WARNING: please use your discernment when reading this chapter; it speaks and describes mental illnesses.

Malingering

A mess. A complete, and total mess of hair and limbs.

We'd been at it for hours… literally. Olivia and I just thriving in our pleasure and the pleasure we'd provided for one another.

One. Four. Five.

Those were the numbers displayed by the low light emitted from her bedside LED clock. Her breathing was steady underneath my head. Deep and calm rising and falling as I counted the slow beats of her heart. I smiled against her skin, nuzzling deeper into her neck. I raised my head, peppering kisses across her jawline, before resuming my position close to her.

I closed my eyes, delighting myself in the warmth and afterglow sex leaves lingering about. I sighed, feeling sleep settle in my eyes.

It was the last thing I remembered before loud banging could faintly be heard at our front door. I raised my head, thinking it was probably the new neighbors, being loud at all kinds of hours of the day and night, my eyes adjusting to the faint light of the clock; three fifteen. I'd been asleep for roughly 90 minutes; it could've been just a reaction… a "mommy instinct".

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Olivia startled. "Is it the neighbors again?" shifting to glance at the clock.

"No," I yawned, sitting up. "I think someone's actually at our door."

I pressed a kiss to Olivia's sternum, turning to my side to reach my chemise hanging from our bedpost. Olivia did the same, exiting her side of the bed.

"Where—Where are my clothes, Tori?" I could hear her sleepy smirk when I tossed towards her the camisole she'd been wearing prior to entering the bed. "And, my shorts?"

"Liv," I complained, snickering as we blindly dressed ourselves in the darkness of our room.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I huffed, twisting my hair into a low bun, securing it with itself. "Someone better be fucking dying. It's Sunday!"

I exited the room quickly, jogging down our hallway to reach our front door. I could feel the lack of sleep catching up to me and the anger of my slumber being interrupted when I swung the door open. To my surprise, it was none other than the godmother of my children, accompanied by Carisi, and another young lady I'd never met before.

Alex fixed her eyes on me, smirking knowingly. "We have a problem," she said.

"Yea?" I responded sarcastically, crossing my arms across my stomach. "You think so?"

She smiled, "You're so grumpy when you've not slept."

"Alex," I said, closing my eyes briefly, releasing an exasperated sigh. "To the point, please."

"Where's Liv?" she asked, leaning forward to glance inside the apartment. "We need her, too. Can we come in?"

I stared back at the blonde. She was wearing jeans, sheepskin boots, and a hoodie. Her hair was pulled in a low, messy bun, and she had her "at home" glasses on. I quickly studied Carisi's wardrobe, as well, a different variation of what Alexandra was wearing, and the young lady wore something similar, too.

I narrowed my eyes at Alex, and shot a withering look towards Sonny, "My kids are sleeping."

Alex nodded as I turned to walk away, hearing footsteps quietly pace behind me as I made my way to my kitchen. As I passed my bedroom door, Olivia stepped out, furrowing her brow as she saw the adult single file line behind me.

"Oh?"

I shook my head, reaching the kitchen. We'd installed motion detected lights in our kitchen, to encourage the kids to not be afraid to wander around our home. The kitchen would always be a safe space and an area encouraged by us to them. Cassidy and Noah were older, so there was no need to have them in place for them, but the boys were still young, and wandering a dark place after waking up partially afraid was most definitely not ideal.

"Alex, what's going on?" Olivia said, resting against our kitchen island.

Alex glanced at the young lady with her, giving her an encouraging nod. She cleared her throat, "Forgive the intrusion, Captain and Dr. Benson," she looked directly at each of us as she said our names, "I'm Christa Turner from the DA's Office. I work the Vice & Narcotics docket, but as you know, the overlap with the Homicides Bureau is… inevitable."

"So, why are you here, if your work is mainly with Homicide?" I retorted, furrowing my brow.

"I… apologize for waking you at three in the morning, but I need a favor, and Bureau Chief Cabot said you, Dr. Benson, were the person to ask."

I glanced at Alex, returning the sensible smirk she'd painted on her lips. "Well, you can tell the Bureau Chief I've already granted her a favor: I got out of bed. On a Sunday morning, nonetheless."

"To—Tori, we need another one," Carisi chuckled. "We've police cars downstairs waiting for us. It's the only way we were allowed up here at this time of night. Well, that and Alex here has a keycard."

"Yea, remind me to revoke it after tonight," Olivia said breathily.

"A young woman has been brutally beaten and raped," he deadpanned. "We got the call about thirty minutes ago. She identified her assailant, and we need Tori to question him."

"Sonny, there are people qualified for that job. My wife one of them. You another one…" I raised my brow, gauging the urgency of this inquiry.

It was the middle of the night, and we had three lawyers and no policemen in our home. Whatever this was, it was an attempt to lock up someone extremely dangerous and watched for a long time. Whatever case they'd been building thus far against the person they wanted me to interview, it'd been going on for years, and whatever had happened tonight, had been the cherry at the top of a wonderfully curated ice cream sundae.

"Look, time is of the essence, Dr. Benson. I'm happy to explain, but I'd really, really prefer to this in the back of a moving car," ADA Turner intervened.

I glanced at Olivia, attempting to communicate silently with our eyes. "I need five minutes to get dressed," I sighed. "And, I'm guessing, Alex, you're here to stay?"

She nodded. "I'll take the spare room," she smirked once more, casting a wink towards Olivia.

Olivia scoffed, taking the lead towards our room. We moved quickly and efficiently. Her unlocking the drawer where she kept her sidearm and badge, and me quickly disrobing to be dressed in something comfortable yet presentable. Last thing I needed was my credibility to be judged by whatever clothing I'd chosen to wear in the middle of the night.

We both forfeited makeup, choosing instead to liven our features with a few pinches to our cheeks. I slipped into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I grabbed a single-breast blazer and threw it on, whatever chill awaited downstairs would have to be repelled by it. Olivia's attire was a tad more business-like, but I understood her responsibility as commanding officer. We both glanced at each other, smiling, and pressing a kiss to our lips before stepping out of our room.

We found the group of lawyers murmuring to themselves by the front door. Olivia pressed a kiss to Alex's cheek before stepping out with Carisi, and I let her know that she had clothes in the drawers of the chest in our guest room. I threw her a wink and a smile above my shoulder as I stepped into the bright hallway with ADA Turner at my side. We walked towards the elevator, that was being held by my wife, and stepped in. As soon as the doors shut, Carisi and Olivia began exchanging details of the case with each other.

"If you can tune out whatever they're saying, Dr. Benson, it'd be greatly appreciated," Turner said with a smile.

I took the time to look at her, really study her features. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with short, cropped hair, perfectly sculpted with finger waves. The light bounced off her skin as if she was made of gold. She had full lips, with no cupid's bow on her top lip, and nose, though wide, it had an almost imperceptible upturn at the tip. Her cheeks sat high on her face and the sculpt of her brows was the perfect combination for her close-set eyes. She was a beauty, no doubt about it, and she was all business at the time.

Once on the ground floor, I told Olivia to be safe and that I loved her. She responded alike before turning to leave with Sonny.

"Dr. Benson," Turner addressed me, holding open the back of the police SUV door open.

I slid in, and in a matter of seconds, we'd taken off.

The sirens were loud, so Turner had turned to face me just as she begun talking. "Perla Mancini, twenty-two, has been on Vice's radar since she was fifteen. Her mother was a junkie and her father a violent alcoholic. She was removed from her parents' home when she was ten, and she started jumping foster homes then. Brilliant kid, did well in school until her first boyfriend introduced her to the life of escorting," she sighed, shaking her head.

"You probably see this in your line of work: the yacht parties, the fancy clothes, the rich men… you don't have to put out if you don't want to and the money's good."

I smiled, "Speaking from experience?"

Turner scoffed, down turning her mouth dismissively, "We do what we can to survive, Dr. Benson. Does not mean that we cannot change our own circumstances."

"Agreed."

"Anyways, she started working for Roman Kozlov about two years ago. Have you heard of him?"

"Not particularly, no," I shook my head. "Why? Is he saying he's heard of me?"

"Kozlov's a Manhattan crime boss; has been for thirty years. We've had him in custody five, six, seven other times…"

"And, he keeps getting away?" I chuckled incredulously.

"Well," Turner sighed, leaning sideways to glance between the front seats to make sure we weren't in danger. "He has this… act. Well… I think it's an act."

I furrowed my brows, attempting to read the expression across her face. "An act?" she nodded. "What makes you think this?"

"Whenever he's in public," a grin spread slowly across her mouth as she spoke, "he behaves as if he's mentally ill. Talk to himself, big gestures, visual hallucinations… No sooner we get her downtown that his lawyer comes barging in demanding a competency hearing."

"Smart."

"Tell me about it," she scoffed, shaking her head. "Whatever the crime, the judge ends up sending him to La Guardia Psychiatric Hospital for six months of treatment and observation, then he's right back out on the street."

"So, what does this have to do with me? He obviously has a team of doctors who are aware and familiar with his condition," I gasped, feeling the car swerve.

"Jesus," Turner protested under her breath, gripping the ceiling handle. "I'm hoping you and I get to the precinct before the lawyer gets there. Then, I'm hoping that if I get you two in a room together, that you'll be able to testify that he's competent to stand trial," she glanced at me. "That's why we're doing dangerous speeds through midtown, right now."

We sat in silence for the remainder of the journey downtown. I'd taken in everything ADA Turner had said. This was to be a complicated and strenuous case. Not only for the detectives over at SVU, but also, for ADA Turner and myself.

Whatever course of action we thought of taking, it had to be one thought out brilliantly. Not only had I taken this case without letting my bosses at the Bureau know, but I'd taken the case without knowing the ramifications this could have upon my family. I let out a slow, controlled breath, watching from the corners of my eyes the confused look from the ADA.

I never shied away from a challenge, and I wouldn't begin doing so now.

At the speed the officer was going, we reached the precinct in record time. In my possession I had only my cellphone and my FBI ID, which truly were the only things I needed. If I wanted access to my building after this, Alex would let me in.

Whilst I waited to be checked-in at the precinct to be allowed into the interview room with Kozlov, I quickly loosened my hair and braided it rapidly, grabbing a rubber band from a nearby desk to tie the ends. As I was finishing, ADA Turner returned, nodding towards the hallway of the precinct that housed both interview rooms, including the one where my soon-to-be patient was being detained at.

Outside of the interview room where Kozlov was being held at, stood an officer. He opened the door for me and gave me a quick nod. ADA Turner lingered at the end of the hallway, allowing me to take the lead until further notice. Upon entering the room, I nodded my thanks to the officer, and once I turned, I saw the man in question.

Roman Kozlov looked anything but intimidating. He was handcuffed to the table, fingers spread in front of him as he flexed his fingers. He was looking around disoriented, grand gestures with his head as if following around a fly flying around his head. His face and fingernails were dirty, grime stuck underneath his nails. He didn't smell foul, but a lingering odor of maybe not having bathed in a couple of days was present.

I took a seat across from him, leaning back against the chair's back, examining in silence the man's behavior. When I entered the room, he'd paid me no mind, and as I sat, he continued to ignore me.

"Roman," I began, "do you know why you're here?"

He avoided all eye contact, but soon began muttering what I discerned to be, after careful listening, a nursery rhyme: "Jack be nimble. Jack be quick! Jack—"

"Roman, I'm going to give you what we call a forensic symptoms assessment," I interrupted, speaking over his muttering.

"Jump over the can-dle st-ick," he… giggled afterwards, shrugging his shoulders, and burying his head between his arms.

I watched carefully, if this was real, he looked as though he was going through a psychotic break, but, if this was fake… he'd definitely taken the time to study others in the same predicament he pretended to be in, and was mimicking them quite expertly.

His head shot up slowly, looking first to his right and then to his left, "They wanna know if you're a doctor."

I smiled, leaning forward to rest my arms against the table. I laced my fingers together. "They?" he avoided all eye contact, but I could still see his eyes darting back and forth across his lap. "Well, you can tell them that I'm just here to ask you a few questions," I bit my lip. "D'you hear voices, Roman?"

Roman turned to his left, pressing his chin against his shoulder. "Look—Look at this lady," I could detect a faint accent in his speech, one that let me know, he'd been raised from a young age in the city. "Hey, guys! She—She's asking me if I hear voices!" he shouted the last words of his sentence, breaking out in a maniacal laughter at the end. He rocked back and forth, lowering his head once more to avoid eye contact.

I narrowed my eyes at the top of the man's greying head. "Are you hearing the voices on the right side of your head or the left side of your head? At the top, or at the bottom?" I gestured with my hands before bringing them back on the table to lace them together. When I got no response, I decided to prod further. "What about your teeth? That seems to be a popular choice…"

Roman gave me no response, he just shriveled into himself, spreading his fingers across the table.

"Did the voices tell you to harm that young girl, Roman?"

That question seemed to get a response out of him. He relaxed against the chair, throwing his head back. He whimpered, rolling his neck against his shoulders. "I'm starting to get tired."

"What were the voices telling you when you were harming that girl, Roman? Were they telling you that she deserved it, that she was a… threat?" I furrowed my brows in an attempt to school my expression. Never in a million years would that ever be my first thought towards a survivor of assault. This was bait… a test to see how competent he truly was.

Roman turned to his left, shouting at the top of his lungs. "No. No! I—I don't know what she's talking about, either!" he shook his head, lowering his stare once more towards his lap. He raised his eyes, as if someone had called his attention, and he smiled briefly. He sighed, "Jack be nimble. Jack be quick!" his left hand rose from the table, his index and middle finger touching the surface, mimicking legs on a body. "Jack jump o-ver the can-dle st-ick!" he dragged the 's' harshly, coating his lips with saliva, as his fingers slid across the table.

I furrowed my brow, intended on asking another question, but before I was able, the door behind me opened, and I heard a faint click of heels. "Roman," the woman said, and as I turned back to watch Roman's face, I noticed him looking at her.

He lowered his stare when the woman called out for him again. "Roman?"

I watched Kozlov and the interaction he had with, whom I presumed to be, his attorney. A small smile painted my lips, and I turned my head to the opposite side, studying with intent, Kozlov's behavior.

"Roman, dear," she said, coming to stand next to Kozlov, as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "No more talking."

Almost immediately, Kozlov sat up straight, his entire demeanor changing. His posture changed.

I leaned back, bringing my hands down with me. "Hmm, is this your attorney, Roman?" he didn't respond, but I saw, faintly, how his eyes met mine quickly, before he dropped his head. I glanced up at the woman, "My name's Dr. Victoria Reyes, it's a pleasure."

"Meg Volk. I represent Mr. Kozlov," she paused, dropping her hand from her hip. "And, this meeting is now over."

I smiled in response, turning my head to face Roman Kozlov, "I find it… odd, actually. That you knew the exact precinct he'd been taken to… in the middle of the night, nonetheless. When your client is in, what appears to be the middle of a psychotic break. I mean," I scoffed, glancing at Ms. Volk, that had now knelt next to Kozlov, her hands at his forearm, comforting him. "He obviously couldn't have called you, so, who did?"

Kozlov continued what I now confirmed to be a charade, and Ms. Volk turned to look at me. "I'm sorry," she shook her head in exasperation. "I thought it was made clear that this meeting was over," she stood, and once more, I saw Kozlov eyeing me. In the ten minutes or so we'd been together, he'd only ever looked at me twice… only in the presence of his attorney.

I leaned forward, watching as Kozlov looked up at his attorney. I relaxed my facial expression. "What a riveting conversation, from a riveting conversationalist," I stood, tucking my hands inside my blazer's pockets. Before reaching the door, I turned, "As for the rest of you, I look forward to conversing again, soon."

I placed my knuckles against the metal door twice, signaling the officer to let me out. I would never disrespect a patient going through a mental break so blatantly, but Roman Kozlov had painted himself as a smart and cunning man. He knew from our eye contact that I'd figured out his game. He knew that I knew that he was lying, consciously attempting to fool everybody around us, but he'd failed with me. And, I'd do my absolute best to see him pay for whatever he'd done to Perla Mancini tonight.

As I exited the interview room, I glanced around the open bull pen, empty save for a few officers here and there. I turned to leave the unit, hoping that ADA Turner had not left the precinct as of yet. I hopped on the elevator, pressing the lobby button. The ride was short and sweet, and during it, I had the time to think about my short session with Kozlov.

The act he'd been putting on he'd been perfecting for years. He'd studied others with the same symptoms, had most likely read informative material upon the subject, and nowadays, it really was not hard to find audiovisuals of what mental breaks looked like and manifested as in different subjects with different illnesses of the mind. It… angered me to know that someone as devious as Kozlov could use and manipulate others with the pretense of a mental illness. Not only was he harming those with real mental illnesses, but he was setting the precedent of doubt in courts of law and everywhere else when it came to reasons of not guilty by reason of insanity or mental defect.

Mental illnesses were a struggle to begin with, and at times of abandonment of medical protocol, what the mind was capable of was completely unbeknownst to all of us and the person going through it. What better example than my sister…

I spotted ADA Turner near the precinct's exit. "ADA Turner," she turned, tucking her phone in her zip-up's pocket. "Would you care for breakfast?"

She chuckled, glancing at the ground bashfully. "No, thank you, Dr. Benson. I really need to know what happened in your meeting with Kozlov."

I shrugged, "You know, it's only fair. You dragged me out of bed at three in the morning, interrupting my beauty sleep... least you could do is accompany to breakfast."

"You'll never let me forget that, will you, Dr. Benson?" she smiled.

"Reyes," she furrowed her brow in confusion, her mouth working to protest. "While it is known that a police captain and myself have been married for many, many years now, professionally speaking, I am known as Dr. Reyes. Both to avoid a conflict of interests, should they arise, and to avoid patients and other… people knowing from vulnerabilities. It does not bother me, but, Dr. Reyes, moving forward."

"Got it," she offered a nod as a form of apology. "So, what happened?"

"Well, he didn't answer any of the assessment questions. I may or may not have had an inkling that it would probably go that way, since you let me know that this is not the first time he's been in this predicament," I sighed, continuing with renewed vigor. "The key here is, he's combining symptoms of two different illnesses."

"Those being?"

"Schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Usually, that's a sign that's someone is faking it," ADA Turner smiled, but schooled her features to allow me to continue. "If you haven't studied the nuances of mental illness and/or up-to-date with your diagnostics, it'll seem as though a very credible performance."

Turner rubbed her palms together in front of her as though waiting for something incredible, "Dr. Reyes, what exactly are you saying?"

"The judge may believe him."

She threw her head back, almost defeated by my admittance. "Please! I cannot let Roman Kozlov walk for another umpteenth time. He raped and beat a young girl half to death."

I smirked, "Luckily, they know I'm onto them."

"Oh?"

I nodded, excited to share a portion of good news. "The minute she walked in, the lawyer," ADA Turner nodded, leaning in interestedly, "he knew to not talk. Kozlov knew she was coming, it was a matter of when would she be showing up. But, how? He supposedly cannot tell reality from fantasy. Who called her?"

"And, you'd testify to this at the competency hearing?"

"I'd be remiss if I didn't."

ADA Turner deflated as she leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees. She shook her head, almost dumbfounded at my admission. She stood straight, allowing her shoulders to relax, "Have a great rest of your evening, Dr. Reyes. Thank you!"

I gave her a nod and turned, walking out of the precinct.

Three days later, I found myself walking down Worth Street on my way to Baxter in order to testify at Kozlov's competency hearing.

SVU had made little headway when it came to Perla and her cooperation. Not only did she have a crushed windpipe that made it difficult for her to speak, but she'd been reluctant knowing exactly what would happen if she were to speak and suddenly Roman Kozlov was not convicted. Carisi was head over heels on wanting to try him on both the Sex Crimes docket as well as on the Vice & Narcotics docket.

For right now, the competency hearing was just that. We first needed to the green light there before anything else could happen. On the prosecution's desk was none other than ADA Christa Turner, looking sharp in her charcoal skirt suit.

Alex and some other man, were standing with her, gently muttering to themselves before Turner saw me approach.

"Dr. Reyes, good morning," she said with a smile. "Please meet Bureau Chief Devon Doyle, head of Vice & Narcotics."

I extended my arm at the same time he did his, "I've heard wonderful things, Dr. Reyes."

I smiled at him, giving him a sharp nod, as I turned to Alex. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," she sighed, "we've been on a debate with the seventh-floor part of the morning, trying to see which of the cases presented against Roman Kozlov have precedent. He's avoided charges with essentially every bureau in this district, and we all want a piece of the pie."

"Shouldn't SVU take priority right now? This is the current case…"

Bureau Chief Doyle chuckled, "You're sounding just like Carisi's boss, Dr. Reyes. Are you in cahoots?" he side-eyed me playfully.

Before I could respond, the bailiff called for attention as he introduced the judge presiding over the case.

"Ms. Turner, your witness, please."

"I'd like to call to the stand Dr. Victoria Reyes, Forensic Psychologist and Behaviorist of the FBI."

I stood, running hand over the navy slacks I'd decided on wearing today. As I stood, I tugged on the ends of my sleeveless vest, feeling the ruffles of my long-sleeve button down shirt tickle my skin. I'd let my hair down, only for court purposes. After being sworn in, I was allowed to sit, and immediately, ADA Turner begun.

"Dr. Reyes," she said, walking towards the witness box, "as a licensed psychologist with two PhD's in human behavior, could I trouble you for your observations?"

I smiled, giving her a nod. "Sure. Initially, Mr. Kozlov displayed textbook signs of schizophrenia: delusions, hallucinations, indulging in conversations with entities not present…"

ADA Turner made a face, glancing over her shoulder towards the defendant. "Those are serious symptoms. Did Mr. Kozlov display any other symptoms of mental illness?"

"Yes, specifically rapid and disorganized speech, which is typically a symptom of bipolar disorder, not schizophrenia."

Turner crossed her hands in front of her, "Dr. Reyes, in your expertise, is it common for a person to simultaneously display signs of both schizophrenia and bipolar disorder?"

I shook my head, providing my answer in unison, "No, not common. Not… normal. Not… credible, either. When a person shows symptoms of several disorders, it's almost always an indicator of malingering."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. Reyes. Could you define malingering for the court?"

I smiled, keen on not laughing in open court. "Malingering is when a person fakes mental illness in order to… evade responsibility for an event."

"And, in your expert opinion, is Mr. Kozlov… malingering?" she finished, gesturing with her hands.

"In my expert opinion, he is."

There was a slight pause, and I was able to catch Alex's smirk from across the room. She was proud of herself. Proud of the decision of bringing me onboard for this case… or cases, depending on how her bosses decided to go forth with this.

It wasn't every day that I had a chance to present in court the findings of someone malingering. It wasn't unheard of in my line of work, but to this extent, after so many years, and so many brushes with the law, I was excited to be of help.

"And, you're basing this on the sole idea that he was fusing symptoms of several illnesses?" she furrowed her brow, selling her case expertly.

"Well, no. Not solely. It was difficult to ignore Mr. Kozlov's response when his attorney walked into the room," I shifted in my shift, glancing slowly towards the defendant's table.

Kozlov had a set expression in his face. He was looking ahead, but his eyes weren't on me. I could tell he was upset. Upset his charade was soon coming to an end, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"The second she walked in, she ordered him to stop talking, and he did—it was quite clear Mr. Kozlov recognized her, obvious he was not surprised to see her, obvious he knew she was coming, and lucid enough to respond to her wishes," I finished with a low sigh.

"So…"

"So, it is very clear, Mr. Roman Kozlov is not mentally ill. He knew exactly what he was doing during the night in question, and," I directed my gaze towards Kozlov, "he's perfectly fit to stand trial."

"Thank you, Dr. Reyes," ADA Turner finished with a nod.

As Turner reached her desk, Ms. Volk stood and approached me in the witness box, straightening the sleeves of her blazer. "Dr. Reyes… how long, exactly, was your interview with my client, Roman Kozlov?"

"Perhaps ten to fifteen minutes. Could have lasted longer, but as I previously stated, I was interrupted by your presence."

Ms. Volk tittered, opening her arms, "So, based on a fifteen-minute interview, you're ready to diagnose a man's mental state?"

I furrowed my brown in feigned confusion, "I never claimed to diagnose his mental state. I am only here to attest, as a professional, to his competency on whether he can stand trial or not."

"Are you aware, Dr. Reyes, that this gentleman has been suffering with schizophrenia for over two decades now?" she turned briefly to look at her client and was back to facing me prior to ending her sentence.

"I'm aware that's the claim your client presents."

Ms. Volk took several steps forward, barely standing a few feet away from me. "And, are you aware that during the altercation with Ms. Mancini as well as during your interview, he was in the middle of a psychotic episode."

"Again, I'm aware that that's the claim presented," I caught Alex's eyes briefly again, in them, a sparkle of triumph could be discerned. "And, to be clear, the altercation you're speaking of was the brutal assault and rape of a young woman. That's for sure a better term for the "altercation" in question."

"Objection, Your Honor," she said, glancing at the judge. "Nonresponsive answer."

"If he were in the middle of psychotic state, Mr. Kozlov would never have been able to communicate with you the way he did," I added smugly.

"Overruled," Judge Hohn said. "All of it. Overruled."

Ms. Volk nodded, barely accepting defeat. "I'd like to remind Dr. Reyes, and the court, that she's supposed to remain unbiased."

"Well, excuse me, Your Honor. Correct me if I'm wrong, but what's in question today is whether or not Mr. Kozlov is befitted to stand trial. To do that," I smiled, looking at my lap, avoiding at all costs Alex's face, "the effective communication with one's lawyer must be present, as well as be able to understand the charges being brought forth. That's the criteria," I glanced up at the Judge who was intently looking at Mr. Kozlov. "In all my years practicing psychology, I've never seen anyone—child or otherwise—in a psychotic state communicate with such finesse, as Roman Kozlov did that night."

"Thank you, Dr. Reyes," Judge Hohn said evenly. "Ms. Volk, if you do not have any other questions for the good doctor, can we move on?"

I raised a brow to Ms. Volk, challenging her to something else. "Of course, Your Honor," she replied, taking a step back towards the defendant's table.

Not soon after, Judge Hohn excused me from the witness's box.

As I was climbing down the box, Judge Hohn wasted no time with her verdict. "In light of this testimony, I believe Roman Kozlov is indeed able to not only understand the nature and consequences of this proceeding, but of being fully capable to assist in his own defense."

I glanced at the back of Roman Kozlov's head, and saw the subtle way he lowered his head, and became tense.

"Mr. Kozlov," Judge Hohn continued, "you are therefore fit to stand trial, which will commence next Monday," she finished with a pound of her gavel.

Everybody in the galley stood, and I trained my eyes on Kozlov. It was the first time in the time we'd been sharing common space that he'd looked at me directly in the eyes, challenging me in some sort of way. The entire time the court officer positioned him to be cuffed, his stare did not waver, and neither did mine.

"How's your case going, Liv?" I asked, swiveling on my chair.

I heard her sigh, "She's reluctant, Tori. And, I don't blame her. Apparently, the DA's Office appointed Turner to not only try SVU's case, but try him on every single charge he's evaded to this day."

I shook my head, "How's Carisi taking it?"

Olivia scoffed, "Not good. You know how he is. He wanted this guy… bad!"

"Well, then, it should come as some comfort that he'll be tried and hopefully put away for a long time for all he's done."

"I don't think so, Tori," she sighed. "I'm surprised the FBI hasn't swooped in and taken the case out of the district's hands."

I turned around on my chair to face the knock that'd come from my door. To my surprise, ADA Turner stood at my office's entrance. "Uh, baby, I have to go. I think you just might've jinxed me."

"Sure," she said, elongating the syllable. "Blame the lowly cop for your federal problems."

I snickered and shook my head. "Goodbye, Captain Benson. I'll see you at home."

"I love you. Please, be safe."

I smiled, glancing down abashedly, "I love you, too, Liv. You, too, ok?"

There was some expected silence between us, and I understood it was her way of acknowledging my request. We hung up after that, and I glanced up to wave in ADA Turner into my office.

"Wow," she said as she sat. "This is nice."

I scoffed, "How can I help you, Ms. Turner?"

"I had a meeting in judge's chambers this morning. The other side admits that he did, in fact, brutally beat and raped Perla."

"I sense a but here."

"But, they're pleading not guilty by reason of mental defect," she said, crossing her legs.

I leaned back on my chair, dropping the pen I'd picked up at some during Olivia's and I conversation atop the open file on my desk. "You can't really be surprised… He's gone so long preparing for this moment."

"Yes, well, each side, of course, is entitled to their own expert," she said with a smirk. "Theirs to prove that, while, sure, he's competent to stand trial, he's still mentally ill and was so at the time of the events. And, ours to prove that he's not… at all!" she paused, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward. "I told them I want you."

I smiled, humming in response, "You flatter me."

"They went ballistic! Which tells me, I've made the right choice. And, the judge approved it… so did your boss. So, what say you, Dr. Reyes."

A/N: I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. The idea came from a show called "Bull" who just happens to be a brilliant psychologist. Of course the pandemic has been keeping me busy at work, and has slowly burned off some cells from my brain and that's why I've not been writing. Please, show me mercy, and I won't stop finish this collection without letting you guys know first! Thank you for sticking around :)