AN: And, here it is, ladies and gentleman! I'm sorry the update took awhile, but it's the end of the first term of the second semester, and I got around a 3.85 GPA. Also, I was just finishing up some volunteer hours, so…and then, there's that lovely thing called writer's block. Grrrr…

Okay, you may notice that I set this story four months ahead of the last chapter. No, it isn't a mistake. There's more twists in the plot that I want to cover, so I jumped ahead a bit. If there's something that wasn't clarified that you wanted to know about (eg: details of the case, in-depth details of the trial) tell me via the review and like magic, it will appear in a future chapter. Also, for those of you who have read 'Let me In' by SVUFanatic611, you're going to notice similar factors in my chapter regarding a play… (Chicago) and that's because we've decided to write a sequel for her post-ep and a companion to my story together, based off that play. So, I didn't plagiarize Jessica's work, although it's damn tempting!

Disclaimer: I do not own the musical 'Chicago' or anything connected to it. Although I must say, I listen to the soundtrack often enough.

I dedicate this chapter to garrettelliot, the genius who helped me so much with research in this chapter! Thanks so much…you're amazing!


Stabler Residence

July 9th, 6:30 AM

Queens, New York

Kathleen Stabler's POV

I lean back against the pillows in what used to be just my room. It's mine and Marty's now, not that I mind that. She's alive to share a room with me, and I thank God for that every day. It's been over four months since Olivia found her close to dead. So much has happened in four months that I can barely take it all in.

Obviously, Martina moved in with us. We've both had our share of nightmares and have spent countless hours just talking. Mom and dad think they know the horror. They don't. I'm the one she's told about how she hated God for taking them, hated herself because she lived. I'm the one she's cried to about how ugly she thought she was because of the burns the used to be all down her legs.

Physical therapy had been long and painful for her, but when the trial came, she had walked to the stand in high heels, her head held high, unashamed, unafraid, and ready to make the Matthews' pay for what they had done to her and her family. Or so it seemed. I always have envied her stage presence. To this day, I don't know if she was afraid or not. She had worn a long skirt to cover the burns, she's always hidden them; only recently, now that it's just scars, does she wear shorter skirts again.

I don't think anyone within our family really remembers the details of the investigation. We remember the guilty verdict, and the fact that John Matthews got the needle is very clear to us, as well as the fact that Betty is serving twenty-five to life. Brian cut a deal with the DA; turned on his parents for six months in a juvenile detention center. The little jerk.

The legal system for minors sucks. Most of the American justice system does. But this time, it was merciful and gave us somejustice.

Sometimes, I think that fact is all that keeps my entire family sane.

We may not remember the trial, but the funeral is something we all wish we could forget. Four people lying in coffins, completely unworthy of such a heinous murder.

At least they're rejoicing with the Lord, I try to tell myself…that doesn't mean we don't miss them.

What I do remember vividly is my vow that I wouldn't dance, wouldn't act and wouldn't sing until Martina felt ready to do it with me. I remember her asking me why I had stopped dancing about a week after she had been home, and I had told her the truth. I can still remember the slight rage in her eyes. Not at me, not at herself.

She was enraged at them. That's what our whole family calls John, Brian and Betty. Them. There isn't much more that has to be said than that, and none of us ever really want to hear their names again.

Rage had flashed in her eyes, but when her eyes fell back to mine, they were filled with tears.

"Kathleen," She said quietly, "They took my family, came close to taking my faith in God, took away my ability to walk alone and feel safe, to wear a short skirt, to laugh without feeling disgusted at myself, and they've taken away my ability to sleep at night, and, as of right now, to walk like a normal person. They're not going to take away my dreams and, so help me God, they're not going to take yours."

After that day, I'd started doing community theatre again. She'd come to watch me at every practice, and she told me that watching me dance gave her the strength to want to do it again.

That was three and a half months ago. She'd danced in secret every day until she was finally able to do basic routines again, and I'm proud to say that I've helped her.

Then, Queens Community Theatre had announced auditions for 'Chicago' about two months ago. After mom personally begging dad for several hours, along with me, and Elizabeth,he agreed to let me act Matron Mama Morton, the part I had been given.

And Martina? All of our family thinks that, although she can walk, she's not performing tonight, instead sitting in the front row tonight with them, on the opening, to cheer me on.

That's what they think.


Queens Community Theatre

July 9th, 7:00 PM

Queens, New York

Olivia Benson's POV

I still partially wonder why I'm sitting here. Well, I know why I'm sitting here. I'm here to see the look on my partner's face when his daughter walks onstage dressed as a prison matron, singing songs with major innuendo in them.

The imagined idea of what his face is going to look like is worth the ticket price, let alone what it actually will look like.

I doubt my eyes will be on the stage much.

I can't wait.

The curtain should be going up any moment, and Elizabeth whispers to Elliot.

"Where's Martina?"

"She'll be here soon, sweetie." He offers, but I see him scanning the room for her, worried.

I scan as well. The last thing Martina needs is more trauma in her life, and everyone hovering over her might prevent it.

If it works, if overprotecting her will shield her from pain, I'll do it right along with Elliot.

There's no sign of her, and the curtain's going up. I hear the opening notes of 'All That Jazz', and see, from the corner of my eye, the spotlights go on, but I'm still scanning the room.

"Don't worry, Ell," I offer, "She's probably just gone to the bath-"

I stop talking at the look on my partner's face, and everyone else's faces.

I look up on the stage. Whoever's acting Velma Kelly is starting to dance to the music, flawlessly, her voice soaring through the first verse perfectly. I'm impressed.Wait…it couldn't be. Not this soon…

Indeed it is.

Velma Kelly is Martina Andreas.


Queens Community Theatre

July 9th, 9:30 PM

Martina Andreas' POV

I smile as I take my final bow for the night, with Catherine, one of my dearest friends, who got the part of Roxie.

Tears are flowing down my face, tears are flowing down hers, and I saw Kathleen tear up as I ran up with Catherine to take my first bow onstage since my family died.

I'm sure Elliot thinks I can't see him tearing up, but I see it all.

"Ladies and gentleman,lets welcome back themuch-missed Martina Andreas!"

I hear the call from the director, and I notice that a microphone is being thrust in my face. Damnit. I just sobbed right into it.

"…It's good to be home!" I say, laughing through my tears.

Laughter echoes through the room. I can't think of anything to say. I've missed this feeling; the feel of the stage beneath me and the spotlights in my face…I've missed this so much…

I smile and bow as cheers start echoing around me.

I might have meant my last remark as a joke.

But it is, in every way, true.

I am home.

I smile as I file offstage with the rest of the cast, Kathleen and I walking together, tears cascading down both of our faces. We've both worked to be here; danced until we didn't think we could move, sang until another opera-high would make us go deaf, and acted until we forgot who we, ourselves, were. And that, for me, has been a welcome distraction. But I know that I need to remember who I am. Martina Andreas. Sixteen. A junior in high school, about to start her senior year. A victim…no. A survivor of rape and battery.

Forever a survivor.

Olivia Benson taught me that.


Office of Casey Novak

September 17th, 9:00 AM

Manhattan, New York

Casey Novak's POV

I hate this. I hate it. I hate everything about it. I hate that today, the teenage jerk who assisted in the rape and battery of a girl who has become a friend to me, will walk free with no record. I want him dead. I hate the justice system. I hate…I hate myself for not nailing him in adult court.

I sigh. I look to the phone where I got the call that I've been dreading for the last six months. He's out; free to do as he wills. If he touches anyone again, I will kill him from sheer strength of will. My will, that is.

I sigh as I flip open my cell phone. I hate every single thing about this, but there is not a way to avoid it, and Elliot, Kathy, their children, and Martina have a right to know.

"Stabler,"

"Elliot…this is Casey."

"Casey?" I hear him say, concern lacing his voice, "Bad day?"

"You could say that," I say, forcing myself to speak through the growing lump in my throat…Eeek. I'm not succeeding.

"Elliot…they've released Brian Matthews…"

We both knew that this moment was coming. He knows how undependable the legal system is, and considering Brian had never directly hurt Martina…we had both known what could happen, and had prayed that something would be better than a chance of nothing.

We had both been stupid.

Tears are forming in my eyes. I try to force them back, but it's not happening.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, wishing I could curl up somewhere and die.

"It's not your fault, Casey," I hear Elliot say, "I'm…going to go talk to Martina. I think she should know. How long ago was he released?"

"A couple hours." I whisper. "Take care of her, Elliot."

"I will."

I hear him hang up, and I am left listening to the dial tone. I hang up the phone, and the silence is deafening. I can hear my own accusations being screamed in a silence I could cut with a knife. This kind of silence is my most dire enemy. I've always been afraid of thistype of silence; the kind where no comfort can be offered, no condolences said. There is only me, and my petty, stupid, undeniably idiotic mistake. I've let some of my dearest friends down, and I hate myself for it. All I can see right now is Martina's face. I have never seen her cry, and even when I told her of the plea, she had never been angry.

She had been silent.

I almost wish she had screamed at me instead.

As I see her right now, in my mind, she's in tears. And I am the cause of it.

"Damn it!" I shout, hurling a photograph on my desk into a wall.

I cover my face with my hands and weep.


Glen Oaks High School

September 17th, 9:51 AM

Queens, New York

Elliot Stabler's POV

I'm close to shaking as I knock on the door of Martina and Kathleen's Sex Ed classroom. I want to scream. I want to hit someone. More than anything, I want to hold my children in my arms, and turn back the clock.

But I can do none of that.

The teacher…Ms. Henders, if I remember what Kathleen told me correctly, opens the door.

"Detective Stabler…?" She says, and I'm sure she is wondering what a sex detective is doing standing outside her classroom. "Did I book some kind of lecture and forget about it? And if I did…"

She looks at my face. She stops. I wish to God I was here to lectureher studentson the importance of being safe, but I'm not. She knows that. I'm sure it's evident on my face.

"Could I please talk to Martina, Judy?" I ask. "She probably won't be back for the rest of the day…"

"I understand." She answers back.

Everyone in this city knows what happened. It was all over the news.

"Just let me get Martina for you."

I try to voice some words of gratitude, but I can't find my voice as I look at my two daughters laughing, Kathleen sitting backwards in her desk and facing Martina. Martina may not be blood-related to me, but I have known since the day that Kathy and I knew that we would officiallybecome her guardians, that in time, I would think of her as my daughter. Not my god-daughter, not a friends daughter, but indeed, my own child. And, almost instantly, she has become my daughter, in every way. According to many relatives, as time has gone on, she has started to look like Kathy and I. We share the same laugh, she has Kathy's smile. As time goes on, there is more and more of us in her.

She finally has joy in herlife again. I hate that I have to take that from her again.

She looks gorgeous; she always does. In a pink T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and the makeup that she always keeps minimal, she looks amazing, and I've had to glare down several guys who have given her some way too appreciative looks. However, it is her smile and her laughter that make her truly beautiful. Her face is animated right now, her eyes and mouth smiling, her look mirrored by Kathleen. Why do I have to shatter that?

"Oh, yeah, baby, we are the sexual health masters of the universe!" Martina says, laughing at some apparent inside joke between her and Kathleen. Maybe it has something to do with the worksheet on her desk.

I smile at them, smile as Kathleen falls over onto Martina's desk, unable to support herself while laughing so hard, Martina's shoulders shaking in laughter of her own.

I'm going to call Ms. Henders back, walk away, tell Martina later. What kind of idiot does something to hurt someoneon his first day out of incarceration?

I shake myself out of my stupid thoughts. She needs to know, and I hate to shatter all the work she has done to smile and laugh again.

But what has to be done has to be done, and Ms. Henders walks up to her, and I see the teacher indicating towards me. Kathleen and Martina smile and exchange their typical good-byes.

Martina walks toward me, smiling. I hate this. I hate this! I hate this!

"Well, Elliot," She said, smiling, "Perfect timing, there's not another class I'd rather get out of. What's up?"

She finally sees the look on my face, and her smile disappears, as does the sparkle in her eyes. Ms. Henders follows behind her, looking concerned.

"Ms. Henders…Judy, is there a classroom or someplace where Martina and I could talk privately?"

She leads us to a Science lab a room away, opening it with her keys. I try to smile, and she turns to go back to the classroom. It's so light in here, which does not match my mood at all. Why does there need to be so many windows in a science lab? Martina sits up on a lab table, fear in her eyes.

"What happened?" She asked, dread obvious in her features.

I slowly sit down beside her on the lab table. She's sitting closest to the aisle between the two rows oflab tables. I wonder if that's a good idea. I almost passed out when I found out about Brian. I put my arm around her, just in case. She doesn't need a contusion along with the inevitable upcomingtrauma.

"Martina," I say, quietly, surprised at the strength in my voice, "Brian was released from the detention center a couple hours ago."

The calm in her eyes is almost eerie. The calm is shattered by something close to a whimper, which she forces back.

"What's on your mind, Marty?" I ask, knowing that her thoughts are being held back.

"Elliot…in all honesty, I don't care about Brian. It's the memories of what happened that go along with that name that I'm afraid of, not him. Because I don't know if I can really, truly face those memories. Face myself. I don't know if I can face the memory of my parents' blood soaking the floor of a house where I used to be so happy. I don't know if I can face the memory of the horror in their eyes as they watched Brian's father…"

She looks down. Then, slowly, meets my gaze.

"I don't know if I can face the questions I have." She says, her now tear-filled eyes meeting mine.

"Martina," I offer, "You're not going to get answers unless you ask for them."

My attempt to help her is met with silence.

"Talk to me, Martina. Ask me what you want to know."

She looks down, and I know that this is going to be hard.

"Would they be ashamed of me for not protecting them, for not doing something? Would they be disgusted with me for not being a virgin? Would they be proud of the life I have lived since I lost them? Would they hate me for trying to get over them dying? Can they forgive me from wherever they are? Does God really exist? Is it okay for me to hate Him for doing this? Does He hate me for hating Him? Why did He let this happen? How could He? Is he ashamed of me, too? Are you?"

I've wanted to stop her during her entire speech, but I know that she needs to let it go, thus I choose to listen. It breaks my heart to know that such painful questions have had to enter her mind. She's still a child; so sweet, so innocent. She finishes, looking at me with such an emptiness in her eyes. I wish I could do something- anything- to fill that emptiness, but…there's nothing. All I can do is tell her the truth.

"Martina, listen to me." I say, surprised at the firmness in my voice, "Never have I, and never will I be ashamed of you. Nothing youever do will make me be ashamed of you, although I may be ashamed ofsomething you do sometime in your life. Your parents would not be disgusted by you, Marty. By what happened to you, yes, they would be disgusted,because they were watching their baby girl go through hell, and they couldn't do anything to stop it. But there is no way that they could be ashamed of you, Marty. No way. And there was nothing you could have done to stop what happened. I have known your parents since high school, and the one thing your father always said was that, no matter what, he wanted his children to live life to the full."

"As for God existing…nobody can really say yes or no to that, Martina. But I know that you've felt God, so you have to decide on your own if that is real. I don't know why this happened, Martina. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and I believe that God understands the hatred…and He is not ashamed, Martina. Not of you."

"And if your parents were here," I say, finishing my speech, "They would tell you how proud they are of you. Because nothing you've done or ever could do would make themhate you. They loved you so much, Martina, andAnd Kathy and I do, too. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded, and I stroke her hair.

"And if you ever need to talk again…?"

My voice stops as I follow her horrified, terrified gaze to the window. I see a teenager, about her age, tears in his eyes, staring.

With a gun in his hands, posed to fire.

"Get down!" I shout, pushing her off the lab table, throwing myself down beside her, the sound of the gunshot ringing in my ears.

"Martina, are you alright?" I ask, scanning her body. No blood. Thank God.

"I'm fine, what about you?"

"Fine."

I hear the gunshots echoing. It's so strange…so strange…why hasn't it stopped?

"Did I hurt you when I pushed you off the desk?"

"A couple bruises, I'll be fine…why is the gunshot still echoing?"

We look at each other at the same time, the realization striking both of us.

The shots are coming from inside the school.

And I know that the same thought is striking us at the same time…Kathleen…


AN: Please review, everyone! I really want your opinion on this! Thank you for all the sweet reviews you have given me so far; I treasure them so much.

Look for upcoming continuations of the scenes from the play coming up soon; SVUFanatic611 and I are working on it!