Weeks pass, and turn into months. The team tries to move forward, but it is difficult. Olivia enters the squad room, after returning from a crime scene. She barely makes it to her desk.

"Benson! My office, now!" Cragen insists.

She takes a deep breath, and makes her way into his office, still wearing her vest.

"Close the door," he insists, as she enters the room.

She closes the door, behind her.

"What the hell was that?" he raises an eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?"

"You almost got yourself killed. You walked right into the line of fire. You put everything on the line."

"I did what I had to. He was holding three fourteen year old girls in his basement. What did you want me to do? Wait for him to put a bullet through them, before I made my move?"

"You didn't follow protocol."

"Those girls were in danger. I didn't have a choice."

"You need to take the day," he insists.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. Olivia you need to get professional help. You're reckless, and..."

"And, what?" she raises her voice.

"And if you don't get a handle on your anger, we're going to have problems."

"What are you saying?"

"If you don't get it together, you're going to be riding the desk."

"Captain," she tries to argue.

"Don't make me insist on a psych eval, both of us know that you couldn't pass it, right now."

"I was just doing my job."

"Olivia, you're acting like Elliot. You're putting my whole team in jeopardy. I won't have it. Go home."

"Fine."

"And don't come back, until you've seen someone."

"Is that an order?"

He grits his teeth, and shakes his head, "Olivia, this is your last free pass. I want you to go talk to Huang."

"I..." she begins to argue.

"Talk to him, or give me your badge, and your gun, now," he delivers the ultimatum.

She nods, "Fine," she stomps out of his office.


She grabs her purse, and leaves the squad room, without a word to anyone. She gets in her car, and drives to George's office. She knocks on the door, when she reaches his office.

"Come in," he tells her.

She enters the room, closing the door behind her.

"Have a seat."

"The Captain called you?"

"Yes. Have a seat."

She takes a seat, in a chair, near him.

"What do I have to say, to get out of this?"

"You're not getting out of this. You can't just say, what I want to hear. It doesn't work like that. I have worked with you, for a long time," he reminds her.

"I know."

"I know you. That is why captain Cragen suggested that you talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to anyone."

"I understand that."

"Then why does everyone want me to talk?"

"We just want you to heal," he tells her.

"I don't know how to do that."

"Olivia whatever you say to me, does not leave this room. I am not going to tell the Captain, I am not going to tell anyone."

"I know that."

"Then talk to me."

"Why? Give me a reason."

"Olivia I know how much your job means to you. If you don't talk to me, you may not have a job. Do you get that?" he questions her, seriously.

She looks up at him.

"You are going to lose everything that you've worked for, if you don't pull it together."

"It's not that simple."

"I know that, Olivia."

She runs her fingers back, and forth, over the jagged scar, on her knuckle.

"Let's start there," he suggests.

"Where?"

"With the scar."

"What about it?"

"Just tell me about it."

"Every time things start to get back to normal, something reminds me, that they're not, and..."

"That's what happened to your hand?"

"I was angry. I just want to move on with my life. Everyday there are little reminders, that I can't escape. The scar that I feel, when I brush my hair. Or that moment each night, right before I go to sleep, when I wonder what I'm going to wake up to. Every day, it's something."

"And it makes you angry?"

"I moved to a new apartment, in a different building, in a different part of town. I have seven locks on my door. There isn't even a window in by bedroom."

"You're looking for a sense of security?"

"The gun was laying right next to me, less than three feet away, and it didn't matter."

"Tell me about the night you punched the mirror."

"I was looking at myself in the mirror, and I was just so angry," she swallows hard, trying to fight off the tears, "I couldn't even stand to look at myself. I have been a cop, most of my life, and... I couldn't protect myself. How am I supposed to protect, and serve, when I can't even protect myself?"

"You have to find away to deal with the anger."

"Nothing works."

"Tell me how you felt, when you learned that he was murdered?"

"I knew that people would think I did it, at least initially."

"Why?"

"Because I had the motive. I wouldn't even deny that I wanted him dead."

"But?"

"He deserved to suffer, for a very long time."

"Then you would feel that you got justice?"

She stops, and thinks. "No."

"No?"

"Dead, or alive, the damage is already done. He took my sense of security."

"How have you been sleeping?"