Olivia Benson had done this hundreds of times, but that didn't make each time any easier. Seeing victims in the hospital, battered and bruised, terrified, alone was more emotionally taxing than it looked. This one had it particularly bad. Half a dozen stab wounds in her abdomen and arms, bruising and scrapes across her shoulders and face, a lump on the top of her head and a concussion to go with it. Evidence of a sexual assault. The off-duty cop that had found her said that she had dragged herself out of the alleyway, barely coherent, close to bleeding out. This last bit of strength had saved her life. CSI was going over the scene now, other detectives were looking over security footage, trying to see where she had come from. They still did not know her name.

Detective Rollins met her in the hospital hallway, casting a glance inside the hospital room where the victim was lying in bed. "When'd she wake up?" Rollins asked, keeping her voice low. The floor was busy, with doctors and nurses hurrying back and forth across the halls. Benson and Rollins pulled aside, standing outside the victim's door.

"The nurse said she's been conscious for about two hours now," Benson replied. "She's was out for quite some time though. They told me that she's already had a blood transfusion since coming in."

"Is she ready for visitors yet?" Rollins asked, placing her hand on the door handle. "Has anyone contacted relatives?"

"She was found in a torn dress, no purse, no ID. She's still a Jane Doe," The Sergeant returned, as they entered the room. "Let's just see what she remembers." The victim looked up when they entered, her brow furrowing in confusion. Sergeant Benson spoke first.

"Good morning," She said, her voice soft and kind. "My name is Olivia Benson, and this is my partner, Detective Amanda Rollins. We just wanted to ask you a few questions."

"Detective?" The young woman asked. She seemed dazed, her dark eyes moving slowly between the two women. She was young, Benson put her in her late twenties. Her face was purple with some bruising and red with scrapes, and she breathed slowly, as if the motion hurt her. Benson remembered that the nurse had told her she had a broken rib. "Like the police?"

"Yes, the police," Rollins answered. "We came as soon as we heard of what happened. Can you tell us your name?" Rollins asked, and the woman nodded.

"My name is Sophia," She said slowly. "Sophia Danatto."

"How are you feeling, Sophia?" Benson asked, and she shook her head.

"My head," She said, reaching up and touching the back of her hair, now brushed and clean. "I think I hit my head. And the rest of me… they said that I was stabbed? I don't feel much…" She reached for her stomach, pulling back the bed sheet, and Benson quickly distracted her, not wanting for the young woman to strain her injuries.

"You were stabbed with a knife several times," Benson explained. "And you have a concussion and broken rib. You'll be on painkillers for some time. Just take it easy." She watched as Sophia took in this information, turning it over in her mind. She looked to grow more and more upset - perhaps her memories were coming back.

"An off-duty police officer was the one who found you outside of an alleyway," Rollins added. "Do you remember any of that?"

Sophia looked down at her lap, her lip quivering. Rollins and Benson exchanged a glance. "What happened to me?" She whispered, and Benson tightly swallowed.

"We were hoping that you could tell us that, Sophia," She said. "Somebody did this to you. We need to find out who."

Sophia shook her head, wiping the threat of tears quickly from her eyes. "Not somebody," She said. "There were two of them. Two men, dressed in black. It was so dark inside the alleyway - I couldn't see their faces. They…" She stopped, memories flooding back, visible all over her face. "Oh my God," She choked, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She turned her face away from Benson and Rollins, her arms shaking. "They took turns. I'm remembering now… they both… they both… did it. Then one of them stabbed me, and they left me in the alleyway to die." Benson and Rollins both noticed her shallow breaths and the heart rate monitor beginning to pick up. Perhaps she wasn't quite ready for so many questions just yet.

"It's alright," Benson said, laying a hand on Sophia's arm. The young woman flinched, and Benson slowly retracted her arm. "It's over, and we're going to find the ones who did this to you. You're safe now." Sophia shook her head, her lower lip quivering, and didn't speak further.

"Do you think that you would be able to do a rape kit?" Rollins asked gently, and Sophia nodded silently, staring at her lap. "That will help us a lot. Thank you." She slowly got to her feet, her gaze going outside of Sophia's room window to see Detectives Tutuola and Carisi entering the hospital wing. She hoped this meant that CSI had found something on the crime scene and they could get further ahead on the case than they were with her.

"We'll be in touch soon," Benson said gently, getting up as well. "Try to get as much rest as you can."

Sophia nodded as the pair left the room, and Benson sighed, shutting the door behind them. "Her attackers wanted her to be found," She deduced. "They would have tried to hide her body, not leaving her out for someone to stumble across."

"Sending a message, maybe?" Rollins wondered. "They must not have counted on her living through that."

"Maybe," Benson muttered, turning to greet Tutuola, who was coming towards them with two cups of coffee in hand. He handed one to each of them, bringing a smile to Benson's face. "Thanks Fin, I owe you."

"Any luck at the crime scene?" Rollins asked, and Tutuola shook his head.

"Nothing much yet. Lots of blood, which I'm sure matches up with Jane Doe here. We'll have to wait for more," He said, casting a glance into Sophia's room. "Geez, she looks rough."

"She's had a pretty bad night," Rollins said drily.

"And she's not Jane Doe anymore," Benson added, hoping to steer the discussion. "Her name is Sophia Danatto."

Carisi sharply looked up from the rack of brochures he was scanning over, staring at Benson in disbelief. "Sophia Danatto?" He repeated, looking alarmed. "Are you sure?"

"That's what she told us," Benson said, perturbed. "Why, do you know her?"

Carisi shook his head, the alarm disappearing from his face. He had always had a hard time concealing his emotions. "I, ah, we went to school together," He said gravely, swallowing tersely. "Grew up in the same neighborhood. She lived the next street over from me." He stepped forward, looking over through the Sophia's window. "I can't believe that this happened to her."

"Do you think she remembers you?" Rollins asked encouragingly. "Maybe she'll be more comfortable talking to someone she knows."

"I don't know," Carisi frowned. "It's been a long time since I've seen her."

"She seemed pretty upset," Benson said. "Let's tread carefully right now. She's in a fragile state."

Carisi looked back into Sophia's room, feeling an ache in his chest. There was such a strange juxtaposition between the whiteness of her hospital gown and the shine of her straight, brown hair with the bruises and scrapes on her face and chest and the bandages around her arms. He remembered the little girl playing kick the can with the other neighborhood kids on Staten Island, seeing her happy and laughing with friends. It was such a shock, seeing her brutalized this way. The detectives had told him that she had been stabbed, been raped. It made him sad, and furious at the same time.

She turned her face towards the window and spotted him looking in at her. Carisi found his face growing hot, as though he were a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He quickly looked away, embarrassed, only to check back and see her again, staring at him through the glass, her eyes squinted as she tried to place him.

"Sonny?" She mouthed, and Carisi looked towards the other detectives.

"Go in," Benson encouraged, and Carisi cleared his throat, walking nervously through the door. They still didn't know the exact circumstances of her attack, and he didn't want to frighten her further with the details CSI had found at the crime scene. Slowly, he opened the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

She turned to face him, looking stunned to see him standing before. "Hi, Sophia," He said gently, a smile coming to his face. "Do you remember me?"

"Sonny Carisi," She said, her voice raspier than he remembered. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm a detective now, with Manhattan SVU," He said, hovering at the edge of her bed. He had seen dozens of assault victims before, but seeing her was different. No one was ever granted immunity from this sort of thing. "Can - can I sit down?"

"Please," She said, looking over the the chair positioned by her bedside.

"How are you feeling?" He asked her, and she swallowed grasping at the top of her blanket. He had been a senior when she was a freshman, but he remembered that she looked exactly as she did in high school.

"I think it will be worse when the painkillers wear off," She said quietly, then quickly shifted the attention back to him. "Sonny, how have you been? You look so grown up." She teased through a busted lip, and he noticed that she was trying not to talk about what had happened to her.

"I'm fine," He said, trying not to look at her with the pity he felt. He didn't want her to assume he thought any less of her after what had happened. "Become a cop, then a detective, taking night classes at Fordham."

"Wow," She said, quietly smiling. "Your parents must be proud."

"What about you? Did you make it off the island?"

"I'm a teacher now, in Tribeca," She said with pride. "High school algebra and trigonometry."

"You were always smarter than half the block anyway," He told her, earning a smile. He couldn't look at her and not see the bruises, the bandages where someone had hurt her. "Sophia," He sighed, bowing his head. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

Her face darkened, and she turned her face away from his. "I - I don't know," She said quietly. Her body tensed up, her heart rate monitor quickened. "I told the detectives already -"

"I won't make you tell it again," He told her, and she relaxed. "It's okay. We're going to find out who did this to you. I'll make sure of that."

Sophia pressed her lips together, looking pained, and Carisi wondered if he was overstepping his bounds. After all, it had nearly been ten years since they had last spoken to one another. He didn't want to overwhelm her, especially after what she had gone through.

He cleared his throat, bracing his hands on his knees and standing up. "Can I get you anything? Call your parents maybe?"

"No," She said, rather forcibly, and then corrected her expression. "They - they, ah, live upstate now. I don't want them to know… what happened just yet."

"Okay," He acquiesced. "We'll be in touch with you soon, just try to get some rest." He reached inside the pocket of his coat, pulling out a business card. On the back of it, he scrawled his cell phone number with a stolen pen from the cabinets near the room's sink. "And if you need anything, call me, alright?"

She looked up at him and meekly nodded. Carisi thought of her parents as he bid her goodbye. Mrs. Danatto was a kindergarten teacher at the elementary school, Mr. Danatto was a mechanic. It pained him to imagine their faces upon seeing their only daughter, savagely beaten and brutalized like this, thrown away and left to die.

"Get anything from her?" Tutuola asked, as Carisi shut her door behind him.

Carisi growled his reply, striding towards the elevator doors. "We'll find these sons of bitches."