Thanks everyone for your patience and reviews:) I really appreciate it.

Munch

"Detectives," the doctor we were directed to greeted us, nodding his head in recognition.

"Look, it's doctor McAngry." I had dealt with this doctor once before, when he blew up at the victim he was supposed to be examining.

Fin shot me a look. "I never took you as the Grey's Anatomy type."

"The what?"

He shook his head and turned back to the doctor. "You rang?"

He nodded and started down the hall, leading us to an empty corner. "I was on duty on Monday night when Christine Webber was brought in."

"And you couldn't think of a better time to talk to us about it?" Fin asked.

"I called you because she came in again two hours ago with a head injury and concussion. She claimed it was from a fall. I tried to examine her, and she freaked out."

"Flashbacks?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I think she was attacked again. She refuses to change, there's blood on her pants, and her story's been inconsistent. It doesn't look like she fell."

"Did you ask her?"

"She denied anything happened."

"So what do you think we can do?"

"Christine?" I asked, pulling back the curtain of the cubicle the nurses station had directed us to. Despite having been working on her case, this was the first time I was seeing her face to face. She looked up at us, then quickly fixed her eyes on a spot behind my head. She was wearing the requisite hospital gown, but had a pair of jeans on underneath. There was a large gash in her forehead that looked like it had been recently stitched up.

"Who are you?" she asked with a waver in her voice, so slight it was almost imperceptible.

"I'm Det. John Munch, this is my partner Fin Tutuola."

She cocked her head to the side. "I think you've got the wrong person. I'm here because I slipped in my dorm."

"Christine," Fin said softly, taking a seat on the end of her bed. "Do you know which unit we're from?"

She wouldn't look him in the eye. She was grasping the side of the bed tightly, her knuckles snow white. "No."

"Special Victims Unit. We're the other two detectives who have been working on your case."

"You came to ask me more questions about Monday night?"

"No," I told her in a tone I hoped came out gently. "About tonight."

"I told you, I slipped in my dorm. There are tiles in the hallways, and the snow's getting tracked in and the floors are slippery. I'm a klutz. It's that simple. Who called you?"

"I did," the doctor announced from behind me.

"But I told you there was no reason to." He, Fin and I all exchanged glances.

The doctor pulled up the stool that sat at the foot of the bed and sat down to he was eye-level with her. "And I told you I don't believe you."

She shook her head. "I'm going home."

"I can't let you go until you let me examine you."

"For what?!"

"Your leg is covered in blood. I might need to stitch it up. You can keep the gown on, I just need you to take off your pants."

"No," she said urgently, flinching violently. Exaggerated startle response. I had seen it too many times before.

In that moment I realized that I hated my job more than anything. I hated that I could look at Christine and know what had happened to her. I hated that I knew when she went home she would shower and burn her clothes. I hated that none of us had been able to stop this from happening to her the first time, and that we hadn't done anything to stop it again.

"Please," she asked softly. "Please just let me leave."

"Christine, I know this is difficult," the doctor started.

"You don't know a thing." She was angry now, her voice quavering while she tried to keep her temper under control. "None of you here possibly can."

I felt at a loss of words. Luckily, Fin stepped in. "You're right. None of us could know what you're going through. We don't know what it's like. All we can do is try and find the bastard who did this to you and make sure he never does it again to you or anyone else."

There was a softer side on Fin that I didn't usually get to see coming out. Right or wrong, Benson and Stabler were the ones that the victims wanted to see. A woman who could empathize, a strong father figure. It was easier to send us to crime scenes and morgues. And most of the time, I liked it better that way.

"I tried that before. And look where it got me."

He was quiet for a minute. "You're saying the same person attacked you tonight?"

She exhaled, then pulled her knees up to her chest. She buried her head in her hands and her hair fell out of the way of her neck, exposing newly-formed finger-sized black and blue bruises. She lifted her head, pulled her hair back from her face and looked at each of us, then stood up and reached for her clothes.

"I can't do this again." She brushed past me, and tried to open the bathroom door, but Fin had planted himself firmly in front of it with his arms folded over his chest. Not in an intimidating way, but more of a I'm-not-taking-any-bullshit way.

"Fine. We let you go home. You shower away any evidence. But you're just going to let yourself go without being checked out? You're no idiot, you know what you're at risk for if you don't get the exam. And what about getting pregnant? Or HIV? You may not want to deal with this now, but you're sure as hell not going to want to deal with this whenever one of your tests come back positive. And I'm not okay with letting you put all that on the line."

She looked up at him with her big brown eyes blazing. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because this asshole's attacked you twice. Now I don't know about you, but I want to get this guy before he has the chance to do it again. Or before you end up dead."

She slowly sat back on the bed, clasping her clothes against her chest. She looked exhausted. Fin sat down beside her.

"Look, no one believes that this is easy. But you and I both know that you'll regret it if you walk away."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get changed, and I'll see if I can get Detective Benson here."

She nodded slowly. The doctor got up.

"Take your time, I'll have to get the rape kit materials before we can do anything."

She nodded again but didn't say anything. He left the room, and Fin excused himself to call Olivia. Christine and I were left alone in the room. She was still holding onto her clothes.

"Did they give you something to take the edge off?"

She shook her head. "They offered. I don't want pills." She looked up at me. "I'm sorry for snapping at all of you. I know you're trying to help."

"It's okay," I assured her. "Can I call someone for you?"

She had done an incredible job of keeping from getting hysterical, but for the first time I detected a waver in her voice. She shook her head. "There's no one to call."

"Friend, boyfriend, roommate, family?"

"No one."

"What about your friend who brought you in last time?"

"I haven't talked to him since then."

"Why not?"

"Because I know you suspected him. What am I supposed to do? Call him up and say 'I know you got totally screwed over last time you helped me out but can you do it again'?" She shook her head.

I turned to look her straight in the eye.

"So you're just going to go through this alone?"

"What other choice do I have?"

Olivia

I opened my door in silence, neither of us sure what to do or say. It felt deathly serious. I tossed my keys, cell phone, and pager beside the door and went to the kitchen to plug in the kettle. No alcohol this time. Alcohol is what got us in trouble last time. I couldn't go there again. I got out a beer for him and put it on the counter, the dumped a bag of chips into a bowl and pulled out a bottle of salsa. He sat down; I stood with the counter between us. He opened his beer but didn't drink from it.

"Liv," he started, "the other night. . ." he trailed off, leaving me wondering whether it was an unfinished thought or question.

"It can't happen again." My voice caught in my throat, coming out softer than I had intended.

There were pauses between us that stretched into forever. "Agreed."

My phone rang, startling both of us, a brutal reminder that there was a world outside of the room we were in. I checked the caller ID. I didn't recognize the number and turned off the ringer.

"But. . ." I started. The question I was afraid to ask couldn't be avoided any longer. "But why did it happen?" Was this it? The feelings that he and I had denied for so long, the relationship we had that made us closer than any other partners, the one that in some way- big or small- contributed to his and Kathy's divorce. . . did they finally get the best of us? Were they really there after so long of being oblivious?

"Look. . ." he started slowly. "We had been drinking. We don't need to make this into something bigger than it really is.

I nodded, but somehow felt disappointed. The kettle was boiling behind me, and I turned to unplug it. The chord didn't want to unplug, and I tugged on it. It still wouldn't move, and hot water was starting to spurt out of the top. I pulled again, harder, and the chord broke off halfway out, sending a shock up my arm. I pulled my arm back and dropped the kettle, hot water splashing over my hands. I was tempted to sit down and cry, not because of it hurting but because of everything that had happened, but bit my lip instead.

And then everything happened so quickly that it all melted together in my mind. Elliot took a dishtowel, wet it with cold water, and then took my hand in his to dab at it.

"Are you okay?" he asked without looking up.

I nodded, even though he probably didn't see. Somehow, I found my fingers creeping up, wrapping around his wrist. He allowed the towel to slip from his hands and slowly brought his fingers to weave into mine. His other hand slowly- painfully slowly, so slowly that at first I thought I was dreaming it- slid to my hip, then around to the small of my back. He stepped closer, pulled me into him, and slowly brushed his lips against mine.

"El," I whispered, still close enough for my lips to touch his.

"I'm sorry," he returned, but still didn't pull back. I was grateful for that.

"I just. . ." I pulled back enough to look up at him. "We can't."

He nodded slowly, but neither of us released from our embrace. He brought his hand to my face and wiped my cheek. I realized I was crying.

"Then tonight," he replied slowly, seriously, still in a whisper. "Just for tonight, let's not be us."

And I kissed him.

Fin

"You did the right thing," I told Christine after we had finished with her examination. I silently cursed Liv for not picking up her phone.

"What now?" she asked.

"We can take you back to the station and get your statement, or we can take you home. Or to a friend's."

She shook her head. "No more," she whispered. "Not today." She had already ignored the doctor's advice of staying overnight, and I found myself asking the question that I didn't want to ask. The question that I was supposed to have to ask, because there should have been someone more able to ask than me.

"Are you going to be okay?" The question was stupid, of course. No, she wasn't okay. She wasn't going to be okay for a long time. But it slipped out. I didn't feel right about her being alone somewhere. Whether I was worried about her being alone because of some psycho having attacked her twice, or because of being worried about what she would do to herself, I didn't know.

She didn't answer me.

"Are you on-campus?" I asked her as she slid into the back seat. I noticed her wince when she moved. She had been roughed up a lot more this time, bruises forming all over her.

"Yeah," she said softly. We started out, then she spoke again. "Actually, can you take me to The Delta?"

"The hotel?" I asked.

I assumed she nodded. "I can't go home now. I just. . . please?"

I did as she asked and I waited in the background while she checked in. As protocol stated, I walked her up to her room. She thanked me and softly closed the door, leaving me with the gnawing feeling in my gut that I had missed something.

Christine Webber

I was hungry.

Starving actually.

I had called down to order room service. One of the nice things about staying in such a fancy hotel was that they'd make you anything at any time. Including French Toast at three in the morning, like I was asking for.

I paced around the room again. It was big, bigger than I would ever need, but I felt better knowing that it was more expensive than most people I knew could afford. I hated blowing money, but for the night I needed somewhere I could be alone. Somewhere clean. Just somewhere else.

I was freezing. I had showered forever, scrubbing myself clean, scrubbing myself until I was raw, but didn't feel any better. I wrapped myself in one of the hotel's robes and blasted the heat, but it was only making me feel clammy and cold. This cold came from the inside, a cold that had chilled me to the bone and showed no signs of relenting.

Maybe my heart had finally frozen over.

I sat down cross legged on the fluffy bedspread. This was it. One night where I would allow myself to cry, to hurt for what had happened. To be upset and dysfunctional. To be sad. I was allowing myself to do this one night and one night only. I didn't want to go on feeling sorry for myself.

And when I tried to cry, nothing came out.

Olivia

Monday, December 11th

"Morning Fin," I greeted him as we passed each other at the lockers. He returned the greeting, then turned around.

"Where were you Friday?"

"Home, why?"

"I tried calling you. I couldn't get ahold of you or Elliot."

"Why would I know where Elliot is?" I asked guardedly. Did he know? He gave me a funny look. I was paranoid. I was so not prepared for this.

"Anyways," I said quickly. "Why were you looking for me. I wasn't on duty."

"I know. Christine Webber was attacked again."

I shoved my jacket into my locker. "What?"

"She asked to leave the statement for today. I thought you might want to take it."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Thanks." I checked my watch, then looked at Elliot's empty desk. "Fin, do me a favour? Tell Elliot to meet me at Christine's dorm whenever he gets in."

I didn't wait for an answer. I was already gone.

I felt terrible by the time I got to her door. I should have been the one to be there Friday night. How had this even happened?

One night. I had let myself lose control for one night. And I had failed at my job.

Fuck.

I knocked at the door of her suite, and the same blonde and purple haired girl as last time answered.

"Hi," she said uneasily.

"Is Christine around?" I asked.

She looked behind her, then sighed. "Christine moved her stuff out Saturday morning. She didn't want anyone to know where she was going. And it didn't look like she was planning on coming back."