A/N- Thank you so much for all the follows, reviews, and kudos you guys are the best and I massively appreciate them, please also let me know your thoughts on this chapter as I love reading them. Thanks again Ashley for being Beta.

This might not be your thing, so I am alerting you to trigger warnings

Trigger Warnings: PTSD

Hostage situation

And implied SA

*Rome- Two days earlier

The repeated heavy knocking against the old wooden door was becoming aggravating.

"I'm coming," he shouts for the fourth time, the water from the shower still glistening over his chest and torso as he grabs the nearest towel and heads down the stone steps that link his apartment living area to his front door.

"Kathy, what are you doing here? Is everything ok?" he asks looking over her standoffish demeanor.

Rolling her eyes at his half-dressed appearance, she can't help but dig, "Am I interrupting something?" before pushing past him anyway and walking her way up the stairs into his living room.

"What are you doing here Kath?" He looks at her sitting comfortably on his sofa and slowly pulling out six very large, heavily packed envelopes from her bag.

"These here, these are why I'm here." She ushers one into the air before letting it drop onto the coffee table. "I thought you said you changed your address when we separated last year?"

"I did. I don't know anyone who would still think I live with you," he ponders. "What are they?"

"I don't know, I don't read your mail...anymore," she laughs. After no response and a brief silent pause, she attempts to regain his attention. "El?"

"Yeah?" he replies, moving his gaze between his ex-wife and the letters. The Private and Confidential stamps were all over the letter but yet, the address details are handwritten. It doesn't take his years as a detective to realize that this isn't the usual mail he receives.

"You should get dressed. I'll make us a coffee," Kathy insists as she makes her way into the kitchen and starts up the pot.

Elliot throws on some grey jogging pants and a white tee and hurries back into the living area. As much as he was happy to catch up with Kathy, he really wanted to open these letters.

"I won't stay long. I'm meeting Marco in an hour for brunch anyway," she pre-emptively offers, as if the many years of marriage have allowed her to read his mind.

"No Kath, it's fine. I just don't know who these could be from." He picks the first one up and starts scanning for a return address.

"It's a US postmark, specifically New York." She offers him an encouraging smile. "From Olivia maybe?"

He looks at her surprised. "Olivia? Why would they be from Olivia?"

Picking up the two cups of freshly poured coffee, she makes her way over to the couch, hands him his, and sits down wrapping her hands around her own.

"I don't know, I assumed since you got in touch with her last year that she sent you something. That's why I rushed over straight away."

Quickly realizing he hadn't been entirely forthcoming in telling his ex-wife the details, he begins to rub his hand across the back of his neck.

"Oh Elliot," Kathy's saddened tone falls over him. "You didn't get in touch with her did you?"

"Not exactly. It's...erm. Well, it's complicated." He takes a seat opposite her and knows she's going to ask for more information, not because she's prying or meddlesome but because she genuinely hoped he would. 'She's the best kind of ex-wife,' Elliot thinks to himself.

"Tell me...I mean who else have you got to talk to?"

He takes several moments of hesitation. He's never been good at explaining his feelings, but he was working on it.

"I reached out to Fin, you remember Fin?" he asks, her raised eyebrows imply the stupidity of his question. "Ok, I didn't really explain much, and I asked for Liv's number. He was hesitant at first, but I promised I was going to give her a full explanation as to why I left."

He watches Kathy shift awkwardly in her seat and offers her a friendly smile before continuing on. "He lectured me for a bit, nothing I didn't deserve, and offered her number on the condition I don't mess her around."

"Fin said that?" Kathy asked looking surprised.

"Well, that was the polite version. They must have grown closer over the years," Elliot replies, shrugging his shoulders.

"So what happened? Did she not want to speak to you?" Kathy eagerly places her empty cup on the table.

He jams his hand into his pocket and draws a long breath. "I called her cell, a man answered, I asked to speak to her, he asked who it was, I said my name." He looks at Kathy, anguished to tell the next part of the story.

"Well?" she encourages.

"He said he was Olivia's husband, and that hearing from me after all of these years wouldn't be good for her. Apparently, I really messed her up, and she's really happy now. They even have a kid."

Kathy jumps up to hug him. "I'm so sorry El. Did you ever try again?"

"Nah, I couldn't risk hurting her again." He rubs his hand across his face and backs away into his kitchen.

"At least she's been happy all these years though, right?" Kathy tries to console him before she checks her watch. "I need to go. I can cancel if you want to talk?"

"No you go, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

It took a couple more attempts of persuasion to get Kathy to leave, but he was pleased when she did. He knew she felt guilty. It wasn't her fault he missed his chance with Olivia, but it was her ultimatum; her or them, them as in his wife and children.

He's sat hunched over his coffee table and wondering if there is any particular order to opening the envelopes. Ripping over the closest one to him, he peers in and pours the contents out; photographs it appears to be. Picking one up, he looks at a curly-haired young boy about 8 or 9. He checks the back for information, but it's blank. The next photograph is Olivia walking into what looks like the precinct, coffee in hand. The following thirteen photographs are all of Olivia in various positions, a coffee shop, the park, with the curly-haired boy. That must be her son.

He's confused but eager to find out what's in the rest of the envelopes, so he rips the seals off each of them and shakes the contents all over the table.

The horror hits him instantly, and he knows his heart was pounding at an increasingly rapid pace. He can't bring himself to read the article of the newspaper clipping; the headline was enough.

Check the date, Stabler.

'Ok, she's alive.' He's spoken to Fin since then. This is the past.

He goes through several more clippings all filled with images of Olivia. The most prominent words his alarmed brain can make out through the overwhelming fog are hostage, serial rapist, tortured. He needs to throw up.

Tortured. Olivia was tortured.

His head is spinning and his hands are clammy, the grip he holds on the paper becoming uneasy and feeble.

'Keep it together,' he internally repeats to himself.

The next things he picks up are transcripts. Court transcripts.

Shit.

He skims over a couple and is in disbelief at what he's reading. How did he not know? Why did he have to cut himself off from everyone he previously knew? Why was he so stupid? So Fucking. Ridiculously. Stupid.

How did this happen to her? There are too many questions clouding his mind, but he has all the answers, all of them right here in front of him. He even has pictures of her injuries.

Oh god, her injuries, her wounds, her marks.

The balls that have been created by his fists immediately disperse, and his body involuntarily hurls itself over the side of the table, violently releasing the remnants of his breakfast. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and limply walks into the kitchen. Pouring himself a glass of water, he takes a few sips before leaning his elbows on either side of the sink, allowing the surfaces to take the burden of his newfound heavyweight. His eyes close as he inhales then exhales deep, slow-paced breaths.

After his brief break, he stands over the coffee table again, ignoring and avoiding the mess on the floor. He picks up the court transcripts for a second time, and his eyes are instantly transfixed on the word 'partner'.

WL: "You came into the bedroom, you started talking to me about your romantic fantasies...about your ex-partner, how he would have known what to do with me.

O: He would have.

WL: We shared so many intimate secrets that day, didn't we?

He aggressively turns and smashes his fist into the wall opposite him, the plasterboard breaking beneath his tightly clenched fist. He withdraws it, looking at his bloodied knuckles before pounding it again and again into the wall. The debris falling around him, blood trickling down his wrist and forearm, he lets out a low, groaned wail before sliding down the wall and dragging his knees against his chest. He doesn't have tears because he's too frustrated and furious for them to fall, too furious with Lewis, and too furious with himself.

The request from Olivia's husband to leave her alone meant nothing now, not after reading that. She had needed him, she wanted him, she had spoken out about him in her darkest hour, and he was going to be damned if he wasn't going to go to her now.

*Current Day

Fin called back almost immediately to her climbing into bed for the evening. He confirmed to Elliot that Olivia was happy to meet him tomorrow morning for coffee and as frustrated as he was that he couldn't see her right away and make sure she was ok, he respected her wishes.

Olivia needed the evening with her boy; she needed spaghetti, ice cream, cuddles, and to fall asleep in front of the latest animated movie that always made Noah giggle.

David had to catch up on work and sat in the guest bedroom the whole evening, allowing her the precious time she so desperately craved with her son.

Fin had texted to say they had someone watching her for protection. He had expected an objection, but with Darryl, the mention of Lewis, and Noah at home, she was happy to go along with the 'being safe rather than sorry' notion.

The thought of Lewis having friends on the outside doing his bidding churned her stomach, but Fin assured her that there had been no communications between Lewis and anyone on the outside, no visitors, and no recently released close contact inmates. Darryl hadn't officially done anything worth arresting, but once they located him, Fin and Rollins were very keen to have a conversation with him.

To her own surprise, she was able to sleep no dreams, no nightmares, no panic attacks.

The next morning Lucy had agreed to take Noah to school and then to her mom's. Although she hated being away from her son, Olivia was rest assured knowing that until this was resolved, he was out of the way.

David had packed up and left to go to his hotel; she thanked him for staying and confided that she slept better having another pair of ears in the apartment. Regardless of their separation and impending divorce, it was reassuring to know that David would always be there for her. He was her rock through the original Lewis days, and she would be forever grateful to him for that.

He happily offered to stay on at the apartment with her and Noah, but when she objected with how she would 'be fine,' he insisted he was only a text or phone call away.

The city was bustling, the streets packed with pedestrians, and in the current circumstances, she needed a diversion from not just the idle threat, but also that she was about to see Elliot for the first time in over 10 years.

Olivia had no conscious remembrance of her day-to-day actions this morning. Her legs are weaker than usual, but yet, they feel heavier with each step she takes towards the coffee shop.

After she pushes the door to the coffee shop open, she looks around to see if she can see Elliot. She knew she was early, too early, and as much as she didn't want to be there first waiting for him, she was too apprehensive to stay at home.

Stepping into the queue to be served, she takes another brief glance around to make sure she doesn't recognize anyone inconspicuous.

After sending a quick head nod to her protection detail to confirm her confidence in this situation, she relaxes her guard, and he contentedly waits at the entrance of the shop.

The queue is long and arduous, and with each additional minute of waiting, her anxiousness displays itself in the form of a toe-tapping fidget. Reaching the front of the queue takes longer than anticipated, and when she finally approaches the counter, the young barista appears to look her over and disappear for several seconds before returning with an envelope.

"Olivia right?"

That twisted knot in her stomach tightens once again, and she takes a step back from the counter.

"Olivia?" the friendly, smiley man from behind asks again, already assuming from her non-denial that it is her.

"Here." He hands her the envelope and says, "Someone called Darryl told me to give you this, and apparently you need to read it alone." He laughs; obliviously unaware of the situation. "I think it's a love letter," he winks.

"When was this? What did he look like? When did he leave?" Olivia impatiently demands, gaining the attention of the other coffee baristas.

"Look lady, I dunno. I just did what someone asked me to do." He retreats back from the counter and grabs another pot of coffee before asking if she wants a beverage.

Refocusing, she realizes that this is an innocent staff member, a very inexperienced kid, and for just a moment Olivia envies his naive outlook on the world.

The commotion must have alerted the detective outside because when she glances between the possible exits Darryl could have left from, she notices him coming towards her, hand subtly placed on his service weapon. "Captain? Is everything ok?"

"Yes, yes it is. Everything is fine." She wishes it was. "I'm just going to sit for a moment. Are you ok to wait outside again?"

Read it alone.

She hesitates, placing the envelope on the table with her elbows on either side. She creates a bridge with her hands to rest her head as she prepares herself for the possibilities of what could be inside.

Raising her hands up to her temples, she digs in her fingers and moves them in a circular motion, breathing out a quiet sigh at the pressure momentarily clearing the newfound fog between her eyes.

You can do this.

She picks up the envelope again, carefully opens it, and pulls out a sheet of A4 paper perfectly and symmetrically folded over in the middle.

Opening the fold, the tiniest and faintest of font reads;

Noah Haden- *Lucy's mom's address*

David Haden- *Hotel address*

Elliot Stabler - *Hotel address*

Donald Cragen- *Florida address*

Fin, Amanda, Kat- *Precinct address*

We have everyone's current locations.

Meet at the abandoned lot circled below

10.38 am

*A picture of the map*

You know the drill. Tell no one, or we work our way through the list.

Arrive 1 minute late, and we start working our way through the list.

Try to discreetly alert anyone, and we work our way through the list.

Starting at the top.

Burn this note outside. We are watching.

Olivia can't focus. They have everyone on that list and her sweet boy was at the top. As far as she is concerned, there is no consideration needed; she will go. She will go alone, not alert anyone, and do as it said. She is tired of this whole charade, and Noah's safety is her top priority.

Checking her watch, she looks out the window. It's still too early for her meeting with Elliot, which means if she goes now, she avoids the risk of him following her and breaching the rules of the note. Her stomach tightens its twist on the entangled knot she's been experiencing over the last few days as she contemplates her strategy.

"Detective," she calls out as she leaves the coffee shop. "Do you have a lighter?" Realizing how rare it is that people actually carry lighters these days, she is surprised when he takes one from the inside of his pocket.

"You never know when you might need it," he answers her unvoiced question.

"Thanks. If you'll give me a minute." She heads over to the abundance of trash by the side and looks it over for a few seconds before setting her eyes on some similar-looking paper that has been discarded amongst newspapers, leaflets, and various other items.

Olivia crouches down, slightly obstructing a view from behind her, drops the note over the other paper, and with one hand, simultaneously crumples them together. Craftily she knocks the note down further into the trash and picks up the alternative sheet and immediately sets light to the bottom. Holding it up in the air, she slowly spins a circle for demonstrative purposes to whoever is watching, the sheet quickly curling and crackling into dust in front of her eyes.

"Is that what you wanted?" she whispers to the silence before making her way back to the puzzled detective and handing him his lighter back.

After insisting on meeting her detail back at the precinct and persuading him by pulling rank, she makes her way back into the coffee shop and out the back exit.

It takes twenty-five minutes to walk to the abandoned lot. Twenty-five long, dreaded minutes.

When she finally arrives, she is entirely alone. Until she isn't.

Before she even opens her eyes, she can feel the cool chill deep in her bones, her body physically trembling from the cold shivers. Whatever it is her back is resting against is bitter.

After several attempts to fully open her eyes, the distorted vision and overwhelming black dots force her to close them again. Resting her head back against the cool block behind her, she concentrates on the piercing headache straining across the forefront of her head.

She was hit, she remembers now. A forceful blow across the side of her hand and then everything went black.

Glaring through the disorientation, she attempts to concentrate on the room around her. It's dark, it's bare, and the floor looks like stone. 'A warehouse?' she questions herself.

After gaining some bearings, she rapidly becomes aware of the dull ache persistently weighing on her shoulders and arms positioned above her head. She gasps a shriek of alarm and tugs at her own unmoving limbs.

Not again, Not again, Not again.

Olivia's focus returns, and she becomes fully conscious of the old, dirty radiator she's chained against. In an attempt to regain some control, she vigorously begins to repeatedly pull at her arms, but the continual lock and click from above her head leads her to release a frustrated low growl.

A sinister laugh from the opposing corner of the room diverts her attention to the lingering silhouette of Darryl.

"I wouldn't bother trying to get out of that," he sneers. Moving across the floor to sit opposite her, he places a laptop down and flips open the screen.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her tone impatient and strong. "Why am I here?"

"You need to watch this," he insists fiddling with the screen.

She's irrationally defiant; she obviously needs to watch whatever it is that he's insisting on, but she can't bring herself to, and she can't bring herself to immediately give in to his demands.

Despite the roaring terror consuming her, she needs to stay stable. Just like the other times she's been held hostage, she needs to be strong; she needs to have a form of control of the game.

"Watch it," he says, his voice laced with threat and intimidation.

She squeezes her eyes shut; the volume of what he wants her to see is rapidly increasing, and the intensity makes the news reporter's voice shrill and tinny rather than soft and explanative.

"Open your eyes now," he lowly snarls into her face, his hand wrapping around her chin as he forcibly digs his forefinger and thumb into her cheeks.

Keeping her eyes pinched, she continues to blatantly refuse his request, this instilled stubbornness, both a blessing and a burden.

She attempts to shake her head, but his grip on her face crushes in tighter until he's touching her cheekbones.

Through the newfound pain, a familiar name being mentioned by the news reporter coerces her eyes open, and she watches and listens to the screen, not even noticing the hand relinquishing from her face.

"The escaped prisoner is known as William Lewis. Authorities are advising if you see this man to NOT approach. A tip line to report any sightings is below. Again we need to emphasize, do not approach this man. He will most likely be armed and is very dangerous."

No, no, no, no, no, no it can't be. This can't be happening.

She closes her eyes shut again in disbelief, yanking on the restraints in another futile attempt to free herself.

Her body is running on pure nausea alone.

"Keep watching," he hisses.

His repetitiveness is already becoming exhausting, and she complies, not because he demanded, but because she needs to know.

"The last time you may have heard of William Lewis was when he was sent to prison for the abduction of NYPD Sergeant Olivia Benson. The state-wide manhunt concluded with Lewis needing serious medical treatment and beginning his lengthy term in prison. The explicit details of the horrendous four-day hostage situation came out during the open trial. Sergeant Benson is now the Captain of SVU and we are yet to receive an official statement."

The sound of Darryl's amusement fills the room, and he aggressively kicks his foot through the screen of the laptop, causing it to hurl backward and loudly smash against the wall. The reverberation and instantaneous spread of glass cause Olivia to recoil into the sharp freeze of the radiator.

"Getting afraid now are we Captain?" He bitterly smiles with the same smug smirk he had in the bar.

Composing herself, Olivia attempts to speak, but he immediately drops down in front of her face, pushes his forehead into hers, and chuckles.

This close proximity causes her breathing to stagger, but she doesn't falter. She stares back into his eyes.

Terror aside, if what's going to happen is what she thinks is going to happen, then she's going to go down with all the fight her body and mind have.

Darryl quickly becomes un-eased by her un-breaking stare and sits back parallel to her. His legs are crossed in front of him like a child, she watches him silently for several seconds rocking backward and forwards in excitement before spontaneously jumping forward and stroking his forefinger across her lips.

"Do you have déjà vu yet?" he sinisterly quips "No one knows you're missing...again," he chortles.

"What do you want?" Her voice is croaky and hoarse; she already knows the answer.

"Me? Nothing." He stretches his arms out in front of her and cracks his fingers. "I'm merely the messenger and delivery man."

Darryl stands over her and moves to pick something off the floor, the sound of duct tape ripping as he yanks it off its roll engulfs her heart rate into an immediate quick-paced race.

Not the tape, not the tape. Not again.

Pleasurably smiling in the enjoyment over Olivia's obvious discomfort, he leans down, ripping more and more of the tape, watching her flinch and her pained expression with every pull until she shouts, "Stop!"

"What's the matter? Don't want your mouth covered, Captain?" he patronizes her, shrugging his shoulders in disappointment before pointing his finger in the air as if he just registered an idea.

"You know, I could find an alternative way of keeping your mouth occupied if you don't want it covered?" he disturbingly suggests, tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

She can feel her own bloodshot eyes painfully dart between him and the potential exits of the room before trying to choke out a whisper.

"The t-" she attempts.

"I can't quite hear you," he sings loudly. "Speak up and apologize for making me have to ask again."

"I'm sorry..." The words physically cause her pain. They bitterly go against everything she stands for. "The...tape," she tries to clarify through her stutters.

"The tape?" he confirms, ripping off a final slice and slapping it across her mouth, harshly pressing it down with his fingers.

"Well that's a shame," he expresses, leaning in and kissing the top of her head. "Never mind," he chuckles before taking his leave and slamming the door shut behind him.

Olivia frantically uses all of her energy to fuel the power into her arms, pulling relentlessly at the restraints wrapped around her wrists.

Every single motion just causes the familiar feel of chaffing skin burns, but yet no movement to the restraints.

'I can't do this, not again. I can't,' she sobs to herself. There's only so much mental and physical torture one human being can take, and right now she can't do it. She's terror-stricken, her legs are trembling, her arms are aching from being held up over her head, and her shoulders feel like they are locking into a tense position.

Noah

The slide

Giggling

She repeats it again to herself.

Noah

The slide

Giggling

'They'll find me,' she tells herself.

'The note,' she reminds herself.

She left a paper trail.

They'll find it, they'll find me, and this time they have to.