XX:

"Before we start, this is April Donovan, your union delegate," Tucker said, gesturing at the woman who had settled in the corner, "and this is my junior partner, Matthew James. We're here to get your side of what happened on tape, Detective Benson. That's all."

"How is he?" Liv asked quietly. "William Lewis."

"Dead," James replied.

She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyelids. Liv let out a shaky breath, then whispered, "I didn't mean to kill him – I wanted to be able to lock him away forever and – fuck, you're going to charge me with murder."

"This is why we need your side of the story, in your words," Tucker said.

She swallowed hard and lowered her hands, her fingers clutching at the blankets nervously. "You know I'm married?" Liv said very quietly.

Tucker had already flipped on the recorder. "To Assistant District Attorney Rafael Barba – we were made aware, yes," he said.

"His grandmother broke her wrist last week," Liv said. "So we've been going back and forth from the Bronx taking care of her when we're not at work and it's been difficult. And when the Lewis case broke initially, it was even worse. Neither of us were sleeping well and he was trying to hold everything together and win the case when, in hindsight, there was no way it was going to happen. And no sooner than we had lost and gone back to his office to regroup than he got messages from the hospital saying that abuelita had fallen and broken her hip and was in surgery. I made him go ahead to the hospital and promised to go home and pack go bags for the next couple of days – I told my Captain we had a family emergency and I needed a couple of days to sort things out and headed home to pack." She stopped and closed her eyes; that was the easy part, the rationalizing, the relative normalcy of it.

"You must love his grandmother very much," Tucker said. "Not many people would –"

"Catalina is a wonderful woman and I love her very much," Olivia whispered. She took a deep breath and tried to hide how much her hands were shaking by burying them in the covers, but that made her skin itch and burn from the rawness of her wounds. "I should have known something was wrong when I got home. The apartment didn't feel right – it didn't sound right. You know… like when you can just hear someone else is there but you can't pinpoint them? It was like that, but I ignored it. And then he was there, putting a gun to my back and he said, 'Welcome home, Detective'."

"For the record, we need you to identify your attacker," James said.

She hesitated for a moment, lost in a ghost of a memory that made her stomach clench with fear and disgust: the overwhelming need to wet herself in terror at the cold and emotionless tone in his voice as he greeted her. "William Lewis," Olivia forced out breathless with terror. "It was William Lewis."

"You're positive –"

The fear became tinged with anger. "I interrogated the man; I sat in a courtroom with him for days. He's going to live forever in my fucking nightmares – I think it's a positive identification, Mr. James," Olivia snapped. The man looked chastised, and fell silent. She closed her eyes again, unsure she would be able to continue if she made eye contact with anyone. "He hit me in the back of the head with the gun and forced me down onto my knees, where he disarmed me of my service weapon, phone, and badge. He restrained me with zip ties and duct tape, and forced me to drink the last of the bottle of Rafael's scotch, then half a bottle of vodka before he started feeding me pills. When the pills started to kick in, he… he got a wire hanger from the coat closet and heated it up on the stove and…" Her voice trailed off into nothing. She couldn't make the words manifest.

"Olivia?"

She was tearing at her hospital gown, the shrieking noises echoing around the room's walls were coming from her, she began to realize only after she snapped out of the panic like being thrust under ice water. Tucker was gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise her, but that might have been what grounded her instead.

She gasped and forced out, "He burnt me – my neck, my thighs, my back, my breasts… my abdomen…" And then the rest tumbled out. "He dragged me into my bedroom and forced me to orgasm multiple times with sex toys that my husband and I use – he masturbated and ejaculated on me. I didn't want – I didn't consent to – but I remember waking up and he was getting me dressed again in clean clothes and there was blood everywhere and all I wanted was to curl up and cry." She met Tucker's gaze and whispered, "He told me I could take one thing to remind me of home. I took the afghan abuelita made off our bed."

"How do you even make that decision?" Tucker asked softly, gently.

"All I wanted was Rafael," she admitted. "But I had to keep him safe. Him and Rollins: Lewis kept saying as soon as he was done with me, he was going after the sweet little blonde and the smart-ass lawyer who thought they could put him away. I had to keep them safe as long as I could. So I did my best to stay present and not give in."

"What happened after you left the apartment?"

"He put me in the trunk of the car he was driving, along with my afghan, and we drove a ways out," Liv said. "The time factor has me a little shaky because I was drugged, but I know we picked up his defense attorney and went to her parents' for dinner. After we dropped her off at the train station, we went back to their home, where he killed the father and burnt and tortured the mother like he did me before he raped her in front of me and threatened me with the same if I didn't stay quiet." She looked away from Tucker and sighed.

It took another hour to pour over the details of her kidnapping and torture, ending with her quiet, tearful summation of, "I did what I had to do to subdue him. I didn't want him to die."

Tucker clicked off the recorder and looked at his partner and the union delegate. "Olivia… there is no one who thinks for one second that you did," he said firmly. "Not even 1PP. We just have to cover our asses in case his people get slap-happy with the lawsuits. Now… while we've been in here, your husband has been having an evaluation with Peter Lindstrom, a psychiatrist that the NYPD uses in trauma cases like this, and yours will begin as soon as we're done. Don't argue: you need help."

She just nodded. "Rafael will fight you –"

"He didn't. He understands that the trauma of walking into the apartment –"

Olivia blinked up at Tucker and swallowed hard. "He – he found the apartment first?"

Tucker nodded. "Yeah."

"I would give anything at all in this world if only he didn't have to witness that," she whispered.

"I'm sorry –"

"Me too," she murmured. The three people vacated her room, only to be replaced by one who she assumed to be the psychiatrist. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long time, until she said, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"How about we start with our names?"

"Olivia Benson."

"Peter Lindstrom."

"You've already met my husband, I hear," she said with a small smirk. "He's… challenging to anyone who doesn't know him well."

"I didn't pick up on that at all," Lindstrom said. "Mr. Barba is a very traumatized man, as I suspect you are a very traumatized woman, Ms. Benson."

"How could you tell?" she asked. "Could it be the IAB suits coming to assess my mental breakdown and whether or not I'm to be charged with murder or manslaughter or involuntary manslaughter or – fuck, I don't know. I killed someone, accidentally, who fully intended to rape and murder me, and who had already sexually assaulted me and tortured me within an inch of my life and was treating me like some drug-addled floozy good-time girl out for a fun weekend. So, I don't know, doc, you tell me: am I traumatized? Or am I just fucking crazy?" Olivia clawed at her thigh through the blankets, grumbled when she felt the scab give way and start bleeding again.

"I don't think you're crazy."

"I close my eyes and I'm terrified to open them again because I'm afraid I'll be back with him," she whispered. "Like… like I can't process that I'm here and not there."

"That's natural: it happens with some victims in captivity and hostage situations," Lindstrom said. "But you successfully fought off and disarmed your captor eventually, even in a drugged state. That must make you feel pleased with yourself."

"No, it makes me furious with myself," Liv said.

"Why?"

"Because I choked," she admitted very quietly. "When I first realized he was there, in my house, in my kitchen, close enough to harm me, I froze and choked. I could have ended it there –"

"Or gotten yourself killed in the process," he pointed out gently. "Olivia, you cannot take all the blame onto your own shoulders. The only person in this situation to blame is the man who took you hostage, who assaulted you, who attempted to kill you. Not you. Until you believe that… your physical wounds will heal, but your psychological wounds will fester."

"I don't know where to start."

"That's why you have me," Lindstrom said gently. "I am here to help you, Olivia."

She woke up screaming.

The nightmare had been so real, so vivid, that she could still feel the pain as she bolted upright in the hospital bed, setting off her monitoring alarms. Rafael was at her side in a moment, ruffled and exhausted, flustered as he attempted to get his glasses on so he could see her, reaching for her at the same time.

"Liv – mi amor – it's all right," he assured her. "You're safe. I'm here. Everything is okay." Rafael's voice was heavy with sleep, rough and groggy, so tired, and he was pale – far paler than she had ever seen him. "You're going to be fine. It was just a nightmare. He can't hurt you anymore, Olivia. I promise."

She was crying – sobbing, really – because what did he know? Every breath she drew hurt; every moment she was awake hurt, every moment she was asleep hurt. William Lewis might be dead and gone, but he lived on in her nightmares.

A nurse rushed into the room to check her over and Rafael explained as calmly as he could that she'd had a night terror. But still with the vitals check and making sure that the IV line was clear and the drip was still good while she was at it. All while side-eyeing Olivia like she was a wild animal who was barely contained in her cage.

When they were alone again, Liv choked out through her tears, "I want to go home – but we can't."

"No, but I'm working on something," he promised gently, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist and holding her hand gently in both of his. "When they let you out of the hospital, we'll have a home to go home to, I promise, mi amor."

She wanted to tell him that she wanted to be somewhere she felt safe, somewhere she felt loved and cared for, somewhere she felt like she could begin to start over and heal again – but maybe that place wasn't the home that they had shared after all. Maybe they needed to start afresh, anew, starting over again. So she held her tongue and just squeezed his hands with her own.

TBC...