Elliot watches Amaro circumspectly. The man clutches his Coke, his sleek palms cupping it carefully.

"You don't drink?" Elliot asks.

Amaro looks up. "I do, just trying to cut back."

Elliot takes a swig of his beer. "I should do the same." He pats his tummy for effect. "Metabolism's not what it used to be."

Amaro smiles. "Yeah, well. I'm not much of a drinker to begin with, so I figure, hey, if I don't miss it, why have it in the first place?"

Elliot narrows his eyes playfully. "Dude. Are you a vegetarian too?"

Amaro laughs heartily. "I personally keep my butcher in business."

"Roger that. Thought for a second you weren't a real cop. Can't have the guy watching Olivia's back –" He stops abruptly, the joke suddenly feeling wrong.

Amaro, to his credit, doesn't miss a beat. "Honest, my virtuousness begins and ends with beer abstention. Just never developed much of a taste for it."

"And I guess SVU is as close as you can get to a dry squad," Elliot muses. "Cragen never exactly took us out for drinks after a case. And Munch, Mister I-Owned-A-Bar-in-Baltimore, was always a total lightweight."

"Still is." Nick nods wistfully. "Sometimes Olivia and I go out after work, but only when a case ends well, which, let's face it, in this unit happens about twice a year." He pauses to reflect. "I guess now…" It's his turn to trail off.

"She'll get there," Elliot says encouragingly.

"Yeah."

The two men are silent, contemplating all over again the profoundness of what's happened. It's the little things, Elliot thinks, that will stay with her, be a constant reminder of how much Lewis changed her life. She was always able to take or leave alcohol – it was never a great pleasure for her – but if her constitution has been forevermore altered, the principle of it will always upset her.

After several seconds, Elliot finally works up the guts to broach the subject. "You, uh, you said there was more to the story. What did you mean?"

Nick takes a sip of his Coke, places the glass back down on the coaster with purpose. "All right. I'm gonna tell you stuff, because I sense I can trust you, because I know Olivia trusted you." He corrects himself. "Trusts you."

"She does."

"You worked together for… what? Eleven years?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve. Okay." He pauses. "Then I know you'll keep what I'm about to tell you confidential."

Elliot raises an eyebrow. "Is it in her best interests for me to?"

Nick acknowledges the validity of the question. "Well, this is information that… in the wrong hands, could hurt her."

He puts up his hands. "Say no more."

"I'm telling you this because I care about my partner, and because I don't think anyone else is going to look out for her the way… we are."

"I hear you," Elliot says, swallowing a lump.

Amaro clears his throat nervously. "So I assume you've got the general picture of what she went through."

"I do."

"You know that he had her for four full days, but only the last day was at the beachhouse on Long Island."

"I wasn't aware of the exact timeframe, but yes, I knew that."

Nick nods. "Well, we'd been searching for two days. We knew she was on Long Island, but we'd only narrowed it down to a three-mile stretch. Everyone was starting to panic – even Cragen. The guilt that no one had thought to check on her during those first two days when he had her in her own apartment… well, let's just say…. none of us is getting over that any time soon."

Nick lowers his eyes, but not before Elliot catches the shame that washes over his face. Elliot has stewed about this fact for days, but he sees, now, that whatever mistakes the squad made, it was not for lack of caring.

"We got the call late afternoon," Nick continues. "Day four."

"Right. She'd managed to free herself, overpower him, and then call it in."

"Technically, that's true." He cocks his head for emphasis.

"Technically?"

"Put it this way, that's the Cliff's Notes version."

Elliot takes a breath. "Okay. Tell me exactly what happened, step by step."

At this request, Nick allows a flicker of amusement to cross his features, as if to say, once a cop, always a cop. But Elliot also notes, with admiration, that he refrains from cracking the obvious quip out loud; the man has good judgment. "She called 911, from the landline of the house where she was. The dispatcher patched her through to us."

"What did she sound like on the phone?"

"Honestly? We didn't recognize her at first."

"Who answered?"

"Cragen did. I happened to be standing next to him; he put her on speaker."

"What did she say?"

"It wasn't what she said. It was how she sounded. Her voice was quieter than usual, and she was slurring her words. She had trouble describing where she was."

"Maybe she didn't know where she was."

"I don't mean the geographic location. We wouldn't have expected her to know that anyway. What I mean is, she couldn't tell us anything. Basic things, like the house was on the ocean. Or that it was a bungalow and white-colored. We asked her to go outside and tell us the address, but she couldn't."

"She couldn't walk?"

"We didn't know, but we didn't think that was it. It was more like she didn't understand the question. We asked her how badly she was hurt, and she couldn't tell us that either. We only found her because we traced the call."

"It sounds like she was in shock."

"She was. But it was more than that. The dispatcher almost didn't put her through; thought it was a crank call. And so did Cragen for the first few seconds. He almost hung up on her."

"Cragen couldn't recognize her voice? My God."

"It wasn't so much the voice. It was the tenor, the rhythm. It just didn't sound like her at all."

"Not to sound like a broken record, but shock can –"

"Stabler, I'm telling you, it was more than shock. We were able to piece together that she'd broken free and that Lewis wasn't threatening her anymore, but that was about as much useful information as she was able to give us."

Sharp jolts of electricity rush through him, and he cups his beer mug securely, as if to ground himself from the shocks. "So what happened when you got there?"

"Well, I went in first. I kept the cavalry back, wanting to see what shape she was in before half the department saw her. We were under no illusions this guy hadn't done some pretty bad stuff to her."

"And what shape was she in?"

Nick hesitates, his eyes flitting to Elliot, as if deciding whether Elliot can handle it. "She…. was huddled on the floor. She was shaking. Her pants were ripped. She'd been beaten."

"Where was Lewis?"

"That was the thing. He was on the floor about two feet away."

"Only two? Hadn't she handcuffed him?"

"Yes."

"So why did she get near him again?"

"I asked myself the same question." His voice is gravelly.

"Did you ask her the question?"

"No."

Anger swells in his throat; this partner of hers isn't up to snuff after all. "Why not?"

But Amaro clearly isn't fazed by Elliot's spontaneous hostility. "Because it was fairly obvious she wasn't in any shape to answer it."

Full comprehension sweeps over him. Amaro did not screw up. Amaro is competent. It is Olivia who was not. "I don't think I like where this is going."

"It gets worse."

He swallows a lump. "Go on."

"At the hospital, her blood alcohol content clocked in at point-one-six," Nick tells him.

He winces. "And that would've been a few hours later."

"Exactly. So you can imagine how intoxicated she would've been when all this went down."

Elliot wants to make sure Amaro realizes the truth. "She'd been force-fed hard liquor round the clock for four days straight."

But Nick sees exactly where Elliot is going and puts up a palm to stop him. "Trust me, nobody thinks she drank it voluntarily, if that's what you're worried about. We knew this guy's MO backwards and forwards. He'd probably held her down, forced it down her throat till she gagged."

He grimaces at the terrible image. "I'm sorry, go on."

"Well, the alcohol wasn't the only thing. Her CT showed a concussion, courtesy of at least three separate blows to the head. She was severely dehydrated and hadn't appeared to have eaten solid food the whole time she was with him." He pauses. "And then there was her tox screen."

"Rohypnol?" he guesses, feeling nauseous.

"No. Traces of LSD. And… meth."

"Oh Jesus," he moans. "He could've killed her."

Nick nods. "The combination would've been toxic to her system. Every doctor and nurse in that hospital said it was a miracle she was still alive." He waits a beat. "Which begs the question…"

"How'd she get the better of him?" Elliot finishes for him.

Nick makes a pistol out of his thumb and forefinger, pulls the trigger. "Bingo. And the answer is, we just don't know."

"What does Cragen think?"

"I think he was so happy to get her back alive, he hasn't thought it through."

"But you have."

Nick shrugs. "That's what I do."

"What's your theory?"

"I don't really have one. Not a good one, anyway. I've gone it over in my mind a dozen times. Somehow, obviously, she managed to do it; that's not in question. So he was either really careless, let down his guard, or she had some sort of temporary burst… of adrenaline, of clear-headedness, of something. Meth is a stimulant, so it's conceivable, I guess. But it's admittedly…. a stretch."

"Well, what was she like when you found her?"

"She was… exactly how you might imagine she would be. She wasn't lucid at all."

This is agony, he thinks. "She was hallucinating?"

"More like…. catatonic. She was crouched in a corner near him, shaking, sweating. She was feverish. There was vomit all over the place. Frankly, the state she was in when I got to her was exactly consistent with having all that poison running through her veins, in combo with a traumatic brain injury."

"Maybe that's why she got close to him again. Maybe she was disoriented."

"I would believe it." Amaro takes shuddery a breath, obviously replaying the terrible scene in his head. He looks at Elliot, thinking out loud. "So after she breaks free, everything hits her at once. It might not have been all physical either. She might have had a psychological break, too. She'd been tortured, beaten. She'd been humiliated for days. She was hungry. Who knows what that did to her state of mind? So maybe… she stumbled over to where she'd cuffed him, maybe she wanted to check him – or hurt him – but her judgment was impaired, and she got confused, changed her mind, or… maybe all of the above."

As much as he dreads asking the question, the picture her partner paints is so incongruous with the Olivia he knows that this conversation will be meaningless unless he addresses it head-on. "Nick, there's something I've wanted to ask you. Do you think he assaulted her…. sexually?"

To his dismay, Nick is clearly unsurprised by the question. "I think… there's an aspect of this she hasn't told us about. Either because she's too ashamed, or because she doesn't remember."

"That's what I think too," he says grimly.

Nick nods. "You and I should compare notes."

"Well, walk me through what happened after you found her."

"I helped her up, I talked to her. She took, like, three full seconds to recognize me. Her eyes were glazed and red. She'd been crying. She was cradling her left wrist, which was obviously fractured. She was unsteady on her feet, but she could walk."

His ears perk up. "Unsteady? Like, how?"

"Shaky."

"Limping?"

Amaro thinks about it. "It's possible. But honestly, it was all I could do to help her across the room. I wasn't paying too much attention to her gait."

"Got it," Elliot says quietly.

"Well, so, it was obvious she needed medical attention, but half the department was outside, not to mention reporters, and I wanted to look her over myself before I brought her out there."

"That was the right call," Elliot says.

Nick nods. "I noticed the mattress, the broken bed frame. There was blood on the mattress, in different spots. I knew that's where he'd kept her, so I couldn't make her lie down on it, though, to be honest with you, I'm not sure she would've known the difference. Anyway, I found a chair and sat her down. She was totally compliant. I gave her some water to drink, and I cleaned her up. I kept talking to her."

"Was she responsive?"

"Semi. She was mumbling a lot."

"Anything decipherable?"

"Sort of. She was mentioning a 'he;' something to the effect of how 'he' did it, or would've done it, or some such thing… but I didn't get the sense that she was talking about Lewis."

"Any clue who she meant?"

"None. But like I said, my mission was to just get her out of that goddamn house and into the ambulance."

"Right."

"I waited till I thought she could pass for lucid. When I finally brought her outside, she looked okay; maybe a little shell-shocked, but nobody would've guessed she was a total zombie. But take my word for it, Stabler: she didn't know what the hell was going on. I held her by the waist, I made sure she walked straight, and I prodded her to keep her eyes open. About fifty pairs of eyes were trained on her – it felt like a walk of shame – and I knew she'd be mortified, later, if she found out others knew the state she'd been in. Fin had gone in afterwards to deal with Lewis and he happened to come out while we were still standing on the porch. He and I exchanged looks – I know he saw how bad it was – but he's a discrete guy and he was just as intent on preserving her dignity. Anyway, I managed to walk her to the ambulance without anyone else realizing just how bad her condition really was."

An unexpected weight lifts from his shoulders. "I'm glad you did that," he blurts out.

"Yeah, well. It was the least she deserved."

Elliot nods, swallowing back tears.

"She said something to Fin, though. While we were still on the porch. Something that didn't make sense."

"She recognized him?"

"Unclear."

"What did she say?"

"Well, like I said, Fin came up to us, and told her Lewis was still alive. She was spaced out, but she heard him. She looked at Fin blankly and said, 'I don't see how.'"

"Why was that strange?"

"Well, the statement implied she'd thought she'd done some sort of lethal damage to him."

"But she hadn't?"

Nick shrugs. "None that I could see. He was unconscious, but otherwise it didn't look like she'd hurt him."

"Then why did Fin make it a point to tell you Lewis was alive, like he thought you and she might be surprised?"

"He didn't. He was the one who was surprised. He was essentially asking her, why didn't you beat the crap out of the bastard? Why didn't you kill him? But she was too confused to realize that. He replied to her, 'you did what you had to do,' but all he meant was, you got yourself free, you got yourself out of this, let's move on.'"

"It sounds like she thinks she did hurt him."

"It's consistent with her statement. The way she tells it, she beat him up. She says he came after her again, and that she beat him back."

"But she didn't?"

"Well, he had a handful of bruises, consistent with the original blows she would've delivered to subdue him after she broke free. But a more sustained beating? He was fine. Frankly, his unconsciousness had more to do with his blood alcohol content than any injuries she caused him. The detective even asked her why she didn't shoot him, if he supposedly broke free and came after her again, and she said she'd made a judgment call."

"What did she mean by that?"

"We don't really know."

"The detective taking her statement didn't ask her?"

Nick takes a breath. "You have to understand: there's zero appetite to question her story. She was viciously tortured by this guy for four days and still managed to overpower him. This is a guy who'd traumatized countless people, slipped through every legal loophole there was, then brazenly attacked one of the most beloved detectives in the city because he'd eluded capture before. And then she not only survives but hands him to them on a silver platter, and she does everything by the book to boot. No revenge killing to have to spin as a justified homicide, no excessive force to construe as self-defense. She was already the definition of a sympathetic victim, and on top of it she had the perfect chance to exact revenge on him – and probably get away with it – and she restrained herself! She's a hero. You should see the greeting cards piling up on her desk from victims she's helped over the years, who read about it in the paper. So you can see how nobody gains anything by poking holes in her version of the event. No one wants to be the one to suggest she lied."

"Unless the reason she lied is because something else happened to her that she doesn't want us to know about."

"Well that's exactly why I'm worried. The department cares about its public image, which had taken a battering over this guy's release, and her story instantly restored it."

"Does your gut say she changed the story on purpose?" Elliot asks.

"Look, Stabler, let me be straight with you. I get a lot of flak in the squad because I play devil's advocate; with the suspects everyone's sure are guilty, and even with the victims sometimes. I question them, I dig. I'm the resident skeptic. But with Olivia…. I just want you to know, I'm not out to embarrass my own partner, or discredit her, or call her a liar. There's not a shadow of a doubt this guy did unspeakable things to her, that he brutalized and tortured and humiliated her. I'm just saying that Cragen … wants to believe what she told us is…. everything."

"And you're positive it's not."

Amaro takes a breath. His eyes are pools of piercing black. "I'm positive."

Elliot nods. "Then you and I, we get to the bottom of it. Quietly."

"Thanks, man." He pauses. "You know, you're actually a good guy."

Elliot laughs. "You sound surprised."

Amaro smiles. "I think I better exercise my right against self-incrimination."

"Fair enough." He grows serious. "I think the first thing to sort out is whether she really believes she hurt Lewis, or whether she's covering something up."

"I think it's both."

"Explain."

"I think she thinks she hurt him – unjustifiably. I think she probably thought about doing it. Maybe he even taunted her. But at some point, she either started hallucinating from all the crap in her system, or she had some kind of breakdown."

"Do you think the breakdown – if that's what happened – was possibly triggered by a rape?"

"I don't know if it was specifically triggered by that, but I do think she was raped."

"What did the rape kit show?"

"We don't have the full results, because our squad isn't handling it. But to my knowledge, it showed she wasn't raped."

It's the first bit of good news he's heard in days. "Well rapes kits don't lie."

"They do when the victim terminates the exam prematurely."

He blinks in shock. Is it possible his partner would've done such a thing? Could she have been so traumatized, so far gone, so demoralized, as to have made such a decision? Why was nobody there to intervene, to talk to her? "Were you with her when she had it done?" he asks.

Nick clearly senses the hint of an accusation. "I was just outside in the hall. She didn't want me in there and I wasn't going to push her."

"How long did it take?" He calms slightly; in his gut, he knows Nick did his best by her.

Nick grits his teeth. "Not as long as it should have."

"You think she cut it short?"

"It's exactly what I think."

He mulls this over, then says hopefully, "Maybe they have different protocol up there – where were you, Nassau County?"

Amaro's face is full of doubt. "It's possible. Look, Stabler." His eyes are dark, penetrating. But also truthful, and full of compassion for the person they have in common. "She didn't want to have it done at all. I talked her into it. But I couldn't force her to complete it. I did what I could."

"I know," he says quietly. "I guess I just never expected she would refuse it."

Nick shakes his head sadly. "I hear you. But I could see…. she was devastated. She was broken. All the rules she had in her head about getting justice, about doing the right thing…. they were out the window. She couldn't deal with it. She was in pain and the priority was getting her medical help. I was going to pursue it, but I realized it's all well and good to talk strangers into it, but when it's your own partner, you have to put her ahead of the case."

"You don't have to defend yourself. I would've done the same thing."

"Okay." He takes in a sharp breath, opens his mouth again, but hesitates.

"What is it?"

"Well, there's one more thing." He pauses. "She told us he took her gun and badge from her right at the beginning, when they were still in her apartment. He had his own gun that he used to threaten her with, but he kept hers in his pants as a spare the whole time."

"Okay…"

"By the time she gave her statement the next day, she was completely lucid. She described the whole four days. She was very detailed, very articulate. She told the story using words like, 'the suspect' instead of 'he' or 'Lewis.' She didn't editorialize, didn't stray from the facts."

"Sounds like she was trying to put up a stoic façade."

"She was. But her memory turned out to be spot on. As far as we could tell, the first ninety-five-odd hours were spent exactly as she described them, verbatim. Her badge was found in his shirt pocket, right where she said it would be."

"Okay…"

"Well, she gave us all these details. Where things were, what he did with them. Which objects he had, when. What he used to burn her with, how many seconds he pressed various objects down on her skin, even which hand he used. How long he waited before he started a new round of… burning. What he did with the discarded cigarette butts. Some of them were absolutely gruesome details, but she was completely detached. It was like she was testifying in court about another case, and she'd been prepped really well."

"That sounds like her. Always professional."

"She doesn't understand that sometimes it's okay to be a little human," Nick says quietly, his eyes trained on his Coke, his voice suddenly layered with raw emotion.

"She takes pride in being strong."

Nick looks up. "Stabler, I know. I'm not trying to judge or to criticize. I know you love her. So please believe me, my only motive is to help her. I was only giving you this background for context."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she gave us this cogent, detailed, story. But then….she couldn't tell us what happened to her gun."

"Didn't she take it back from him once she'd subdued him?"

"That's the thing: she says she doesn't remember."

"With the state she was in, that could very well be."

"It's possible," Nick says skeptically. "But it's also possible that's what she wants us to think."

"Are you suggesting she faked this catatonic state she was in when you got there in order to cover something up?"

Nick shakes his head vociferously. "Absolutely not. Nobody could fake that."

"So then what are you getting at?"

"I'm not really sure, to be honest. All I know is, her story checked out, detail for detail, right up to the point where she was asked what happened to her gun."

"So what did happen to her gun?"

"That's just it. We don't know. It's missing."