She always felt him before she saw him. His presence was like a lingering mist in the air that engulfed her, prickling the hairs at the back of her neck.
"Hello?" She called out into the darkness that surrounded her on every side. She knew it was pointless, ridiculous even, to call out to him like she expected a response, but that was just how it went. Every night it was the same routine, like she was back in her apartment, and there was nothing she could do to stray from the nightmare's defined path. Instead, her trembling legs carried her forward, toward the source of his presence, and she braced herself for the inevitable.
Just as she reached the point where Lewis usually made his appearance, the dream suddenly shifted and a harsh, white light blinded her from above. She threw an arm across her face to shield her eyes from the sharp rays, and when she lowered it, squinting to adjust, she found her surroundings had morphed into the familiar scene of a hospital. The small room held a significance that she recognized right away, but as she went to lunge for the exit, she felt the sharp tug of metal digging into her wrists and ankles. Horrified, she looked down to see that she was restrained atop a metal slab in the middle of the exam room, her clothes replaced with a thin, white gown.
"No," she cried, pulling against the cuffs that seemed to tighten with every move, "No, I don't want to do this. Please, I don't want to do this."
Sensing movement out of the corner of her eye, she whipped her head around to find a scrub-clad doctor with his back to her, dabbling with something on the countertop.
"Hey," she called out to him, kicking at her restrictive stirrups when he didn't acknowledge her, "Hey! Get me out of here. I changed my mind, okay? I don't need the rape kit. I wasn't raped, I just want to go home. Please, just let me go home."
No response. It was as if there was a glass wall between her and the rest of the world.
"Hey! Did you hear me?" she jerked in her restraints again, agitated, "I said I wasn't raped-"
"Withholding evidence, Detective?" The doctor abruptly cut her off with a voice she would recognize anywhere, sending chills down her spine as he spun around to reveal the face of William Lewis, "I think you know better than that."
For a moment, she was frozen beneath his stare, her eyes locked into his as a sadistic grin spread over his features. Once she regained marginal control of her body, she scooted backwards on the table, pushing herself as far away from him as the chains would allow.
"No," she whispered, her head shaking mechanically as tears formed in her eyes, "No, no, no."
"Hi, sweetheart. I've missed you."
He took one step toward her, then another- a slow, torturous saunter that iced her veins as she fought helplessly against her binds.
"Get away from me," she ordered, her voice a tremor rather than a demand, "Don't touch me."
"I heard you haven't been a very good girl, Detective Benson," he chided, approaching the end of the table where her bare feet remained locked into the stirrups, "Turning down a rape kit? Telling people it never happened? Don't tell me you've forgotten all about our special time together. Especially when it was so memorable for me… That hurts, Olivia. Really."
She whimpered as he placed a hand on each knee, running his palms over her exposed legs. Unable to fight back, she simply tried to jerk her legs away from his touch, squeezing her thighs together to preserve what little modesty the gown allowed.
"No. Please, I," she fumbled over her words, choking on sobs as his hands climbed steadily upward, "I'm sorry!"
"That's okay," He retracted his hands from her body, reaching instead for the string on his scrub pants, "I guess I'll just have to remind you."
Thud.
Olivia startled awake at the sound of a muffled slam coming from what felt like a hundred miles away. The first sensation to register in her groggy semi-consciousness was the solid cold against her cheek, followed by the faint odor of citrus Pine-Sol. Crinkling her brow at the unusual ambiance, she chanced a peek through one eyelid, suddenly realizing how heavy they felt. Through her hazy, sideways view, she could only make out a thin strip of light that swayed in her vision and was entirely too bright for the headache she felt coming on.
"Unhh," she groaned against the pain, squeezing both eyes shut again.
"Olivia?" She barely registered Brian's muffled voice coming from another room.
Taking a deep breath, she brought her hands up to brace on either side of her, stopping when her left arm bumped a large glass bottle and sent it rolling across the tile. The sound of approaching footsteps summoned the strength to push herself into a sitting position. When her head hit the side of something hard, she winced, raising her hand to feel the cold porcelain of the sink. Oh. She blinked. She had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor. 'Passed out' is more like it, she thought to herself, noting the two empty liquor bottles beside her.
And then she remembered.
The memory of the night before came crashing down to earth like a meteor, punching the air from her lungs. Her recollection came back in scattered pieces. Nick. The wine. The broken glass. The exam sheets. The truth.
She wanted to vomit. She thought she might, so she made a haphazard move for the toilet but stopped short when another spike of pain entered her head. Rubbing her palms over her face, she struggled to remember what else had happened, and her eyes shot open at the memory of walking up to her apartment and seeing Nick and Brian having a conversation, file in hand. Her heart thudded inside her chest. Does Brian know? Did he tell him? No, nonono, he can't know. Nick wouldn't have told him anything, he wouldn't. Hecan'tknownonono-
"Liv?" Brian opened the door and flipped on the light, giving his huddled, intoxicated girlfriend a puzzled once-over.
"You...okay?" he asked with a glimmer of half confusion/half worry in his eyes.
Olivia forced herself to meet his gaze, squinting against the harsh light that suddenly reminded her too much of her nightmare. She shuddered.
"Fine," she croaked.
His eyes wandered from her mascara streaked face down to the collection of empty bottles at her side, raising an eyebrow.
"Long night?"
He had no idea.
"He knows," Olivia announced as soon as her therapist opened the door.
Lindstrom gave her a questioning look, but she brushed past him to claim her usual seat across from his. She seemed to be beyond the simple formalities of a greeting today.
"He... Knows?" He asked, clicking the door shut behind them and moving to join her.
Olivia bit her cheek, her averted eyes distant with a mix of frustration and sadness. Judging by the irritation around her sockets, she had been crying prior to this visit. Finally, she lifted her head to face him.
"He knows about the beach house," she spoke in a defeated whisper, ''About everything."
He was quiet for a moment, masking his surprise at her confession. Of all the breakthroughs she had experienced with therapy, the story of her rape had always been one thing she held steadfastly to, never once showing signs of relenting in her secrecy. Despite his gentle urges that bringing her story to the light could ease some of her affliction, she had insisted on keeping the truth from everyone close to her.
"'He,' as in Brian?" Doctor Lindstrom prompted carefully.
She chewed her lip, shaking her head.
"Nick," she confessed.
"Your partner."
Nod.
"The one person who treats you like you're not broken."
Nod.
"WelI, I can certainly see where this would throw off your equilibrium. I'm glad you came here today, Olivia."
She seemed to sink into herself as she huddled against the dark, leather chair. She appeared to have retreated into her darkest place once again. The last time he had seen her looking this disheartened was over the summer, in the immediate aftermath of her kidnapping. Given that she displayed similar symptoms of violation and distrust now, he could only assume that Nick 'knowing' was not by any intention of her own.
"You aren't the one who told him, are you?" Lindstrom guessed.
Her lip trembled without her permission, an unconscious display of the turmoil she was battling, and she shook her head.
"The nurse," she whispered stoically, staring into the blank space ahead of her, "When I left work yesterday, the nurse who performed my rape kit came into the precinct and gave Nick my file. The real one. Because apparently there is a real one, one that exposes everything I've managed to keep contained for half a year, yet I had no idea it even existed."
"You have every right to be upset," he said, "What she did was out of line, both on a professional and human level."
"I should have known," Olivia whispered to herself, seeming to brush over his comment, "I guess I did know, but I was too… I couldn't bring myself to care in the moment. But I knew this would backfire. It always backfires."
"No one is judging you here," he assured her, "You made a choice, and-"
"Yes, a choice," she interrupted, "I made a choice that could cost me my reputation, or what little of it remains of it."
"What are you afraid of, Olivia?" he asked suddenly, stopping her tirade "I mean, what is that has driven you to keep this aspect of your assault so hidden from the beginning?"
At this, she glanced up at him. She pondered the thought for a moment, a thousand possible responses swarming her brain. That was quite a loaded question, and the answers hardly felt any lighter. Which one did he want? Which one would be the least terrible to divulge?
"I don't know," she said honestly, turning her palms up in her lap, "You're the one who's always telling me how words leave the deepest cut or whatever. Maybe it has to do with all those hundreds of times Lewis told me how dirty and pathetic I was for 'letting' myself be raped; How no one would ever look at me the same if they knew."
"Lewis's words," he echoed, "You think his opinion of you has had an effect on your willingness to expose this detail of your assault?"
"Sticks and stones, right?"
He smiled a tight line at her attempt at humor, but the seriousness lingered in his eyes.
"Let me ask you something more, Olivia," he pressed, leaning back in his chair, "This opinion of his... do you believe it to be true?"
"Of course not," she scoffed a little too immediately, "I've worked in special victims long enough to know better than that."
"And Detective Amaro?" he challenged, "He works in special victims, as well. Are you still afraid that his opinion of you will somehow align with Lewis's now that he knows your secret?"
She cast her gaze downward, picking diligently at the hangnail on her left thumb that suddenly demanded every ounce of her attention.
"Not exactly," she allowed, "Not on everything, anyway."
Lindstrom raised an eyebrow, "But…?"
Olivia sighed, because of course she should have known he wasn't going to feed this one to her.
"Look, of course he's not going to accuse me of asking for it or something," she explained, "It won't even cross his mind, I know that. But that won't deter him from dwelling on the opposite. That I didn't ask for it, that I fought, but I was helpless to stop it. So no, he may not agree with Lewis on everything, but he agrees with enough, and that includes the fact that I'm a victim now."
"Why do you treat that as such a dirty word?" he inquired, "I think I know you well enough to say you would never feel that way about any of the women that come through your squad room. What makes you different?"
"Perception!" she exclaimed, "I am an NYPD detective. My entire adult life, this is what I have strived for. This is how I define who I am as a human being. I'm supposed to be the hero, the one who fights back and saves the day. I have a whole city to protect. I have a partner to worry about protecting. And what am I to him now? Some kind of damsel in distress?"
"Well, according to your captain, you're a hero, right? The department, the press? Don't you think your partner, of all people, would be inclined to agree with them?"
His words beckoned a familiar sting. As her mind catapulted her back to another time, another life, a slow prickle of hurt pulsed through her veins.
"God knows my old partner wouldn't have," she swallowed back the bitterness in her throat.
The doctor quickly masked his surprise at the mention of the normally avoided subject.
"Detective Stabler," he confirmed with a nod, "Care to elaborate?"
"Do I have a choice?" She chuckled darkly. He smiled back.
"Always."
Dropping her resistance, she raised a hand to brush back her short curtain of hair, exposing her neck, and more importantly the faded scar that lingered shortly beneath her jawline.
"A few years ago, we had a case involving kids," she began, "It ended up with a… confrontation. The perp had the boy with him, and when I got close enough to engage, he pulled a knife on me. Slashed me just below the jaw."
She ran her fingers over the raised line of white skin while she spoke, her eyes distant as she recalled the moment.
"Turns out it with nothing serious," she smirked bitterly, as if acknowledging some cruel joke the world had played on her, "But Elliot… he took the bait. He chose me in the moment and let the perp run off with the kid. He slit the boy's throat as soon as he hit the pavement."
Lindstrom drew in a breath as he watched his patient grapple with the memory. In typical Olivia fashion, she was holding back, only telling him the edited version, but he could already see where it was headed.
"He started acting distant immediately after that, and I wasn't sure why," she said, "After all, it was his choice to make, and he made it. So I kind of chalked it up self blame, you know? Until he decided to declare open season on me in front of the whole precinct."
"He blamed you for the incident," Lindstrom guessed, more a statement than a question given everything he had learned about the infamous ex partner.
"Blaming me, I could've handled," she clenched her jaw, "But he couldn't just leave it at that. He had to tear down everything I'd ever built my career on by telling me that he couldn't keep putting his job on hold to save my life. Like I was just a nuisance to him, some dead weight he had to carry around on the job."
"That hardly sounds fair," he agreed, clocking her anger. She peered up at him through weary eyes.
"You don't know Elliot Stabler. He tended to live by the philosophy, 'speak before you think.' And sometimes, he left out the last part altogether," she briefly smirked before letting her face fall back into sorrow, "Anyway, that was the reason I never told him what happened during my undercover stint in prison. I couldn't give him the satisfaction of proving him right."
Olivia knew she was being unfair with her word choice, knowing full well Elliot never would have felt anything close to 'satisfied' with that ordeal, but the bitterness was rolling off her in waves.
"And I guess maybe that's why I never wanted to tell anyone about this. All this time, even after everything that happened, I was able to put on this front for people, make them think that I was at least strong enough to spare myself from Lewis's worst intent. I had that one thing. Maybe it doesn't make sense to you why I decided to hide it. Most of the time, it doesn't even make sense to me. But it was the one thing in the midst of all this chaos that I had any ounce of control over, and now it's gone, and I don't know what's going to happen."
Her words built to a crescendo before cutting off and leaving the room void of all sound and movement. She wanted to scream to fill the silence and expel the raging battle inside her head, but she felt like there were hands around her throat, squeezing out the life as well as any ability to speak. To her surprise, a tear trickled from her eye and fell to her lap.
"To be perfectly honest, Olivia, that makes sense," the doctor finally spoke up, pushing the box of tissues closer to her on the table, "That helps me understand where you're coming from on this. As we just discussed, words can have a pretty big impact on your self concept, even long after they are spoken."
She breathed a humorless laugh into her tissue, as if to say what an understatement that was. Between the truth-serum effect of her mother's alcohol, the impulsive rage of her ex-partner, and the carefully dictated psychological torture of William Lewis, she was plenty familiar with the sharp edges of verbal communication.
"Sticks and stones," she repeated.
His head was pounding. It was twelve o'clock, and he was still regretting that second bottle from last night. Rubbings his temples, he stared forward at the empty desk across from him, at the chair that mocked him with his partner's absence. The familiar sight sent chills down his spine as he recalled the two month vacancy the desk had maintained over the summer. He grimaced at the memory, turning his head away from the sickening reminder. The squad room had felt so cataclysmically barren in her time away, the air around them laced with sorrow, remorse, and self-loathing. He felt a lot of that last one today.
She skipped worked. Olivia Benson never skipped work. But because of his sorry attempt at 'looking out for her' last night, she finally cashed in one of her dozens of accumulated sick days and left him alone to stare down his demons in the heavy silence. His mind seemed to pull away from the habitual drone around him, replacing the sound of telephone rings and idle chatter with the sound of shattering wine glasses and piercing cries. It must have been worse than he imagined last night for her to call off of work. The very thought broke him. He knew he shouldn't have left her alone.
All of a sudden, his mind stirred with a nagging anxiety. Was she okay? Squeezing his eyes shut, he recalled the last glimpse he'd gotten of her before leaving the apartment: one hand clasped tightly over her middle as if trying to physically hold herself together while the other hand held the wine-soaked sheet, squeezing it into her fist as the crimson liquid dripped from her knuckles. Deep down he knew that honesty was the best policy here, that the truth always had a way of finding the light eventually. But it was difficult to frame his actions as "the right thing to do" when all he could think about were her terrified eyes, wide and glimmering with tears as he plastered her worst nightmare across her living room floor.
He should have stayed. Two and a half years at SVU had taught him to never leave a distressed victim alone.
He stopped short at his own thought, swallowing the words like a bitter acid. Victim. The term was so unfitting for Olivia Benson, the strong and unbreakable woman he had admired from his first day on the job. He made a mental note to ban the word from his tongue when it came to her, knowing how it would break her heart to hear her partner condense her to such a label. But the truth was exposed now, no more denying it. A torrent of cold rushed into his veins as the black and white words summoned a barrage of scenarios in his mind, inevitable mental pictures that had haunted him for two days straight. He knotted his fingers in his short locks, willing the images away to no avail. The only thing worse than the pictures in his mind was knowing that they were ten times worse in hers.
"Hey, sorry I'm late," Nick whipped around in surprise as Olivia strode into the squadroom, her gaze purposefully avoiding his.
As the rest of the squad regarded her with half hearted nods from behind their computer screens, Nick followed her with studious eyes until she sat down across from him. She busied herself with folding her purse into the side drawer and arranging paperwork on the desk, refusing to acknowledge Nick's burning gaze. He swallowed hard, mustering the courage to whisper to her across the desk.
"Olivia."
"Don't," she shot back immediately, meeting his eyes for the first time with a quick glare of warning. His heart sank as he saw the evidence of her long night behind her puffy eyes, her expression mirroring the weariness of his own.
"Olivia, please," he implored, leaning in so no one else could hear, "Look at me? Talk to me?"
She pressed her lips tightly together, ignoring his pleas as she fingered through the stack of files in front of her.
"Can we please talk about this?"
She let a folder hit the wooden surface with a soft smack, clenching her jaw.
"There's nothing to discuss," she hissed in a very clear end-of-discussion manner, "Drop it."
Nick was just about to raise his objection when the Captain emerged from his office, phone in hand.
"Parents of this missing vic just called," he announced, "They think they found something on her boyfriend. Fin, why don't you and Rol-"
"I can go with him," Olivia volunteered a little too eagerly, already grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair and earning a curious side-eye from her fellow detectives. Cragen shifted his glance from Olivia to Amanda, who gave her slight nod approval.
"Okay," he nodded, perfectly happy to ignore whatever strange source of tension was emanating from his squad.
As Olivia hurriedly slipped her coat over her shoulders and headed for the door, Nick shot out of his seat, gently reaching for her wrist as she passed his desk. Immediately, she jerked her hand out of his grasp, turning back to him until their faces were only inches apart.
"Don't. Touch. Me," she articulated, and he almost swore he could see moisture welling up in her eyes before she pushed away to storm out of the precinct.
"Brian?"
The scent of her favorite vanilla candle rushed her as she entered the apartment, immediately sensing a shift in the air. The lights were low and the soft melody of a grand piano trickled through the speakers on the shelf, filling the room with a delicate glow. When she rounded the corner of the hall entrance, she found her boyfriend setting the table with their best china-the kind they reserved for dinner parties and dates with his mother. As the door clicked shut behind her, Brian spun around, a trace of eagerness lining his features.
"You're home," he greeted her, stepping forward to meet her with a kiss. She chuckled at how much it felt like she was in some modern day, role-reversed version of I Love Lucy.
"That, I am," she commented, never taking her eyes off the romantic scene, "And you… made dinner?"
She couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice, and he smiled at her in response.
"Heh. Well. I tried," he chuckled, nervously rubbing his palm over the back of his neck, "But I figured you wouldn't want to eat charred shrimp and undercooked pasta, so I ordered chinese instead."
She laughed as he retrieved the white carryout cartons from the kitchen and set them on the table.
"I got the wine part right, though," he added, beaming with pride.
"That, you did."
She couldn't help but feel her spirits lift at the kind gesture. It was kind of perfect for them, and even more perfect considering the hell of a day she had.
"What is all this for, Bri?" she asked, "Not that I don't appreciate it. I definitely do."
He stepped closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist to clasp at her back. She took a deep breath, leaning into his touch.
"I saw that you had a bad night last night," he spoke softly, "And I wasn't here for you."
"Bri-"
"No, wait, let me finish," he stopped her, "You had a bad night. And with the trial and everything coming up, I suspect there will be a lot more of those in the coming months. And you know what? It's actually ridiculous that you have to put up with any of this in the first place, but you have been incredibly strong and so brave and I... I just wanted you to know how proud of you I am for surviving it all."
She opened her mouth to respond, and then shut it again when she found herself lost for words. She wanted to argue with him, thank him, and kiss him all at the same time, but instead she just stared into his warm eyes.
"I also wanted to say thank you," he added, pecking her on the lips before stepping back and pulling out her chair at the table, "I know the whole talking thing doesn't come easy for you, and we both have our issues with communication… but I wanted to say thank you for letting me be here, you know? For not completely blocking me out."
Guilt. It hit her like a ton of bricks as she sank into her seat, her eyes staring into the blank space in front of her. The saddest part was that he was thanking her for essentially nothing. More than that, he was thanking her for systematically and meticulously hiding her biggest secret away from him, and he had no idea. It wasn't as if she had even wanted Nick to find out, but still, she felt a measure of illogical guilt that he knew and Brian didn't. The man who held her after every nightmare, picked her up from the floor and wiped the streams of makeup from her cheeks, who held her hand from across the mattress when she couldn't sleep… She kept him in the dark, shot him down, and hid away, and he was thanking her for the small mercy of keeping him around at all. She almost wanted to laugh, but she feared that if she did, the tears wouldn't be far behind.
Olivia was almost grateful for the distraction when a knock on the door pulled them from the moment. That is, until, she heard the muffled voice of her partner from outside.
"Liv, it's Nick," he called.
"I'll get it," Brian sighed, rolling his eyes as he stood.
Olivia immediately pushed back from the table, grasping his hand.
"No, I've got it," she countered, "It's probably just something for work. Why don't you pour the wine and I'll be right back. Promise."
He groaned in annoyance, but conceded with a kiss to her cheek.
"Fine, but make it quick. The gourmet delivery is getting cold."
Olivia fronted her best display of amusement before pulling away. Her heart thudded with every step, having a pretty good idea of what prompted this unwelcome visit, and she was less than enthusiastic. She took a deep breath when she touched the doorknob, biting back the wave of nausea and forcing the most stoic expression she could manage.
"What are you doing here?" her words tumbled out as soon as she opened the door.
Nick shifted nervously on his feet, an anxious expression playing on his face as he prepared to deliver a seemingly rehearsed speech.
"Look, Olivia, I'm begging you not to slam the door on me, okay?" he said, "Please. I just want to talk."
"Well, I'm kind of busy," she iced over, folding her arms across her chest, but he didn't look like he was ready to relent.
"Five minutes," he held his fingers up for emphasis, "Just give me five minutes to talk with you and I promise I will let it drop."
"Nick, I'm having dinner with my boyfriend," she snapped, "What makes you think you can just drop in out of the blue and demand for me to come running?"
She looked like she was ready to slam the door in his face so he quickly spoke up.
"Captain's orders," he blurted, "Cragen wanted me to stop by and make sure everything was okay, after..."
"What?" She froze, her features tensing up, "Did you-? Does he-?"
Nick, catching onto what she was asking, quickly stopped her, "No, Liv. No, I didn't tell him anything. I told you this would stay between us."
Breaking away from his eyes with a short puff of relief, Olivia cast a cold smirk to the floor between them.
"Yeah, well, you wouldn't be the first to break that promise to me."
Nick sighed.
"Olivia, what that nurse did… it was wrong," he shook his head, compassion in his voice, "Maybe she shouldn't have agreed to it in the first place, but she definitely shouldn't have sold you down the river like that. You deserve better."
"Everything okay out there, Liv?" Brian called from the dining room, startling them both from the moment. A blush rose to Olivia's cheeks, a brief panic flashing in her eyes at prospect of Brain drawing anything from the private conversation.
"Uh, yeah, everything's fine," she threw nervously over her shoulder, "I'll be there in just a minute, Bri."
"Please," he took a cautious step forward, his brown eyes burning into hers, "We can't just leave things how we left them last night."
She tightened her arms around herself at the memory, a sudden cold washing over her. The blush in her cheeks intensified as she let her eyes wander to the ground. She felt so small.
"Five minutes," he repeated in a whisper, "Five minutes, and I'm gone."
Suddenly feeling too weak and vulnerable to fight any more, she tossed an exhausted look over her shoulder and then back to him, the resolve falling away in her eyes.
"Fine," she resigned, "But not here."
The pair walked in sync along the row of streetlamps, oblivious to the mild traffic of people that passed them by. They pulled their jackets tighter around themselves, shoving their hands deep into their pockets, but they couldn't tell if the adjustment was due to the chilly night wind or the mutual discomfort in this unexplored territory. Despite having been the one to initiate, and insist on, the conversation, Nick suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He had a thousand questions and a million reassurances he wanted to offer her, but all of them seemed to get tangled at the tip of his tongue, lassoed by the fear of saying something wrong and causing her any more pain. After a few minutes of silence, and the realization that Olivia wasn't about to offer up any unsolicited information, Nick cleared his throat and dove in head first.
"I'm so sorry for the way this went down," he breathed into the cold air, watching his words turn to thin, white vapor, "None of this was ever fair to you. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't wish I could go back to May, change everything, be a better partner."
"I can protect myself," she bristled at his comment, immediately feeling embarrassed when she realized her statement was kind of negated by the fact that she didn't protect herself.
"Don't you think I know that?" he asked, "Hell, Liv. There hasn't been a single time that I've doubted you as my partner, as a cop."
"Key word: doubted," she remarked, "Past tense."
He turned to her as they walked, a hurt in his eyes for both her and himself.
"What? You think… you think this changes anything between us?" He asked in disbelief, "Liv I would never-"
"You were the only one that never treated me differently after everything," she shook her head, eyes on the ground, "I needed that. I thrived on that."
"Olivia, that same sentiment is still here," he assured her, "It's not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
Unable to force the belief into her mind, Olivia breathed out a humorless laugh, picturing the face of one Elliot Stabler and the horrible irony of those words.
"Sure."
They walked to end of the block in silence, taking a turn onto a longer stretch of sidewalk. Biting his lip, Nick seemed to turn something over in his mind.
"Can I ask you something? Nothing, uh... personal," he added at her brief flash of panic, "Does Barba know about this? I mean, he only saw the first copy of the exam form, right? So the charges against Lewis…?"
"Right," Olivia crossed her arms self consciously, "No, he doesn't know about...that."
Nick felt like his heart would implode as her voice broke off on the last word, her eyes falling to the sidewalk. She couldn't even bring herself to look at him when she talked about it. Knowing Olivia the way he did, Nick could assume that it was more the issue of him looking at her, like she didn't want him to see the shame in her eyes.
"You have nothing to be ashamed of, you know."
"The victim speech? Really?" she snapped with a little more aggression than intended, then immediately lightened, "Sorry."
"No, no, you're right," he shook his head, "You deserve more than a cliche. Just... in this case, I want you to know that the cliche is true. What Lewis did to you…"
"Stop," Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, stopping mid stride as they turned onto a deserted sidewalk, "Look, I told you we could talk, I know, but I...I can't talk about this, Nick. I just. Can't."
"Okay," he whispered, his hand twitching toward her to offer some modicum of assurance, "It's okay, you're okay."
She peered up at him through her lashes with apologetic eyes, conveying to him with one simple look all the anguish and shame she had carried around for the past six months. She shook her head.
"No, it's not," she finally admitted, a weak and breathy whisper that cut both of them straight down the middle, "I'm not."
And then it was as if something released inside of her. She felt a shift in the emotions that had plagued her for the past 24 hours, and suddenly a piece of the betrayal and agony was replaced with a small leaf of comfort. A reprieve that meant, in that moment, for the first time in half a year, she didn't have to hide. Her lip twitched once before her mask shattered completely, and she slapped a gloved hand over her mouth to conceal the sob that poured from her throat.
"God, Liv," he broke, stepping forward without hesitation to capture her trembling form in an embrace. It was the first and only time he had ever seen her cry, and he knew from that moment that the memory would never leave him. He wanted nothing more than to hold her there and give her every ounce of comfort he could transmit from his body to hers, like he had wanted to do since the moment he had scooped her broken body off the beach house floor.
And for once, she let him.
AN: As always, I hope you guys enjoyed. Your feedback means the world to me, so if you are the business of making people's day, feel free to leave a review. Thanks!
