Hello and happy new year! This update is a little different than usual. I started out writing this chapter backwards- aka I wrote the last scene first. By the time I worked my way to the beginning, it was way too long for just one chapter. So you can consider this chapter 53a, and 53b will be coming in a few days. And no, you will never get two updates in a week again, so don't even ask.

A/N: nothing too disturbing, but it's not really sunshine and roses either. It's basically Bensidy Talks About Serious Stuff. I promise you, part B *will* be sunshine and roses and happy bensidy and happy EO. I know, it's weird for me too. Title and quotes from song for someone by U2.

I love you all. I love comments. Thank you so much :) I am ridiculously blessed to have people who actually read and enjoy my ramblings.

{You've got eyes that can see right through me
you're not afraid of anything they've seen}

"Hey. Liv?"

You look up when Brian says your name after a few minutes of silence, once your breathing has evened out and the tears have stopped. "Yeah? I'm sorry, I prom-"

"You don't need to be sorry, babe, we're good. I mean it." He shifts uncomfortably, reaching for his shoulder joint until it makes that popping sound you hate. "I was just gonna tell you that, uh, that Barba called. That's why I came home early."

"Wait, what? What'd he say? Why'd he do that?" He had told you he wasn't one to gossip, and you trusted him, but you're also starting to realize that maybe Barba has sides to him that you've never seen.

"Sssh, it's okay. All he said was that you guys had been discussing the sentencing, and that you might want someone to talk to. That's all."

You let go of the breath you've been holding, grateful to Barba for not only keeping your secret, but also for phrasing it as diplomatically as he did. 'You might want someone to talk to' was preferable to what he was probably thinking- that Brian should go make sure you weren't sitting on a ledge somewhere surrounded by empty bottles. "Oh. Yeah?"

"Yeah. So...do you?" he asks gently. "He told me you don't wanna do the interview with the PO-"

"And let me guess, he wants you to convince me I'm making a mistake. Tell him I said he can go to hell-"

"Hey, no. I'm on your side here, okay? I'm not trying to change your mind about anything. If you decide not to, I'll support whatever you choose."

"No matter what I do, I'm fucked. Again. And I'm so goddamn tired of this." You pluck a tissue from the box on the table and start shredding it into tiny pieces. Admittedly, there's a part of you that wants to confront him, to stare him down and say I know what you did. To make sure he can't go on gloating to himself about how he managed to pull one over on you after all this time, after planting a trail of verbal breadcrumbs and daring you to remember. You think about the trial, about 'we never had sex together, did we?' and 'we still hadn't had sex at this point?', about his oh-so-generous offer of a plea deal. You stand by what you said, that rape isn't sex and you never had sex with him. But that wasn't why he was asking. He was testing you, dangling hints right before your eyes and stopping just short of spelling it all out because he wanted you to remember. Right there, right in that moment in front of a room full of people, because he knew it would break you and the only thing more traumatic than remembering would be to do it in front of an audience.

So you want him to know that he didn't win; at least not this round. But you know that you can't bring up new information at a sentencing in the first place, and that even if you could, he'd turn it right back on you. «we drank together, we took drugs together, we played with each other sexually...she wanted all of it.»

And the worst part of all is- you're not even sure that you have the strength to argue anymore.

"I understand, you know," Brian says, and you wish he did. God, how you wish he did. "I mean, I get why you wouldn't want to. It's not like there's anything you can say that's gonna make him feel bad about what he did. And you can't just say 'oh, I'm fine, everything's great' cause no one would believe it anyway, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction of...he wants you to have to keep thinking about it, talking about it."

"Yes! Exactly! Why doesn't anyone else get that? And why don't they get it when I say I'm done? I reported it, I told them everything, I went to court and testified, I've repeated the whole story to I don't know how many doctors and therapists and if the judge can't figure out by now whether or not this affected me...then I give up. I'm done. Barba should just be grateful I've played along up until now. Better than last time, right? I should get a fucking medal."

"Better than...oh. Before."

"It wasn't a big deal," you remind him quickly. "Just a few bruises. Fin got there before he could...nothing happened."

"Doesn't really sound like 'nothing' if you still got hurt." He's not arguing, just putting it out there gently and then waiting to see if you'll reply.

"But it wasn't...he didn't rape me- I mean, not that I. I wasn't. Not then, not...ever."

"I know, babe. All I'm saying is, he still hurt you and you're still allowed to be upset about it because it shouldn't have happened."

"It shouldn't have," you agree. "But it did, because I wasn't thinking and I fucked up, and then I fucked up again by not saying anything about it. But I couldn't. I know it makes me even more of a coward but I couldn't."

"Why couldn't you? Were you afraid they'd blame you for it?"

"I blamed me for it! I shouldn't...I let him get me alone, in a locked room where no one could hear-"

"Hey, wait," he says, reaching for the hand that's resting on your thigh and intertwining his fingers with yours. "You let him? Like you just voluntarily walked off with him? Cause I find that hard to believe."

"Well...no. I mean, I was handcuffed...but I should've known something was wrong, I should've figured out that he was...by the time I realized what was going on, it was too late. And I tried to fight him off but I couldn't. I couldn't do anything but scream," you say, face flushed with embarrassment as you look down at your lap.

"What were you supposed to do, babe? I'm not saying you can't defend yourself, because I know you can, but it's pretty damn hard to fight off a full grown man when you're cuffed and unarmed."

"What was I supposed to do...I don't know, how about anything? Can you believe I didn't- I never even tried to tell him I was a cop. Maybe if I had, he wouldn't have..."

Brian sighs, leaning over so that his head is level with yours. "Most likely? He wouldn't have believed you anyway. Or if he did- he could've freaked out because he knew he'd been caught and he would've killed you right there. Liv, you did what you were supposed to, you held him off until backup came. There's nothing else you could've done."

"I could've not gotten into that situation in the first place. I don't know why, what I was thinking- I'd completely let my guard down. It's like I forgot I was playing a role, I was supposed to be there to rescue those women and I ended up being the one who had to be rescued."

"It happens. Trust me, babe, I know. You get in that headspace and you almost don't know who you are anymore. But that doesn't give someone else the right to- to try and hurt you like that."

"It doesn't matter. I still would've...I couldn't deal with the thought of everyone second guessing me, asking why I didn't do this or that differently," you say. "Chrissakes, I'm a fucking cop. Who would trust me to do my job after that?"

"You thought you'd get in trouble for it? With who? I mean, Fin obviously didn't think it was your fault, right? Cause I'm pretty sure he would've said something if he did, if he thought you couldn't be trusted out there. And Cragen...he knows you. He'd take on anyone who'd say you can't do the job. So..." He pauses. "Oh. You didn't want Elliot to find out."

"I told him the same thing I told everyone...that the guard, he cuffed me and threatened to- yeah. That there was a struggle and then Fin came. And I think he knew I was leaving something out but...I was afraid," you admit. "I was afraid that if he knew the whole story, he wouldn't want me anymore. As a partner and..."

"Oh Liv...man. I think he's a dick, yeah, but he's not that much of a dick. Seriously, he'd never...and if I'm defending him, it's gotta be serious, huh?"

That gets a small chuckle out of you, but it's short lived. "I...it's complicated."

"I'm not trying to second guess you or whatever, promise. It's not my place to tell you that you're right or wrong, and it's in the past. I just don't want you to think that...you have a lot of people who love you, and we'd always have your back. Whether you think you deserve it or not."

"I know. But I...I still couldn't." It was hard enough as it was, trying to quash that guilty little voice that said you were a coward and a hypocrite who had no right to preach the virtues of honesty to others while keeping your own demons hidden. But you also knew that once you came clean, especially to Elliot, that it would only be the beginning. Because he wouldn't be able to let it go at that, and if he tried to convince you to report it, you didn't think you'd be able to let him down a second time by saying no (that is, assuming he hadn't already gone out to Rikers and let his fists solve the problem. And after what happened with Lewis, that seems like the most likely scenario). "I just wanted to forget. I didn't want to talk to anybody about anything."

"Did it work?"

"Kinda. Elliot kept pushing for a while, you know how he is, but then one day I really went off on him and he just...stopped." Whether that was what you truly wanted from him- you weren't sure then and you're still not sure now. "Eli was just a baby, so he had a lot going on and that made it easier to keep him-" You mimic pushing something away. "And then there was this guy I'd been seeing- well. We'd been dating for a few months, but it already wasn't working before that. He wanted things to move way too fast, he wanted something serious when I just wanted...anyway. It wasn't going to last much longer one way or another, and he didn't get why all of a sudden I just...shut down, but I had no idea. How the hell are you supposed to explain that to someone who doesn't even understand the job?"

He shakes his head knowingly. "It's tough. Because they don't get it."

"Yeah. And I think it's worse for women. When men get hurt, it's almost like this tough guy badge of honor, but when it's a woman getting hurt...it's that she was in over her head, that she can't cut it in a boy's world." For you, it'd been your first serious reality check that no matter how hard you tried, no matter what you told yourself- you weren't an equal after all. Sure, an unarmed handcuffed man could've struggled to fend him off the same as you did. But it wasn't a man in your place, because that's not what Harris was after. what do you want? what every man wants, and you're going to give it to me. And in that moment, everything you thought you knew about yourself, every one of your mother's warnings that you thought were lies- they all came crashing down just as you did when you fell onto that dirty mattress.

He sees you bite down on your quivering bottom lip and holds out his hand in a silent invitation. "But it's not true, that you couldn't cut it. Cause even if you never told anyone, even if therapy didn't work out for you...somehow you found a way to keep going."

"And what if that's because I never told? I knew, if I decided to report it, I'd have to keep talking about it over and over again. I couldn't just get it all out and say there, now I'm done with it, and that's what I needed. To move on like it never happened. And even if I could, once it was out there...I felt so helpless. So scared and ashamed and so fucking helpless and I...I never wanted anyone to know I'd felt that way."

"I get it, babe, I get where you're coming from. I mean, I know it's different, I'm not trying to say I can ever know exactly how you feel, but I can understand it. Because after I got shot...that's exactly what it felt like. Helpless." He watches his thumb drawing circles on the back of your hand, and you're surprised he brought it up- at the time, he rarely shared anything deeper than 'this sucks,' let alone after he recovered- but you stay quiet and let him talk. "I couldn't even get out of bed to go take a piss without feeling like I was gonna pass the fuck out, remember that? And everyone wants to come visit so they can gawk at you and give you all this pity when it's just like- dude, leave me the fuck alone. Go home so I can sit here and think about how I fucked up a three year operation and my career is over."

"But it wasn't," you point out. "And you got through it."

He tilts his head up just enough so that you can make eye contact, one corner of his mouth turned up. "Know why that is? Cause of you. You're the only one who treated me normal when everyone else was...if it wasn't for you, if I'd have had to deal with my mom and sisters freaking out all by myself? Probably would've killed 'em."

The screaming in your head, the kind that reverberates off of bare concrete, suddenly stops and then begins again, this time contained within four wooden cabin walls.

It's a joke. You know it's a joke because he's laughing, and because the idea of him resorting to murder is so far beyond the realm of possibility that it can't be anything other than a joke.

That's how you know that, no matter what he says, he doesn't understand. He can't, not at all. He's not like you.

"Liv? You alright? Is there...what's wrong? Did I say- babe?"

don't tell him.

"It's...nothing, it's n-nothing."

it won't change anything. he still won't understand. won't understand *you*.

"It's not. I didn't mean to upset you, swear to God...Liv?"

he won't understand but maybe he needs to know. needs to know what kind of person you really are. maybe this is the only way to show him how deep those cracks in your soul truly run, if he finds out just how close you came.

"Yeah. Yeah...I'm. There's something I never told you."

{I was told that I would feel nothing the first time}

I killed him.

I know, I know he didn't. But I tried to kill him.

I intended to.

I thought I did.

I didn't think he was breathing. So I walked away and left him there to die.

You've got your face tucked against his neck so you don't have to look at him as you speak, shoulders quaking from the strain of every hitched breath until you can't even get enough oxygen in your lungs to cry any more. I'msorryI'msosorrypleasedon'thateme.

"Don't- what? Oh god, no. I can't hate you. I could never hate you," and you still can't see him, but you can hear his voice quavering ever so slightly.

"I know this puts you in an awful p-position, and I'm sorry. I should never have-"

"Hey. Stop," he says firmly, interrupting you before you can keep apologizing. "No one is ever going to hear a word of this from me, understand? No one."

"But I almost killed someone in cold blood!"

"So?" This gets you to look up at him, and he shakes his head. "I know you feel guilty about it, but I'm telling you- even if he'd died, nobody would blame you. If you were to stand in front of a jury and tell them what happened and then say y'know, I just snapped...I guarantee you that no sane person would judge you for it. They probably would wanna shake your hand. Because anyone else would've done the same. It doesn't make you this ruthless killer."

"No. No, God, it's not...you don't understand..."

"What don't I understand, babe? Tell me. You think I'm mad that you lied about it?"

"No. Maybe- I know I shouldn't have, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. But you don't...that's not how it happened. That's not why I..." You let out another shuddering exhale, another soft groan of frustration. "Because you're right. People would understand if I was angry, if I...snapped. But that's not why. I hated him, so fucking much, but that's not..."

"It's okay, you can tell me. I'm listening," he assures you, seemingly realizing just how much you need to get this out, how toxic it's been to keep this all inside.

I did it so no one would know.

I knew I wouldn't get away with saying nothing happened this time.

I knew that even if I did, he'd tell it all. He promised me he would.

And I couldn't let anyone find out, so he had to die.

I'd rather live with knowing I'm a murderer than admit what really happened.

My only regret is that he survived.

Now do you see why I told Barba no?

{If there is a light
you can always see
and there is a world
we can always be}

Maybe there was part of you that was testing him.

You wanted Brian to know. He needed to realize how serious this was to you, that you weren't just being obstinate with Barba for the hell of it and you certainly weren't taking your decision lightly.

But there was also part of you that wanted to see how he'd react, and part of you that wondered if he'd walk out the door.

He didn't.

He kept holding onto you; let you cry. He might have shed a tear or two himself. He kissed your forehead and told you that you're not a monster, that you're not a murderer, that he still stands by what he said about how no one would blame you. He said he had his suspicions all along, but he never brought it up because he knew you'd tell him about it when you were ready.

You feel like he understands now- well, at least more than he used to. He knows the 'why'. He doesn't know the 'what', doesn't know all the secrets that you were willing to kill to protect, but he knows enough not to ask.

Eventually he does ask if you're tired, and you say no. You're exhausted but afraid to close your eyes because you're not sure if he'll be there when you open them. So you lie, and he lies and says he's not tired either, and you curl up with your head in his lap and you stare straight ahead and no one says a word.

At some point, you give in to sleep. He's still there when you wake up, arm resting on your shoulder as he snores softly, hand clutching a blanket he must have thrown over you while you slept.

You close your eyes again. He's not going anywhere tonight.

{there is a dark
that we shouldn't doubt
and there is a light
don't let it go out}