Hello! Look, I promised the next TG chapter would be coming relatively soon, and I actually followed through this time! :D (don't expect this to ever happen again, of course).

Thank you to everyone who answered my twitter poll, except for those of you who want Brian killed off. :P He's not going to die (spoiler alert?). And thank you in general to everyone who takes the time to comment either here or there. Thank yous also for the people who read but never review (although it makes my life when people come out of hiding, even if all you do is say hi!).

A/N: nothing too brutal. Some mentions of violence (in the context of discussing a case) and some vague descriptions of consensual sex. Warnings for one-sided Barson sexual tension and a cat that looks like Hitler. Title and quotes from talk by coldplay, other quotes from the power of orange knickers by tori amos.

As before, the italicized first-person portions are from the POV of Jimmy Mac. And with that- enjoy!

{it feels like they're talking in a language I don't speak
and they're talking it to me}

First thing Monday morning, I accept an invitation from Benson to sit in on a meeting between her and ADA Rafael Barba, who she describes as "an amazing friend and an even more amazing attorney. We have a great relationship." As those who followed the William Lewis legal saga will recall, Barba himself was the prosecutor for both Lewis' May 2013 rape trial and his January 2014 trial for the kidnapping and assault of Sergeant Benson. When I ask the sergeant if she felt like this made it difficult to work with Barba or if there was any lingering resentment on her part, she assures me that their professional partnership is 'stronger than ever.'

(Barba declined a solo interview, just as he denied my multiple requests for comment during the trial itself.)

He arrives at the precinct as immaculately attired as always. Although she makes a valiant attempt to hide it, Benson has prominent dark rings under her eyes and drains no less than three cups of coffee during the hour-long meeting.

They go through a stack of pending cases in a stiff, formal manner- whether this is for my benefit or just business as usual, I don't know. I suspect the former, because the mood abruptly changes when they reach the last item on the list. A teenage boy had been rushed to the ER at Mercy with burns to the genital area and anal trauma, yet denied any sort of assault had taken place. The only piece of information they had that could even remotely be considered a lead was a cell phone video taken a week earlier in which the boy sustained a cut on the forehead while boxing with his 20 year old cousin.

"Sergeant," the ADA addresses Benson crisply, "I'm afraid we're at a dead end here. You spoke with the cousin, he said he didn't know anything about the sexual assault, and if he's not willing to keep talking- there's nothing more we can do. We don't have his DNA anywhere, Sean said his cousin's never hurt him-"

"But we have the video!"

"A video of two kids trying to impress the neighborhood girls with kickboxing moves. No one's being threatened or coerced or seriously injured- I can't use that as evidence of anything but adolescent stupidity, and you know that as well as I do."

The conversation then turns to how they can "lean on" the victim to convince him to give up the identity of his abuser. Benson favors a hardline approach, such as suggesting that they'll have the cousin arrested or CPS will remove the boy from his home if he doesn't tell the truth.

Barba disagrees. "Oh, I can't wait to see how well that would go over with a jury."

Benson points out that Barba has approved of subpoenas for reluctant victims in the past, but he counters that those cases involved adults and they also had other evidence that implicated the suspect. Benson's still unwilling to budge. "So your advice is...what? We sit around and keep asking Sean nicely in hopes that he'll talk? While someone who tortured a child is roaming free? That's okay with you?"

"Of course it's not, Olivia. But he's barely out of the hospital. He's been traumatized, and what you're suggesting isn't going to help! It can take time for the truth to come out. You know that."

Benson's posture stiffens and her eyes narrow in a manner reminiscent of a snake poised to attack. I clear my throat, unsure if either of them remember that I'm still in the room, and just like that she's back with the pasted-on smile and sweet voice as she asks if they "can have a moment."

I assure her that they can and step out of the office, neglecting to mention that I can hear their conversation clearly from the other side of the door.

"What the hell was that supposed to mean?" you hiss in Barba's direction as soon as Jimmy leaves the room. "That whole 'you know that' comment."

"I meant exactly what I said. You've been doing this job for a long time, and this isn't the first victim you've come across who's scared to disclose. Liv- it wasn't intended to be personal, it-"

"Spare me the excuses. I don't care," by which you mean- I care very much, "but I also don't know why you're insisting on undermining me in front of Jimmy when I specifically told you how important it was that we look like we're on the same page."

"Yes. I got your email reminding me to be on my best behavior, but I can't throw out the rule book just so you can impress your new friend."

"Are you serious? You think this is all an act, that I don't give a shit about what happened to this kid?" you ask, draining your last cup of coffee and tossing it into the trash with enough force to nearly tip over the plastic bucket.

"No, I don't think that, but you're going about this in a completely unreasonable manner."

"What about the sister's boyfriend, the one who lives with them? There's something about him I don't like, and I know he had an alibi, but we couldn't find anyone to back his story other than his mom..."

"And do you have anything else on him, or are you just fishing?" Barba rolls his eyes when you don't answer. "You can try talking to him again as long as he keeps cooperating, but unless you get something solid- leave me out of it. All of it. Publicity stunts included."

"Why is everyone being like this? Acting like it's such an imposition to at least pretend to be professional for a few weeks?"

"Do you hear what you said there? 'Pretend'. We understand that you're stressed, Liv, that you've got a lot of pressure on you- but trying to bully everyone into following your script isn't the answer."

You're not liking this 'we', this implication that he's been discussing the matter with the others while you were busy with trivial things like...oh, you know...making sure the department doesn't self-destruct. Time to change the subject. "Y'know, I'm not sure why you're making this personal. There's a kid out there who- think of what he went through! He could've bled out, he could've died from those wounds getting infected, and you're going to stand in the way of him getting justice because...why? Because you're pissed at me?"

"How is following the rule of law, or not wanting to further traumatize a child- how is that personal, Olivia? Explain this to me."

"We used to get along. We used to be able to work together, remember? Everything was fine between us until you had to go and fuck it up by dumping your...feelings on me. And ever since then, all you do is fight me at every turn. I didn't ask for that. You're the one who's complicating things."

"Feelings," Barba repeats, arms crossed, and you're beginning to see why Brian thinks he's such a dick.

"You're really gonna act like- I know what I saw. You were lecturing me about Elliot because you were jealous!"

"Yes. Jealousy. That's the only reason why anyone would question that relationship. Not because he's married, or because he conveniently pops up when you're in a vulnerable position, or because...in case you've forgotten, I was the one who had to tell you when he went after Lewis. I saw what that did to you. And I could see how much it hurt you that he wasn't there for the trial. So as a friend- and I do consider you a friend- what am I supposed to do?"

"You could mind your own damn business, for one. And if you're serious about this whole 'I'm trying to help you, I'm your friend' bullshit, you could start by helping me figure out how we get this kid to talk."

"But he's-"

"I get it, okay? He's traumatized. Believe me, I get it. I don't need you explaining it to me. But for him to lie and say no one hurt him, nothing happened- it's not going away. I know that too."

He tilts his chin like he's plotting a meticulous rebuttal, and you've forgotten how exhausting it is to fight with him. He's not like Nick or Brian or even Elliot, how you can shout at them to fuck off and they'll accept that as a complete argument- with Barba, you'd better bring along graphics to support your case and be able to cite your sources. "When you told me you weren't going to do the interview with the PO before Lewis' sentencing- I could've said I won't accept that. I could've had you subpoenaed."

"Are you threatening me?! Because-"

"Shut up, Olivia," he commands, and he's remarkably intimidating for someone wearing a pale pink tie. "I could have. I wanted to. But I didn't, and I won't, no matter how much I might disagree with your decision or how it might jeopardize the case. You know why? Because I care about you too much to make you relive it all again when you're not ready for it. Think about that."

Someone taps on the door three times in quick succession. "Just reminding you- I'm still out here!"

"We're finishing up, Jimmy," you promise him.

Barba takes the hint and picks up his briefcase to leave, but not before leaning in toward you like he's got a secret to tell. "And by the way, everyone knows you're hungover. You do a terrible job of hiding it."

{so you don't know where you're going but you wanna talk
and you feel like you're going where you've been before}

"Get ready," you command as you start to unlock your front door. At your elbow, Elliot looks confused. "I'm afraid he's gonna come running and try to escape, so we have to move fast."

He gives you a quick nod, angling himself like you're about to bust in and raid the place. You open the door just enough to wedge your foot in and-

"Jesus Christ!" you both shout, almost in unison.

You expected him to be right next to the doorway, or maybe lounging in the windowsill. You did not expect to find him perched on the edge of the couch, staring unblinkingly at you and not even twitching in response to your outburst. "Peanuts! You fucking...cat!"

Peanuts yawns, casting you a disdainful look before jumping off the couch and sauntering into the kitchen. He's been with you for several days now and has yet to warm up to you, or even act interested in your presence, which Brian says is because 'he knows you don't have a good attitude toward him. He can sense your rejection, Liv, and he's hurt.' You maintain that you've been perfectly nice- as nice as you can be when you come home to find your boyfriend cuddling with a strange cat.

"This is Peanuts. You know my friend Abdul? The halal food guy? It's his pet."

"So...why is he with us?"

"I told Abdul we'd watch him while he's on vacation."

"What?" Peanuts turns his head toward you for the first time, and your eyes widen. "That cat looks like Hitler!"

Brian frowns, stroking kitty Hitler's ear as if to keep him from hearing you. "So? That's not his fault! That's why Abdul adopted him- he was the last of his littermates at the shelter because people were scared of him. Where's your compassion?"

"When's Abdul coming back?"

"Uh, yeah. That's the thing. See, he's going to his home country for his cousin's wedding. But he's got some financial problems to take care of while he's back there, so..." He shrugs. "It might take a while to sort it all out."

"And by 'financial problems,' you mean..."

"He's being sued because he owes someone 25 grand."

"Does he have the money now?"

"No? But it's all a big misunderstanding!" he assures you. "I'm sure he'll get it settled in no time."

Your first instinct is to say no, absolutely not, Brian get this cat out of here now. But as he points out, Peanuts takes up less room than Nick (who you took in without consulting him). That alone isn't enough to sway you- Nick requires constant care and attention, while Peanuts should theoretically be fine with someone dropping by once a day to feed him and clean the litter box. But then Brian starts in on how he thought it would be fun, the two of you catsitting together, and you think about how you're going to have to eventually break his heart, so how can you deny him this one little thing he wants in the meanwhile?

Besides, you can sympathize with Abdul. He's not the only one in a financial predicament. You shuffle through the mail that's stacked up on the kitchen counter, closing your eyes and throwing one of the envelopes back down on top of the pile when you see the return address. "Fuckers..."

"You alright?" Elliot asks, looking over his shoulder at you. "Hey. What is it?"

"It's like I don't have enough going on in my life, so the universe says 'hey, why not dump some more shit on you'? By now it's almost funny."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Elliot points out, nodding toward the empty space on the couch next to him.

"This is...it stays between us, okay? Because I haven't told anyone, not even Brian. Especially not Brian."

Elliot stretches his arm out behind you, and you gladly move in closer until his hand is resting on your shoulder. "Well, you know how dumbass and I meet weekly to talk about you- but I'll try and keep my mouth shut this time."

You sigh in mock annoyance as you start in on your story. It arrived practically before you even got home from the ER, the bill for your hospital visit after your fall, and at first you assumed it was a mistake on the part of your insurance company. Some sort of coding error- because why else would you be on the hook for the entire amount? Ah, to be that naive again...

"They said they wouldn't cover it because it was self-inflicted. Which it wasn't," you add quickly, even though you know he (may be the only one who) believes you. "Well. Not all of it. But that doesn't matter! I've read through the policy a thousand times, I've spent God knows how much time googling it, and they can't refuse to pay for that reason. And they know that, but they seem to think that if they wear me down enough, I'll give in and just write them the check. Hell, maybe I will. Maybe it's better than spending what feels like hours on hold, day after day, just to talk to progressively nastier people. I'm sick of it."

"You ask your lawyer friend about it?"

"Who, Barba? No. And I don't want to. I don't wanna ask anyone. I'm already...I'm so sick of talking about it, of trying to convince people I'm not, I wasn't, going to off myself. I've got letters from both my shrinks saying I'm crazy, but I'm not that crazy, and- it's embarrassing, you know? It was a stupid drunken mistake and part of me just wants to give these greedy bastards the money to make it go away. And don't tell me that if I do, I'm letting them win. Because I know that already."

"Goddamn," Elliot says as you let your head fall back against his shoulder. "How much are we talking?"

"Let's just say- five digits."

"Shit. And you're sure you don't want to ask a lawyer? It doesn't have to be whoever the union recommends, it could be anyone who-"

"The longer this goes on, the more people who know, the more likely it is that it'll get back to someone at the department. And I can't take that chance. Brian already had to lie for me with some story about how I slipped on a patch of ice, I don't want him caught up in this either..."

"But do you even have that kind of money?" Elliot asks.

"Uh. Funny story." You don't have it readily on hand, no. This has been an expensive year and one that's only going to get worse if you were to break up with Brian, seeing as how your lease isn't up until the fall and there's no way in hell either of you could afford the rent on your own. "When my grandparents passed away, they left everything to my mom, and she never touched it. So when she died, I got all of that, plus a fairly decent amount from Mom herself."

"And you kept it in savings, or...?"

"Yeah. Until I could figure out what to do with it. Which I still haven't really decided." That's a partial lie- you always intended to use it for your future kids and their education- but at this point that's not looking like an expense you'll ever actually have to worry about. "I know I must sound like I'm being completely ridiculous for not just withdrawing what I need and getting it over with, but...there's a reason I've never touched it. I never wanted to feel like...that I needed her help. That I owed her anything."

"But you wouldn't be indebted to her," he points out, curling his hand around yours. "That money belongs to you now, doesn't matter where it came from."

"It matters to me."

"Do you think that...does it bother you because you think that somehow she'd know you used it?"

"Yes. No. I- I guess I'm not sure. I'm not sure what I believe, whether she has any way of knowing what I'm doing now...but even if she didn't, I would know and I would feel like the prodigal daughter. I've been fine without her, without anything of hers, ever since the day she died and I can't have that change just because I really fucked up one night." You know it was more than one night, that it wasn't an isolated incident that could've been due to random chance and bad luck, but he doesn't try to correct you and for that you're grateful. "It'll just sit there on my conscience and...I can't think about that. I can't wonder about if she knows, what she would think, if she'd- it doesn't make everything okay. It doesn't mean I forgive her. She spent her entire life thinking she could buy my love, just like my grandparents did with her. They sent us a check every month and that was supposed to make up for never calling, never visiting. My mom always made sure I had dozens of presents on Christmas morning, like that's an apology for ruining Christmas eve by saying she wished I was dead so she could kill herself without feeling guilty. It doesn't work that way, El, it doesn't change anything."

You're taken aback at first when you start crying, albeit silently. It's something you haven't done in so long, crying in front of somebody else and not trying to hide it, just allowing yourself that release. Elliot isn't saying anything, but he doesn't need to. Just having him next to you, having his arms around you, is a kind of comfort that you don't get when you're sobbing in secret behind locked doors. It's a comfort you rarely permit yourself to indulge in, but right now you will. Just this once.

You're finally able to look over at him when you sit up and grab a kleenex from the box on the end table. He's nodding to himself, squinting at something you can't see. "El?"

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Uh. What?"

"I can get you the money. I don't want you to worry about it."

"What?" you repeat after a failed attempt to blow your nose. "No. No. How would...are you insane? You can't tell me you have that kind of cash just lying around."

"Trust me. It'll be okay," he says calmly, like you're discussing who's going to pay for lunch.

"Elliot, you have two kids in college! And we're talking...probably a year's worth of tuition for both of them. So unless you're going to rob a bank, which- don't," you add, just in case he took that as a suggestion. "You already mortgaged your house for me once-"

"And I'd do it again if you needed me to."

"You don't think Kathy would have something to say about it if she noticed your savings were magically drained?"

"She'd understand."

"I really don't think she would." Women tend to not look kindly upon large monetary gifts to the slut who fucked their husband. They're funny like that. "Listen. I get that you're trying to help but...I can handle this. I don't want to be the one coming between you and Kathy again, not when you're finally starting to work things out."

"But you're-"

"Elliot. Are you listening? Because if you do this, it'll be the last straw in your relationship. Think about that. This is my problem, I brought it on myself, and I'm going to have to solve it on my own. It's not your hill to die on. Think about the last time you left the house. You were miserable. Eli missed you, and you missed him," you say, trying another tactic.

"Then let me at least find you a lawyer."

"So it can end up being public record? No."

He's watching you pace back and forth, arms hanging uselessly at your sides- it's times like this that you wish you were a smoker just so you'd have something to occupy your hands. "Okay, Liv, but I know you. If you use your mom's money to pay it off, that's gonna eat away at you until you can't get past it. And I don't think it should, because it's your money now, but I know the guilt will kill you because you'll feel like you owe her."

"But I don't want to owe you either! Don't you get that? We can't be friends and keep it uncomplicated if...Kathy, your family, they're supposed to be your priority. Not me." You've never claimed to know a lot about friendship, but you're pretty sure this goes beyond normal friendly behavior and you meant what you said- you don't want to owe him. It's not that you think he would lord it over you or expect anything in return. Hell, he'd probably tell you not to worry about paying him back. But it scares the shit out of you that he seems so certain about it, like jeopardizing his marriage is a risk he's already prepared to make just so you don't have to face your mommy issues. "I'm not going to let you fuck it all up for my sake. Remember what we promised each other? If someone's going to get hurt, it's better for everyone if it's one of us. Not them."

"Yeah, but-"

"Are you even listening? I don't need your 'help', if you can call it that. Remember the last time you thought you were going to rescue me? When you went up to Bellevue and...I still haven't totally forgiven you for that one! You have this thing where you're never there when I really need you, and then you try to make up for it with these grand gestures that I didn't ask for, just so you can clear your conscience...it didn't work for my mom and it's not working for you."

He groans, slamming his fist on the end table. "Haven't we been through this before, Olivia? If we were to switch places right here, right now, you would do the same damn thing for me. You know it. And you know it wouldn't be out of guilt, either."

"But it wouldn't be out of friendship!" You close your eyes and tilt your head toward the ceiling for a long moment. "Goddamnit, why do you have to make everything about you?"

"How is this about me?"

"Because you're just like everyone else who thinks they know what I need. And if you were thinking beyond how you're gonna save me, you'd realize that the last thing I want is to complicate our relationship. I need you as a friend more than I need a hero."

"So what, I'm supposed to read your mind?" he scoffs. "Cause you're not exactly the most forthcoming-"

"I don't know, have you tried asking me what I want?"

You're leaning against the back of the couch now, looming over him with only the cushions separating you, and it's enough to get him to stand up and retreat backwards toward the door. "What? What is it you want?"

"I just wanted you to listen," you answer, pretending you didn't hear the sarcasm in his question. "Remember the last time you spent the night over here and we went out on the stairs and talked? That was probably the nicest thing anyone's done for me in so long and...I just want you here. With me. I feel better when you're around." That siren in your mind that alerts you when you're getting dangerously honest is wailing, and you shake your head to make it stop. "That's all," you say, unironically punctuating your sentence with "Just go."

He opens his mouth, says nothing, and then closes it again with his lips pressed together in a tight line.

"Goodbye!" You wave toward the door with a flourish, arm extended until you hear the knob click and you know he's really gone. Then you slump forward until your forehead's resting beside the peephole, bracing yourself with both hands, and you think about what to do next.

You shouldn't have to think about it. You should be used to being alone by now.

Thing is, you're really not.

Used to it, that is.

But you really are alone.

{you'd tell anyone who'd listen but you feel ignored
nothing's really making any sense at all}

Everything happened so quickly.

You hadn't even moved away from the door when you heard someone tapping on it from the other side, and it took three tries to unlatch the chain lock because your hands were shaking so badly.

You were right, he said. If you tell me to leave, I'll leave, but I needed you to know- you were right. I should've asked.

Don't go. Please. I want you to stay, you said, and your hands were still shaking but then they were reaching up for his face as his lips were descending onto yours and it was all mouthsteethtongues and this doesn't have to change anything, no one'll ever know.

Then it was stumbling toward your bedroom, stepping on each other's feet in a blind haste, fumbling with buttons and zippers and the clasp of your bra. It was teasingtouchingtasting and god yes I'm sure and I missed you, I never stopped thinking about this. It was his palm on your breast and his fingers in your hair and his cock rubbing against your wet center, thumb circling your clit and a low voice rumbling in your ear, whispering you're so perfect like he doesn't see the unmistakable new scratch on the inside of your forearm.

And then it was I'm sorry and I can't, not with you, feeling coldexposedconfused and telling yourself don't cry don't get angry don't ask questions, watching him walk away and realizing an hour later that you're shivering because you haven't moved since before he left, that you're still lying on your back at the foot of your bed wearing nothing but your underwear.

You thought you were alone before.

Now you're sure of it.

{can somebody tell me now, am I alone with this
this little pill in my hand and with this secret kiss
am I alone in this?}