This was a chapter I struggled with quite a bit and rewrote several times. It still didn't quite come out the way I had intended, but it sets certain parts of the story to come in motion. So I promise, it will get better. Thanks so much for sticking with me!!

Olivia

I was fuming by the time I opened the doors to the squad room. Fin was sitting at his desk filling out paperwork, and Munch was behind him pouring a cup of coffee.

"What the hell happened Friday night?"

Both of them looked up at me, surprised. To be honest, I was surprised at how angry I sounded. I knew why I was mad, and I knew that it wasn't because of something that they did, but they were going to deal with it anyways.

"What do you mean?" Fin asked, looking up from his paperwork.

"What I mean is that Christine moved out and decided not to tell anyone where she was going. What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything!"

"What's going on?" I whipped around to see Elliot still wearing his jacket behind me.

"Christine was attacked again on Friday."

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked Munch.

"I tried both of you," Fin said clearly. "And neither of you picked up."

"Let's go," Elliot said to me.

"We can't."

He waited for me to continue. When I didn't, he pressed on. "Why not?"

"Because she moved out and didn't tell anyone where she was going."

"Did she say why?"

"Here's a crazy idea," Munch interjected. "She was raped. Twice. In one week. She's traumatized. That doesn't have anything to do with Fin or I."

"Enough!" Cragen yelled over all of us. We all stopped talking and turned to find him standing in front of his office. "What's going on?"

"Christine disappeared," I told him.

"We don't know that she disappeared," Fin countered. "She just moved out."

"Without telling anyone."

"Munch, Fin, start digging through her credit cards, see if there are any signs as to where she might be. Benson, Stabler, Warner called. She's back and she has the DNA results."

"You want to talk about it?" Elliot asked me after sitting in silence in the traffic for 15 minutes.

"About what?" I asked.

"About whatever's bothering you so much?"

I hesitated. "This is my fault."

"What is?"

"I should have been there on Friday. This wouldn't have happened if. . . if I had been there on Friday."

"Liv," he said softly, pulling into a parking spot in front of Warner's office. He put the car in park and turned to look at me. "I know that you care about the victims and making sure that we close the case. . . but this is still just your job."

"You wouldn't understand it."

"Understand what?"

"Christine. She's. . . she's got no one in this world. Her parents are dead, she has no close friends, no boyfriend, nothing. No one. If it weren't for this case, would anyone even really notice that she had moved?"

"Why wouldn't I understand it?"

"Because you've never been alone. Not really. You grew up with both parents and brothers and sisters. You got married, and you had kids. No matter what happens, there are people in this world that are tied to you. I don't have that. After all's said and done, I'm alone."

"You know that's not true."

"Yes, it is." I sighed. I felt bad for throwing things in his face, but I didn't know how else to get through to him. I didn't know why I wanted to get through to him so badly. "El, when I got back from Oregon, you barely spoke to me. If I had gone back to computer crimes, would you have even known if I had come back? I'm not your family, and you've made it very clear over the past eight years that they come first. I don't have that, and you don't know what it's like. Someone needs to be there for her. Even if it's just me."

He wasn't looking at me anymore, but at the steering wheel. "Why don't we see what Warner has to say?" he said, quickly getting out of the car. I took a deep breath, then followed him into the maze of hallways that led into her office.

She was standing at the autopsy table, dictating into a tiny microphone and measuring what I assumed were intestines. She turned when she saw us, pulled off her gloves and switched off her recorder.

"I've got your DNA results," she said, coming over to us. "I haven't had a chance to look them over yet. Sorry about the wait for them, Justin's useless as an ME." She picked up a sealed manila envelope and pulled out the slides. She put them up against the light.

"It's definitely the same attacker. Bad news is that it doesn't match either of the DNA samples you sent me."

Friday seemed like it had been an eternity ago. I had completely forgotten that we had sent over samples from Chris and Rick.

"So you're saying we've got nothing?"

"I wish I could help you out some more. But forensics did send over these," she said, handing us another envelope.

"What's this?" I asked, pulling the diagram out. "A hand?"

"It's the estimated size of the attacker's hands based on the bruises on the victim's neck."

Elliot's phone rang and he excused himself. "How was your trip?" I asked.

"I should have just become a plastic surgeon. I could have retired at forty and lived there the rest of my life."

"But you'd miss us too much." Elliot came back towards us, snapping his phone shut.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Fin called. Christine put a down payment on a unit in the new condos going up near the university a month ago. This morning the balance was transferred out of her account."

"You think she's there?"

"Fin checked with the building's owner. She moved in last night."

Elliot

The trip over to Christine's was quiet. I still didn't know how to respond to Liv. We hadn't talked after Friday night, and things were just more awkward than before. The building was still under construction and a mess. It was an old office building that had been completely gutted and expensive new condos were going in just by the university. Not that any university student would normally be able to afford one of the units. They just got to look.

Christine was on the fifth floor, the only floor that looked kind-of finished. We got to the unit she was supposed to be on, and found there was no name on the door. I knocked anyways.

There was immediately barking from inside. There was a delay, then I heard locks- and a lot of them- being unlocked. Finally the door opened slightly with Christine holding on to the collar of an angry-looking chocolate coloured dog that growled at us.

"It's okay," she said softly to the dog and released it. It quickly came to sniff us over. Finally I looked at Christine. Her formerly long brown hair was now cut at her shoulders and streaked with red and blonde. She had long side bangs that did a decent job of covering the large gash still clear on her forehead.

"How did you find me?" she finally asked.

"Your financial records," Liv explained.

She nodded and stepped aside, leaving us room to come in. We went in, the dog following closely on our heels.

The condo was huge, but still looked like it was under construction. There were two couches that had been set up in what looked like a living room, one of which had a blanket and pillow on it. She quickly threw them aside and sat down, the dog following closely and jumping up beside her. I sat on the opposite couch. Liv, instead of taking a seat beside me like I expected sat down beside her. She brought her hand to the dog, allowed it to smell her, then started scratching it's head. It sighed contentedly and put it's head in Olivia's lap.

"What's his name?" She asked.

"Mushu." She shrugged. "I got him from a trainer, I didn't name him." She paused and looked over both of us. She was wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt, but I could still see bruises around her wrists, a scratch on her hand, the gash on her head, and marks around her neck. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I moved. I just thought that maybe if I could get away from everything. . ."

"That it would just go away?" They both looked at me, surprised. Christine slowly nodded.

"I know it's not logical. I just. . . I don't know. I had bought this place last month, and I was supposed to move in in two weeks anyways. I just needed to get away from there."

"Were you attacked on-campus again?" Fin had already told me that she hadn't given him a location.

"I was just going over to get dinner from one of the cafeterias. It was six o'clock. I didn't think I was in any danger going over alone. But it was Friday, and campus was quiet, and it was getting dark and. . . and I should have known better."

"Christine," I said softly, "there was no way you could have known."

She met her eyes with mine and nodded slightly, but didn't look convinced. "There's this funny kind of balcony that wraps around the building, but you can only get to it from the front steps. I guess he knew I was coming because he grabbed me when I was coming out. He pulled me back behind the building."

"Did anyone hear you?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Was he rougher with you this time?" I asked.

She slowly ran her fingers over the bruises on her wrists, then pulled her sleeves down further. "I tried to fight harder. He didn't like it."

"Did you get a better look at him?" Liv asked softly.

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. "He came. . . he came from behind me. It was dark, I couldn't see anything."

"Did he say anything?"

She shook her head. "Not really. He whispered. I didn't recognize his voice."

I tried to picture what she would have been like a week before. It had only been a week since her whole life had been turned upside down. She changed her hair, moved away, got a dog, and put seven locks on her doors. To a certain extent, I could understand what it was like to have everything you thought you knew ripped away from you- that's how I had felt when Kathy announced she was leaving. But that I could have at least seen coming. She had gone from normal college student to rape victim in a matter of seconds.

Life wasn't fair.

That evening when we finished, I turned down Fin's offer to go out for drinks. It was one of those days where I didn't feel like I could shake the case away. I hadn't spoken to Liv since we had gotten into the argument in front of Warner's office, and her words still echoed in my head. This case felt personal, even though there was nothing about it to take personally.

Maybe it was because of Liv it felt so personal. I knew what she struggled with, and I knew that a big part of her was defined by having no one. Maybe it was because I couldn't help her that I wanted to help Christine. Maybe it was helping by extension.

Regardless of the reason, I found myself doing a u-turn on my way home and driving back to an apartment building I didn't belong at.

I climbed the stairs without really knowing what I was going to do when I got there. I didn't know what I could do, but this was all I could think of. I knocked on the door, and a minute later it opened.

"Detective Stabler," Rick Thomas said, surprised. "Do. . . do you want to come in?"

I shook my head and tried to gather my thoughts. "I'm not a fan of yours, and I've never tried to hide it," I told him. "But for some reason Christine seems to trust you. So please, call her."

"Is she okay?"

I shook my head. "She's falling apart, and she refuses to let anyone help her. And if you could. . . she needs someone."

He nodded, and I was ready to leave when he spoke again.

"Why did you come here?" He wasn't rude about it. I think it was genuine curiosity.

"Because I know what it's like to care about someone who won't ask for help when they need it. She shouldn't have to go through this alone, Rick."

He nodded. "What do I say to her? This is way out of my league."

I thought for a second. "I don't think it's about what you say. It's about the fact that you say anything at all."

Olivia

I had screwed up big time. Bigger than I could have anticipated. The mess with Elliot. . . it was more than I could take on my best day. It was all too complicated, the emotions were too strong. I wasn't supposed to care about someone like that. I wasn't supposed to be involved with someone who knew me that well.

I wasn't supposed to be wanting more from him.

I had turned down invitations to go out with the squad, but found my way to another bar. I couldn't go home yet. I needed to think. I ended up at Fusion, a funky mix of a bar and a Starbucks-like coffee house. It was basically a coffee shop with beer, but that played mellow music, had comfy chairs, a wood burning fireplace, no sports shows on TV, and wireless internet. It attracted a strange mix of people, but people who I didn't know. I needed that. I ordered a beer, paid for it, and made my way over to one of the stuffed chairs.

My problem was easy to identify when I really thought about it. When I was really willing to admit it.

I wanted more from Elliot.

I finished my beer quicker than I had expected, and found myself feeling dragged down by it. I went back to the bar and ordered an oversized, overpriced chai. While I was waiting, I spotted Christine sitting in a corner booth.

"Has she been here long?" I asked the bartender.

He glanced over at her. "Couple of hours. Been pounding them back pretty hard." He placed a steaming, oversized mug in front of me. I thanked him and took it over to where Christine was sitting. She had five beer glasses that hadn't been cleared away around her, but she was focused on her laptop, typing away intensely.

"Hi," I said to her softly. She jumped slightly, then looked up at me.

"Detective Benson. Did something happen?" She sounded deadly sober.

I shook my head. "I was actually here on my own. I thought you might want a little company."

"Sure," she said, slightly guarded, closing her laptop.

"Are you doing okay?" I asked her, sliding into the booth across from her.

She shrugged. "I just needed out of the house. I couldn't focus on my paper."

"And the drinks?"

"I just needed to get my mind off everything."

"Christine," I said softly. "Have you talked to anyone? Victim's services? A sexual assault support centre?"

She shook her head. "No, and I don't want to."

"We have a psychiatrist on staff if you want to talk to him-"

"No," she said, softly but firmly. "I don't want anyone else to know."

I felt my heart breaking for her. I struggled day-to-day with not having someone to go home to, to be waiting for you, to call you up just because. I couldn't imagine trying to go through what she was completely alone.

"You know, I never knew my father," I found myself saying. "I never had any siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. . . anyone. My mom was all I had when I was growing up, and we didn't have a great relationship. And she died six years ago. I work a lot, and I'm not married and. . . a case I was working on earlier this summer got really complicated and I ended up going undercover." She didn't say anything, but was watching intently, her chin resting on her hand. "What I'm trying to say is that I know what it's like to feel like you need to be strong. And I know how hard it is to let go of that idea, but I promise that the world won't end if you give yourself a little time to heal."

She lowered her eyes and unplugged her laptop. "I should get going."

I looked at my chai, which still sat untouched in front of me. "It's getting late. Why don't you let me give you a ride?"

She shook her head without looking up at me. "I'll be fine, thanks."

"It's not a problem." I put my hand on her arm to try and reinforce my point, but caught her off guard and she jumped. For a second I saw terror in her eyes, then she tried to relax her face. She pulled her coat on and for the first time I could see how drunk she was.

"Thank you, detective," she said softly, then silently took off.

She was falling apart. She was hanging on by a thread. And how was I supposed to do anything to help her?