AN: Thanks to the people who reviewed! I treasure your input so much, and I'm so grateful for it! And Jessica…awww, thanks. I'm trying out a couple new POV's in this chapter. Tell me what you think. Finally, garrettelliot…you said you used to be a scrub nurse. If a person had severe burns (chapter 4), how soon would they be released from the hospital, and how long would it take them to be able to walk again?

Disclaimer: I do not own the song 'Ave Maria'…I sing it (a lot!), but I don't own it. Too bad, it's a wonderful song. 'The Passion of the Christ' belongs to Mel Gibson. (And, as I argue, to God!)


St. Monica's Hospital

March 9th, 9:00 AM

Queens, New York

Martina Andreas' POV

I sigh as I lean back against the pillows on my bed. Elliot is sitting beside the hospital bed, looking at me questioningly. I think he's left my side for a total of five minutes since I've been awake. I woke up with nightmares around six in the morning.

"At least they took me off that stupid morphine IV." I say, trying to crack a joke, "I hate morphine. I hate drugs! I always have. I don't even know why. See, it's screwing my inner thoughts; I'm rambling."

He laughs, and I quietly join in his laughter. Laughing feels so foreign to me now. It's the first time I've laughed since Mr. and Mrs. Matthews grabbed us in Central Park. I haven't told anyone this, but it's my fault. It's all my fault. For one thing, if I hadn't pissed off Brian, this wouldn't have happened. Second, going for a walk in Central Park before we all went to work and school after morning mass had been my idea. How dare I be laughing right now? My entire family is dead, and I might as well have killed them myself.

I can't believe that the bastard made me watch while he shot them. I can't believe that he actually strapped me down to a couch, raped me in front of my parents, and then made me watchwhile he killed my parents and my sisters. The screaming still echoes in my mind, as do my sobs.

It isn't until Elliot leans over from his chair and gently wipes away my tears that I realize I'm crying now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked.

"I want to look across this room and see my sisters laughing instead of screaming as a man shot our parents! I want my parents to be standing there with them, talking with me about college and Broadway and just life in general!" I say, my voice rising above its usual level. But then I realize whom it is I'm directing my anger at. "I'm sorry, Elliot."

My face crumples, and I start to cry again. I hate being this weak. I hate being this helpless. I hate just about every factor of my life, except for the Stabler's presence in it.

"I'm so sorry!" I sob, covering my face with my hands.

I'm sorry that I hurt the people I love the most. I'm sorry that Joy and Helena had to die; they had so much ahead of them, and they were robbed of all of that. I'm sorry that my parents are gone; may they rest in peace. I'm sorry that it's my fault. Most of all, I'm sorry that I'm taking out my anger and self-hatred on the people I love.

"Marty," I hear Elliot say, his voice gentle, filled with understanding. I feel him sit down on the bed beside me, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

"You were there when they were killed, weren't you?" He asks me

Slowly, I force my hands away from my face. I don't want to face the world, but I know that I have to. Elliot's a detective; I'm sure he could read it in my eyes. The truth had to come out sooner or later. I nod miserably, but I can't make eye contact with Elliot. There's too much shame filling me.

"It's all my fault!" I cry.

"What!" Elliot said, shock lacing his voice. "Martina, look at me."

I can't. I can't. I can't! He gently makes me, holding my chin so I'm looking directly at him. I'm so surprised that he doesn't look disgusted. I'm disgusted with myself, why shouldn't he be disgusted with me? All I read in his eyes are empathy, understanding, concern and compassion. But I also read the same firmness my father used to look at me with.

"Martina, this was not your fault, alright? Don't even think it. If your parents were here right now, they'd tell you the exact same thing. Because it's the truth. Say it, Martina." He tells me, the firmness growing in his voice, "Say it wasn't your fault."

He relaxes his hold on my chin, and I'm thankful that he didn't comment on the fact that I've soaked his hand in tears.

"It...wasn't...my fault." I whisper. It's too early to know if I mean it. But it's a start.

"Good girl," He whispers, "Now believe it."

My sobs are overtaking me, and he pulls me to him. He's consistently attempting to comfort me, but I think the only time it worked is when he started talking to me in Spanish last night. Well, I don't even know if it was him. While he was speaking it, I saw my father; it was my father's voice I heard speaking it. Maybe I hallucinated. Maybe my father had come from heaven to comfort me. Maybe it was a sign that Elliot would be there for me, the same way my father had. Or maybe the drugs they had me on just screwed up my perception.

I hate drugs. I hate life. I almost hate God. Oh, why lie? I do hate God. Why should I lie to someone who knows the ultimate truth of what I'm thinking?

I hate Him for taking away my mother, the only person who ever really understood my crazy, dramatic impulses. The only person who had heard me sing 'Ave Maria' about a thousand times and still told me how beautiful I sounded every time I finished. The woman who taught me to sing, to dance, to act. The woman who had loved me unconditionally from the day I was born, even when I was a complete bitch to her after a bad day at school.

I hate Him for taking away my dad. He was always the only man who truly motivated me to be all I could be in life. He was the only man who could teach me the steps of algebra about one hundred times over, and still not get mad when I didn't understand. He was the man who showed me the true meaning of unconditional faith. Through my father's love, I had understood God's love. But my understanding of God's love died with my father.

I hate Him for taking Joy, my sweet little protégé that had been on a never-ending mission to dress like me, talk like me, act like me and do whatever I did. I hate that I used to hate that. I hope I'dbeen a good role model for her.

I hate Him for taking Helena. She was a six-year-old child! It wasn't fair! What had she done? What? She was the one who could make me laugh when I wanted to cry. I hope I was a good enough big sister to her.

I hope they know how much I love them, and how sorry I am. I hope they know that I'm sorry for every time I didn't make time for them. I hope they know how sorry I am for those days when I was so stressed that all I did was snap at everyone and be miserable.

There's one more thing I hate God for.

I hate Him for not taking me, too.


Stabler Residence

March 9th, 8:00 PM

Queens, New York

Kathy Stabler's POV

We agreed tonight. Elliot and I agreed on something for the first time in quite a while. And that was that we needed to work out our marital issues. For Martina, for the kids, and for us.

I don't want to be alone anymore. And he doesn't either.

This world is so cold, but going home to a house without my husband there only makes it colder.

And Martina…she doesn't need us trying to be her godparents from two separate houses. She needs our support, now more than ever, and not just one of us at one time. And as much as I hate to say it, I need support. Elliot needs support. Our children need support.

We all need support. And a shrink. A very good shrink. Although Elliot is very annoyed at the prospect of talking with any psychologists, he knows deep down that he has to. The kids need someone, too.

Martina needs more than we can give her; that's indefinite. And as much as I hate to think of myself here and now…I need to be able to talk to someone who won't be burdened by what I have to say.

That person used to be Marianna. But she's gone. Daniel's gone.

I guess that decides everything.

I pray to the God that I've questioned ever since the disappearance and death of mine andmy family's closest friends that I'm doing the right thing as I dial the number of George Huang.

I hear him pick up, and I sigh in relief.

"Hi, George, this is Kathy. Kathy Stabler?" I say, hoping he remembered me.

"Kathy! Hi. How are you? How's Elliot? How's Martina?" He asked in concern.

"George, if we were okay, do you think I'd be calling you?"

"Very true." He answered, "What can I do for you?"

I sigh. What could he do for me? I don't even know what I can do for me, or for my husband and my children. Martina is scared, lost, confused and in a kind of emotional turmoil I can't even comprehend. Her parents' funeral is tomorrow afternoon, and I don't know how to help her. I don't know how to comfort her. I don't know if I can take over for Marianna.

And then there's Elliot. My husband. 'Till death do us part. He told me that Martina had shared with him that she had seen her family get murdered, and that although he was pretty sure she could have said more, he didn't want to force it, and had chosen instead to comfort her while she cried. I'm positive that he's cried some tears of his own- I know that I have. He's locked his emotions deep down inside of him. He always does that, and it leaves me not knowing what to do.

And finally, there are my children. Maureen, who's known Martina since birth, and is so confused and upset at what's happened to Martina that she hardly talks about it. Kathleen, who is devastated by what happened to the point that she barely speaks at all. And the twins…I don't know if they even understand it.

And we're all grieving the loss of four people that we loved.

"Kathy?" Huang prodded.

I choose to tell the truth, and nothing but. If there's one thing Marianna taught me, it was that.

"I don't know, George. I honestly just don't know anymore."


Stabler Residence

March 9th, 9:30 PM

Elliot Stabler's POV

If John and Betty Matthews get the needle for what they've done to Martina, I hope the state will let me inject it into them. I hope they scream, cry and plead for life as much as I'm sure Daniel, Marianna, Helena and Joy did. I hope as the poison goes through them, they're in as much physical pain as Martina was when she got those burns. I hope as they realize that they're dying, they feel as much emotional turmoil as I'm sure Daniel and Marianna did as they watched their daughter being raped, and as much as Martina was as she cried in my arms earlier today.

To make a long story short, I hate everything about them. I curse the day they came into this world, and I pray for the day that they cease to exist. And on that day, I hope they go straight to hell. And I know that it's a sin to think that, but so is raping, beating and torturing an innocent child, and so is murder.

There has to be a special level of hell for those kind of people. Anything less is just wrong.

After I hopefully convinced Martina that it wasn't her fault, I held her close to me, and let her cry until she couldn't anymore. It had taken several minutes for her sobs to subdue, and my heart shattered into a thousandpieces over those minutes. She'd been an honors student, a faithful Catholic, friend, sister and daughter, and an all-around good person all her life. She wasn't perfect, but she certainly taught most of the world how to be better. And she'd always been so joyful. Why would God let that be shattered? I've seen Martina cry- really cry, not about something like falling down when she was little- three times. One, when she'd had a fight with her father about math and how hard she worked. Two, when she'd first watched 'The Passion of the Christ' and three, when she'd met a little girl who had been raped when she was candystriping at St. Monica's.

But I've never seen her cry like that…with no hope, no trace of joy, and no faith. I've never seen her in total, complete sadness. Ever. I want so badly to turn back the clock and have been with them on Monday morning, with my gun poised to fire at anyone who came near her and her family.

But I can't turn back the clock, and that makes me even sadder. All I can do is hold Martina while she cries, and try to be the best substitute father for her that I can. She told me that she saw and heard Daniel when I was speaking Spanish to her last night. I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse.

I don't even know what I know anymore.

After she finished crying, she had finally opened up to me about what happened. I couldn't tell Kathy tonight, she asked me not to. I know that she will tell Kathy in her time, when she is ready. After she told me…I wanted to go out and kill the Matthews then and there. Had it not been for her in my arms, I'm almost positive I would have done so.

John raped her in her own bedroom almost constantly. She'd teared up as she told me about the first time; the time he did it in front of her parents. She'd screamed, but he'd told her that if she did it again he'd kill her parents. He'd tied her down in the living room and told her that if he didn't like what she did, he'd do Joy next.

She'd cried, and she admitted to me that it hurt so much that she thought she was going to die. That she couldn't remember if Joy and Helena had been in the room, just that her parents were in there, unable to help her, crying. When he'd finished, he'd turned around and shot all of them, forcing her to watch,letting onlyher live. He'd carried her upstairs, and made her perform oral sex on him. He'd handcuffed her to her bed, then raped her again.

She hadn't been able to go on after that. I'd taken her hand between mine and promised her that it was all over, that she was safe.

I wish my promises were true. The attack is over.

But the pain is just beginning.


SVU Squadroom

March 9th, 10:00 PM

Manhattan, New York

John Munch's POV

I can't believe that Cragen put me on this case with Olivia. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against working with Olivia. She's a dear friend, and I enjoy working with her. Also, nothing gives me more pleasure than putting away the scum that do these kinds of things to people.

But Elliot Stabler is also a friend of mine, and this one hits home for him.I've met Martina once or twice through places where we have both volunteered.She's agreat girl who had always left me feeling more confident about the good of people in this world; who made me feel that the next generation would be a better one. I never really, really knew her, certainly nothing more than a "Hi, how are you?" scale.

But still, it hits home. She didn't deserve this. No one deserves it.

Usually I can come up with something witty to say, something ironic that relieves the tension of working sex crimes on a day-to-day basis. This time, there's nothing witty to say. No retorts to be made, nothing ironic except for the fact that you'd think God would be more protective of someone so wonderful.

This time, there's nothing but a case to solve, and some people who need to be convicted.

"John," Olivia offers, "go home."

"And do what, Olivia?"

The statement hits both her and I hard. But we both know that neither of us are going to sleep until we catch these two people. Very likely, we're both way too pissed.

I want blood. She wants blood. We'll work well together.

People ask me daily why I don't just quit; why I didn't really retire after working Homicide. I have a job to do, and I don't think I've finished it yet. I doubt I ever will. As long as perverts and criminals walk along the streets of this city, all of America, in actuality, I have a job to do. That gives me reason to live; that drives me on. People like Martina inspire me daily, help me rememberthat there are people worth fighting for. My job is to serve and protect, and although I rarely let it show, that means a lot to me. It's what I do, and what I will do until the day I die.

I guess I'll save the city my pension, cause I doubt I'm ever going to retire.

People like Betty and John Matthews disgust me. I hate the fact that I share a name with the man.Good thing I've mastered the art of controlling my anger, or else I'm pretty sure I would have killed several people like them. I probably would have joked that the government told me to do it; that it was all just a conspiracy, too. Along with computers, UFO's, JFK and about a million other things.

I shake myself back to reality.

I will serve.

I will protect.

I will fight for justice.

I have a job to do.

I was put on this earth to do it.