Chapter Sixteen:

When I open the door to Alex's apartment, she's already sprawled across the couch, staring at the empty ceiling while the television blares beside her. I sigh when I realize which channel it is. Alex only watches the news when she's already in a terrible mood. Otherwise, she sticks to documentaries or old movies.

I close the door behind me and shrug out of my coat. It's the middle of winter now, and the city's wind tunnels mean I won't be able to break out my leather jacket again until spring. Alex groans and tilts her head further back over the arm of the couch, staring at me upside-down. She hasn't even bothered to change out of her work clothes, and her heels are still dangling off her feet. She must have stumbled into the apartment and collapsed on the couch first thing.

I walk up behind her and sink my fingers into her hair, running the edges of my nails over her scalp. "Tough day?"

She lets out a small groan, and her eyes flutter shut. "You have no idea."

"Wanna talk about it?"

She doesn't want to talk about it, but I know she will. Even when she's miserable, she's still logical first. She knows she has to say something if she wants to have any chance of sleeping tonight. "I had another interview with Sam. I was preparing him for his grand jury testimony." She pauses, but I can tell she's not finished. I move my touch higher, massaging the tension from the curve of her forehead. The skin wrinkles above her eyes as I push down, but her lips and jaw relax a little. "He told me a story about a ferry and a hamburger stand. About a night when Barnett treated him well."

I realize what's happened immediately. The guilty, exhausted look on Alex's face suddenly makes sense. "Let me guess. Sam didn't think it was a story. You corrected him."

She nods, then lets her head fall further back into my hands. "I wish I hadn't. I thought I was doing him a favor, absolving him of blame, but now…"

"Give the kid a break, Alex. He's not you. Victims don't react to abuse in the same way. Some of them need to hate their abusers so they can process what happened to them, but other people do things differently." I let go of her and circle around to the other side of the couch, picking up her feet so I have a place to sit down. I slide off her shoes and let her heels fall back into my lap. "I know I did things differently. I tried to hate my mom for a while, but it never got me anywhere. Granted, she never sexually abused me, but still… I only started to feel better once I forgave her."

Alex frowns. "Your mother was a victim. Her pain was so overwhelming that it bled over into you. She hurt you, and it wasn't fair, but it's not the same. Barnett isn't worthy of forgiveness or sympathy. He's a predator. He groomed those boys from the minute he met them, and once he was finished, he used them to find more victims."

I rest one of my hands on the lower half of her leg, the part covered by the smooth material of her stockings. "I'm not saying you have to care about Barnett. But you do care about Sam. If he needs to believe in a lie to get through this, why not let him?"

Alex opens her eyes and stares over at me. "I've never liked lies, Olivia. Maybe it's because I've always been exceptionally good at telling them."

There's something off about her voice, something I can't quite place, but I know that questioning her won't get me anywhere. For once, I can't read her mood. "What do you want me to do, Alex?" My words waver a little. Even though I don't know what she's thinking, I can see the pain in her eyes, in her entire body. "Cook for you? Get you off? Run you a bath and tuck you in bed? Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you."

She sighs and shakes her head, sitting up on her side of the couch. "No, Liv. I don't need anything." She leans over, and her lips graze my temple. "You're enough. Just you. A hot shower and a few hours of sleep, and I'll be fine. This isn't the first horrible case I've worked…"

"Just the worst," I say.

"Every case is the worst when you're in the middle of it. We'll come out on the other side again, just like always, and the world will still be spinning." She stands up and heads for the back hallway. "Go home tonight, Liv. Sleep in your own bed for a change. I love you, but right now, I'm too raw to be around anyone."

I try not to look wounded. Alex's apartment has been my home for the past several months. The only reason I haven't packed all my things and moved in with her is because she hasn't asked the question yet, and because reporting the same address on our work forms would draw a lot of unwanted attention. But I know Alex isn't trying to hurt my feelings. If she's asking to be alone, she means it.

"All right." I pick myself up off the couch and turn towards the front door. "Don't you at least want to eat first?"

"Sorry." Alex stares at the floor. "I don't have much of an appetite." She must feel guilty for kicking me out, because she circles the couch again and folds one hand around the back of my neck. "I'll see you for breakfast tomorrow morning? We can stop for bagels on the way in to work if you want…"

I lean forward and kiss her. It's soft, quick, but enough to reassure me that she'll be able to get through the night without me. "Breakfast it is."

. . .

The phone call comes in the middle of the night. The noise is loud enough to make me crack my eyes open, but I throw an arm over my face. I have a rule about answering the phone in bed, but middle of the night calls are an exception. They're never good.

I push myself over onto my side and grope across the top of my nightstand until I find my phone. My fingers curl around it, and I drag it over to my ear. "Benson."

"You'd better get down to the hospital, Liv." I recognize Elliot's voice immediately. My eyes open the rest of the way. "It's Sam Cavanaugh…"

I know what's happened. I know before either of us can voice the thought. And since we both know, neither of us has to say it out loud. "I'll be right down. Sinai or Bellevue?

"Bellevue. Hurry, Liv. I'm calling Cabot next."

My stomach sinks. Alex. She still doesn't know. And, of course, she's going to blame herself. "Wait. I have to get there first. She'll need me."

Thankfully, Elliot doesn't question me. Whatever he knows, it doesn't matter now. "Make it fast, Liv. The doctors are trying to save him, but we aren't sure how long he'll last."

The ride over to Bellevue is uncomfortably quiet. The people that are still awake at this hour generally keep to themselves. No one on the subway makes eye contact with me, and I don't particularly want to look at them, either. I'm practically alone during my short walk between the station and the hospital's front doors. Elliot's there, waiting to show me to the right floor.

"It isn't good," he says. His words wash through my ears like the roar of the waves. I can hardly make sense of them. He's still talking me, trying to update me on Sam's condition, but none of it sticks. My brain's in a fog. It isn't until he says her name that something inside me starts listening again. "I called Cabot for you…"

She steps through the door as if her name has summoned her, moving with an urgency even I can't match. Her eyes are red-rimmed with sleep, but half-wild, and her usually perfect hair is thrown into a sloppy bun at the back of her head. She isn't wearing her glasses, either, and she doesn't look like herself. All I can think is, I wish I had stayed the night…

"He's still alive," Elliot tells her. "They're working on him now."

Her eyes turn to me, and I find myself repeating what Elliot was saying moments before, the words I could barely grasp. "His mom found him. He asphyxiated. Don't know how long - he stopped breathing."

"How?" The word is soft. Timid.

"Aspirin and his antidepressants." I flash back to Alex's medicine cabinet, to all of the clear orange bottles and printed warning labels. I can't hold her eyes.

Before Alex can say anything, the door to our left bursts open. Linda Cavanaugh is standing there, fluorescent light shining at her back. She looks even wilder than Alex, eyes narrowed, shoulders hunched like a cornered animal. My heart rate spikes. This is a woman who won't hesitate to…

"Get her out of here!" She lunges for Alex, fingers curved into hooks, tears streaming down her face. Elliot grabs her just in time. His arm folds around her chest, but she struggles wildly against his hold, her eyes still fixed on Alex. "Get out!"

Alex stumbles back, and I catch her instinctively, dragging her into the cradle of my arms. I don't dare look at her while Linda Cavanaugh is screaming and fighting against Elliot's grip, but I can feel how hard she's shaking. Her breath comes fast and quick beside my ear. I can sense her frantic heartbeat.

"Are you happy now? Is there anything else you want him to do for you?" Her screaming becomes a tight sob, then a wail as Elliot drags her back through the doors. I don't hesitate. I murmur something to Alex, something I'm not even conscious of as I shepherd her toward the exit. She can't be here. Not now. "Get out of here! Get out!" The last thing we see before the doors shut is her twisted face, a mask of grief that I can't forget even when I blink.

At last, I look at Alex. She's pale and silent, and her expression is completely blank. "Alex?" She won't answer me. "Honey?"

She pulls away from me and straightens her jacket, trying to make sense of her messy appearance. "I'm fine, Olivia," she says, but for once, she's unconvincing. She avoids my eyes, reaching into her purse to pull out her glasses. I know she's avoiding me with the gesture as she slides them back onto her face.

"Alex…"

"Not now. Please, just take me to my office."

Her office? That's the last place she should be. I shake my head. "I'll take you home," I say instead.

"No. My office." It sounds like an order, but I know better. She's pleading with me. Her hands shake as she clutches her purse, and her eyes flick over to the closed doors. She's thinking about Sam. About Linda.

"All right," I sigh. "Your office. But I'm not leaving you alone."