him. "Look at me, Alex," he says gently. She avoids his eyes, and he takes her face in his warm palms. "Alex," he says again. "Alexandra, look at me, please." She finally allows her eyes to slide into contact with his.

"Bobby, don't," she whispers.

"You are the strongest person I have ever met," he says, his voice unwavering. He refuses to let go of her eyes, and she continues watching him, transfixed. "You are not a victim. You are a survivor. And what you went through—Alex, that doesn't change anything."

She turns away from him, and he lets her go. "I didn't want you to know," she says evasively. "I never, ever wanted to talk about it. I wanted to pretend it hadn't happened.

"Talking about it is supposed to make you feel better," Bobby says wryly. He sits down beside her, leaning against the wall.

Alex laughs mirthlessly. "I don't think anything could ever make me feel better," she says.

He nods thoughtfully. "Can I?" he asks. She looks at him questioningly. "I want this to be something we can talk about," he tells her. "I want you to be able to tell me about your nightmares…I want you to be able to tell me about Joe."

"I didn't think you would want to hear about Joe."

He shrugs. "He was a part of you. And you're a part of me." She nods, contemplating that. "This case," he says hesitantly. "It affected you." She nods again, unsure of where he is going. "Why this case?" he asks. "We've worked rape cases before. You've always seemed…okay."

Alex shrugs. "We caught the case on January 16th," she says. "The day it…happened. I just knew…getting that case on that day…" She chews thoughtfully on her thumb. "I don't know why this case more than the others. I guess the others affected me too. But this case, I just…I couldn't get any distance from it. And I couldn't help thinking about…about what if…"

"What if you could have done the same?" he finishes, and she nods, hanging her head in shame.

"And then it just takes you back there," she continues. "And I kept thinking about what I could have done to stop it, and how I could have fought back, and whether I should have reported it, and…it was seven years ago, Bobby! But this whole week it's been like…like I was right there again, in that alleyway."

She leans her head back against the wall. "You trusted me," she whispers. "And I didn't want you to know how I couldn't even protect myself."

She opens her mouth to continue and he swiftly takes her face in his palms again. "Alex, stop it."

She opens her mouth to say something, and he holds a finger to her lips. "You had your chance to speak, now it's my turn," he says gently. "I love you," he tells her. "I know I haven't said that before, but it isn't because I haven't loved you since the day I met you."

Tears drip from her eyes into his long fingers. He leans forward and captures her mouth in his.

"I love you," he says again, running his fingers through her hair. He will say it over and over and over again if he has to, over and over until she believes it. "I trust you implicitly. I trust you with my life. Nothing that happened to you, and nothing that you did or didn't do could ever, ever change that." He presses his lips to her forehead. "I want to know everything about you," he tells her. "I want to understand you, because I love you. Because you're everything to me."

She leans into his chest, and he wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer to him. "I love you," she says softly, and joy floods his heart. He kisses the top of her head gently. "Are we going to be okay?" she asks, and he can hear the trepidation in her voice.

He pulls her into his lap and kisses her hard. "We're going to be fine."

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I think that just may be the end. I may write an epilogue if I'm feeling creative, but…well, we'll see. I hope you've all enjoyed! Thanks for the reviews and kind words!