Disclaimer: If you've seen them on the show, they aren't mine. They belong to Dick Wolf. I'm just borrowing them.

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Michael's even breathing on the pillow beside her makes Alex tremble. She's shaking in humiliation and fear. It occurs to her that she could get up and leave, but suddenly, she's too ashamed to even consider facing Olivia right now. Plus, Michael would kill her if he woke up to find her gone.

She shakes her head as if to clear it. She used to be so fearless, so strong. The "Ice Queen," they called her. But she's no longer the clever, witty, self-confident, ambitious, unflappable Alex she used to be. What would Olivia think if she could see Alex now, a broken, terrified woman with a hodgepodge of colourful bruises all over her body, sobbing into her pillow? Silently, though, so Michael won't hear.

She cries herself to sleep. As much as she hates it, this is her life, and there's nothing she can do to change it.

* * *

The next morning, Alex wakes up in immense pain. Her cheek is swollen from where Michael slapped her, but the worst is the tenderness between her legs, the throbbing that works its way down her thighs.

She doesn't dare to get out of bed without Michael's permission, so she lays her head back down on the pillow, struggling not to cry. It's just another indication of how far gone she is. The old Alex never cried, but now, she can't seem to stop.

After what seems like an eternity, Michael opens his eyes. He rolls onto his side and yawns, propping himself up on one elbow. "Hey, babe."

"Good morning," replies Alex, but much as she tries, she can't hide the tremor in her voice.

"Let's have a lazy day today," he suggests.

"That would be nice, but I – I have to go to work," stammers Alex, then flinches, bracing herself in anticipation for the blow.

But it doesn't come. Michael reaches out to run a hand through her silky hair and gives her a winsome smile, the one that used to make her melt every time. But now, she sees right through it.

"That's okay, baby," he says. "I'll call them and tell them you're not feeling well. We can play hooky together. How does that sound?"

Does he honestly think he can buy her love back like this? She's not a teenager anymore and playing hooky isn't the most appealing prospect in the world. But she doesn't know how to refuse again without further incensing him, so she doesn't. She just nods. "That would be good," she hears herself reply, but the voice sounds far away, almost as if it isn't hers after all.

"Great. I'll call and you go start breakfast, okay? How about some pancakes?"

Alex nods and gets out of bed, almost robotically. She winces at the pain as she stands and Michael catches the look on her face. "What's the matter, babe?"

She doesn't tell him that it's his fault, that the soreness between her legs comes fro the sex he forced on her last night. She knows it will only lead to another beating. Instead she says, "Nothing, baby," and plants a tender kiss on his lips. Pulling on her bathrobe, she goes into the kitchen to start the pancakes.

* * *

Olivia, still at Mercy General with Elliot, flips her phone shut in shock and stares at Elliot. "What?" he says, looking at her with an expression of concern.

"It's Alex," she explains. "She's taking a sick day."

Elliot's eyes practically bulge out of his head. "Alex?"

Olivia nods. "I called her when we found out and she said she'd be here right away – that was almost eight hours ago. And get this – the creep was the one that called."

"I hate the bastard," comments Elliot. "Alex doesn't take sick days. Ever. Do you think – something happened to her?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I just don't know. However, I do know that Alex would be here if she could be here, no matter how sick she is."

"Then let's wait for her."

Olivia shakes her head. "She won't come. Inconvenient as it is, we can go one day without our ADA and still accomplish most of what we need to do today."

He hesitates, clearly not wanting to let this go, but accepting that Olivia knows Alex best. "Okay."

"Maybe I'll go check on her later."

Elliot nods. "That sounds good." Then he turns the conversation back to work. "So we need to find other victims of Barnett's. If Sam Cavanaugh dies, he walks."

* * *

As she gets dressed that morning, Alex catches a glimpse of her frail, battered body in the mirror; a rainbow of injuries covering her skin. It disgusts her to see herself like this and it makes her sad how uncomfortable she is in her own body. She doesn't even dare to look in the mirror anymore because she's afraid of what she'll see.

Pulling on a long sweater to cover the deep bruises on her arms, she deliberately arranges her hair so it's covering the scratch marks on her neck and her newly swelling black eye. She's grown her hair out just for this purpose, even though she likes it better shoulder-length.

Michael comes into the bathroom without knocking and Alex quickly turns away from the mirror, as if she's been caught doing something she isn't allowed to do.

"Hey, babe," he greets her. "Did I tell you today how beautiful you are?"

The words send a shiver through her body. These are the words he uses to preface a sexual command. Even the words, "Come lie with me," terrify Alex now. This is what she's become and even after Michael – if she survives that long – she knows she will never be able to have a healthy relationship with another man, because everything that man says will remind her of the one who hurt her so much. Which is probably the point.

She turns to him and manages an uneasy smile. "Yeah," she says softly.

He grins and wraps an arm around her. Alex flinches involuntarily, but melts into him, enjoying the warmth of his embrace even though she still doesn't trust him. It feels good to have comforting physical contact, even if it's from Michael. In his moments of lucidity, he can be downright charming, and that's the Michael she wishes would show himself more often.

"I love you, baby," Michael murmurs in her ear, stroking her hair. Alex shudders at the touch, but doesn't pull away. "You're so fucking gorgeous."

He says this to her so often that the words have become meaningless. It's just one of those things he says. She isn't beautiful at all; she's ugly and she knows it. The marks that disfigure her body contradict Michael's words.

Squeezing her shoulders, he moves his hands down her back, massaging her body with his rough hands. Each time, her muscles tense, but eventually she relaxes. She's still a bit uneasy, but it does feel good. She hates how he can make her feel these conflicting emotions – revulsion when she thinks about it, but the physical sensation sooner or later is a comfort rather than another cross to bear. How sick is that?

"You know what, Lex?" he whispers, trailing his fingers up her side, making her shiver. She isn't sure if it's in gratification or in apprehension and this makes her want to throw up. Michael has crossed her signals, so much so that she can't distinguish pain from pleasure. Often, they are one in the same, even though they shouldn't be. Alex has never liked rough sex, but even though Michael hurts her and sometimes forces her to do things that humiliate her, she loves him. She doesn't know how she can love a man like this, but she does. "Why don't you get into that sexy black dress of yours, hmm, babe? Maybe we can have some fun, huh?"

Alex nods, glad to escape from the suffocating atmosphere. She doesn't like that dress, but it turns Michael on, so she quickly changes into it. Surveying herself in the bedroom mirror, she wraps her arms uncomfortably around herself. The dress is a halter top and she doesn't like the exposed skin of her back. There are four dark bruises visible just below her neck and she tries unsuccessfully to arrange her hair in a way that hides them. She hates the person she's become – Alex Cabot, uncomfortable in her own skin.

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