Warnings and such: You've made it through! Congrats! No added awful stuff in this chapter. Just general distress.

Author's Note: Just a friendly reminder that reviews equal a happy me, dancing and smiling more stories. No reviews still lead to more stories, but no dancing and smiling. Thank you! My last chapter from Ghana, my Ghana stories unfinished, and my heart is breaking a little.

"Nick…"

"Liv?! Where are you?"

"I don't know…I don't wanna leave him to-"

"It's okay, I got it –Amanda!- … … where's Lewis?"

"H- he…"

"Olivia, is he still with you?"

"Yes."

"Is he a threat?"

"No, he's…incapacitated. I need a bus."

"Dispatch is on it. Are you sure Lewis is incapacitated?"

"I think he's…yeah, I'm sure."

"Good. That's good. Is there anyone else with you?"

"No, it's just him and me in that house."

"Where in the house are you?"

"Ground floor."

"Okay, we got your location, we got SWAT and EMS on the way, just stay where you are, don't let Lewis out of-"

"No, no, not SWAT, you don't need to secure…oh, God…"

"It's okay, Liv, it's gonna be all right, we're coming."

"I think I killed him, Nick."

"Don't say any more, okay?"

There is so much blood everywhere. It has seeped into the carpet to leave a permanent stain even after the paramedics and EMTs have hauled him away to try and save his life. It has splattered onto the wall in streaky drops. It has splashed onto her shirt, where it mixes with her own. It has penetrated her nostrils and coated her fingers from where she keeps touching that gash on her head. She will never feel clean again. She caused that blood to be there. She did that. If she averts her eyes from it, she will be unable to look back.

The paramedic has crouched down beside her, started doing things, has begun asking gentle questions as a bunch of unis traipse around him. She responds on autopilot, unaware of what she is saying, if she even knows the answers or is making things up. She may not be here at all. Any second now, she may wake up in the back of that car and his voice will be there.

"Ma'am?"

"Detective" she says reflexively. The gist appears to be that this guy wants her to come with him, but she can't. She is supposed to stay here. She can't walk out there, where everyone is. Everyone will see. They will know. She tries to explain as much, but everything is all mixed up, and so she ends up yelling at him hysterically not to touch her, even though his hands haven't even come near her yet. Where is Nick? There is a reason she called him directly, not 911.

The stranger draws back, and there is an odd expression on his stocky face as he mutters reassurances, as if he is talking to a dangerous animal. They all looked like that when they walked in and saw Lewis, and she knows it's because of what she has done. Now he is calling for some woman named Tamara to come and help him out here, and the idea of one more person in this house is too much, but going outside these walls is impossible. All this time, she wanted to escape from here, but now that she can, she can't. The quicksand is pulling her under and this guy needs to leave her alone, how the hell is she supposed to know where it hurts? She only feels cold, cold and somewhere very far away from here. But she can't afford to detach just yet. She can't afford to give in. She has to tell him…she…

A dark-haired officer crouches down beside them, introducing herself by her first name only. She has a soft voice, a pleasant voice as she asserts that Lewis is gone (obviously), he can't hurt her anymore (obviously), but she looks so young. Olivia wonders if she is prepared for this, if this was the job she expected when she went out on patrol this morning, and who made the smart decision to send her in here. This crime scene is enough to turn anyone's stomach. Hopefully, she will get a debriefing of some sort. She has stopped paying attention to her words, and Tamara might as well be a muted character on a TV screen with how far away she seems.

It is Nick's voice that cuts through the white noise at last. The relief she felt when she heard him on the phone is nothing compared to now. "Olivia!"

He rushes past the unis, and the officer and the paramedic immediately get up, falling back on instinct as he drops to his knees beside her. "Olivia? It's me, Nick."

"I know." Already, he believes she is somehow incapable.

"Liv…" When she meets his gaze, she sees horror flicker across his face as he takes in her appearance, but he catches himself quickly, switching into a calming sort of authority. "It's over. You're safe now. It's all over."

She tugs at her clothes, suddenly very aware of their smell, of how they cling to her body. She is not his partner. She is a victim. There is a metallic taste in her mouth. She has to get it out. Every time her lips part, they crack some more. "Is he dead?"

"He wasn't, but…I don't know. We need to get you out of here to get you checked out."

"He didn't rape me." It seems very important to explain this right away, because if she doesn't say it now, it will become a question no one wants to ask, but everyone will wonder about. She knows what it looks like. But she has this one thing to hold on to. She got him before. The rest of it all, the other things…it's not the same. He didn't do this one thing. He couldn't. She got him. She is not her mother.

"…okay" Nick replies stoically, betraying no thoughts on the matter. "Do you think you can stand up?" He is asking her a question. He doesn't assume. It is not a trick. After all this time, it is strange to hear someone speaking to her like that.

"Yes" she answers, because there is no way in hell she is going out of here any other way, no matter how out of control her legs seem to be. She still feels drunk, dizzy, out of balance. Things don't stay in focus. Her hands have started to shake.

"All right." He hesitates for a split second –afraid to do something wrong? afraid to touch her?- as his eyes wander over her chest and arms. This is her partner, and he is not supposed to look at her like that. At least he isn't Elliot. It is a sobering thought despite the yearning. But of course, everyone will be looking at her like that, everyone will see and know what Lewis did to her, and there is a whole SWAT team probably still out there and…

"I can't go out there" she states flatly. "I can't."

"Hey, it's okay, we won't go until you're ready." He turns his attention away from her for only a moment to ask a uni to get him a blanket. "I'll be right beside you. We're all just glad you're alive."

All? The squad. The people she would have given anything to see again just a few hours ago, but now the idea of facing them seems impossible. Everything is different now.

Nick gently places a blanket around her shoulders, keeping one hand on her upper back to make it stay there as he holds out his other hand for her to take. Her fingers brush against his palm. He is warm.

She is still sitting up as she waits for the doctor to return, because lying down seems intuitively scary, risky with all the blows to the head she has received. She must stay awake for this. The idea of being poked and prodded while passed out is unbearable. "You've been so sweet when you were knocked out." She will want painkillers, the nurse who has been stuck with babysitting her tries to tell her again, but she doesn't want to take anything, anything that will make her feel like that stuff Lewis forced down her throat. The pain is getting worse by the minute, so much so it leaves her wishing for the numbness she felt at the house, but at least it lets her know she is alive. She can't let her control slip because if she does, his voice will be in her head and she won't know that it's over. But explaining all that seems too complicated. So she just shakes her head.

There is a commotion of some sort outside, raised voices, Nick is saying something and then it's "no, now!" and yes, that is definitely Brian she hears. And although she has been imagining his voice for the past few days, although she knew this was bound to happen, the panic and the anticipation of the inevitable turn her stomach now. It's bad enough that Nick has seen her like this, he can't let Brian in here, not yet.

But before she can do anything, say anything, he barges in through the doors to the protest of the nurse, pushes past her…and stops in his tracks a few feet away from her. He is out of breath, unshaved, his eyes bloodshot. It looks like he has been crying, but now, he is just staring at her, horrified, his hand covering his mouth. Because he sees what she saw in that mirror. Because he knows. Because she is not what he expected. Because she is not that person anymore. Say something. Just say something. Please.

"Bri?" Her own voice sounds foreign to her, high-pitched and uncertain, but it gets through to him.

"Liv…" He approaches slowly, reaching out as if to hug her, but thinks better of it, dropping his arms. Because he is afraid to touch her. Because he doesn't want to hurt her.

And it's this that gets her, that makes her half lean, half fall forward into him, burying her face in his shirt. Still, he hesitates in putting his arms around her, and it's a light embrace, one that she could break at any point if she wanted to. And that's the difference. This is not violence. This is…something else.

"You're alive." His voice cracks, and his chest begins to shake. "You're alive."

She can't say anything in response to that fact. She didn't think she would see him again, but here she is. She can't cry. She can't feel. She can't let go.

"Liv, I'm sorry…fuck…I'm so sorry…"