Chapter title: You Didn't See it Coming
Chapter summary: Back in the current world, Olivia drops a bomb on Casey, who ends up finding closure in the news.
Publish date: July 1, 2006
Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing the characters, Dick Wolf & Co. own them.
Note: Chapter title is from "Homecoming King."
Note 2: As I said in the previous chapter, I'm really sorry it took so long to get the chapter out. I really didn't know how I wanted to end it, then I got this idea, but then I didn't know how I wanted to write it. So after several drafts this is the best one.
Note 3: I hope you enjoy the final chapter!

A loud clap of thunder brought me back to my apartment. My heart was pounding from the sudden jump from memory to reality. Olivia had inched closer during my story so she was now sitting in the middle of the couch instead of at the opposite end. She was sitting facing me, her head resting in her arms on the back of the couch. Our eyes met briefly and I looked away, embarrassed. Everything was still so vivid, so real, so painful. I had gone back to relive the most painful moments of my life – the first love, the first heartbreak – times I had never gotten past but had pushed to the back of my mind, unwilling to deal with them. I was holding onto the pillow in my lap as if it were my lifeline. I let it go, knocking it to the floor, and brought my hands up to my face. Somehow I had managed to get through my story without crying, and I wasn't going to start now. I rubbed my temples and sighed deeply before bringing them back down.

"Well, that's my secret," I said, trying to smile. "I bet you think I'm a terrible person."

"What? No, of course not."

"I bet I'm making a bigger deal out of this than necessary."

"No, no. It's a lot of baggage to carry. I'm surprised you held yourself together for as long as you did." She was quiet for a few minutes, studying me intently. "Why were you so afraid to tell me?"

"Because…because I didn't want you to see me differently. I didn't want you to judge me."

"I wouldn't. Casey, you have to start giving people – namely your coworkers – a chance. Sometimes I feel that you automatically assume the worst about people's perceptions of you. I know now that probably stems from what happened to you in high school. But we're not out to get you. We're your friends; we want you to trust us."

"I guess I didn't want you guys to think any less of me. I didn't want to be treated any different."

"Why would we do that?"

"I don't know. I guess…I don't know, I don't know how to explain it," I paused, trying to get my thoughts in order. "Okay. You know people whose parents are getting divorced, and how sometimes they won't tell anyone because they're afraid of how they'll be treated? Or seen? Like "poor thing, her parents are splitting up. Let's be extra nice to her" or "that kid is gonna be messed up now, with her parents getting a divorce." That's how I felt. I didn't want anyone's pity. I didn't want to be seen differently. And I didn't want you to not like me anymore. I really value your friendship, Olivia."

"Why wouldn't I like you?" she asked, confused. Then it dawned on her. "You were afraid that I wouldn't like you because you had an abortion, but my mom didn't?" I couldn't answer, so I just nodded. She took my hand again.

"I wasn't as strong as your mother. I could have had the baby. It could have been another you."

"You were strong, just in a different way. It isn't easy to make the decision to have an abortion. It was different with my mom. You two are very different people, and she was living in a different time. You were still in high school; my mom was almost out of college. But Casey, don't forget what my job is. I give women morning after pills all the time. I support women who had or will have abortions. It isn't my place to judge people's choices. My mom was financially and even mentally stable enough to go through with a pregnancy. You were just a kid. There was nothing wrong with what you did."

"I just felt so ashamed. I know I made the right decision, but that doesn't mean I don't feel bad about it."

"There's nothing shameful about having an abortion. There's also nothing shameful about being raped." Right away, Olivia knew she said something wrong. My eyes widened in disbelief. She reached out to me, but I batted her hand away.

"Raped? I wasn't raped!" I said, my heart starting to pound again.

"Oh shit. Casey, I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

She paused, unsure if she should go on. But the can of worms had already been opened. "That he raped you."

My eyes narrowed in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. "Bad first sex isn't rape, Olivia."

But Olivia wasn't exactly listening. She was so sure she was right. "You never came to terms with it, did you?"

"I didn't need to. It didn't happen!"

"Casey, he forced you to have sex with him."

I nearly fell off the couch as I scrambled to get up. I stumbled backwards, my hands in front of me as though to ward off whatever Olivia was going to say. "No! No, no, no, no, no!" I circled back behind the couch, shaking my head.

Olivia stood and started to come to me. "Maybe not legally, but mentally, he did."

I raised my hand to silence and stop her. "Don't do this to me, please."

"Casey, all I'm doing is trying to get you to accept what happened."

"It wasn't rape. It was consensual. I said yes!"

"Right, but you didn't want to. You verbally said yes but everything else about you said no. He knew that, you knew that. Am I right?" she asked. I didn't want her to be right, so I just kept silent. "From what you've told me about him, I'm sure Chad would have gotten his way no matter what you said. He took advantage of you – he knew what to say and do to make you give in. I listened to your story, Casey. I've heard hundreds like it," she paused, switching tactics. "After Chad, how long did it take for you to have sex with someone else?"

"Olivia…" I pleaded softly. I didn't want to face this. I looked away and mumbled "four years."

"With Chad, you said you felt violated, right?" Her voice was gentle and soothing.

"…no," I said miserably. I responded to each question that way. It wasn't because they weren't true, but because they were true but I didn't want to accept it. Each time I answered she took a tiny step toward me, and I took a tiny step closer to the window. I just wanted to hide, to run away from myself.

"Dirty?"

"No."

"Attacked?"

"No."

"Do you shower every time after sex?"

"No."

"Cry?"

"No."

"Are you afraid of new relationships? Of your first night with a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Are you jumpy when he touches you in bed?"

Throughout the questioning my eyes filled with tears. Finally, with that last question, I couldn't take it anymore. I threw my hands in the air. "Stop it! Enough!" I wrapped my arms around my waist. "Olivia, would you just stop being a cop and be my friend instead?" I turned to face the window as the tears started to fall. I tried to force them back, to focus instead on the rain streaking lazily down the glass, but the harder I tried to stop them the faster they fell. I heard Olivia's footsteps approaching and stop right behind me. She gently rubbed my upper arms, and I started to fall apart. My shoulders started to shake uncontrollably and I covered my face with my hands. Olivia turned me around to face her and pulled me into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything," she whispered into my hair. I couldn't answer, I was crying too hard. And then I literally choked on a sob, and started coughing. I was practically hyperventilating and I couldn't catch my breath. Olivia gently pushed me back and took my face in her hands. I couldn't see anything through my tears. "Casey, sweetie, shhh. Casey, listen to me. Breathe, sweetie. Breathe with me. In – one, two, three, four… and out. Again," she coached me, doing it with me, until I was no longer choking. I was still breathing heavily and still crying. She put her hands back on my face, brushing the loose hair out of my eyes and wiping away the tears. It made me want to crumble to the floor.

The attention, the affection, the comforting – it was all getting too much for me. I wasn't used to it. So I gently moved her hands away and pushed past her to the couch. All I wanted was some alcohol to drown out everything that had happened that night. I didn't care if that wasn't how I should deal with my problems. All I knew was that it would help me forget faster and knock me out faster. And that was better than just lying in bed and waiting to fall asleep. Everything made sense now. How I dreaded the first nights with new boyfriends, or how when we would lie in bed, a gentle touch would send chills down my spine and make me jump. I guess in the back of my mind I knew why, but I never wanted to consciously think about it. Because then it would be real, and I wasn't strong enough to face it. But now I had to, and my thoughts were all over the place. But they all ran together at one point: my secret was the shame of being raped, not the abortion.

I sat stiffly on the couch and stared straight ahead, trying to send signals to Olivia to leave so I could wallow in self-pity alone. And I knew if I tried to drink while she was there – or if she knew I wanted to – she'd empty out all my bottles.

But she had seen this behavior her whole life and could read the plan in my eyes as easily as though I had told her. She sat next to me and tentatively took my hands in hers. I wanted to pull it away, but I knew that would appear too hostile, and Olivia had already done so much for me that night.

"I'm sorry, Casey. I'm sorry you had to go through everything. I'm sorry I was the one who pointed it out to you instead of you coming to terms with it on your own."

I didn't answer right away. It took me several minutes to gather my thoughts. I got up and paced back and forth and when I sat back down she took my hand again and gave it a reassuring squeeze. I took a deep breath. "It's okay. Yes, it was shocking, but now it all makes sense. I'd always wondered if there was something wrong with me, why I had such a hard time trusting people. And in a twisted way, knowing makes me feel better. I've spent the past several years unable to make the connection of my fear of relationships to that night with Chad. Or maybe I just didn't want to. I'd always wondered why I had trust issues with guys and why I was so afraid to let myself be loved and taken care of. I just grouped all the trauma of that time together and associated it with the abortion, because it was a more obvious scapegoat. I put the shame of being raped on the abortion. Because, really, I'm not ashamed I had an abortion. I don't regret it; I made the right decision. But I thought I regretted it, but that was because I didn't want to face what really happened that night. Does that make sense? Am I making sense?"

"Yeah, you are. I understand what you're trying to say."

Talking it out was helping, a lot more than I expected. Suddenly I was glad Olivia forced me to listen and that she wouldn't leave until she heard some sort of closure. There was a lot of healing to be done, and the process wouldn't be over night. I still had a lot of demons to battle, but I felt infinitely better knowing I had somebody at my side. And most importantly, I knew the reasons behind my quirks and fears.

There was just one thing left to do. "Olivia, I know I've already taken up too much of your time tonight –"

"Don't even think that. What are friends for?" she interrupted.

I smiled and continued. "But would you help me with one more thing?"

"Of course."

"Will you help me empty all the bottles?" As much as I had wanted to earlier, now I didn't want to take any chances of drinking away my problems. Talking made me feel better than the alcohol would.

"Of course."

We went into my kitchen and got all the alcohol, save my wine and expensive tequila, and piled all the bottles on the counter by the sink. Together we poured the contents down the sink.

When we were finished I started to thank her, but she shushed me. No words I could have said would have been able to express my gratitude, and she knew that. Without saying anything, she knew how much it meant to me, and I knew I could always count on her.