Olivia Benson's Point Of View

I sit with my head down on my desk, wishing time would go faster. I'm counting down the hours until the workday is done, and I can go home. I just want to snuggle with my baby boy and read him his favorite story book. I want someone, or something to turn this despicable, horrible day into something good. I know that my emotional stability cannot be dependent on a baby, especially a six-month-old. I can't help it though. He fills my life with so much joy and light. I didn't realize how much I was craving that before I took him in as a foster child, and later adopted him. He is my everything. The bad just melts away when I hold him in my arms. I am thrown into the role of 'mom' instead of 'detective'. I can look into his eyes and temporarily forget the trauma the day has brought. I can watch him play and become immersed in his games and his laughter. He is my escape from this cruel and unkind world.

I look at the pictures on my desk, gently touching the frames as I examine each one. One of Noah and I, several of Noah on his own, and another frame which has fallen over. I hate this frame, but for the life of me I cannot seem to remember to buy a new one. It's old, and the stand on the back is broken. There are two pictures in this frame. In the first picture Addison and I are wrapped together in a blanket. We are sitting behind a campfire on the beach, and the embers are dancing in the air around us. In the second we are dancing in the waves while watching the sunset. I had picked her up and spun her around. The person we were with snapped the picture at just the right time to see her laughing with me before I stepped backwards into a drop off and we both stumbled and fell into the water. Her smile in both pictures, and the completely relaxed body posture showed how truly happy we were. Times were simpler then. I wish they were that simple now.

Today marks the anniversary. It's been three years since we broke up and she went back to her abusive husband. It's been two years since we've lost all contact. She completely ghosted me. She didn't call, or email, or even send a social media direct message. When she left, she went to the courthouse and had the restraining order against Derek lifted. She disappeared without a trace with only the clothes on her back, her cell phone, and her purse. She left as if fifteen years of friendship and all those years dating meant nothing to her. I didn't try to go after her, but a few days after she left our office was served with a cease-and-desist order. She threatened a legal shitstorm and a media nightmare if I or anyone else from this office attempted to come after her. She's rich enough. I don't doubt her ability to manifest such a thing if she really wanted to or was being pressured to. She does a lot of things she doesn't want to do under Derek's influence. The only indication that she is even still alive is a ding on her social security number every time her paycheck is direct deposited into her account. She hasn't touched that account since before she left. I wish that there was a way I could help her. I have no idea what I could do though. She wants nothing to do with me. I should have gone after her. I know where she lives, and where she works, but I just couldn't. I know that would have made things worse for her then, and would it really be any different for her now? She's had three more years for him to brainwash her, to make her feel like she is totally and completely reliant on him. It's been too long.

"Olivia?" I hear her gentle, timid voice. I look up surprised. For a second certain I was hearing things. Certain that I had dozed off and was dreaming after all of the hours that I had spent working on our most recent case. The cases involving children are the worst. The cases drain me before we even begin the investigation proceedings. I am tired, physically, and mentally exhausted.

"Hi." I say, slowly when I realize that I am awake, and not dreaming. "Addison?" I ask. In that split second before I looked up her voice was almost unrecognizable as her own. It's too quiet. Too afraid. It's lacking the burst of confidence and superiority. "How are you?" She looks different than I remember. Her hair is long and wavy around her shoulders. She's lost weight, noticeable, though not enough to make her look sickly. She is hesitant and doesn't come closer to my desk right away. I notice a bruise and swelling on her cheekbone that she has attempted to cover up with makeup. She must have run out of the yellow and green base she's made to go under her concealer to neutralize the angry purple bruising. There is no way humanly possible she'd go out in public with an exposed bruise in the past. Maybe appearances just don't mean as much to her as they used to. He's escalating. He normally only hits her in places that can be easily covered by clothing. "Do you need help with something?" I ask her, trying to sound warm and caring. It's a stretch though. I remind myself that she is frail right now. That I need to be gentle with her. I press down my brains urge to ask her if she's lost. Why is she here now after all these years? If she's come here there has to be a reason, right?

"I'm sorry. I know you're busy." She apologizes quickly. "I shouldn't have come." I study her for a moment, she's wearing an expensive dress and matching shoes. She's carrying her designer handbag and drops her phone inside. To anyone looking in she would appear as nothing more than a rich white woman, but to me she is so much more.

"It's fine, sit down." I say, gesturing to the chair opposite of mine.

"I could just come back another time." She offers, not sitting. She looks lost, and sad as she fidgets with her wedding ring that probably costs more than my entire apartment. "Just…" She stutters a little and looks around the busy room at the other detectives as they go about their daily duties. Remembering that there is nothing private about a conversation at a detective's desk. "Um." She looks like she is crawling out of her skin as I can almost see the gears turning in her head as she reaches back into her mind and pulls out an old memory. She swallows hard, forcing herself to speak the words. "I ordered pizza and the delivery person messed up my order." She finally says, letting me know this is serious. When she went back to Derek the first time, we invented a code. If she ever needs help, she will get InTouch with Stabler or I. She will say she ordered a pizza. If she's hurt and needs immediate assistance, she'd say the delivery person messed up the order.

"It's OK Addison, really. I was just about to come off lunch break." I wasn't actually on lunch break, just trying to decompress at my desk for a while before going back to work, but the little white lie relaxes her all the same. I force a smile, trying to appear heartening and not let my deep concern show through.

"Need help Liv?" Elliot asks, walking towards us. "Hi Addison, it's nice to see you again." He says, and she smiles kindly up at him. He of course knows about her situation as one of her safe people, but he's never made her feel badly about it. He has a certain gentleness to him that I rarely see in people. He hasn't yet hardened his heart to the cruelties of the world, or this job.

"You as well." She answers, she speaks very deliberately, masking her voice, hiding the emotion. Careful to give the appearance that everything's fine. "I just need to speak to Olivia for a moment if you can spare her. I know you're both very busy." She says. She's holding her face in just a way that the bruising I saw earlier isn't as evident.

"I'm fine if she's fine." He says to her, and then turns to me. "Are you fine? You had your head down on your desk. I've only seen you with your head down when you get those nasty migraines. I have some aspirin in my desk if you need it."

"How very observant of you." I respond, and he narrows his eyes at me. He knows me better than I know myself sometimes. I've been crampy with a headache. I just assumed that it's almost that time of the month, and the exhaustion isn't helping. "I'm fine Elliot." I say, nodding and feeling like I'm trying to convince myself more than I am him. "Let's go somewhere quieter and talk alright?" I ask Addison before turning to Stabler again. "I'm taking her into interview room 1, can you cover for me?"

"Of course." He agrees, looking at Addison sympathetically, realizing what's going on. "You'll owe me though. Cragen is already on the warpath."

"Ooh I'm scared." I say, facetiously, and then "Fine, I'll help you catch up on the mountain of paperwork over Chinese takeout this evening." I agree. "By the looks of it we need another paperwork date. You're what? Two months? Three months overdue?" I ask frowning over at his desk with fake disappointment. I can't keep up the energy though. I just want to sleep. How many hours until I can sleep?

"Deal." He says, and we shake on it. I look over to Addison who lets out a sound that is somewhat like a laugh. She knows we're just teasing each other. She realizes what she's done, and I can almost see the mask going down as her face turns serious again. How long has it been since she has just been able to laugh? How long has it been since she could smile, a true genuine smile, without consequences? I offer my hand to her and much to my surprise she takes it. We walk to the interview room together. She sits down on one of the chairs and I go about the routine of making sure the blinds were shut and the two-way intercom was turned off. She doesn't speak until I confirm that this has been done, and she is sure our conversation cannot be accidentally overheard.

"I'm sorry." She says again, and she is already crying. "I'm sorry I went back to him." I hand her a tissue. These words do not mean much to me. How many times has she told me she's sorry in the past just to heal up from her physical injuries and return to him? I am partially to blame. We were living together. We were dating. I could have stopped her if only I would have known how to deal with the consequences. I could have tried harder and put our relationship first instead of allowing us both to fall into our jobs. I could have gone to her and risked a lawsuit to bring her home where she belongs, or even just to make sure that she's alive and OK. I could have and should have done a lot of things. I will always love her. I will always fight for her. I guess back then I just felt I should give her space. I cannot control her. I cannot make her stay. She is deeply convinced that she loves him and that they're meant to be together. Nothing I could do will change that. I cannot spare her the trauma that she faces at his hands, especially when she feels it is deserved. Divine retribution.

"I know." I say, trying to summon the energy to be strong for her. Stabler knocks on the door and when I answer it, he hands me two piping hot coffees, and Danishes from the shop across the way. I thank him and he leaves. I hand her one of the coffees and a Danish. She drinks gratefully, sitting the Danish on the table for later. I know is all I can really think to say, because the guilt I feel for this being at least partially my fault is too much. The last time she went back to Derek I started pulling away from her. When we broke up, they weren't living together right away. She had her own apartment overlooking central park. They were dating, and I saw her when she did the incident reports, but other than that we had very little contact. A year after that, right before she cut off all contact, she moved back home with him. I don't know how to relate to her when she is constantly putting herself in danger. How could she continue to forgive him after everything he's put her through?

"I had a good reason." She says, clinging to the cup of coffee to stop her hands trembling.

"You always do." I say. "They never really turn out so good in the end, though do they?" I ask her, and she frowns at me. I sigh, knowing it was too mean, especially after how we left things. I should just be thankful that she's here. That she's alive and safe. I haven't seen her in years yet, here she is, coming to me for help. That has to say something. "I'm sorry, that was cruel of me." I realize that her situation has traumatized me too. I try to do the mental gymnastics to figure out how many times this has happened that I know of. Too many to count. I should just move on, but I'm stuck on her. I love her, despite the fact that we'd need a mathematician to calculate the sum of all the times she's returned to him and then come crying back to me when it doesn't work out.

"This time it was." She says with a little pout. I wish she'd just get on with it. I take a long drink of my coffee, trying my hardest not to feel annoyed with her. Maybe it was something she had to do with Derek to survive, behave in a way that is so unlike herself, but I hate when she pouts. I am not Derek, and she reminds me more of a five-year-old than my accomplished, wealthy, competent best friend. We sit in silence for a little while, and I eat my Danish.

"Do you want to tell me about ordering pizza?" I ask her. I normally start off with this. It seems more kind than starting with 'What did that fucking asshole do to you this time?' I hate that she chose him over me, or really anyone else for that matter. I don't care who she's with, as long as it's not Derek or someone like him. She could be safe. Instead, she has thus far refused every offer to help her leave. She refused counseling and all forms of protective custody. She doesn't want to anger him further. I just hope and pray that one day she'll be able to get her life together. I prayed for this despite the cards being heavily stacked against her. On average it takes a victim of domestic violence seven to nine times to leave before they leave their partner for good. Her face flashes to mind every time I have to examine a domestic violence victim. It's even worse if they're dead. The captain has started sending other officers to the domestic violence calls, but there are not always enough available. I still end up on the case more often than not. I try to distance myself from her and her situation. I was always afraid of making things worse for her when she was not willing to seek the help she so desperately needed.

"I guess that's what I am here for right?" She responds, and I can hear the numbness in her tone. She rambles off a list of ingredients, each ingredient linked to a specific offence. I write each of these things down on my notepad, thinking of everything he's put her through as I write. He isolated her from her friends and her family. He took her state id, important paperwork, passport, and bank cards. He made her totally and completely dependent on him. Thinking of the last time I saw her before today eats me alive. She had a broken arm, and I drove her home from surgery. Thinking of the last time we spoke haunts me daily. She told me she never wanted to see me again, that I needed to move on. I should have done more. I should have protected her. What a load of bullshit we're indoctrinated with at the Academy. She takes a deep breath in and winces in pain. I hadn't realized just how shallowly and deliberately she has been breathing, and crying has made both worse.

"What's going on?" I ask her. "Should I call an ambulance?" She looks horrified at the suggestion. My mind wanders. I should have shot him. I have a weapon. I have training, so much training. I could have protected her and made his death look like an accident. I wonder if he drugs her into submission. She swears she doesn't take anything, but each time she comes back to me she goes through what seems to be a heavy detox. Each time she is less and less herself. She used to be so vibrant. Her energy was so contagious that she could fill any room she entered. Now she just looks like a polite version of the walking dead. She is curled up in the chair. She's trying to make herself as small as possible. Her eyes are glossed over, looking at the Danish, but seeing nothing. "Addison?" I ask, pulling her attention back to me.

"Please don't." She says quickly. "I'm fine. It's just a bruised lung from the car accident I was in last week. The doctor says it's healing well." She says, as if it's nothing to be concerned about. She is so different now. Years of mental and physical abuse, a car accident, and a bruised lung. I find it hard to believe that she is the same person who freaked out and force me to the emergency room when I accidentally cut my hand with a sushi knife. I insisted I was fine and wouldn't let her clean and stitch it, meanwhile she was freaking about Vibrio parahaemolyticus, Erysipelothrix rhusiopathia, Salmonella and she was right, I did need fifteen stitches, but that was so mild compared to a bruised lung. Breathing seems so much more important than not having a scar.

"Do you want me to file this report, or do you just want today documented for your file?" I ask her. I could probably lose my job for this, but for the first year after we broke up, we would meet for lunch. We would use that time to document any new injuries with pictures, a statement of what happened, and a full injury report. These reports were never filed at her request. They were just kept in a locked drawer in my desk. She digs in her bag for a moment, pulling out two manila envelopes and handing them to me.

"I need you to take these before he finds them." She says. I notice the year 2005 is written on one and 2006 is written on the other. How is it possible that this year is already over? Christmas just two weeks away, and then it will be the New Years? I still haven't gone shopping for Noah's Christmas presents. I've only had him six months and I already feel like I'm failing as a parent. Don't most people have this type of thing done already? Presents hidden away in the closet or something so the children don't find them? I open the envelopes to see that they are both stuffed full of incident reports, filled out with pictures attached. They are identical to the format that we've done. "I found the form online." She says quietly. He almost never allows her to visit the doctor's office. I doubt she even actually went after this latest 'car accident' injury. If this ever does go to trial, we will need all of this evidence against him. It will be well worth my time and a letter of reprimand in my file if it allows her to be safe and ends with him in prison.

"It's great that you did this. It will really help if you change your mind later on." I say. She is quiet for a long time, just watching me flip through the paperwork before she speaks again.

"Just the incident report for the file today. Please don't file the report we fill out."

"Why?" I demand, she looks taken aback. "He would go to jail; you could be free."

"I will never be free Olivia." She says this plainly, looks confused why I do not understand.

"Well, you know I firmly disagree with that." I say. "These types of things take time. We do have to fill out a new incident report though. We haven't done this in a while have we?" I ask her. She shakes her head 'no' and then begins to strip down. My stomach lurches as I see the bruising she was trying so desperately to hide. She washes her face and I carefully take pictures of all of her various injuries.

"No, we haven't."

"Two years." I say, taking the last picture from the camera and sitting it on the table to develop. She is bruised on over fifty percent of her body. How she is even walking is beyond me. "I thought you were dead." I feel my voice break, and the tears falling down my cheeks as I look at a particularly nasty purple and green bruise on her shoulder. What had he hit her with? You can't tell with clothing on, but when she is topless you can tell that it was once broken and hasn't healed quite right. I would never cry in front of a victim. It's my job to remain sympathetic, but impartial. To keep my emotions in check. She's not just a random victim though. She is so much more. I love her.

"Please don't cry." She whispers. She quickly gets dressed again and brings her hands to my face, forcing me to look at her. "I'm so sorry Olivia." She hugs me tightly, and then lets me go and backs away. She smells like roses. She hates roses more than anything on this planet. Even walking past a rosebush is enough to stop her in her tracks and induce vomiting. It's Derek's favorite though. It is the only soap, shampoo, perfume, and deodorant he will allow her to wear.

"Why wasn't I more important to you?" I ask her. "Was everything we had a lie?" I demand. "Why isn't your own life more important to you than your shattered relationship with your husband?"

"You were." She says, looking at me surprised. "You are everything to me, that's why I had to leave. I had to cut off all contact."

"I don't understand."

"Derek has a gun." She says, speaking quickly. "He has a gun and when he showed up at our apartment that night, he said that he was going to kill you, and make me watch. I couldn't handle watching him hurt you, so I was selfish, and I did what he wanted." She is clearly shaken, though this is the least tragic or scary thing I've heard in a while. I'm not scared of Derek Shepherd.

"I'd like to see him try." I say, forcing a laugh. She's not laughing though.

"He's been threatening you a lot lately. I came here to tell you to get a protective detail. The injury report doesn't really matter. It's no worse than the ones before, but he's not playing around Liv. He really would have hurt you." She is trembling so hard. "I just can't let anything happen to you because of me. I still love you. I should let you go. I hate myself not being able to do that. I'm in love with you and him threatening you is killing me. I had to try." She says, not realizing just how much it hurts me everytime she goes back to him and I have to do another of these reports.

"I'm sorry, that's a lot but I need you to be safe." She continues. She fixes her make up from the small containers she always carries in her purse and gets up, walking to the door. I gather the folders, and the new report and pictures. We walk out of the interview room together and over to my desk where I lock the files up. We move to the elevator and press the down button.

"Are you going to be alright getting home?" I ask her, unsure what else to say, shocked at her declaration of love for me. I was so certain that there is no way she would feel that way still after all of these years.

"I'm fine. I have work in an hour I'll go straight there." She says, "Please consider what we've talked about."

"I'll talk to Cragen and see what he suggests." I assure her. "Addison you don't have to worry about me." I say, more for her peace of mind than anything. "What Derek is doing is called escalation. This isn't going to get better. It won't go away. Please let me file the report."

"No. I'm okay Olivia, really." She says, and I nod unable to hide my disappointment as I turn away. I change my mind last minute and catch the doors of the elevator just as they are about to close. I walk onto the elevator and press the stop button, so it won't go down. I gently put my hand on her cheek and say:

"I love you, and I'm going to do everything in my power to prove that to you. I don't know how, but we're going to figure this out together. You're not alone Addison. You need to know that. No matter what he says I'll always be right here."