Somehow, Barba made it through his first night alone, but it was far from easy. He had given in and called Munch a couple of times, under the guise of "just to chat." He never revealed to him how scared he was, and that the nightmares and flashbacks had continued. There was no point in telling Munch, it would only make him worry. Besides, he would be seeing Benson, Fin, and Munch in the morning. They were picking him up and taking him to the station to begin work with a sketch artist. He was dreading that, but it had to be done.

Munch had even convinced him to come for breakfast with them. Barba had been hesitant to accept the invitation as his face still looked horrible, and he didn't want people to stare. However, Munch talked him into it, and it was something to look forward to. Something normal, and lord knows, Barba needed something normal in his life. Coming up with a composite of his rapist with a sketch artist was defiantly not normal, so Barba hoped that the normalcy of going for breakfast would counter-balance that just a bit.

Barba leaned against the tiled shower wall and slid to the floor. He shut his eyes tightly, unable to stand the sight of his rapist. He drew his knees to his chest and dug his fingernails into his arm. No matter how hard he pinched himself, the vision wouldn't stop. The man picked him up and threw him against the wall, his hands reached out and wrapped around his throat and squeezed. This isn't real, this isn't real. He repeated the mantra over and over in his head, but still, the man continued his viscous assault.

Barba tried to stand. His feet slid pathetically on the wet shower floor and he landed on the shower floor with a thud, his head banging against the tile. The stainless steel rack which held his toiletries crashed to the floor beside him, dumping its contents, plastic bottles bounced around him like balls. Barba sat up gasping, terrorized. The vision of the man was over as quickly as it had begun, but the stress of the near constant stream of flashbacks, visions, and nightmares was getting to him. He was cracking up, the stress was too much and there was nothing that he could do to stop it.

With tears in his eyes, he looked down and watched as blood comingled with water and swirled down the drain. Steadying himself against the wall, he slowly stood up. Calm down, it wasn't real. Don't be a baby. "Stop it, stop it!" he screamed. Curling his hand into a fist, he pounded the tile wall and wept. He wanted to bolt from the shower but his hair was still soaked with shampoo, so he paused, took a deep breath, counted to ten like Huang had taught him, and rinsed himself off, his shoulders shaking in time with his sobs.

Gingerly he stepped out of the shower. His hands alternated between drying himself and holding a facecloth to the back of his head. Tears welled in his eyes. When would this torture end? Will it ever end? He tossed the cloth into the sink and held a fresh one to his head as he hopped into his briefs. Swearing to himself, he struggled to put on his undershirt with only one hand.

Sitting on his bed he flipped the cloth over and kept pressure on his wound. He desperately wanted to phone Munch and tell him what happened. He reached for his phone but he stopped himself from placing the call, not wanting to bother him with every little thing. Besides, Munch had a life of his own. It was bad enough, not to mention embarrassing, that Munch had stayed with him for days after the attack, babysitting him and literally holding his hand. Barba tossed his phone back to the bedside table and examined the cloth, at least the bleeding had slowed down. He put his hand to his head, wincing as he carefully touched his injury. His head pounded dully and he needed a pain killer.

With shaking hands, Barba poured a glass of water and swallowed his pain killers. Reaching into his cabinet, he removed a bottle of scotch and poured himself a glass. He knew that he probably shouldn't drink, but he needed one. He savoured the taste on his lips for a moment, before making his way to the living room. Only one drink. Maybe it would help him sleep, he thought, as if he needed to justify his actions to himself.

Barba sank into his couch and tried to relax. He picked up his television remote and flicked on the TV in an attempt to distract himself from everything. The phone suddenly rung startling him. It was Munch checking in and confirming with him that he would be along in the morning with Benson and Fin to pick him up. "Alright, see you tomorrow," Barba said, purposefully trying to sound chipper. He hung up the phone with Munch, somewhat proud of himself. He hadn't whined on the phone about his last flashback and head injury despite his desire to.

Turning his attention back to the television, he settled on watching the local news. The phone rang again. "Hello?" he answered.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Wrong number," said a man's voice. The phone went dead in his ear. Barba held the phone in his hand and checked the caller id. 'Blocked Number', the display read. Before he had time to return the phone to its base it rang again. Shaking, he nearly dropped it to the floor. This time, he looked at the id before answering it. 'Blocked Number'.

"Hello?"

"Oh sorry. I hit redial," the voice on the phone said.

"No prob -" Barba began, but the caller hung up in his ear.

Trembling, Barba put the phone down and took a long sip of his scotch. He hadn't received a single phone call in the days that Munch had stayed with him. Now, all of a sudden he had two wrong numbers in a row? He began to think that he recognized the voice on the phone. Was it the rapist calling to taunt me? Was he watching me? Calling when he knew I'd be alone?

Heart pounding, he rushed to the door of his suite. His hands fumbled as he checked and rechecked the deadbolt. Panicked, he raced from room to room, shutting blinds and closing curtains, pausing only to slam shut the door to the guest room. He stopped and checked the deadbolt again and tried the door. Satisfied that he was safely locked in his suite, he leaned against the door for a moment, gaping and listening to his heart pound in his chest.

Barba wiped away a tear from his cheek and went to the living room. He sat on the couch and downed the rest of his drink. Instinct made him reach for the phone. He dialed the first few digits of Munch's number, wanting to tell him that he thought his rapist had phoned him, but he stopped himself from making the call, and pressed the 'off' button.

He headed to the kitchen and poured himself another drink. Standing at the kitchen counter he took a tiny sip of the aged scotch, relishing the slight tingle and burn it left in his throat. When the sensation waned, he took another sip, and then downed the rest. The burn in his throat made him cough and sputter, but that didn't stop him from pouring a third glass.

Feeling slightly buzzed, he made his way to the living room couch and sat down. He sipped at his drink and stared at the television. His eyes blinked heavily as he lay down, pulling the blanket partially over him and adjusting a pillow beneath his head. Barba was soon asleep, but not for long.

It was the rapist again, sitting beside him on the couch, leaning over, and smiling. The man stood and unzipped his pants, ripped the blanket off, and yanked down his pants. Barba cried as the man crawled on him, leering, and chocking him with his tie. The man's weight squeezed the air out of him as his mouth was forced open by brutal kisses.

Barba's eyes flew open and he bolted upright. He pinched himself and flung the blanket to the floor. He was so terrorized, that he nearly wet himself, but managed to hold it in as he raced to the bathroom to relieve himself. Forgetting about his morning commitment, he headed to the kitchen and with shaking hands, poured another drink. He sipped it slowly, trembling so much that the liquid sloshed precariously around the rim of the glass.

Leaning on the counter his sobs came quietly at first. With each breath he took came another horrifying fragment of his past. He remembered his father on top of him, groping, and forcing him to touch him. He remembered being dragged by the arm down the hallway and being thrown on to the bed.

Barba collapsed to the floor as the room whirled around him. "Daddy," he begged. "Please, I'm sorry," he cried, as he was held over his father's knee as he was spanked.

"You're a bad boy, Rafael." His father stood and threw him across the room like a ragdoll.

Holding his head he whimpered and closed his eyes. "Daddy, please," he sobbed.

He remembered having sex with men who didn't really love him, men who used his body for their pleasure alone. Why didn't they love me? Am I that horrible? That's all I'm good for, I guess. His life was full of regrets; he regretted sleeping with anyone who paid any attention to him when he was young, and he regretted his mistakes he made in past relationships, with men and women, all unsuccessful. Huddled on the floor, he saw no point in life anymore.

He rolled to his knees and pulled himself to his feet. Grasping his glass, he swallowed, ignoring the drunken buzz he already had. Stumbling slowly to his bedroom, he tossed his blanket and pillow to the floor and sat against the wall next to his dresser, the same spot where he had sat and rocked himself days earlier.

Barba closed his eyes, praying for relief from his tortured existence, a prayer that would not be answered anytime soon. He rhythmically rocked back and forth as he heard the man's voice in his head, laughing at him and threatening him. Barba held his hands to his hears, desperate to stop the voice in his head. "It's not real, it's not real," he repeated quietly. "It's not real, it's just a memory," he said a little louder. "I'm safe, this isn't real." No matter how many times he told himself this, he couldn't convince himself. Barba knew then that his pain and misery would not end, his agony would continue, and he would have to live with his misery for the rest of his life. Accepting this brought about a strange sense of internal peace. This is it for me. This will be my life. I'm too hurt. Damaged goods. Damaged beyond repair.

His head pounded unrelentingly, he needed a painkiller and another drink. Feebly he opened the cap of his pain medication and poured another glass of scotch. Shaking two pills into his hand, he flinched at the sight of the scar on his palm. After taking the pills, he headed back to his bedroom, bringing with him the pill bottle and bottle of scotch, so that he wouldn't have to get up if he needed either again.

Barba placed the bottle and pills on the floor. He grabbed his phone from his bedside table, finding comfort in having it close by in case he needed to call Munch. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he sat against the wall. He wiped his eyes with his arm and pulled the blanket over him. Something deep inside of him disturbed him greatly, but he wasn't sure what. He reached for the phone and held it in his hand, but there was no point in calling Munch. He couldn't help him anymore. Nobody could. Nothing could make him better.

Barba's tears stopped flowing as he realized what he must do. Retrieving a pen and pad of paper from his bedside table, he scrawled a simple note, "I'm sorry." He brought the notepad back to his spot on the floor, opened the pills and poured another drink. He couldn't go on like this anymore, he knew that. He swallowed the remaining pills and downed his drink and poured another. He tossed the phone across the room, so that he wouldn't be tempted to call anyone for help, and leaned back against the wall.

It wasn't long before Barba's eyes felt heavy. He lay down, and snuggled into the pillow as he adjusted the blanket over him. A few frightening visions occurred to him as his eyes blinked, but he soon fell into a deep and peaceful slumber; his body relaxed, and his breath soft.

Munch sat in the back seat and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Barba's number and let it ring until it went to voicemail. "Hey Rafael, we're on our way. Should be there in about 20. Call me back."

Munch tried calling Barba back after about ten minutes.

"No answer," he said to Benson and Fin.

"He's probably just getting ready. It's not like he's able to move around too fast," Fin said, turning to Munch.

"Maybe he's waiting downstairs already, we're a little behind," said Benson, as she checked her watch. "You know Barba, he's never late."

A few minutes later the car pulled up in front of Barba's building. Fin scanned the front of the building for him, while Munch dialed his number again.

"Hmm… No answer." Munch got out of the car and pressed Barba's intercom button. He stood waiting for a moment and pressed it again. Munch turned back to the car.

"He's not answering," he called. Benson and Fin got out of the car and approached the building. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a ladybug on the windowsill, upside down, struggling with its legs in the air. Gently, he took a card from his pocket and flipped the tiny insect over. Munch smiled sadly as they all watched as it crawled around and then flew away.

"What a softie," Fin said, as Munch used Barba's spare key to let them in.

"He knew we were picking up right? He wasn't meeting us at the restaurant was he?" asked Benson.

"No," said Munch, as they all stepped into the elevator. "I talked to him last night. He knew we were coming to get him. I'm positive."

"Maybe he forgot?" suggested Fin.

"Barba doesn't forget anything," said Benson.

"Yeah, well he's not exactly himself these days," Munch said, as they stepped off the elevator and walk down the hall to his apartment.

Fin knocked at Barba's door and waited. "Barba?" he called as he knocked louder and pressed the buzzer on the doorframe.

"Rafael?" Munch called.

The three of them looked at each other, puzzled. Munch reached into his coat pocket and took out the key to Barba's suite and opened the door.

At first, Barba thought he was dreaming when he heard knocking at his door. Seconds later, the sound was loud enough to rouse him from his sleep. Rubbing his eyes he saw the empty bottle beside him on the floor, a reminder of how much he must have drank last night. The empty pill bottle lay on the floor next to his hand. Oh god, how many of those did I take? Suddenly he remembered that Benson, Fin and Munch were coming to pick him up. He had totally forgotten about that, and here he was, not even close to being ready. Shit.

Barba heard Munch calling him. "I'm coming," he said, getting up from the floor.

He nearly had nearly made it to the door when the deadbolt turned and the door swung open. Benson and Fin barely acknowledged him as they passed him in the entranceway of his suite.

Munch stared at him for a moment before passing him, heading for the kitchen. He looked around quickly and walked towards the living room. Barba followed him, nervous, knowing that they were angry with him for being late.

"John, I'm sorry. I must have slept in." Munch looked at him but didn't say anything. "Are you mad at me?" Barba asked. "I'll by ready in five minutes," he said, heading towards his bedroom to get dressed and run a comb through his hair. His face flushed in embarrassment, realizing that he had just greeted the three SVU members clad only in his underwear.

"John, call a bus!" Benson shouted from the bedroom.

Munch turned and sprinted down the hall into the bedroom, pulled out his cell phone and called for an ambulance. Barba wondered what had happened, his eyes widened he raced down the hall behind Munch.

Barba followed Munch into his bedroom and stopped, stunned at the sight before him. Benson and Fin were kneeling on the floor, tossing a blanket and pillow out of the way, rolling a lifeless body onto its back. Fin gave two rescue breaths, and Benson began chest compressions. Munch stood with his hands covering his mouth, "Oh my god," Munch said.

Barba pushed past Munch and looked at the person on the floor. His mouth dropped in horror when he realized that the person on the floor was him.

"John. What's going on? What's happening?" Barba asked, turning to Munch. "John, tell me. Please!"

"One, two, three, four, five…" Benson counted. Fin breathed into him again when she reached 30, they watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. "One, two, three, four, five…" she continued.

Barba stood surveying the scene before him. He looked at his body lying there, and then looked down at his arms and legs. He fell to his knees beside his body and stared in shock. He stood and looked down at his arms and legs - all of the bruises were gone, even the scar on his palm was gone. His ribs didn't hurt and his headache was gone.

He looked around the room stood next to Munch. "John. John! Why won't you talk to me? What happened?" he pleaded, "John. Say something. Please."

Barba was confused and shocked. Am I dead? He heard Benson and Fin counting and talking to each other as they were tried to revive him. Voices swirled and echoed and the room looked odd and tunnel like. It was a bizarre sensation, he was a bystander in the midst of the chaos, yet he was the centre of attention. I'm dead.

"One, two, three, four, five…" Benson counted.

"Rafael, no, no. God, please, help him." Munch knelt down beside him. "Rafael, why?" he asked through tears as he picked up a note with "I'm sorry" written on it. Munch examined the empty pill container and scotch bottle and wiped tears from his eyes.

Barba kneeled next to him and put his hand on his back. "Don't cry, John," Barba said, wondering if Munch could hear him. Barba looked back and forth between Munch and his body on the floor. He watched curiously as his chest was pressed over and over by Benson. Fin breathed into his mouth, then everyone, including Barba, looked hopefully, expectantly, at his chest as it expanded with the breaths Fin gave him. Fin put his ear to his mouth and closed his eyes listening and hoping.

It was surreal, observing the moment as people tried to save his life. He didn't feel dead, not that he would know what death felt like. His body on the floor certainly looked dead though - even he could see the paleness of his skin and the blue tint of his lips.

"27, 28, 29, 30," Benson counted. Fin gave two quick breaths. "One, two, three…" Benson began compressions again.

"Liv…" Fin said.

"No!"

"Liv…"

"Fin! Keep going!" she shouted.

"He's gone Liv…He's gone. He's cold. His lips are blue."

It's true, I am dead. Fin wouldn't just say that.

"28, 29, 30," she said, louder than before.

Benson checked his pulse. "Wake up, Rafael. Take a breath and open your eyes. Come on, it's time to wake up," she said, slapping his cheek lightly. Part of her believed that he would wake up simply because she ordered him to.

"Liv…He's gone, it's over," Fin said.

Benson wiped tears from her eyes and sat up. She shook her head bitterly and looked from Fin to Munch and then at Barba's body, cold, pale, and lifeless on the floor.

"Keep going, don't stop," Munch pleaded. He crawled close and began compressions. Barba sat on his knees and watched Munch attempt to revive him.

"I'm dead John, I'm dead," Barba whispered.

"John," said Benson. "John. He's gone…He's dead."

"Oh god, no. He can't be…" Munch cried.

"I'll go meet the bus," Fin said, touching Munch's shoulder gently as he got up.

"Do you want some time with him, John?" Benson asked.

"Please," Munch answered. Benson stood and walked out of the room, pacing the hall as she called Cragen, her hand moving back and forth from her forehead to her mouth.

He breathed into Barba's mouth a few times in desperation. "Rafael, listen to me and open your eyes," he said, as tears fell from his eyes. "Rafael, I know you're still there, wake up." Munch took a breath and sternly said, "Rafael, that's enough. Wake up now. Come on." He placed his lips around Barba's and tried to breathe life into his small, troubled friend.

The cold and stillness of Barba's body finally registered with him. "Baruch atta Adonai Eloheynu elech-ha-olam,dyan ha-emet," Munch whispered into Barba's ear. He sat back and looked at the horrible bruises that still covered Barba's pale skin. Wiping tears from his eyes, Munch reached for the blanket. "Oh Rafael, you're so cold. Here," Munch said, as he covered his friend. "You didn't have to do this, Rafael." He lifted Barba, cradled him in his lap, and stroked his head. "You poor soul, those bruises are just the surface aren't they? You were hurting so badly. It was all just too much, wasn't it? It's ok, Rafael, I know it was too hard for you. I know," he said. Munch reached for the pillow and lowered Barba's head onto it.

"It's ok, Rafael. You're safe now," Munch spoke the same words to Barba now as he had when he tried to comfort him in the previous days. He bent down and stroked Barba's hair. "I don't know if you can hear me, Rafael, but you need to know that I love you, very much. You poor baby, I wish I could have helped you. No one will hurt you again, I promise." Munch wiped a tear away. "I hope you're in peace, Rafael, you deserve it." Benson sobbed and turned away from the doorway as she overheard Munch's words to Barba.

Barba kneeled on the floor next to Munch, listening to his kind words. He gazed from Munch, to his own body, bruised and broken on the floor, and back to Munch who was still stroking his forehead. He cupped his hands to Munch's ear. "John, you did help me. More than you'll ever know. You stayed with me while I was suffering. You did your best. You couldn't have fixed me, no one could have. Don't feel bad, please." Barba placed his hand on Munch's shoulder and looked down at his body again.

Munch caressed Barba's face, he leaned over and placed a loving kiss on Barba's cold forehead. "Rest well, little one," he said, to the sad little boy he had seen in Barba's eyes. "Rest well, Rafael," he whispered into his ear. He pulled the blanket up a little further up, tucking in his friend, but couldn't bring himself to cover Barba's head.

"John," Benson called. She kneeled down beside Munch and watched as he caressed Barba's hair. "He was special, wasn't he?"

"Yes, very. I don't think he knew that though."

"I know," Benson sighed.

Munch stood and opened a window and knelt back down beside Barba. "There you go, Rafael. You can be free now," he whispered, as he stroked his forehead.

Benson gently covered Barba's head with the blanket and put her arm around Munch. "I'm so sorry, John."

Munch sat on the bed in disbelief. Barba got up and sat beside him leaning into him and resting his head on his shoulder. "Thank you, John, for everything."