As the EMTs infiltrate the apartment, Olivia regains consciousness, but she is lethargic and disoriented, and when they try to touch her, she fights them. The effort, though, triggers a new coughing fit, and Elliot gently rolls her to her side, as more blood comes up. When she's done, the wary EMTs slap an oxygen mask over her face, and she is subdued. Elliot tries to glean information about her condition from the medics' body language, but they are all business as they lift her onto the gurney.

There is terror in her eyes, as they buzz around her, lobbying orders at each other, their voices shrill and forceful. Elliot wishes he could comfort her, but he is pushed aside as the two paramedics hover over her, administering treatment. Since Olivia is in no state to vouch for him, Elliot bears their suspicious glares as they take in the sight of her massacred body. Then her blood pressure plummets, and they are too engrossed in helping her to deal with Elliot at all. By the time they reach the hospital, she is unconscious again.

In the ER, chaotic flutter ensues as a team of medical professionals swarms around her, examining her. Elliot nearly blows his stack explaining and re-explaining to aghast hospital staff that her assault is days old, that police do not need to be called (once upon a time he would have emphatically – and, yes, arrogantly – declared that he is police), and that he absolutely did not do this to her. Exasperated, he finally pulls out his iphone and googles her name, which instantly results in pages of links from which he can choose. It is a morbidly convenient fact that her abduction made national headlines. He clicks on the first link he sees – it's from a disreputable online rag that usually focuses on the tribulations of reality TV stars, but for these purposes it'll do fine – and shows them the gory story. Instantly, his credibility is restored. How surreal, he thinks, to be using a tabloid article where once he would have used a badge, to have to exploit the sensationalism of her story, where once "partner" would have sufficed.

But the staff's hostility is now replaced by sympathy, which, given the exhausting hoops he's just jumped through, he accepts docilely, though a part of him guiltily wishes it to be redirected at a different recipient, as though there is only so much of it to go around. Still, even with respectful treatment, he no longer can claim NYPD privileges and he is ultimately made to wait outside the trauma ward like everyone else, with no information, no sense of her prognosis.

For a full hour, he sits numbly in the waiting area, his elbows digging into his thighs, as he thumbs through his phone mindlessly, watching the clock, debating whether to call Brian, unsure what to do if seven o'clock rolls around and there's still no news. He is utterly grateful for one bit of foresight: amidst the pandemonium of the arrival of the paramedics, he managed to remember to grab Olivia's phone. So he will catch any texts she receives, and he also has Brian's number should he need to be contacted.

At 6:38 a.m., a doctor finally emerges to speak to him.

"Are you here for Olivia Benson?"

Elliot scrambles to his feet. He holds his hand out for the young man, who is tall and burly, but in a teddy-bear sort of way. "Yes! Yes, Elliot Stabler. Hi. Please, is she okay?"

"I'm Doctor Rubinstein. She suffered a pneumothorax – it's a collapsed lung. Air escapes from the lung and fills up the space outside, putting pressure on the lung and causing it to collapse. We see it most often in smokers, but in her case it was almost certainly caused by a fractured rib."

"Is she going to be okay?" he repeats nervously.

"She's going to be okay, but we had to insert a chest tube and she'll have to stay here for a few days while we monitor her. We're hoping to avoid surgery, but it's still a possibility. We'll know more in a few hours."

"Is she awake? Can I see her?"

Doctor Rubinstein now hesitates, looking him up and down, as if Elliot's worn jeans and wrinkled blue t-shirt will divulge information as to his true identity. "Mr. Stabler, are you her husband?"

But Elliot's ready for the question; after the earlier interrogation, this is a cakewalk. "I'm not. I was her partner for over a decade. We're still close friends. She was staying over at my place when this happened."

The doctor raises an eyebrow. "Partner?"

"We're detectives. Well, she is. I'm retired now."

"Aha. So she's not married?"

"She has a boyfriend. But he's working tonight."

"I see. Does she have any family we can contact?"

Elliot senses that Doctor Rubinstein still doesn't trust him, that he is uncomfortable discussing her case with anyone his patient might later claim had no business knowing. Idly, Elliot wonders if Cassidy's "boyfriend" status would have carried more weight than "partner."

"None whatsoever." For the sake of simplicity as well as to reflect the spirit of the truth, if not the literal truth, he takes a chance that Simon's status as a relative-in-DNA-only has not changed. He adds, as if to bolster the claim, "I'm her next of kin." In point of fact he has no idea if she's changed her paperwork since his departure, but he can always plead ignorance.

He has evidently said the magic words, for Doctor Rubinstein's body language visibly relaxes. If his fragile patient trusts this man enough to make him her next-of-kin, then he will too. "All right. Then I guess I can share this with you. My staff and I were quite concerned by the numerous wounds and marks all over her body. She was assaulted quite… viciously."

Elliot bows his head. "I know, it's… terrible. She was tortured."

The doctor grimaces. "It's our understanding this only happened two days ago."

"That's when it ended. It took place over the course of four days."

The doctor nods grimly. "I see. And you're aware of the… severity of what she endured?"

Elliot takes in a sharp breath, choosing his words carefully. "I'm aware of… what she told me. I know that it was brutal. She's still processing it herself, I think." He hesitates, tentatively catching the doctor's skeptical eye. "Is there… is there anything I should… know about?"

"Nothing life-threatening."

"Anything… non-life threatening?"

At this, the doctor shifts awkwardly on his feet. Guardedly, he says, "It's not my area of expertise, but I would think she needs counseling and support from loved ones."

Alarm bells go off in his head. This doctor is speaking in fairly plain code. "Please, I just want to help her," he blurts out desperately. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Does she have anyone who can be with her over the coming weeks?"

"Well, like I said, she's staying with her boyfriend, but he was working tonight. I persuaded her to come to my place because I didn't want her to be alone."

"Well that was certainly the right call. You saved her life."

Elliot is sure to show the proper gratitude for this scrap of approbation, but he also recalls how winded she was after trekking the block to Broadway, and guilt that such exertion may have triggered this crisis in the first place nullifies any satisfaction he might derive from this moment.

Doctor Rubinstein clears his throat. "Well, as for her lung, she'll need to be watched closely and avoid physical activity." He looks Elliot straight in the eye. "I strongly recommend she have someone with her for a few weeks while she recovers – physically and emotionally."

"Trust me, I get that now. She's very independent, but I think tonight probably scared the hell out of her."

"Yes," he agrees. "She obviously has a very strong will, because few people would have survived such a horrific assault." He pauses. "Which is why it would be terrible if the same strong will were the reason nobody was there to help her the next time she collapses."

At 7:02 a.m., he bites the bullet and makes the call, using his own phone. He wants to ease Brian into the topic of Olivia; using her phone would instantaneously alert him to the fact that Elliot is back in her life and cozy enough to have borrowed her phone. He doesn't want Olivia's faithfulness to germinate as a question, even if only as a momentary flicker across the periphery of Brian's mind for the span of the eight seconds it takes Elliot to explain the innocence of the situation. Once planted, such seeds tend to linger surreptitiously on the subconscious like a dormant cancer cell.

A deep and thoroughly grumpy voice answers. "Cassidy. Who's this?"

"Cassidy, it's Elliot Stabler."

To his surprise, the voice immediately cheers up. With all the undercurrent Elliot has manufactured in his head, he's forgotten that he and Cassidy parted on fairly good terms. "Stabler? Dude, what's it been, thirteen years?"

"Almost fourteen, actually."

"Fourteen. Wow." Pause. "You, uh, heard… I guess… about Olivia."

"Yeah. It's why I'm calling."

"Did she call you, man?"

He tells the truth. "No, I read about it and came to see her, two days ago."

"Gotcha. She didn't mention it."

There is no undertone of suspicion in Brian's voice, just a statement of fact. Elliot remembers, now, why Olivia liked him: he is straightforward and uncomplicated. His cockeyed optimism about people was, in fact, why he couldn't make it in SVU. Every case rocked his worldview, shook him to the core. But the very qualities that made him a lousy fit for the squad are, apparently, exactly what make him a good boyfriend. Olivia needs somebody light and easygoing and simple, somebody willing to take people at face value. Somebody not burdened by the stressful toll of relentless, exacting hyper-vigilance directed at every man who dares steal an admiring glance.

"Look, Cassidy, I know you just got off your shift, but she's in the hospital. It was a collapsed lung. She's gonna be fine, but you should come here."

There's a sharp intake of breath, and Brian is, commendably, not interested in the circumstances under which Elliot is present and also up to speed on his work schedule. "What hospital?" is all he asks.

"St Luke's Roosevelt."

"I'm on my way."

More than a dozen years later, Cassidy still looks nineteen. But his face also possesses a weather beaten-ness to it, which is incongruous with his otherwise youthful appearance. Of course, the poor guy has also just pulled an all-nighter, not to mention the odyssey of hell he surely traveled throughout the grueling hours of his girlfriend's disappearance.

As Cassidy traverses the ER waiting room, still in uniform and thoroughly disheveled-looking, Elliot jumps to his feet to greet Olivia's boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

It's a strange term to associate with his partner.

Involuntary jealousy courses through him as he contemplates the prominent role this man – once considered the joke of the unit – has taken in his beautiful partner's life. That she has chosen him as a companion has thrown Elliot for a loop since he first learned about it. He wonders if his own departure – the longest relationship she ever had with a man, he now guiltily recalls once callously throwing in her face – had anything to do with her decision (and surely it was a decision) to finally seek happiness out for herself. It's a bit of a narcissistic thought, he realizes, fueled and accentuated, possibly, by his own post-Kathy loneliness.

As he takes in his old, forgotten coworker's worried eyes, Elliot's attitude softens, and his hostility, normally so easy to conjure, evaporates. Who is he to regard with juvenile contempt this one person who has finally made her happy, when Olivia always treated Kathy with nothing but respect and kindness? And so he will treat Cassidy well; this is the least he owes his partner.

"Cassidy."

"My God, Stabler, you haven't changed." Brian smiles warmly, if not sadly, and thrusts out his hand for Elliot to shake.

"I could say the same about you," Elliot says with a friendliness that is only slightly forced.

As they pull back from the handshake, they regard each other warily, like two gunslingers contemplating a duel.

"How is she?" Brian asks hoarsely, his desperation etched in his voice, his eyes.

No pleasantries. No, "how's the wife and kids?" No sarcastic remarks about Elliot's convenient reappearance in her life.

That's how it should be, Elliot thinks approvingly. When it comes to Olivia's wellbeing, there should be no room for chitchat.

"She's stable, is my understanding. But they might have to do surgery."

Brian collapses onto a metal chair and his head slumps towards his lap, his thumbs digging into his forehead. "Goddamn fractured ribs."

It is once again to Brian's credit that he still hasn't questioned why Elliot is here. He has evidently filtered out the meaningless crap, and his sole focus is on her.

He sinks into the seat next to Brian's. "Yeah."

"The bastard beat the hell out of her."

Elliot looks up sharply. He'd figured as much, but it's startling to hear it laid out so starkly. This is also an aspect of the assault she had downplayed, if not denied altogether. He wants to mine Brian for more information, but this is not the time. He wonders how much of her ordeal Olivia has communicated to Brian, and if it's more or less than what she's confided in him. Then he chastises himself for the implicit competitiveness such a question begs.

"Have you seen her?" Brian asks.

So many possibilities to this question, but his mind immediately flits to the sight of her on his bathroom tiles, helplessly exposed and so, so vulnerable. Her beautiful body, ravaged by days of senseless cruelty. But he knows this is not what Cassidy means. "Not yet."

Cassidy puts his forehead in his hands. "My God," he mutters, with such sadness that Elliot can't help but feel for him. "I still can't believe this happened to her. I keep thinking this is all some sick dream."

Poor guy has been up all night, Elliot thinks. "Dude, stay here, I'll get us some coffee."

Cassidy looks up gratefully. "Thanks, man."

Twenty minutes later, the two former colleagues sit, huddled together in the same miserable corner of the ER waiting room, sipping cafeteria coffee.

"It kills me what this bastard did to her," Cassidy laments.

Elliot's first instinct is to say something sarcastic like, no shit, Sherlock. But he manages to keep his mouth shut.

"I feel so damn guilty, you know?"

"Why?" Elliot asks.

"Because I should've looked in on her."

"You couldn't have known."

"Yeah, well, she'd been telling me about this Lewis character, about how he kept jumping through legal loopholes. She was devastated when he got off. But we didn't have plans till the next day, and I didn't want to, you know, presume."

"You knew she had two days off?"

"I knew Cragen had sent her home early." Then his eyes narrow as he belatedly discerns the implicit accusation. He quickly adds, "But you know Liv, she likes her space. What was I gonna do, go over there and babysit her?"

Yeah, that's exactly what you should've done.

Elliot feels emotion swirl, as the dawning hits of the catastrophe that might have been averted, if only Brian hadn't been so cowed.

Easy rage builds up like an old friend, but he's not the same person he used to be; he is able to suppress his more primal, testosterone-fueled instincts. This is amongst the things he's worked on in two years.

Still, the reality is agonizing. What if. What if.

But then there is an even more biting rage, but it is directed at himself:

What if you'd still been in her life? You would've checked in on her yourself.

"She looked a bit winded earlier, but I didn't say anything. She would've denied it anyway."

"I know," Elliot admits. If Cassidy asks how he knows, he will tell him the truth. Lies will only get Olivia in trouble, not him.

"I, uh, I don't know how to deal with this."

Elliot is shocked by Cassidy's candor. He'd expected interrogation about his presence here, and instead he's being confided in. "You just have to be there for her. Accept it, and listen to her."

"It's hard to listen if she won't talk to me."

"She's very proud," Elliot says.

"Yeah, proud. It's what I love about her." He pauses, realizing how this sounds. "Well, not the only thing. I mean, I love everything about her. Always have. And shit, man, it goes without saying, she's the hottest woman I've ever –"

"Cassidy, I know." Pause. "So… you love her?"

Brian nods sadly. "Before this happened, I was going to ask her to marry me."

Elliot looks up in shock. For some reason it had not occurred to him Olivia could marry Cassidy. A million emotions gush through him at once. Is Cassidy good enough for her? Is he handsome enough, smart enough, well-read, dynamic enough? She could have anybody she wants; can she find someone better? "That's great, man," he chokes out.

"But now, I just… I don't know what to do. She's pushing me away."

"She is living with you," Elliot points out.

Brian scoffs. "Ha! Talk about twisting her arm." He winces. "Sorry, bad joke. Put it this way: it was my apartment or a hotel room. I was the lesser evil."

"I doubt that," Elliot finds himself saying, kindly.

"You know, I'd been signing up for all these extra shifts, just to save up some money to buy a ring for her. She just thought it was a slew of bad luck. Short end of the staffing stick, right?" He laughs nervously. "And all I can think now is, she didn't need a goddamn ring. All she needed was for me not to be working that day!"

"She would never blame you for this."

"Yeah, well. I blame me."

Elliot lets a beat pass. Pensively, he asks, "Is she doing okay?" He already has enough information to form his own opinion, but he wants to hear a fresh perspective.

"Not really."

Elliot's taken aback by Brian's bluntness. He can't help but picture the mortification and shame with which Olivia would greet such an assessment, as though a faceless review board has determined that her valiant, arduous recovery efforts still deserve an F.

"She puts up a good show, but man, what this guy did to her, the depravity, the sadism. I don't know… I don't know how anyone survives something like this."

"She does," Elliot says, somewhat defensively.

"Yeah she does," Brian agrees, proudly. "But you know, even she has her limits."

"Of course."

"Yesterday I was fixing the lock on the front door of the apartment. It was loose and it jiggled, and even though I knew it worked fine, I figured after what she'd been through, I'd make it extra-secure. Made sense, right? So I get out this toolbox I have in the closet and I start unscrewing the bolts. I'm doing my thing when I hear this breathing behind me. I pivot around on my knees and she's just standing there, staring at me, like I'm a ghost. And like a big idiot I get up and I step towards her and I've still got the power screwdriver in my hand and I try to reach out to her and her eyes widen in the worst panic I've ever seen, but she's totally frozen on the spot. She literally can't move. And so I try to calm her down, and she's just standing there, hyperventilating, pupils dilated, freaking out but not saying a word. And I realize, she's having a flashback."

"The power tool."

"Yeah. Lewis must've… He must've…." Cassidy hangs his head, trying to control the tremor in his chin.

Elliot touches his shoulder, awkwardly. "It's okay, man."

"She was all embarrassed and apologetic afterwards. But I was like, look, nobody can go through something like this and not be, you know, emotionally affected."

"Her biggest fear was always of being perceived as weak."

"Yeah, well." A second passes, and Brian says, "She'd kill me if she knew I told you about this."

"Yes, she would."

Brian nods, but goes on. "She cries in the bathroom. She turns the bathtub on and she thinks I don't hear her. I mean, for fuck's sake, I was a detective too."

Elliot finds himself in the unlikely position of consoling Brian. "It's gonna be okay, man. She's strong."

"He didn't rape her. That's the one thing I keep coming back to. It would've destroyed her. How do you recover from that?"

"People do," he says neutrally.

"I know that they do. I just don't know how. That one year in SVU, man, hearing those women's stories, I never got over it. I felt violated on their behalves. And that was just hearing about it. Man, what people do to other people…. Narcotics is so much more straightforward. People steal and hurt each other to get their hands on drugs and money. The violence is just a means to an end. But rape, rape. It's evil for the sake of evil." Brian shakes his head anew.

"I know."

"You know what I keep asking myself? Why didn't he rape her?"

"I don't know."

"I mean, you should've heard the rap sheet on this guy. He's a sick, violent animal. He rapes old ladies and college girls – doesn't care which. He doesn't have a type, he gets nothing out of it except to torture and humiliate them. I mean, he had Olivia for four days. How could he… not have?"

"I don't know."

Brian glances to his side. "Sorry, man, I know it's weird I'm dumping all this on you. I can blame it on lack of sleep. But I feel like you understand all this. Not just this, I mean, but her. You're like her only real friend in the world." He chortles nervously. "Goddamn, that didn't come out right! What I meant was, everybody loves her. And I mean, everybody. You should've seen that squadroom: you would've thought it was their own sister or daughter who was missing. But you know what's funny? She has no friends. Not a single one. It's weird, right? Most universally-loved person I know, and she has no friends."

Elliot has never thought of Olivia as friendless, but when he thinks about it, he's never once heard her mention any.

Brian continues. "But you know, the second I saw you here, it all clicked."

"What did?" Elliot asks, suddenly nervous.

"I was like, of course! Because she has you. You're her friend in the world. She only needs you."

Elliot is speechless, not fully prepared to conclude Brian is serious, but also smart enough not to argue.

And then, as if perfectly timed to rescue him from his case of tongue-tie, Doctor Rubinstein suddenly emerges from the trauma ward.

Both men pop out of their seats like synced-up crackerjacks. "How is she?" they cry in unison.

Doctor Rubinstein allows a small smile of amusement to slip across his face before he reassumes his sober demeanor. His eyes travel from one disheveled man to the other, as if the two are contestants vying for the title of Most Devoted and he is the judge. "We've determined we need to perform surgery to repair the lung. But she's stable, and we do think she'll recover fine."

"Oh thank God," Brian gasps, his legs giving out. He dissolves back into his seat, the tension leaving his body all at once.

"Can we see her?" Elliot asks.

"She's very weak," says the doctor. "We have to prep her for surgery, but I can allow one of you in there for five minutes right now."

Brian and Elliot look at each other.

Three full seconds tick by.

And then Elliot beckons Brian. "Go be with her."