This was kind of a nothing chapter, but I felt the need to work on the angst/aftermath a little more before moving on to other things. The next chapter will get more "investigative", so to speak.

Disclaimer: Sadly I don't own these characters. If I did, L&O would still be on the air and a lot of the old cast would still be around. Not that I have a problem with the last years' cast, but... I'm just nostalgic, I guess.

3.

It was worse than he'd thought.

Minor cuts and bruises, my ass. She looked terrible. Her face was so badly battered it was barely recognizable. Her left eye was black and puffed shut from the cut on her eyebrow. Half the skin on her right cheekbone was gone and the lip under it was split and swollen. He counted at least eight stitches on her, and those were the ones he could see. Her slender neck was marred with bruises, as was her chest and arms as far as the hospital gown would show. He couldn't see the rest of her, but he'd be willing to bet it was all just as bad. The brightly smiling recollection of untarnished Abbie coming out of the Courthouse radiant with success nearly broke his heart. He just barely managed to choke down the horrified "God…Abbie…" that rose to his lips.

Get it together, McCoy, he sternly ordered himself. Getting emotional would help no one, least of all her. She needed a friend—and a district attorney. Not a pity party.

"Hey, Jack," she croaked, voice raspier than ever. Because of all the screaming, no doubt.

"Hey, Abbie." She'd hardly appreciate his acting like she was about to break. In fact, he could almost see the disfigured frown under all her injuries. But—he'd never been so at loss in his life.

"Relax, McCoy. I wasn't raped," she shocked him by saying, in a saucy bantering tone dangerously close to normal.

No amount of self-control could keep his jaw from dropping open this time. The woman was even stronger than he'd imagined—making a joke about that of all things. Bless her, she was actually smiling—or trying to. It came out an impossibly pathetic grimace due to the mangled lip. But the intention was there.

"So I heard." He smiled too, then instantly ruined it by taking a gingerly seat next to her and adding, "Listen… I'm really sorry I didn't walk you to your car. If I had—"

"Don't be an idiot. This isn't your fault. It could've happened to anybody, anytime."

Jack couldn't tell if she was authentically pissed or just trying to be reassuring in tough-love sort of way. A few silent minutes passed as her chest laboriously rose and fell and he realized, guiltily, she wasn't as physically comfortable as she let on. Suspiciously eyeing the contents of the bag strapped to the IV, he was glad to find a generous amount of Demerol in it.

"You hurting?"

It was a dumb question and he knew it. Of course she was in pain. No one could have that amount of soft tissue damage and not hurt. If she blurted out a huge "DUH" and rolled her eyes he would hardly have blamed her.

As it was, she was exceptionally gracious.

"A little," she admitted. "Thanks for… you know. Finding me. If you hadn't… it would've been a different story."

ADA Carmichael acknowledging she'd needed help? Wow. Jack was so taken a back he could barely think of an appropriate response.

"How do you know it was me?"

"You were the one I shouted for. Didn't think there was anyone else within hearing distance."

She had shouted for him. And to think if he had hopped on his bike two seconds earlier he wouldn't even have heard her. He'd probably be home, passed out in front of the TV, just now getting the second worst phone call of his life. And she might be dead. Or…

Don't even go there, McCoy.

"Hey, Abbie… Van Buren's gonna come here in a few minutes to do some routine questioning. You up to it?"

She gave him a scathing glance. "Of course."

"Did you recognize the man who did this to you?"

A shadow fell across her already distorted features. "No. I didn't get a real good look at him. Except when he was covered in blood."

"Covered in blood?"

"I elbowed him in the face."

Jack was secretly delighted. Attagirl. Not only had she got a blow in edgewise, but she'd made the assailant bleed. They'd have DNA from the ground to match a suspect to… once they found one.

"Do you think you could pick him out of a line-up?"

"Don't think so." She shuddered violently and her voice lost some of its sauciness. "At least, not that kind of line-up."

Jack stared. What the hell was she talking about? Did she mean—?

"I meant his voice," she clarified scornfully.

Despite her efforts at cynicism, the tough girl façade was falling fast. Fatigue and pain, fear and humiliation were all taking a toll. He could see it in the rapid blinking of her eyes, the trembling of her fingers, the growing hoarseness of her voice. Deep down, Jack had known all along her "you-can't-faze-me-I'm-just-fine" crap was nothing but a ploy. He'd gone along with it because he would have done the same. As Adam Schiff, his respected old DA friend, had always said—they were like two peas in a pod. For better or for worse, admitting they were vulnerable was something the Carmichaels and McCoys of this world simply did not do. Or any self-respecting prosecutor, for that matter. Considering themselves invincible sort of came with the territory.

It was time to back off. If he kept on pushing, she would shatter—and he knew how much crying in public aggravated her. Damned if he was doing that to her. Hadn't she been violated enough for one day?

Unfortunately she still had to give her statement to the police. But he figured he could trust Anita van Buren. She and Abbie had worked closely for over a year now and as far as he knew, they'd never butted heads. She'd been sensitive enough through the entire Ricci ordeal. Hell, she had even held his hand while he was giving his testimonial. There was no one else he'd rather have in time of need.

"Van Buren really needs to talk to you and afterwards you should get some rest. I'm gonna go, okay? Anything I can do for you?"

She seemed so peaked and panicky at the mention of Van Buren, he almost regretted leaving. But she regained composure in record time. "Yeah, drive my car home for me, would you? I'm on sick leave for two weeks."