Elliot finds her parked on the third step from the landing between the squadroom's floor and the one beneath it, clutching the cast iron banister pole with both hands for dear life. She is sobbing with abandon. The stairwell is full of echoes, and the sound permeates the full vertical expanse of the chamber, down to the ground floor. But she makes no effort to rein it in. There's no spare energy for modesty.

He takes a seat six steps up from her, about halfway up the flight. She knows he's there, but she doesn't tell him to leave. Maybe she finds his presence comforting, or maybe she doesn't have the strength to.

Finally letting go of the banister, she crumples forward, her face muffled between her knees, and chokes into her lap one hiccuppy wail after the other.

After some time has passed, he speaks. "I can't begin to imagine how hard that must've been."

She sucks in deep, shivery breaths. "I kept thinking … she was talking … about someone else."

"That's understandable."

"I mean, it's not like I've never stood in that exact spot and listened to a story like that."

"I know."

"But she was talking about me. Me!"

"It might take some time to sink in."

She continues to cry. He lets her do so in peace, sensing she wants the bit of space.

"But the gap in my memory … " She struggles through a hiccup. " … That's the part … the idea that I could just … excise it all like that."

"It was too traumatic. Your mind was protecting you." He pauses. "And some of it was probably the drugs and alcohol, too."

"What am I gonna do, Elliot?" She tries to inject the question with interrogatory inflection, but it comes off as a bleat. And then comes a fresh torrent of tears.

"You're going to recover." He knows the question was rhetorical.

She suppresses it, just for a second, as if to process the response. But she can't hold it in. She takes in several rapid breaths, and breaks down again.

He slides himself down to where she is, and puts one arm around her shoulders, the other across her midsection. She lets him pull her in. He leans sideways, bumps his cheek against hers. "Shhh …. Shhh…."

"Why didn't I hit him harder?" she wails. "He woke up! He woke up! How could I let that happen?"

"Your hands were handcuffed together and you had a fractured wrist. It's a wonder you were able to swing at all."

Nearly twenty minutes elapse before Elliot hears the door above him creak open. He doesn't have to turn around to know it's Cragen. His former boss stands at the top of the stairwell, looking down at their backs, contemplating what to say.

After letting a few seconds pass, Cragen clears his throat, just loudly enough to get her attention.

"Olivia." He keeps his voice low, relying on the acoustics to carry it down the flight.

She stiffens, wiggles away, retakes hold of the banister pole with one hand. She does her best to suppress the outflow of raw emotion. But she clutches the pole in a death grip.

"I need to ask you. Have you been …" Cragen pauses again, checks himself. "Have you had any medical attention since this happened? And I don't mean the patch job they gave you at that county hospital in Long Island."

"Captain, I just spent two days at Mount Sinai."

"I'm not talking about your lungs."

She's silent.

"Olivia." Cragen's voice is stern, but compassionate. "I'm sorry, but I need an answer."

"No." It's barely a peep, but Cragen hears her.

"Okay," he says gently. "I'm going to call the hospital right now, and tell them to expect you within the hour."

"Captain, it can wait."

"No, it can't."

"I'm fine," she pleads, her voice breaking. "Elliot, tell him."

"You're not fine," Elliot says softly. "You can't walk properly."

She doesn't respond. He wonders, now, what she thought the pain was, every time she took a step. Or was she too numb to feel it?

"Also," Cragen continues. "Second thing. You're not to spend the next four nights by yourself."

"But – "

"If you don't feel comfortable staying with anyone, you're free to make use of the hotel room the Department is paying for. Invite any guest you like to stay with you, but if you must stay alone, then l'll arrange for an officer to sit outside your door each night, and they'll be instructed to check on you every few hours. And yes, I will check." He pauses, but not long enough to let her protest. "Finally. If you haven't already, you need to find a therapist and start counseling immediately. None of this is optional."

She takes it all in, seemingly resigned. "Okay." She doesn't move.

"Hospital," Cragen reminds softly.

"Will you … will you at least tell me the rest of what Viva said?"

"Liv, I think you've had enough for one day."

"Please, Captain. It's killing me that I don't remember this. I have to know what happened to me."

Cragen sighs. He takes a seat on the top step. "She said you insisted on putting your clothes back on. She tried to tell you that your clothes were too ripped but you said you didn't care. She had to help you get dressed."

"Oh ... God."

"Liv, I really think – "

"No, please. Please. I need to know."

Cragen continues. "She told her daughter to refill the glass of water, but you freaked out when she tried to offer it to you. She gave it to her daughter and told her to put it back in the kitchen, and also bring her the phone and some safety pins."

"Safety pins?"

Cragen hesitates. "Your clothes … were ripped."

At this, she lets go of the pole and crosses her arms across her body, leaning forward. She takes in several breaths, and swallows forcefully. "Please, keep going."

"When her daughter came back with the phone, she told you to call 9-1-1. But you told her you didn't need to call, because you were the police."

"Why didn't she call herself?"

"Well, she's scared of the authorities. She didn't want them to hear her accent on the phone. She was worried they'd call ICE if they found her there."

Olivia shakes her head in dismay. "Because I'd threatened that ICE was after her."

"No, because she's always afraid of ICE." He pauses. "She wanted to get her daughter out of there, too."

"Why didn't she just go then?"

"Because she was worried that Lewis would wake up and attack you again. She didn't want to leave you alone until you called."

"But … there was a gun. And I said I was a police officer. She must've known I could handle him."

"You – " Cragen stops.

"What?" she demands. "I what?"

Elliot knows exactly what Cragen's going to say before he says it.

"She didn't think you were lucid enough to handle a gun."

She gasps. "Oh … God."

Elliot reaches over, rubs her back.

"That poor woman," she chokes out. "And that little girl …"

"Liv," Cragen says quietly. "She and her daughter came out of this without a scratch on them."

"Yeah, but – "

"I'm frankly much more concerned about you right now."

For once, she doesn't try to insist that she's fine. Instead, she says after a moment, "Tell me what happened next?"

"Well, you wanted to clean up in the bathroom. She tried to convince you to stay on the bed, that you were bleeding too hard, but you insisted. She had to help you walk across the room."

"Jesus. Oh God… Oh, God." She takes in several rapid breaths, plants her face deep between her knees.

Next to her, Elliot rubs her back in slow circles. "Shhh … shhh …."

"H-how long was she there for?"

When Cragen doesn't answer right away, she pleads, "Please. Just tell me. I have to know."

"She stayed with you for over an hour."

She gasps sharply, shivering as she exhales. "An hour? What, um, what was I doing that whole time?"

"She said you were mumbling a lot. You kept pointing at the rod on the floor. She didn't understand most of it, but she thought you might be planning to kill him."

At this, she gives a short laugh. "That's kind of how I remember it." She pauses. "I guess she disapproved."

Cragen chuckles. "On the contrary. She was disappointed to find out he was still alive. She just didn't want her daughter to be exposed to that. And she definitely didn't want to be implicated in a crime."

"Her daughter," Olivia says, as if just recalling the fourth presence in the room. "That makes sense. But, so … why didn't she make me call?"

"She tried. She kept putting the phone in your hand and dialing, and holding it up to your ear, but you wouldn't say a word. 9-1-1 dispatch log shows six calls made from that house over sixty-six minutes, all of which listed caller hung up."

Elliot whips his head around, glares at Cragen.

Cragen nods, acknowledging the implicit accusation. "Trust me, there's an active investigation as to why nobody in that call center thought that was a red flag, seeing as how every law enforcement officer in the Tri-State Area was looking for you."

But this is not where Olivia's focus is. "How did she eventually get me to call?"

"Well, she finally realized she would have to call herself, because she couldn't keep her daughter there any longer, and she was terrified that Lewis was going to wake up. But for whatever reason, you seemed to gain a bit of awareness right then. She doesn't know why, but my guess is that some of the more toxic drugs in your system were starting to wear off. In any event, you told her you would call."

"Thank God. That poor woman. So that's when I finally called?"

Even without seeing his face, she senses Cragen's split second of hesitation. "What?" she demands. "What other delusional thing did I do?"

"Liv – " Elliot starts.

"Please tell me the truth."

Cragen sighs. "Right as you were about to call, you noticed your gun on the side table, and you tried to reach for it. She stopped you, but you told her you weren't going to use it, you wanted to get rid of it. She tried to convince you to call 9-1-1 first, but you insisted you had to get rid of it first. She told you she'd do it for you, if you agreed to call first."

"And she did it?" Olivia is incredulous. "I was telling her to … to … conceal evidence!"

Cragen chuckles. "Well, despite your condition, she was still nervous about disobeying a police officer. And you can be very persuasive."

Olivia plants her forehead in her palms, shakes her head in disbelief. "I hope she … she's not going to get into any trouble for that, will she? I mean, it should be me who – "

Cragen scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous. You are certainly not in any trouble here. And as for her, I'm going to arrange for her to receive some kind of formal recognition for heroism. And, hopefully, a permanent visa."

"Thank you. That's so good to hear." She pauses, apparently fixated on the closure of the 9-1-1 call. "Please tell me that that's when I finally called?"

"Seems so. She waited for you to start talking to the dispatcher, and then she took her daughter and went outside and buried the gun in the ditch along the property line. She said her daughter liked to play around there, and she knew it wouldn't wash up. And then she left. She was paranoid that ICE really might be after her, and so she took her daughter and went to her brother-in-law's and has been hiding out there since that day."

Olivia's quiet for several seconds, processing everything she's just heard. "Is she still here? Can I thank her?"

"Another day. Amaro just left to take her home."

She absorbs the information. "Well does she know that I never would've tipped off ICE?"

"She knows."

When a full minute has elapsed, Cragen beseeches her from above. "Please go to the hospital, Olivia."

"Come," Elliot says, nudging her. "I'll go with you."

"Okay. Okay, but wait. Captain, one more thing."

"What is it?" His tone is ever-patient.

"I just have to know. Are you … are you going to let me back?"

"Let you back … what?"

"To work."

"Let you? I expect you to come back."

"But – "

Cragen sighs. "We don't fire people for being the victim of a crime, Olivia. I thought you knew that."

"I know, but, come on, I mean – "

"Stop, please," Cragen says. "All right, look. Give me one minute. I'll be right back."

Behind him, Elliot hears the exit door above him screech open, and Cragen scurries out. He sits with her on the step, waiting, as curious as she is. A minute later, Cragen returns, and trots down the steps, squeezing by them on the third-to-last stair, and reaches the landing in front of them. He turns around to face them. In his hand is a large white business envelope.

"I was going to wait for the right time to give this to you," Cragen says. "But this seems like the right time." He offers her the envelope.

Olivia accepts it with trepidation. "What's this?"

Cragen looks disappointed. "You're not even going to open it?"

"Please, just tell me."

Cragen's face breaks out in a smile. "Congratulations, Sergeant."

Olivia looks up in shock. "I passed?"

Cragen cocks his head. "Of course you passed. What kind of question is that?"

On her left, Elliot grasps her by the shoulders, shakes enthusiastically. "Hey, hey! How about that!"

But Olivia looks completely overwhelmed. She musters to get to her feet, her movements slow and clunky, and tries to compose herself, strike an air of decorum. "Thank you." She looks away, trying to keep from crying.

"Olivia." Cragen pauses, shifting awkwardly. He tentatively reaches forward, and pulls her into a loose hug. "Take all the time you need. Just please take care of yourself."

And Elliot sees it: There are tears in Cragen's eyes too.

"I will, thank you, Captain."

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself."

In the stairwell, Elliot helps Olivia descend the steps. She now visibly hobbles as she walks, taking one step at a time, like a toddler. She is in a daze.

They reach the ground floor, and Elliot pushes open the heavy door to the outside. He squints as the brilliant summer sunshine hits him, still excessively bright at six-thirty in the evening.

"I don't know why he thinks I can't be by myself," she mutters, as she passes the threshold. She takes a single step onto the pavement, and suddenly buckles. "Ahhhh!"

He catches her as she stumbles forward, folding into his outstretched arm as she hisses in pain.

"That's why," he deadpans. He waits for her to steady herself. "What happened?"

"Something …. ahh… snapped … ahh…. " She remains doubled over, pressing into the arm he's latched around her midsection.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah… yeah." She takes a step forward, limping heavily.

He takes her by the armpits, taking some weight. He frowns. "Is this really the first time you're feeling any pain … like that?"

She pauses. "No," she admits. "It's been sporadic, and not as sharp. I thought it was stress."

"But you weren't …." He winces, thinking how to say it. "… bleeding at all?"

"I just thought it was an early per- " A beat passes, and her eyes widen in abject horror. "H-h-h-oh. Oh… oh …. NO, NO. Oh no oh no oh no. Oh God, oh God what if … what if…. "

All at once every muscle in her body slackens, and down she goes, hyperventilating before she's even halfway to the ground. "Oh my God. Oh my God!"

"Shhh shhh shhh, don't panic, don't panic!" He catches her as she descends, moving with her in sync, taking all her weight as she collapses. "It's unlikely, it's so so unlikely." They make it to the sidewalk together. "Breathe. Breathe. Shhh…. it's okay. It's so unlikely."

He holds her tightly with both arms, as they sit in the middle of the sidewalk. She burrows her face into his chest, weeping uncontrollably. Passing pedestrians look on curiously, some with visible concern. She doesn't notice.

"What if … I can't …. Oh God, what if… I-I I …"

"They'll give you a pregnancy test as soon as you get to the hospital," he reminds her. "You'll know today. Don't panic. It's gonna be okay, Liv."

But she's completely hysterical, unable to process anything beyond the sheer possibility.

He clutches her as close as he can. He strokes her hair, trying to soothe. "Let's just go get you the test," he tries again. "It's gonna be negative, I know it. Save the tears for something else."

"I can't … oh my God, I c-can't. What if … what if, oh my God, what if … "

"It's so so unlikely, honey. The sooner you get the test, the sooner – "

But she is inconsolable. "It happens, Elliot." Her face is now sunken nearly into his lap.

He strokes her tricep. "Your mother was in her twenties, Liv."

She processes the response. And then, amidst the flow of tears, finally, comes a short, muffled laugh. "Are you calling me old?"

"Plead the Fifth," he says. He waits, feeling a measure of calm sweep over her. He cups both of her arms, gently lifts her shoulders from out of his lap. "Come," he says. "You'll feel better after you hear it's negative."