The eleven minutes it takes A.D.A Barba to arrive seem to be agony for Olivia. Elliot sits on a bench on her right, watching helplessly as she rocks herself, her forearms digging into her thighs, her hands clasping her triceps in a death grip, as if she's freezing. Her face is white.
"Liv," he says gently. "It's gonna be okay. Whatever he says, it's gonna be okay." He is curious himself. He doubts this is about the gun; it's been less than twenty-four hours since he and Amaro gave it to Cragen, and he knows Cragen wouldn't have handed it over to the DA's office without proper due diligence.
"No, it's not. I have a bad feeling."
"It could be good news."
Folded over herself nearly completely on the bench, she exhales forcefully, clutching her knees. "It's not."
He puts a palm on her back. "Is he a good guy, this Barba?"
"He's the best," she murmurs.
He doesn't know if she means as a prosecutor or as a person. "Yeah? Do you trust him?"
She sits back up fully to face him. "Completely."
He takes her hand in his, searching her eyes. "I'm glad." He scoots closer to her on the bench. "You sure you want me to stay, because I can go take a walk for a little – "
And now she pulls his wrist into her lap, cupping it with both hands, as if to trap it. "Yes, I'm sure. Please don't make me say it again."
When Barba does arrive, it feels like an hour has gone by. He disentangles himself from her to stand up and shake the young man's hand. "Elliot," he states. "Olivia's old – "
"Partner," the man finishes. "Yes, I've heard a lot about you. Rafael Barba."
"Nice to meet you."
The pleasantries over, Barba looks down at Olivia, who has remained seated on the bench without greeting him, her hands now bound tightly together between her knees, bracing herself. The A.D.A. plunks himself down next to her, on her left. "Liv, how're you doing?"
She directs her remarks at the ground. "Just tell me, Rafael. You didn't schlep here in person to tell me he decided to plead guilty and take a life sentence. What's going on?"
"Actually, you're not far off."
She whips her head up. "What are you talking about?"
"He says he wants to plead guilty."
"What's the catch?"
Elliot holds his breath, struck by her cynicism.
"There apparently is none."
But instead of taking the news at face value, she scoffs. "With Lewis, there's always a catch. Tell me exactly what he wants to do."
"He's offered to plead guilty to kidnapping, attempted murder, and … "
She pounces on his hesitation. She sits up straight as an arrow, pivoting to her left to face Barba, her back now to Elliot. "And what?"
It's Barba's turn to not meet her eyes. "To rape and sodomy."
"No." She practically spits the word, firm in her lack of equivocation.
"Olivia – "
"Absolutely not. He didn't rape me. And he didn't sodomize me."
Elliot touches her forearm. "Liv, maybe you should consider – "
She shrugs him off. "You don't get it. He knows he's facing a life sentence anyway. This way, he gets to allocute. He's going to fabricate an elaborate story and stand up and tell it in open court, just to humiliate me."
Barba sighs. "You might be right. But I have to be honest with you. It's going to be tough to convince my boss to spend taxpayer dollars on a trial under these circumstances."
"He didn't rape me." Her voice is mechanical, but Elliot can detect the undertone of a quiver.
The A.D.A searches her eyes, then seems to regroup. "Okay. Then let me ask you this. You were okay with the attempted rape charge, correct?"
She contemplates the question. "Not really, but I could live with it. But not this."
Barba makes brief eye contact with Elliot, before readdressing Olivia. "Did he, attempt to rape you?"
Elliot's ears are perked up, hoping for clues as to what she's thinking. To whether she's in deep denial, or genuinely doesn't remember. He is also, perhaps unrealistically, still holding out hope that he and Amaro are wrong about the gun. About the panties. His mind wanders guiltily to the Ziploc bag in the back of his sock drawer, where he's stored the other piece of evidence, just in case it's needed. He and Amaro had no choice about turning in the gun, but the panties are a different story.
"He threatened to," she says. "Repeatedly. It's different from attempting."
"But he never went through with it."
"No."
"Because you fought him off, or because he didn't try?"
"Because … he didn't try."
Elliot flinches. He can tell when she's lying. But he doesn't say anything; it's no longer his role to tease out the truth at any cost.
"Why do you think that is?" Barba asks. Elliot wonders whether Barba believes her.
Olivia looks up. "Because he was enjoying the threat of it too much. It was fun for him, to make me dread it."
"Were you conscious the entire time?"
She pretends to be annoyed, but Elliot can see that she is rattled. "What?"
"I mean, you had three documented blows to the head that resulted in a serious concussion. Plus half-a-dozen controlled substances that we know of, streaming through your veins, and round the clock alcohol. You were dehydrated, you weren't being fed. Isn't it possible that while you were unconscious he – "
Elliot doesn't need to see her face to know that she is at her breaking point.
"Look," she says, with manufactured ferocity. "He wasn't interested in raping me. He was interested in humiliating me. Raping me while I was unconscious wouldn't have furthered that goal."
"Wouldn't it?"
Elliot holds his breath. What is Barba hinting at? Does he have his own information? Or is he just expressing the same incredulousness that everyone else has: why wouldn't Lewis have raped her?
"What are you saying, Rafael?" Olivia challenges.
Barba holds her gaze for several seconds.
Finally, the young man breaks his silence. "Just, that, of the dozens of women he's known to have assaulted, you would be the first he didn't rape."
Elliot freezes. Barba has stated the obvious, but the bluntness still feels like a gut punch.
Elliot is still staring at her back, but he knows that Barba's words have disarmed her. Even from behind, he can tell that her body language has changed; she is trying to keep it together. He reaches out to her, wanting to lay a palm on the back of her shoulder, but changes his mind midair, anticipating a startle reflex that might embarrass her in front of the A.D.A. Instead, he scoots closer to her on the bench. "Liv," he says quietly, talking to her back.
With his message delivered, Barba knows he's overstayed his welcome. "Look, Olivia. I don't have to make any decisions until tomorrow. Will you at least sleep on this?"
"He didn't rape me. He doesn't get to have that."
Barba catches Elliot's eye, looking for help. Elliot tries his best to oblige. "Liv, it can't hurt to take the night to think it ov – "
"Elliot, stay out of this," she snaps. She jumps to her feet, such as she's able to, and stalks away from them, to the edge of the path, pressing her stomach against the railing, leaning in to the river. With her back to them, she bends forward against the railing, hugging it to her body under each arm. Her chin is tucked and her shoulders heave. She is starting to break down, and doesn't want them to see.
Barba, too, gets to his feet, and calls softly, talking to her back, "I'll leave you alone. Please take care of yourself, Olivia. I'm sorry for upsetting you."
Elliot nods slowly at Barba. He will not say anything to undermine her. "It was nice to meet you."
Barba shoots Elliot a look of warning. This could get ugly. He shakes Elliot's hand slowly, sizing him up. Then he leans over, whispers, "Is it just me, or is she walking funny?"
He sits for ten full minutes on the bench as Olivia stands a few yards in front of him at the railing, facing the river. He knows from the way her shoulders convulse that she is weeping, and probably hoping that the river is drowning out the sounds.
He gives her her space. But as the wind picks up, he feels a droplet of water splatter on his head. And then another. The sun is only starting to set, and straight ahead the horizon is pink, but when he looks left, towards the south, the sky above the Statue of Liberty is jet black.
The rain comes too suddenly for them to react. One minute there is a smattering of drops, the next they are drenched. The sky lights up in a jagged white line. And then comes the spectacular crash.
"Liv, we should get out of here."
She is still crumpled over against the railing, unfazed by the onset of the storm.
"I need to be alone right now."
He stands up, but stays several feet behind her. His shoes are already heavy with water. "We're getting soaked."
"Then go inside."
He swipes at his face, trying to get the water out of his eyes. It's a futile exercise. "You know I'm not going to leave you out here."
"It's just a fucking thunderstorm, Elliot. I've survived a lot worse."
He is still talking to her back. Her sky blue top, now heavy with water, clings to her skin. Her hair gathers in dripping clumps at the nape of her neck.
Once again, her phone rings. Irritated, she turns to the side and pulls it out of her pocket, glaring at the screen.
"Brian."
Elliot watches her face in profile. She talks in stilted, hostile sentences.
"How's Philly. Fine. Brian, stop asking me that. Nothing's wrong. I'm tired. There's a thunderstorm, I've got the window open, it's loud. Yeah, okay, see you Sunday." She ends the call, which has lasted all of fifteen seconds.
She pauses, clutching the railing with her splinted left hand and the phone in her right. Still parallel to the railing, she starts to bend over toward the brick-layered walking path, huffing and puffing as if having just completed a sprint. She is fighting hard to stay in control. She ignores the torrential rain, still pummeling both of them.
Elliot takes a step towards her, hoping to convince her to come indoors.
But before he has a chance to get to her, she again turns her back on him. And then she winds up her good arm and hurls her phone into the river.
"Liv!"
With that done, she spins back around and slinks to the soaking ground, hugging her knees to her chin, her back against the short brick wall on which the railing is mounted. She sobs uncontrollably.
He takes a seat on the ground next to her, barely missing a puddle, and pulls her sideways into his arms.
She slumps into him, and cries and cries.
He holds her for fifteen minutes, during which twilight drifts to dusk, and dozens of rounds of thunder and lightning electrify the sky. The rain only seems to get heavier, but they're both already saturated with water, and he knows, ultimately, that the storm won't hurt them. This is what she needs right now.
Like most summer thunderstorms, the worst of it is short lived. When the rain finally starts to abate, so too does Olivia begin to calm down. He waits for her to gather herself, to communicate that she's ready. When she pulls away, she looks up at him as if surprised that he's here at all, and splays her palm flat against his chest. "Look at you, you're soaked to the bone."
"I'll live."
"Yeah." She offers a weak smile.
He takes her wrist in his hand, gently pries her hand away, the tip of his thumb rubbing her palm. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah."
He starts to muster to his feet, but she lags back, instead looking up at him, her eyes gleaming against the foggy streetlamp's illumination. "I never thanked you for saving my life."
He shrugs it off. "You saved mine plenty of times. I owed you one."
"I'm serious. They told me at the hospital how close it was. If you wouldn't have been there …."
"And if not for your quick thinking, Stuckey would've killed me."
She takes a beat to register the memory. "Jesus, Stuckey. Forgot about him."
He snorts. "I sure didn't. You were brilliant that day. Can you imagine the humiliation, of being killed by that clown?"
At this, a cloud passes over her face, and her chin drops. "There are worse humiliations, El." Her voice is barely audible above the wind, the waves.
He feels terrible. Just when she seemed to be regaining some sense of equilibrium. "Liv, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I wasn't thinking."
She hangs her head in shame. "I can't let him plead guilty, El. I just can't."
Because it wouldn't be true, or because you can't bear everyone knowing? "You're sure about this?"
"Yes."
"Then tell Barba no. I didn't get the sense he would go against your wishes, when push came to shove."
Fuck it, he thinks. Whatever happened to her, this is not the forum to force her to confront it. She's had enough guns pointed at her head.
Her eyes flood with fresh tears. "Thank you for supporting me. I know you don't necessarily … agree with the decision."
"You know, Liv, I think everybody supports you."
"Maybe," she says, belying her doubt. "But I think you're the only one who does so unconditionally."
He doesn't know what to say to that. He's touched that she thinks so, but such satisfaction is selfish. Because it's not true, what she's saying: He is quite certain that everyone in her life – her partner, her squad, her boss, her boyfriend, the A.D.A – would do anything to help her. They only wish they knew how.
Sucking in a deep, shaky breath, she finally takes in her surroundings, as if seeing them for the first time. "I can't believe you got this drenched for me."
He laughs, grateful she seems to have moved on from his careless remark. He scrambles to his feet, then holds out a hand, helps hoist her up too. "Shall we go find a cab?"
Back on Chambers, they luck out as a yellow cab screeches to a halt in front of the highrise apartment building where they're standing. Elliot stands on the curb as the previous passenger pays the cabbie, but Olivia hangs back under the building's glass awning, looking on worriedly. "I, uh… I don't want to go back to Brian's."
His heart stops. "Well, do you want to get something to eat?"
"That's … not what I meant. I, uh … don't want to spend the night alone."
"Then stay over at my place," he says without hesitation.
"I can't kick you out of your bed again."
He holds up an index finger to the cabbie – one second – and goes to her. "Liv, it's okay. I sleep fine on the couch." He's lying – the couch is too short to accommodate him, and he's bound to toss and turn on it – but he doubts she knows this.
"Would you – " But she clamps her mouth shut. "Never mind."
He closes the space between them. "What, Liv?"
"Nothing. Maybe let's go to your place, and order some food?"
"You got it."