Seems like I do a lot apologizing around here... especially considering the amount of reviews I got last time. I'm so so sorry for taking so long, and thank you all so much for reviewing! Life has been hectic, I was out of town for a while AND had major writer's block. But I'm back, and I'll be better next time. Please don't stop reading! Thank you.

6.

She could still taste the chrome in her mouth. As he ground her face into the car, all Abbie could think of was the hand groping her—and the metallic tang of the car door on her tongue. It was the taste of helplessness—of complete and utter loss of control. Like that other time, when she'd been too young and drunk to do anything about it. And then he was whispering in her ear, those hideous words, "I cut her, and she screamed. I burned her… and she screamed louder. I pushed my fist into her… and she passed out."

A shudder of revulsion went all through her. I know that voice.

Bergstrom's sickening eyes were boring into her—those repulsive ogling eyes that had haunted her nightmares for weeks. He was the one pinning her to the car, forcing her down, turning her into a victim.

No, no, no—you can't be here, damn you. We put you away.

And then he was gone—nothing but sterile white walls and muted hospital sounds all around her. It took her a while to realize there really was no Bergstrom, no car… no taste. Just the beads of sweat on her forehead and desperate hammering of her terrified heart.

It was morning.

And so ended what had probably been the longest night of her life. She'd barely managed to blink between the dull pounding of her head, the endless throbbing of her face, the faint nausea from the Demerol. Every time she moved, her stitches pulled and stung. And as if that weren't enough, the one time she'd finally managed to doze off—Bergstrom.

It's like all my Christmases have come in a row.

At least morning meant she could finally be discharged, go home. Put this whole unsavory affair behind her. The memory of her pitiable statement to Anita van Buren still made her cringe. She'd barely been able to keep it together. No sooner had Jack gone than the dreaded waterworks had flipped themselves on and it was all she could do to keep them at bay while giving her recount. Every word brought on a new rush of unwanted tears to her eyes. She knew Anita had seen them, though she'd been discreet and pretended not to. Even if she never told, Abbie couldn't help feeling her tough prosecutor image was irreversibly tainted.

What she still couldn't get was why everything was so fresh in her mind. Weren't head injuries supposed to make people forget? She wished she could forget. The scene kept playing itself over and over and it was driving her crazy. It didn't bring them any closer to finding the son of a bitch either.

When I get my hands on you, I'm gonna nail your sorry ass to the wall, she vowed, anger being the only way she could preserve some dignity. At least while she fumed she wasn't focusing on how it must have looked to her boss—finding her lying there in that parking lot, with her legs splayed out and her clothes torn to shreds.

Don't think about it. Just don't fucking think about it.

All through that interminable night she had honestly believed she wanted nothing better than to go home—dive into her own bed and shut out the world. But once the orderly who had wheeled her to the door said good-bye and left, she wavered. The early morning chill cut through her like a knife, making her shiver in the measly scrubs the hospital had loaned her. Her clothes had been bagged as evidence and were in tatters anyway. She doubted she'd ever be wearing them again. Still… not having them made her feel oddly lonely and exposed.

What was she going to do by herself for two weeks? She had never been on sick leave for more than a couple of days. At the DA's office they worked 12-16 hours, easily. She had no idea what they were even showing on TV anymore. And she sure as hell couldn't go out looking the way she did. For fourteen straight days it would be just… she, alone with her thoughts. And memories. And nightmares.

And flashbacks. God, no—please, no flashbacks.

It was doubly strange because she had always been alone—since her college days anyway—and gloried in it. No one to answer to, no one to compromise with. Now, for the first time in years, she wished there were someone to come home to. If only her family weren't so damn far away! What the hell made her come all the way across the country for work anyway? Couldn't she just have stayed in Texas? They had courts there too, for God's sake. And she would've been safe. She could've run right back into her mommy's arms and no one would have been the wiser. Her parents wouldn't ask questions. They wouldn't think she was weak. They wouldn't whisper, "hey, that's the lawyer chick who got beat up," everytime she entered the courthouse.

Work had always been her blessed solace—the one place where she really couldn't spare a minute to wallow in her own problems. That ADAs were overstrained was an understatement. But she loved it. She and Jack were finally ironing out their differences and becoming a good team. One Hogan Place was beginning to feel like home. She could have got over this indignity so much easier if she'd only been allowed to jump straight back into some gruesome casefile.

But she couldn't. This one time, work couldn't be her safe haven. Her folly was written on her face. In black-and-blue ink. And she had a casefile of her own now.

As she scanned the curb for the cab she'd called earlier, she caught passers-by glancing at her in distaste. No surprise there. She knew how she must look to them—roughed up and in faded hospital attire, like a half-crazed Bellevue patient.

Didn't you wanna be a head-turner? she thought wryly. Well there you go.

A hand came down on her shoulder, making her nearly jump out of her skin.

"Whoa, whoa! Take it easy, Abbie. It's me."

It was Jack.

Her knees felt rubbery and some sort of ridiculous nervous titter threatened to make its way out her mouth—she barely caught it. It took her almost a full minute to recover. Dumb though it was, a part of her had genuinely expected it to be Bergstrom.

"Jack!" she exclaimed, soon as she could speak. "What are you doing here? Don't you have to be at work?"

"Not on a saturday," he answered with his signature smirk. "I came to drive you home."

Despite his lighthearted tone, Abbie was horrified to find herself choking up. What the hell is wrong with me? One nice gesture and I turn into a basket case.

If Jack noticed, he did a good job disguising it. She couldn't help being grateful to him for that… and for being there. It's not like she had many friends in town, not since Toni had gone and gotten herself killed. Sure she could've taken the cab, but she just really needed a shoulder to lean on right now. One that hopefully wouldn't patronize her. She wasn't sure she could take any more of that "sweetie" crap she'd got from the ER staff.

"I'm sorry I didn't think of bringing you anything to wear," he said regretfully, giving her the once-over.

She snickered. "What, you don't like my outfit?"

It was sweet of him, but she'd rather die than have her superior go through her underwear drawer. Hospital scrubs would do just fine for now.

"So how you feeling?" he asked, leading her over to his car.

"Been better," Abbie truthfully replied, not really wanting to get into it. "You got any leads?"

"Lennie and Ed went over the security videos. They seem to have something. They're following up on it now."

The security videos. Oh, God.

Blood rushed to her face in unanticipated shame. She hadn't even thought of the videos. The whole thing would be there… out for the world to see. Where the entire precinct and DA's office could have a field day playing it over and over again. Why couldn't the ground just swallow her up?

She was uncomfortably aware of Jack's eyes on her as she fumbled with the seatbelt buckle.

"You don't have to be ashamed, you know," he spoke up, startling her. "Like you said last night—this could have happened to anyone, any time. It's not your fault."

I know. But I still am. I'm a big girl. I should've been able to defend myself. I should've noticed.

And it could have been worse. Instead of "the lawyer chick who got beat up", it could've been "the lawyer chick who got raped".

I wanna go home. Please take me home.

"Abbie…"

Stop talking to me. Stop talking or I swear—I'm gonna punch you out. Or lose it.

Astoundingly enough he seemed to get it, backing off just long enough for her to compose herself. By the time they pulled up to her apartment building, she had successfully "decompressed"—swallowed down the tears of disgrace, bitten back the undeserved insults she would've piled up on anyone who attempted to console her. She was even able to smile and thank him for driving her.

"I'm sorry I was so emotional," she added. "It's just—"

She let the sentence hang there, unfinished. What else could she say?

"You don't need to explain," Jack assured her. "No one expects you to be yourself yet."

She resisted the urge to throw her arms around him in appreciation. When had this old grump—who had first acknowledged her presence in Major Crimes by telling her off—managed to turn into such an understanding human being? Could it be the same tough old Jack McCoy everyone loved to hate?

"No need to walk me up," she objected with some surprise, realizing he was getting out of the car with her.

"No buts," he said firmly. "Van Buren is reasonably convinced this was a one-time deal but Adam's right. We're taking no chances."

Great. Now Adam's in on it too.

The bottom fell out of her world.