According to Dr. Philips, very few women are ever successfully deprogrammed.

Elliot can't help but chuckle ruefully when he hears this uncalled-for factoid: for a psychiatrist, the man sure isn't very good at reading body language.

But Elliot's not truly worried Olivia will succumb to their twisted ideology, of course.

He's worried about what sort of hell she'll endure as they experiment with her, assess whether she's programmable.

As the days have worn on, his coworkers have repeatedly fed him rhetoric meant to reassure: she's tough. She's strong. She'll be okay.

He's politely nodded at all of it. Always responding with the same bland agreement: I know.

As if by disagreeing, he's somehow betraying her. Jinxing her.

But there's something he knows about her that the others don't know, and it's what nags at him most: beyond the tough exterior, she's also human.

x-x-x-x-x

She wonders how she ever came to be worthy of Gunther, of this second chance. Because whatever good she's done, nothing can make up for all the children she's murdered, by virtue of her selfishness. For the past several hours, she's been fixated on all the wondrous combinations of egg and sperm that might have been. There are pictures in her mind, of the myriad of faces; of talents and quirks and foibles and beauty. Of the sweet little boy with curly hair and glasses who loves science fiction and playing first base and, for some reason, spinach. Of the little girl with pigtails and freckles and asthma, who is left-handed and good in math and tallest in her class, and who loves art and musical theater and jump rope, but hates dolls and sleepovers and spaghetti.

God would have surely granted her children, if only she had let him. But instead she showed him contempt, choosing to suppress his will. Every impure period she ever had was one uniquely extraordinary human miracle who was mercilessly stamped out of existence.

Which is surely why she lost the one child she had thought was meant to be her redemption.

It had been a puzzle to her for months, why they took him away, why she had to be so unlucky. And yet now it makes perfect sense. It had nothing to do with luck. Losing Calvin was God's way of reminding her.

But Gunther has shown her there's a second chance, that by submitting to his regimen of discipline, she can earn God's forgiveness.

She still gets punished regularly, of course. True worthiness does not come easy; it must be earned. Sometimes in between lashes, she's made to chant out loud how thankful she is for Gunther's faith she can be taught. Can be purified, redeemed.

And so she's steadfast in her determination to do right by him. Doing right by him is doing right by God.

x-x-x-x-x

The news vans have moved on to other stories, which is both a relief and rather unnerving. It's a blessing, because they're now able to converse and congregate without worrying an intrepid reporter will overhear, somehow jeopardize Olivia.

It's a curse, because now Elliot's starting to lose hope. If the reporters are bored, what's he to believe of his partner's chances of a miraculous rescue?

There's no objective data to suggest Olivia isn't alive. That's what Cragen keeps telling him, every time he starts to succumb to the bleakness.

She's been in there a full week now, but it's been six days since they last saw her on the closed-screen monitor. Two days ago he stealthily tried to get around the barrier the Feds have constructed to prevent rogue detectives like himself from triggering their booby traps. Cragen had to deliver quite a song and dance to convince the Feds not to throw Elliot in jail then and there. So he's been warned. Still, he's resumed his earlier determination to get in there undetected. He has to know if she's ok. He has to help her.

He's terrified she's already been raped. He's done a million things in his mind to prepare himself for such an eventuality: pictured how she'll look, how he'll stay with her, talk her through the immediate humiliations of the exam, the statements; composed a shortlist of therapists he trusts enough to counsel her; rehearsed pep talks chock full of platitudes about how he'll be there for her to help her through it, and how none of it was her fault.

What he hasn't prepared himself for is that they won't find her alive. He knows, intellectually, that he is doing himself a disservice with such denial, but he can't contemplate it right now. He just can't. Because even with five beautiful children to keep him going, he quite simply can't contemplate life without Olivia.

Cragen is approaching him, his expression dire.

"What's changed?" Elliot demands.

"Fibbys think it's time for a raid."

"A raid? What? What about the explosives?"

"They don't think there are any."

Elliot's livid. "What! They don't think? And why the fuck couldn't they have figured this out –"

"Montana State Police have Warren Calldrens in custody," Cragen interrupts. "He's the number two guy in the Knights of God. He's talking."

Elliot instantly halts his tantrum. "What's he saying?"

"That Gunther is the real deal. They recruited him because he's charismatic, a great leader. He made them a shitload of money. They just didn't expect him to really believe his own schtick."

"So what's that got to do with anything?"

"Calldrens thinks they're planning some sort of mass suicide."

x-x-x-x-x

Out of nowhere, Dwight barges into the room. Although she's startled, she's too weak to flinch. Her most recent punishment was less than an hour ago and they used the electric shocks on her this time. She's been lying in the fetal position whimpering softly ever since they brought her back.

He stalks over to the heap she forms on the concrete floor, and harshly grabs her by the elbow, hauling her to her feet.

Bright, glaring light accosts her unadjusted eyes as he marches her down the hallway, into yet another, larger, room. She sags against him, barely able to walk on her own.

x-x-x-x-x

"She's back!" cries Amaro, staring at the screen.

Elliot, Cragen, Munch and Fin crowd around him, hovering in fascination as Olivia, clad in a long, flowing white skirt and a mismatched black bra, is brought into the room, her wrists bound behind her back. The video's too grainy for them to fully discern her condition, but she's slow and hunched over and possibly limping.

Elliot winces at the sight of his formerly proud partner. He takes deep breaths to force himself not to lose it in public, to not pummel all the men around the camera who are seeing her like this, half-naked and so, so vulnerable.

He just repeats to himself the bit of information that is most critical:

She's alive.

x-x-x-x-x

She's in some sort of large, airy room and something is touching her neck. She's not sure how that's happening. Maybe Dwight has a second set of hands, because she could've sworn his hands were on her waist. It's possible, she reasons. God can give man extraordinary powers when he deems it necessary. Maybe this is one of those situations. Amidst the fog that hovers over her brain, she considers that such a thing is possible.

"You stand," he commands.

"W-what?" she asks, not understanding.

"You stand, or you die."

This is the only explanation he provides.

He leaves her now, in the room, teetering on her feet.

Wondering when Gunther will come to see her.

x-x-x-x-x

They all stare in abject horror at the picture before them. The noose Dwight has slipped around Olivia's neck has about an inch of slack; with her wrists tied behind her back, if she dares pass out, she'll hang herself.

That, Elliot supposes, is the point. They're testing her strength, her fortitude, her will.

They know they're surrounded, but they're making it her fault if she dies.

Normally Elliot would have confidence in his partner to withstand this. Normally the worry he would feel would be requisite worry, because he'd remind himself how much of a fighter she is.

But after so many days of God-knows-what sort of abuse, he doesn't know if she can stay on her feet.

Worse, he's not sure she's lucid enough to understand what'll happen if she doesn't.