A/N As always I am beyond grateful for the kind reviews. I'm kind of struggling a bit with a couple of aspects of Liv in the context of this storyline, I've asked thelisa17 for a little help but no help would be turned away, if anyone has any insights?

Guest; I'm honored to receive your first review ever. I appreciate it more than you can know.

thelisa17; As always thank you. Yep I had written it before I realized how much that admission really meant.

Please let me know what you think?

"Ready Detective?" I ask.

The silent nod that greets me already worries me that all I have to look forward to on this journey is an occasional nod or shrug.

If I'm completely honest, I don't know what to do with the man that sits before me. It's not that I dislike him, I don't and I can't even look at him anymore without silently thanking him for saving Liv from Harris, I just have never really spoken to him.

I just can't help wishing that I had anyone else with me. Ok well maybe not anyone else.

It doesn't help either of our moods that the inflexibility of this D.C. court date has meant that we will both miss Noah's Dedication Ceremony. A distant case, we were barely and very temporarily a part of. Whose details we struggle to remember without our files and statements to prompt us, but whose effect, like all of them, has somehow contributed to who we have become. Yet again, the personal cost to us, seems too high. Liv has made it very clear that she understands but I wanted to be there for her, I know that Fin feels the same.

Well at least the silence means I can try and clear a backlog of paperwork on the journey, I try to console myself.

My files litter the small table between us as I prep the upcoming Johnny D case. I see Fin furrow his brow as he reads the upside down files, to see what I'm working on. As always when I am out of the safety of my office, I have removed pictures, evidence, anything that does not belong in civilized society. I am conscious of the dignity of our victims, and the sensitivity of any members of the public who may cross my path. He mutters and curls his lip in disgust as he remembers the case. He shoves a pair of earphones into his phone and then twists them into his ears, laying his head back against the seat headrest.

I look at him for a moment, slightly jealous of his relaxed state.

I sigh softly, before refocusing myself on the files in front of me, making cryptic looking notes, as I wade through the forest of paper.

I start well, but pretty soon I find myself staring aimlessly out the window as the train powers towards D.C.

I'm shocked out of my daydreaming, when I hear a voice ask, "How's she really doing Counselor?". He is wrapping the headphones around his hand, shoving them back into the coat pocket they appeared from.

For a moment I'm at a loss, like I'm only party to the tail end of a conversation and then I realize he is asking about Liv. I flash to our short conversation after Yates was found guilty of Nadia's horrible rape and murder;

"Liv left. She just seemed... overwhelmed. It's been so hard for her..."

"She has been through more than you can know..."

"...or maybe not..."

"Liv hates to need help. She needs someone to be there for her now..."

It's only now as I replay it in my head, I realize that I contributed nothing more than nods and looks to that exchange. I have had the audacity to accuse him of being functionally mute, and I contributed no words whatsoever to the deepest, most important, conversation we have ever had.

I understand he doesn't waste words unnecessarily and can be a little blunt, from my observations of his interactions with others so maybe it's me.

I look at his penetrating stare, the concern in his eyes and immediately dissuade myself from any childish, futile, 'how would I know', styled answer. I remember instead, how he was the one that directed me to her, again feeling immense gratitude, when I think back to how distressed she was...

"Nadia's death has hit her hard. It brought up a lot of feelings of...Lewis" I shrug in frustration.

He nods knowingly. I realize that this is an opportunity to better understand what she was faced with on that beach. I have read all the files but it's not cold facts I need.

"How bad was it Fin...the beach, the search, all of it?"

He breathes in deeply at the memory.

"Bad, real bad..." I think that is all I'm going to get, as he looks carefully around him. His body sinks deeper into his seat as his head leans into me.

"She kept it together, I don't know how. Man, I nearly lost it." A hand reaches up and rubs his face. He briefly closes his eyes in pained remembrance. Guilt plays softly across his features as he faintly confesses, "She kept grimacing when she thought no one was looking, on the beach, when we were searching,... it took me forever to figure it out...it was the sounds..."

I look at him blankly as I desperately search my brain for any clue to what sounds he could be referring to. There was no screaming, no shooting,...from what I can tell there could only be the sounds of the search and that shouldn't be too triggering for her as she wasn't a part of her own search...I look to him questioningly.

"The beach sounds..."

Oh god.

Of course... She was cuffed to a bed in a beach house as he tortured her, threatened her, beat her, assaulted her. Her senses would have been heightened by fear. Anytime he left her, she would have been listening for his return, hearing the sounds of the beach...

My hands run across my face in horror as I start to appreciate how bad this really was. How I can never begin to understand, despite knowing so much about what Lewis did to her, what she really went through. I have always known she held back details, some of them I can speculate at, some of which I understand that she could not tell the ADA for her case, but I will never have any understanding of what she experienced.

How many times had she tried to distance herself from the agonies he was forcing on her body? Did she try to distance herself by listening to the 'calming sounds of the ocean'? I try not to imagine what she must have been feeling on that beach while they searched frantically for the body of their colleague...

Her desire to bathe the moment we arrived back at my apartment flashes through my mind again. I knew there was more to it than just washing away the dirt of a hard day but not this much, I could never have even guessed...

For a moment I am lulled into complete silence. The everyday noises of the train fading into nothing as I consider how even the most insignificant details continue to add to her suffering. I know the power of sounds and smells in a traumatic experience and how they can suddenly pull an unsuspecting victim back into the grip of their attacker but yet I can admit to being amazed at how I never even considered this. Once again I'm reminded how little I understood until it became more personal, more real ...

He scrunches his face in disgust as he thinks back, I nod for him to continue...

"You saw the pictures, but when we found her...no picture can describe it..."

I nod. Knowing that whilst she was looking at the body feeling all that has to have assaulted her... the cop side of her would have been cataloguing her injuries extrapolating their possible causes, mentally speculating as to what kind of weapons they may be looking for...

I cannot bear to imagine the memories her red-circled wrists would have brought back to Liv.

"The worst though was when he sat in interrogation and told us what he had done to her, to Nadia...her face...I don't wanna ever see that face again...

I've seen the footage of the interview. I know how he taunted them. I can only imagine how Liv would have taken the news... The shock, the disbelief at Nadia's proclaimed fate...the pain...

We both studiously return to our previous positions watching the country slide by our window, both seeing a very different scene to that in front of us.

Neither of us make any attempt to rekindle conversation. Avoiding, even, the eye contact that may inadvertently lead to some silent communication. Both of us preferring to wrap ourselves in our personal agonies.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window as we pass through an underpass, the temporary external darkness causing the window to mirror my image. As always when I work, I have thrown off my suit jacket, my vest is fully unbuttoned, my tie is pulled loose and my top button is open widely. My hair shows signs of my hands having nervously run through it as I pictured the scenarios his words conjured. My face is pale, my eyes deadened by my despair.

I don't even look in his direction as I ask, "Why do you do this?".

I see his reflected image shrug wordlessly at me.

I don't know what I expected him to say but I find myself irritated at the silence that greets my heartfelt question. Could he not even say "we make a difference' or 'to help them', hell even, 'somebody has to'? And then I understand, he won't cheapen my query with a clichéd answer. I search my own mind for the reason that I do this job. I know we do make a difference, much more than we would in robbery, or even homicide, our victims are so often still there to experience their win, to celebrate it. That acknowledgement crashes into despair as I'm reminded how they are also there to experience the crushing defeats. I try not to allow their faces to invade my brain, the faces of those we couldn't get justice for, the faces that haunt me...I understand in that instant how there is no answer to my question, we do it because we have to...

"How do you go home, have a normal life, have...relationships...?" I ask, my eyes unconsciously moving to my groin...

I look up after a moment's silence to see his narrowed eyes searching my face.

"We don't have normal lives, most of us, we're not married, and...relationships...sometimes you just can't."

I look at him and we both understand that we are talking about the physical side of relationships, he has understood the real question in my query.

I nod, wordlessly validated, but slightly despairing at this newly gleaned information.

"It doesn't last..."

He adds as he watches my despair. He unknowingly echoes Liv's words that it can be hard to leave what we see behind us at the end of the day, but that 'This really strong feeling doesn't last, you will probably always have the 'SVU mindset', that extra cautiousness. How can we not, with what we see? This fear though, it fades,... some cases will always bring it back but it's never as bad again.' Her soothing, honest words are burned into my soul. Somehow though another man confirming them makes me feel substantially better.

"It's been really rough," he states " what with Patten, and then Yates...it's been a lot..."

Again, in the spirit of his words, he unintentionally, echoes Liv, 'it's not the same when you know them'. I understand him better now. It's not that he doesn't talk, he does, you just have to listen very carefully between the words... I nearly laugh as I realize we are currently having the archetypal conversation between two men. So much of the conversation is left unsaid, and alluded to, so as to be nearly indecipherable.

I'm loathe to break Liv's confidence, unsure as to what I should say...but understanding that, in Fin, I am talking to someone that shares my concern, my protectiveness of Liv. He has taken over since Cragen's departure, watching out for her, as an all-seeing protective big brother.

I know how much he must have struggled with whether he should say anything to me after the verdict in the Yates trial. I recognize the huge compliment inherent in his trust in me, in my ability to be there for her. I know he also has suspicions that Liv told me something about Harris, and much as I don't want to say anything, I see the value in allowing him to know that someone else knows what she has been through, that someone else is aware...

"Yeah, it's brought back a lot...about Lewis...Harris..."

To his credit he shows absolutely no surprise at my confirmation. His eyes narrow at me, and he seems to be evaluating why I seemingly broke her confidence...

"She told me you were the one to save her..."

I whisper the words softly, my gratitude clear in them. I hope he can understand that I'm also trying to tell him, I know his part in what happened, I want to protect her too.

He seems content with this explanation, satisfied in my motivations.

He echoes his words from just after the Yates trial "She has been through so much...".

We both nod in shared understanding.

"So has Rollins..." I tentatively add. Unsure if my more distant relationship with Rollins allows me this familiarity, in his eyes.

Again he seems to weigh my motivations, studying me deeply for any indication of malicious intent. Again he doesn't seem to find any as he nods "She's doing better..."

I can't control the relieved smile that graces my features at this confirmation.

A comfortable silence descends upon us, both of us, again, lost in our thoughts, remembering...

Our journey flashes by us, our window playing witness to its progression as the scenery changes constantly.

I stand slowly, stretching out my muscles gently, "I need caffeine, coffee Fin?"

He nods gratefully as I make my way to the restaurant car.

On my short walk, I can't help reflecting on my wholly unexpected conversation with this quiet man. I'm immensely grateful for his candor, for his implied trust in me. I'm reminded how lucky I am to have been accepted into this unorthodox family. That whilst our sacrifices for our job are many, we have also gained, in each other, possibly more than we than we have lost.