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It was devastating, sure, but life goes on.

Olivia stared at the ceiling, still bruised, still battered, but other than that physically okay. Mentally, on the other hand, she was shattered, her brain replaying the scene over and over again, never stopping. She didn't feel anything but cold, and she was wrapped in a thick layer of blankets, nearly comatose in lack of action.

"Liv?" came the perpetual question, and she didn't even look up. "Hey. Are you doing okay?"

Her tongue was swollen, useless in her mouth. "No."

Elliot sighed. He sat on the edge of her bed, held her hand, and the intimacy of the gesture nearly brought her to tears. "Did you…did you see his face?"

She shook her head. "I…I was facedown the entire time. He must've drugged me or something after you left the…the bar."

"Do you remember seeing anyone suspicious after I left?" Clearly, Elliot was struggling with this. "Did anyone try to talk to you?"

Olivia bit her lip, closed her eyes, tried desperately to think of something, anything. "I…it's too hard, Elliot."

"I understand that," said Stabler. He closed his eyes and tried to picture her before. She wasn't like this, wasn't such a mess. "Listen, Olivia…they're going to do the rape kit any minute now. Are you ready?"

"Will you stay with me?" she whispered.

"Ugh...sure. Anything for you."

She tried to smile, but it hurt her teeth. "Elliot…thank you so much. I…I'm just a bit of a mess right now."

"No, no, it's okay," said Elliot, squeezing her hand a bit tighter. "Olivia, someone…he…I don't even know what I'm saying, honestly."

"That's okay," said Olivia. "I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"You have an excuse, though," said Elliot. He flushed. "I mean…God, that's awful of me to say, but…well…Liv…"

She closed her eyes, silencing him. She looked almost Madonna-esque, her dark eyelashes and hair framing her face perfectly. Victim. The term did not suit her, but here she was, one of the masses, something she couldn't fix on her own.

Elliot stared at her. "I…I'm just going to go out for a moment."

He left, and she only then allowed herself to cry.

"Are you sexually active?"

"Not on a regular basis until…"

"I understand completely."

"Thanks."

"Do you identify as heterosexual?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any current sexual partners?"

"No. I thought I made that apparent."

"Can you please, in full detail, describe the rape?"

"I…I woke up and…well…I was shoved against the bed and he was inside of me."

"Inside how?"

"Vaginal."

"Okay. Then what?"

"I screamed, and he slapped me and laughed."

"Describe the laugh."

"Low, husky."

"Mhm. Any chance that you'd be able to identify the voice if you heard it again?"

"Yes."

"Good. At least we have that much to work with…now, this is going to hurt."

Olivia held Elliot's hand and gasped. She had never realized that it would hurt this much. "Ow."

"Indeed. Now, that just about finishes the exam. You can clean up now, whatever you want. You'll have to stay in the hospital for the night though, and you might need stitches."

"Stitches? What did I tear?"

The examiner looked a bit uncomfortable. "I think that's a bit obvious."

"Oh."

Munch and Fin came over in the morning. "Hey, Benson," said Fin. He awkwardly held out a bouquet. "Um, figured you'd want these."

"Thank you," said Olivia, taking the roses and staring at them. She still wanted to cry. "That's very thoughtful of you."

"Well, all things considered, you deserve it," said Munch, sitting down. "Hey, we have news."

"Yes?"

"I bought a property. I'm finally going to have that bar."

"Congratulations," said Olivia, a tiny smile creeping up on her face. "What will you be serving, any specialties?"

"All of the specialties."

"Good to know," said Olivia. She felt something tremor through her, and she grimaced. "Thanks for coming."

"How are you feeling?" asked Munch, still taking the lead. Fin was nearly silent, just looking at the scuffs on his boots. "You look pretty good, physically at least."

"Just queasy," she said. "I took the morning after pill and stuff, but I still feel like crap."

"Sorry," said Fin. "Hey, I'm going downstairs to the vending machine. Do you want a Coke or something?"

"Sure," she said, her eyes tracing his frame. "That'd be nice."

As he left, Munch turned to her. "Don't mind him. He's just really shaken up."

"Is he, now," said Olivia, her stomach growling. "Can you send him a text asking for some M&Ms?"

"Sure," said Munch, taking out his iPhone and sending a quick text. "Olivia?"

"Yes, John?"

"We…we're worried about you," said Munch. He was obviously in a skirmish with himself to form any coherent words. "At the precinct. Um. I shouldn't tell you this, but we're planning a party when you get back. Is that okay?"

She felt at a loss for words. "I…I don't really know. That's kind of you, but…"

"Too much?"

"In a sense, yes."

"I'll relay—"

"No, it's fine," she stated. "If anything, I'm worried about the stitches. They really pull."

"Stitches?"

Olivia sighed and crumpled into the useless little heap she was getting steadily used to being. "Never mind. I just…"

Fin parted the curtain leading to her bed and dropped the M&Ms and a Coke on her bed. "Knock yourself out."

"I'll try," she admitted, tearing open the bag and eating one blue piece. "God, I haven't had these in forever."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," said Munch, watching her devour the packet. "Slow down, Benson. It's unladylike."

"I don't care," said Olivia. She finished off the last of it and sighed. "I know. I was a pig. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said Fin. "Everyone binges."

"Especially lonely detectives," added Olivia. She stared off into space for a moment before glancing in their direction. "Well, I'm going to get dressed."

"Mhm," said Munch, not leaving. Fin tugged his arm, and he understood. "Oh! Sorry, Benson."

She closed her eyes as they left and slipped into the jeans and t-shirt Elliot had left for her. Her coat was hung up on the bed, and she put that on as well, sighing as she tied her shoelaces and aching a little as she bent over. There was a bruise on her ribcage, right in between her breasts, and it was annoying the hell out of her. So what. You can do anything. Sure. Anything.

No, really. Olivia, look at you. Raped less than twenty four hours ago and already getting ready to investigate more cases. That takes guts.

What doesn't?

Hiding.

True.

Two days passed. Olivia sat at the precinct, typing away furiously. Everyone was watching her. She knew this to be true, even though their statures denied it, and it was starting to seriously annoy her. I'm fine, she wanted to say, perfectly fine, just recovering, that's all. Apparently, however, everyone was used to the kind of victims she took care of, not this new, tough-guy persona that had been steadily growing ever since the assault.

For a moment, it was blissfully quiet in the precinct. She sighed, allowed herself to feel the almost dreamlike quality of not having to deal with the almost juvenile chatters of whichever DA they were on (which one were they on? Since she had become a detective, they'd flown past her eyes); of course, this always ended too quickly, and always with Elliot.

Her partner stood up, almost breathless. There were hollows in his cheeks, a new kind of loneliness that she hadn't seen there before. "Rape, 23rd and 7th, Chelsea," he said, grabbing his coat. "Victim's a teenage girl."

Olivia stood up and pulled on her coat. "Finally, an actual case," she said, feeling the contours of her body inside of the thick fabric. "Is it just me, or has Manhattan been relatively calm as far as sex crimes go?"

No one answered her. Elliot and Fin glanced over their respective shoulders momentarily, but other than that, she got no reaction. She frowned. This was starting to get really irritating.

The drive was silent. Olivia didn't drive. She felt like a little kid in the back seat, while Fin and Elliot talked loudly into their cellphones. There was a light ache in her stomach, and she winced and stared out of the window. "Liv?" asked Elliot, turning around from the passenger's seat. "You look kind of green. Is something wrong?"

"No," she lied, tasting bile in the back of her throat. "I just feel a little under the weather, that's all."

The men exchanged a glance. "What? I just think I'm catching something. Is that really a cause for concern?"

She felt pissed, too pissed off to be true to anyone. Elliot bit his lip. "We just worry about you, Liv."

"Whatever," said Liv, unbuckling her seatbelt. "We're here,"

They parked and ran out. There was police tape everywhere, and the victim, a small teenager with a severe dark haircut, was crying, wearing an oversized jacket and sitting on the curb as medics flew around her.

"Hey," said Olivia, stooping down to her level. "I'm Detective Olivia Benson, Special Victims Unit."

"Gemma," said the girl, looking dead. "I…he…" She burst into tears.

"It's going to be okay," said Olivia, rubbing her shoulders. She didn't feel too sure, herself. "I…it's going to be okay."