"You okay?" Elliot asks, when they're back in the hotel room. She didn't utter a word the entire elevator ride up.
"Not really."
Elliot cocks his head, tries to catch her eye. When she avoids his gaze, he cups her shoulders, looks at her keenly. "Talk to me."
She refuses to make eye contact. "I feel like a child."
"Why?"
"Why? How about because I needed a reporter to help me out of a bathroom stall just now, because I was too weak to stand up on my own? A reporter who thinks I'm pregnant with Lewis's rape baby, by the way." She takes a breath. "And there was another reason … What was it? Oh right. Because my boss thinks I need round-the-clock supervision."
"What exactly did the reporter say to you?"
"She saw me retching in the stall. She bent down, asked if I was okay. Then she casually asked if this was morning sickness from the rape. I was so shocked by the … directness … that I froze. I told her that the attack only happened two weeks ago, so how could I be sick so soon?"
"That was smart."
Olivia shrugs a single shoulder. "I said it pretty rudely."
"You had a right to be rude to her."
"Yeah well. A minute later I had to ask for her help."
All at once, he understands why she was so worried about being pitied. Every damn thing is hard for her. "I'm sorry, Liv. That must've been very – "
"Humiliating?" she supplies.
"I was going to say, awkward."
She laughs. "Awkward. Yeah. Good word." She pauses. "Anyway, as she's helping me to the sink, she asks how I feel about Lewis being suicidal. And I'm like … come again? Suicidal? She realizes I didn't even know, and I guess she saw on my face that the news really upset me and she sort of … backed off. She wished me well and left the bathroom." She laughs mirthlessly. "A minute later I was back at the toilet retching, and I guess that's when your tourist spy-friend walked in. At least she didn't recognize me."
"Liv, I'm really sorry that that happened to you. It's the last thing you needed."
She shoots him a glare, gently pushes away from him. "Elliot, I don't care what some tabloid reporter thinks. I'll tell you the last thing I needed. And that was my boss thinking I need babysitting."
He sighs, wishing he knew what to say to get through to her. "You don't need babysitting. You need support. There's a difference. Because he knows that you deserve not to have to go through this alone."
"Because he thinks I can't."
"Because he thinks you shouldn't. Because nobody should have to."
She's silent.
He continues. "You're suffering, Liv. You're still in pain from multiple injuries. You're recovering from lung surgery. You're having debilitating nightmares. You're getting headaches, you're not eating, you're blacking out. If that was happening to someone you cared about, would you think it was okay for them to be alone? I know you see this as a judgment on your toughness, but it's not that at all."
"Oh come on, Elliot. I know you'd feel the same way if it were you."
He laughs. "Are you kidding me? Liv, every injury I ever had Kathy was there by my side every moment of the day taking care of me until I recovered. She changed my bandages, she made me meals in bed, she helped me into the shower, helped me get dressed, helped me shave, helped me walk down the fucking staircase. And those were the physical injuries. You should've seen me after Picard. I cried like a baby in Kathy's arms when I thought I'd never get my vision back. I have no idea what it feels like to go through something terrible alone. I can't even imagine it, and nothing that's ever been done to me comes close to comparing to what Lewis did to you."
To her credit, she steps back to him, averts her eyes. "I didn't … know all that. I'm sorry."
He takes both of her hands in his. "Please, I'm imploring you to accept this, and not to waste energy worrying about what it signals, what Cragen thinks of you. Take what he said at face value."
When she responds, her voice is pained. "Elliot, why are you doing this? You don't need this in your life."
And there it is. His daughter had it pegged.
"What this?" he says. "I need you in my life."
Since when? I didn't see you for two whole years.
He braces himself for the easy retort. He thinks on some subconscious level he invited it on purpose, to provoke her.
She shakes her head. "Not like this."
It concerns him that she didn't take the obvious bait. She forgave him for the last two years way too quickly. It's not like her not to stand up for her self-respect.
"Then like what?" he challenges.
"Elliot, you don't owe me anything. You weren't involved in this case. I don't care what Cragen says, I screwed up. I let my guard down. It's up to me to face the consequences."
"No, your squad screwed up. You didn't. And even if you did, you didn't deserve this."
"I know that," she snaps, pulling away. "You think I think I deserved this? You think I'm that pathetic?"
"No."
"But how many women have we met who've had to deal with this? They deserved it even less."
"Even less? What the hell does that mean?"
She blinks, caught red-handed being honest. She takes a breath, composes herself. "Look, Elliot, all I'm saying is I just have to buck up and deal with it like everyone else."
"Buck up?" He looks away in disgust. "You were tortured and raped."
"It's no worse than a lot of – "
He has the urge to shake her. "Yes it was, Olivia! It was a lot worse by a mile! It's one of the most vicious assaults I've ever seen! He almost killed you. So forgive me if I think you should have all the care and attention and help that you need. You deserve it more than anyone else."
She takes in his words, but looks down, plays with a fingernail. "Alice Parker."
He stops. "Who the hell is that?"
"The victim I mentioned earlier. She's the reason we became aware of Lewis in the first place. She witnessed him exposing himself in Central Park. After she gave her statement, she went home and found Lewis in her home. He raped and tortured her for two days before anyone found her."
He whistles, narrowing his eyes in anger, as if it's Olivia's fault. "How the hell was he not charged with that?"
"Because she died of a heart attack a few days later." She splays two hands in the air. "You know how it goes. No complaining witness, no crime."
"Why are you telling me about her?"
"She was in her sixties, Elliot. He raped her repeatedly at gunpoint. He burned her – "
"He raped you at gunpoint too. He burned you too."
"Not as badly – "
He snorts. "Are you serious with this? He raped you with a loaded gun shoved down your throat. He pointed a fucking blowtorch at you."
Her eyes widen; she takes in a sharp breath. "She was in her sixties."
"So what?" A voice in his head warns him to keep his exasperation in check, to not lose sight of the point he's trying to make. Reminding her in graphic detail of the horrors she endured is certainly not it.
"Stop pretending you don't know what I mean," she snaps, finally looking up from the fascinating fingernail.
"I don't."
"I'm a cop," Elliot. "I'm young, I'm fit, I know how to defend myself. I screwed up. It's my burden to face."
He sighs, grasps her upper arms. "Liv, you're so filled with compassion for other people, you do anything to help them, you reassure every victim that no matter what behavior they engaged in beforehand, the attack was not their fault. But for some reason when it comes to yourself, you seem to think that your inability to magically predict a fucking home invasion disqualifies you from even the bare minimum of care and support that you regularly dispense in droves to people who suffered much less than you did, and whose judgment was often, shall we say, much less impeccable."
"That's not … true." Her voice peters out, like she's realizing in real time the double standard to which she holds herself.
"It is true." He cocks his head, eyeing her. "Do you … get that people love you? That I love you?"
At this, her face goes dark, she fidgets. She wriggles away, stalks to the window, looking out at the hazy city. "People say that. It's something you say."
He comes up behind her, wraps his arms fully around her, enveloping her wholly. He breathes into her shampoo-scented hair. "No, it's really not."
"You only think you love me." There are tears in her voice.
He gives a short laugh. "You're going to tell me what I think?"
"We were partners for twelve years. We had a bond. That's what you feel. And maybe you feel guilty about how you left things."
He closes his eyes, shakes his head. "You couldn't be more wrong."
"Elliot, once you see what a mess I am, you'll realize that these … feelings you think you have, they're residual from our partnership. They're your guilt talking."
"Liv, do you love me?"
She spins around to look up at him, as if surprised by the question. "You know I do," she replies earnestly.
He doesn't understand why she can't see what he sees. "Then why is it so hard to believe that I love you?"
"It's completely different."
"How?"
"Because I'm so …" She stops midsentence.
"So … what?" he challenges. "What were you going to say?"
"Damaged."
"Damaged?" He scoffs. "You're not a piece of merchandise."
She turns back to the window, hugs her chest. "Please don't mock me."
The hurt in her voice pierces him. Anger or sarcasm he could handle. "I'm not," he pleads. "I'm saying that being damaged doesn't render you unlovable. And besides, there are a lot of other words I'd use to describe you before damaged ever even occurred to me. Fighter. Survivor. Resilient." He pauses. "Hero."
Even from behind, he senses how she tucks her head in shame. "I'm not talking about … this attack."
He furrows his brows. "Please, enlighten me."
"You know."
"I know what?"
"Don't play dumb," she snaps.
"Liv, honest to God, I don't know what you're talking about."
She's silent for a long minute. He waits.
Finally, he speaks. "Did your mother ever tell you that she loved you?"
In his arms, he feels her muscles slacken. "Elliot, she had reasons."
"What reasons?"
"You know."
"Tell me the reasons. I don't know."
"Oh come on. It was different with me. I wasn't …. you know."
"You weren't what?"
She clucks her tongue in frustration. "Forget I said anything."
He's still talking to the back of her head. "You weren't, what? A, quote, normal baby? Is that what you were going to say?"
"Well, I wasn't."
"What, were you born with fangs?"
"Stop it."
"I'm serious, Liv. How many babies have we seen who were conceived by rotten parents? By rapists, drug addicts, wife-beaters, murderers? Since when do we think of those children as unlovable?"
"It's different," she insists.
"Why?"
She whips around to face him. "Because she was trying to build a career! She'd had friends who'd had unplanned pregnancies and she'd vowed to never let that happen to her. And then there I was and she was stuck with me. This … this … this thing that was half her rapist that she was forced to take care of."
"She didn't have an abortion," he points out.
"It wasn't legal."
"Oh come on. She had education, money, resources. If she'd wanted to, she could have. Or she could've given you up for adoption."
Olivia gives a slight nod, acknowledging the point. "I don't know why she didn't. But I do know that she didn't love me, and I don't blame her. I mean, how could she? I was like this … tumor … growing inside her body for nine months."
Even after all this, she has succeeded in shocking him. He swipes at his mouth with his hand. "That's an incredibly … cruel … way to think of yourself, Olivia. And anyway, I don't believe it's even true. You told me yourself that despite the drinking and the abuse that she did things for you, spent time with you, cared about you."
She considers this. "She did try, yes. Some of the time. She felt some … I don't know, maybe she did feel some affection. But I didn't bring her joy. She told me all the time that I was difficult to take care of. I was a burden."
He takes a step forward. "Is that what you think you are? A burden?"
"Maybe … " She turns back around to face the window, again picks at a fingernail.
"All babies are difficult to take care of, Liv. Singling you out like that, telling you you were difficult, that was her immaturity talking, those were her demons. She was the damaged one. There's nothing wrong with you."
"I know that."
He takes a chance, wraps his arms around her from behind, pulling her into his chest. "Do you? Because if you did, you wouldn't find it so impossible to believe that I could love you."
"I don't. I just … understand why she … couldn't."
From behind, he kisses her cheek. "Maureen was just as unplanned, just as unexpected, just as disruptive to the life plan I'd made, that Kathy had made. The first few months, she cried all night every night. But that's life. You don't blame the baby. And you certainly don't not love the baby."
"Elliot, you and Kathy had consensual sex. You chose not to use protection. I assume you were aware that a baby could ensue from that. My mother didn't have any of those choices."
Gently, he turns her around to face him. She hesitates, though, to meet his eyes. He takes her wrist into his hands, holds it out lengthwise. "I know," he says quietly. "What happened to her was terrible. I'm not diminishing that. But this idea that you've carried around all these years, that the blood running through these veins is somehow … I don't know, tainted? It's bullshit." For emphasis, he takes her wrist, kisses her pulse point.
"I know that. Of course I know that."
"Do you? Because it seems to me that you've led your life as though some imaginary review board is sitting there in judgment, poised to condemn you for every mistake, every imperfection. But it was your mother, not you, who was the flawed one. Find me one person who doesn't share some part of their DNA with a shithead."
"There's a difference between having consensual sex with a shithead and being raped by one, Elliot. I'd hope you would know that difference from your time at SVU."
"That's true, but it's the same DNA whether he fathered you by rape or consensual sex."
"Maybe so, but … the impact it had on her … " She trails off.
"Liv, what happened to her didn't give her the right to hurt you, to neglect you. To make you think you were unlovable. All of that is her shame, not yours. I think it's heartbreaking that you had to grow up not being able to take for granted that someone in the world loved you unconditionally. But I can tell you that I do. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone besides my children."
She leans her temple against his chest, weeping silently. "You have no idea how badly I want to believe you."
He pulls her even closer, leaning down and talking into her hair. "You said you trusted me."
"You know I do."
"Then trust me to tell you the truth."
"I wish it were that simple."
"Why can't it be?"
"Because I have no other choice."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, you popped back into my life after two years, and I hate it that I don't have the luxury to challenge you, because I need you so badly. I fucking hate how badly I need you right now, Elliot. I'm forced to trust whatever you tell me, because I have no choice. But the thought of it not being true, the thought of you just telling me what I want to hear … I don't think I could handle that either. And I mean, you're the only person I've ever completely trusted, and I've told you all these intimate things, and you know all these degrading details about what he did to me that I don't think I could even tell a therapist, and I'm not used to depending on anyone, but I can see now how long this is going to take, how emotionally needy I am, and I keep asking myself, when is he going to get tired of this? I mean, I understand your initial motivation for coming back, this fucking case was all over the news, and it made sense that maybe you had some residual feeling of obligation. But you couldn't possibly have intended to sign up for this."
He opens his mouth to protest, but she stops him, continues.
"But I'm so scared that I'm going to become this drain on you and that you're going to feel stuck, because you know you can't leave again, because what kind of person would do that? And, cards on the table, Elliot, I don't think I could take it if you left again. But at the same time, the thought of you feeling this obligation to me, this need to follow through and stay because it's the honorable thing to do, I don't think I could take that either."
"Can I respond to that? Will you let me explain?"
She takes a breath. "Please."
"I gave you every reason to feel betrayed. But I wasn't abandoning you, Liv. I was punishing myself. I couldn't face you. I thought you deserved better."
"You keep saying that. But it was a good shoot, Elliot."
"Maybe it was, technically. But I saw the look in your eye right after. You were ashamed of me."
"No I wasn't."
"Yes you were. I'd killed a teenager, the daughter of a rape victim."
"Elliot, she'd just killed Sister Peg. She'd shot two other people. She was waving the gun around irrationally. She could've shot me, or you. What were you supposed to do?"
"I wasn't supposed to kill her. I could've shot her in the arm, or leg. Or diffused the situation some other way."
"It was a reflex."
"Exactly."
She pauses. "I would've done the same thing."
"No, you wouldn't have. See, that's the thing. You would've found a non-lethal way to handle it. No one has better reflexes than you, Liv."
"That's not true."
"It is true. It's why I couldn't face you. I'd let you down as a partner."
She sighs. "Elliot, even if I concede that maybe you didn't have to kill her – and I don't – you talk like I've never made a mistake. I've made plenty of mistakes."
"Not like this. Never like this."
"But … I still don't understand why you had to just … disappear."
"Because I couldn't let you see what I'd become."
"What you'd become? A retired cop?"
He takes a breath, knowing it's time, finally, to tell her. After everything she's confided in him, he owes it to her to tell her the truth. "I started drinking, Liv. I fell into a depression. It got really bad for a while. I stopped bathing, stopped exercising, stopped eating. I lost twenty pounds. I stopped playing with Eli, taking him to the park. I couldn't let you see that. I was too ashamed."
"So what changed?"
"The girls. Maureen and Kathleen. They intervened before it got really bad. They forced me to get my act together. I started seeing a therapist. My divorce got finalized, I moved to the city. I stopped drinking. Things got a lot better. The only thing missing was you. I'd finally got up the guts to contact you when … this happened."
He hears her inhale, exhale. "I didn't … know all that. I'm sorry."
"I didn't want you to know."
She seems to process his words. He braces himself for the inevitable accusation: that their relationship isn't a two-way street; that, while she is expected to bare her soul and accept his help unconditionally, he is entitled to hide away for years, too proud to confide in her.
To his surprise – and dismay, because he deserves the accusation – that's not where her head is.
"Elliot, why did you get divorced? I mean, I know you had your problems, but you had a happy marriage."
"It wasn't unhappy. But she knew my heart wasn't in it."
She seems genuinely surprised. "What are you talking about? You loved her."
"I loved her as the mother of my children, yes. And we made it work for their sake. But she knew that I wasn't in love with her."
"Was there somebody else?" she whispers.
He cocks his head. Oh, Liv. "You really have to ask me that?"
She holds his gaze. "I guess I do."
He takes both her wrists in his. "Liv, I've been in love with you for years."
At this, she looks down. "Don't rewrite history, El. Please, after all this, don't lie to me."
"I would never, ever lie to you. It's the truth. You have no idea how sorry I am for hurting you. It was me, Liv. My demons. I've always loved you."
"But I was just your partner."
"Not true," he says. "God, you have no idea how not true that is. I've thought about you every single day in the last two years."
"Elliot, I love you more than anyone in the world, and I loved every second of working with you, and yes, I did wish it could be more, and maybe that's why I was so hurt when you left. But what you're saying now, it's hard for me to … reconcile it with what I observed, with what I know. You loved Kathy. You were devastated when she left you the first time."
"No, I was devastated to lose access to my kids. To see my life fall apart and feel responsible for it. And I was hurt by the rejection, yes. But not because I was losing the love of my life."
She pulls away from him and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, shaking her head. "I don't believe you. When she was pregnant with Eli and she and I were in that accident, I heard you on the phone. You told her you loved her."
He sits down next to her. "Yeah, because she'd been in a car crash and was in premature labor with my child and needed moral support. What was I supposed to say? And I'm not denying feeling some love for her. But the second I found out that my baby was okay, all I could think about was you. Whether you were okay. Whether you'd been hurt. And when I saw you in the hallway in the hospital, and I saw the blood all over your shirt, I thought for a second it was yours, and my heart jumped in my throat. And when it clicked a second later, you have no idea how relieved I was. All I could think was, thank god she's okay. Thank. God. And then this guilt washed over me. This overwhelming guilt that I cared more about you than her. And I was so ashamed of that feeling, Liv, that I brushed you aside to go see her, to cover it up. Because if I would've held you in that moment, I wouldn't have been able to let go."
She shakes her head. "I wish I could believe you."
"It's the truth."
"You were just feeling grateful, Elliot, because you thought I'd played a role in saving your wife and your baby."
"That was a part of it, yes. But the bigger part was that I realized that I'd almost lost you."
"Even if I believe everything you're saying, things have changed now. Whatever … relationship we might've had, I … I'm not going to be able to … give, t-to get over this …" She stops, struggling to retain her composure as tears flood her eyes. "I mean, look at me, I can hardly stop crying long enough to have this conversation."
He reaches up, swipes a tear away with his thumb. "I'll take you any way you come."
She hangs her head, looking at her lap. "You're going to get tired of this."
"Impossible."
"Please don't lie to me just to make me feel better."
"I could never get tired of being with you, Liv. That's the truth."
She takes a long moment before she replies. "Even if I take everything you're saying at face value, whatever your feelings, you have … physical needs. Needs that I … won't be able to fulfill for a long time, maybe ever. Let's face it. This rape … my body, these images, all these things you know he did to me, I can't … give you … what you need … that way."
He cocks his head, looks at her curiously. "How much sex do you think I normally have?"
Her cheeks flush. "You know that's not the point," she mumbles, looking at her lap.
He sighs. "Look, Liv. If all I ever get to do is hold you, that'll be enough for me."
"Elliot, you could have any woman you want. Especially now, with all this baggage that I have, these disgusting burns, why would you want this? You could walk away, or you could just be my friend, and I would understand."
He wishes he could get her to see what he sees. "Do you want to know the first thing I thought when I saw those burns on your skin?"
Eyes still averted, she grimaces. "Please, don't remind me that you saw – "
"That you survived. When I listened to that woman describe what he did to you, all I could think was, oh my God, he was a second away from killing you. He almost killed you. It really sunk in for me in that moment. So you know what I see when I see those burn marks? That I'm so incredibly lucky to have a second chance."
He reaches to her sideways, pulls her into him.
She lets herself crumple into his embrace. "Now you made me cry again."
He laughs lightly. "I'm sorry." He cups the side of her face with his hand, swipes at her cheek with his thumb like a windshield wiper.
She grasps his bicep as he holds her, squeezing it gently. "You got divorced and you moved to the city, and you're obviously working out … and you're telling me you haven't been getting laid?"
"Is that what you think of me, Liv?"
"No. It's just that …" She squeezes his muscle again, nuzzles closer into his chest. "It seems like a waste."
Caught off guard, he can't help but laugh. "For me or for … Manhattan women?"
She thinks about it. "Both."
He leans into her, kisses the column of her neck. His voice grows husky. "There's only one Manhattan woman who matters, and she can have me anytime she wants."
She closes her eyes, basking in his touch. Her hand carelessly drops to his thigh, but it stops there, frozen. "I want so badly to … respond to that. Physically. But I just … not yet."
He takes her hand in his, gently removes it from his thigh. "You take as long as you need. I'll be here. I'm not leaving you."
She starts to cry more forcefully. He pulls her in, encouraging her to let go, until she finally does, her head falling into his lap. Careful not to touch her hair – he won't make that mistake again – he holds her, his hand encapsulating her torso. "Shh … shh …"
The tears abate after several minutes, and, head still resting lazily in his lap, she sighs. "What were your plans for today?"
"You know."
Finally pulling herself back up, she nods slowly. "Vanessa Mayer left me a voicemail last night. Her mother's funeral is tomorrow."
He frowns. "Are you sure you're up for that?"
She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe not. But I should go."
"I'm sure she'd understand if you didn't."
"I'm sure she would. But I think I need to be there."
"Okay."
"Would you go to it with me?"
He takes her hands in his, leans his face close to her temple. "Liv, I'll do anything you ask me to."
She nods silently. "There is one thing."
"Name it."
"There's some stuff … in my apartment."
"Make me a list. I'll get whatever you need."
"Thank you."
"Will you do one thing for me?" he asks.
"Of course."
"Will you make that appointment?"
She shoots him a look of betrayal. "Elliot, please …. don't … pretend like you just asked me a favor. I'll make the appointment – I was going to anyway – but don't bargain with me like I'm a two-year old."
"I'm sorry." He pauses. "It just seemed like you might be avoiding it."
"I'm not."
"Okay."
Her phones buzzes, making her jump. She looks around the bed, irritated.
"It's right there." Elliot points towards the fold in the covers.
Olivia grabs her phone. "It's a text from Cragen." He can tell from her expression that the news is bad. "He confirms that Lewis is on suicide watch at Rikers. Apparently he bent a spoon out of shape and then swallowed it. Cragen says Barba thinks he's preparing a psych defense."
"I'm sorry, Liv."
She slumps on the bed, lost in thought. He waits expectantly. When she finally speaks, her voice is a whisper.
"Elliot, I know I just made a fuss about … babysitting … but, um, I'm putting my pride on the line here saying this … but … promise me you won't leave me alone."
He shows her his hands. "I'm right here."
"I don't mean this minute. I mean … if he gets out …" She shivers abruptly. "… He's going to kill me."
Unnerved by the display of raw vulnerability, he tells her, "He's not going to get near you, ever. That much I can promise you."
She waits a beat, almost smiles to herself. "You say that because you still have your confidence. But you don't know what it feels like to be afraid."
"That's not true."
"It's okay, I didn't either, before this." She pauses. "I'm not talking about the kind of fear that's in your head, when your brain is telling you you're in a dangerous situation. I'm talking about when you feel it in your gut. Have you ever experienced …. visceral terror?"
"Exactly four times," he replies. "First time was when Dickie was two and he fell out of his highchair and knocked himself unconscious. The ten seconds it took him to wake up were … indescribable hell. Second time was when Kathleen was spiraling out of control and I thought I was going to lose her to …" He winces at the memory. "I don't know, just … lose her, I guess. Third time was after Picard; third day home from the hospital there was a moment when I got it in my head that I'd lost my vision permanently. The sense of despair, Liv, it was agony. Fourth time was last week, when I found you on the floor in my bathroom barely breathing with your lips turning blue."
She takes a moment to process his answer. "What about all the times you had a gun to your head, or were alone in a room with an out-of-control perp?"
He considers the question. "I was … anxious. I knew in my head that I was in danger and that I should be afraid. But terrified in the way you're describing? No. I didn't feel it in my bones."
"Thank you for being honest. That's how I've always felt too. Guns to my head, out of control perps, hostage situations. Scared … superficially. Worried, anxious, concerned. But not … terrified."
He knows where she's going with this. "Until Lewis."
"Until Lewis." She nods. "I've never been afraid of a bullet. I don't know why. I should be, I mean, I value my life and I don't treat the prospect of death casually. But for whatever reason I've always felt confident I could get myself out of those situations."
"Until Lewis," he repeats.
"Until Lewis," she agrees. "The first few hours when he had me, I still had my courage, my bravado, my confidence. The idea that he could rape me scared me, but it was still in the abstract, you know? There were still enough possible paths out of it that I didn't yet think it was a probability. I guess it was a bit of magical thinking on my part, but … it worked."
"When did it change?" he asks, curious.
"After the second round of … um, of …" Her chin quivers.
"Of torture," he finishes for her.
"Yeah." He watches as she swallows forcefully. "I'd thought I could withstand it, but it …. it was, you can't imagine how excruciating it was. Not just the pain, but I could feel how physically weak I was getting. You know how when you've had eight hours of quality sleep you forget how shitty it feels to have pulled an all-nighter?"
"Yeah."
"The first few hours, I knew what was in store, but I didn't really contemplate how … lethargic it was going to make me. I didn't realize that I'd lose my ability to fight, to move, to think. The irony was that it almost didn't matter that I was cuffed to my chair, because every time he burned me, I just … lost all ability to function. And it wasn't just physical. It was mental. I could feel myself start to unravel psychologically. I started to feel disoriented, I lost track of time. And then I'd recover just enough to appreciate that it was about to happen again, and that I was completely helpless to stop it."
"You're not helpless now, Liv."
She nods. "But you know, that's not even what did it."
"What do you mean?"
"At the back of my mind, I was still lucid enough to remember that there was a get-out-of-jail-free card there."
"Because you thought Brian was coming."
"Right. But then after that voicemail … I think that's when the terror really set in. It hit me for the first time that there was no way out of this. Nobody was coming. And I couldn't fight back. I realized I really was going to be raped. And that at some point after that, I was going to be … killed."
He leans in, puts an arm around her. "It's over now. It's over. You're completely safe. You know that, right?"
"But if he gets out …"
"He won't."
"But if he does – "
"Liv – "
She pulls away, cranes her neck to face him, searching his eyes for understanding. "Elliot, I'm not too proud to admit that I'm scared of him. I made the mistake of not being scared of him once. And without my gun, feeling this physically weak, I feel like a sitting duck."
"But you're not," he says gently. "I'm here with you. No one's getting past me. I promise you that."
"You don't have a gun either."
"I don't need a gun to protect you."
She shakes her head with vigor. "No. Don't do that," she pleads. "Don't bluster. Please don't underestimate him. If he gets out, or escapes, all bets are off. He's brazen enough to steal the guns off three different cops in broad daylight and is lucky enough to not get caught. He doesn't take calculated risks, Elliot. He takes all risks."
"I'll get a gun."
"How?"
"Liv, I'll figure it out."
She squeezes her hand into a fist, mashes it into his thigh. "You're not taking this seriously."
"I promise, I'll get a gun."
"Today?"
He sighs. "Today."