Author's Comments: Do you know that if you mention William Lewis in a tweet, he will reply back to you and then follow you from his twitter account? This happened to me. Needless to say, it creeped me out.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It had been a week now since Olivia had picked up Noah from Lucy's place, and she still remembered how he had squealed with delight when she scooped him up in her arms, tears dropping like rain from her eyes into his baby-soft hair. She had sworn to never leave him with anyone else, at least until she was able to go back to work, and she had withstood some severe cabin fever to make sure she kept that promise to herself and her child. Now she stared down at him in his crib, his little chest heaving deeply as he lay on his back, lost in dreamland.

She covered him up with a blankie and took one last look at him before turning to reluctantly leave the bedroom. Resisting the urge to go check on him one more time, she retreated to the couch instead, sitting down next to Elliot. "How's he doing?" he asked.

"Asleep. They're so cute when they're asleep."

"So true." He glanced sideways at her, and she knew he still worried about her. And for good reason—she still had moments of delusions, hallucinations, flashbacks. But they were starting to grow fewer and farther between, and she thought the anti-depressants might be starting to kick in, because she felt calmer through the hard times.

Elliot must have noticed, because he said now, "Liv, I'm proud of you." She smiled, remembering how Elliot had watched Noah for a short time today while she and Dr. Lindstrom forayed out into the big world to pick up a few groceries at the bodega down the street.

She had noticed that even with a few intrusive flashbacks, the heroin cravings had not raised their ugly head the entire time, and neither had the urges to run off and hide. And then she almost chuckled as she thought that was probably a good thing, since she could have easily taken the good doctor down and escaped, had the impulse overcome her.

On their way back to her apartment, Dr. Lindstrom had cautiously said to her, "Liv, I think there's one more step you need to take in your exposure therapy."

"What's that?" she said, rocks settling into the bottom of her stomach.

"With Lewis, you got closure when you visited the morgue. But with Tucker—"

She shook her head. "Oh, no. I don't ever want to see him again. He agreed to a plea bargain, so I'll never have to face him at trial, and I'm perfectly happy with that."

"Liv. This may be the final thing that can bring you peace. Sometimes when we see the things we fear the most in person, we realize they aren't as big and scary as we thought they were. If you see Tucker behind bars, you wouldn't even have to talk to him. Just seeing that he's locked up might make you feel more secure."

After a long pause, she said, "I'll think about it," and they had continued their trek until she was safely home.

Elliot's voice snapped her attention back to the present now, in her living room, his arm resting gently behind her head on the couch. "There's one thing you've never talked about with me," he said.

"What's that?" she said quietly, almost too afraid to ask.

"I saw what Tucker did to you," he said, and now the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. "But I wasn't here when Lewis took you."

She looked down at her restless hands, shaking her head, and he said, "If it's too much to talk about right now, don't feel obligated. But I just wish I had some understanding of what you went through."

She clenched her lips in between her teeth. She had never told anyone but Dr. Lindstrom what she went through, not directly. There had been a re-telling on the stand at trial, but it was so public, so . . . impersonal, and she had dissociated through most of it, leaving her body so she wouldn't have to endure Lewis' hardened stare boring through her. She wasn't sure what effect telling Elliot would have on her—would it throw her too close to those memories, sending her back into the dark place she had been struggling the last few weeks to escape?

She decided to risk it. If she wanted to have a more intimate relationship with Elliot, she was going to have to start trusting him. "I had interrogated him, and he got under my skin, and he knew that," she began. He clutched her shoulder to show her he was still here for her. "When I came home that night, he was there with my gun. I don't know how."

She could barely look at Elliot while telling the story, but she glanced at him occasionally just to see his reaction. "He did things to me—burned me, slammed me with the gun, knocking me out. He had me tied up to a chair." A slight gasp escaped Elliot's lips, and he rubbed her shoulder. "And then he knew he had to get me out of the apartment, so he took me, kept me drugged and poured liquor down my throat. Had my hands and feet duct taped, and tape over my mouth. He . . ." She clasped her hand over her mouth, remembering details now that she had blocked from her memory so she wouldn't have to relive that hell. "He kissed me."

She just now noticed her cheeks were wet with tears, and that Elliot's grasp of her shoulder had tightened. He said, "Liv, if it's too hard for you—"

"No. I want to," she said, staring into space, now in that other place where Lewis had ruled her like a tyrant. "He kept me for four days. Made me watch . . . things he did to other people."

Unable to bear her recounting of that torturous night without protecting her, he pulled her closer to him, kissing the side of her head now. But she kept on, because now she had to get it all out of her system. "He killed a man. Raped the man's wife in front of me. Killed a state trooper in front of me. Stuffed me in a trunk and took me to an empty beach home. And then he . . ."

She had to close her eyes and slow down her breathing, which had reached an unsustainable racing clip. When she finally got control of her anxiety, she said, eyes still shut, "He handcuffed me to a bed and shoved a gun in my mouth. And then he was going to . . . rape me," she said, and tears began to flow faster now, making it hard to speak. Elliot protectively wrapped his arms around her head, holding her tightly against him, his hands worrying over her hair, noticeably disturbed by what he was hearing.

She shook her head. "He didn't, though—a maid showed up with her little girl, and he invited them into the house. I was so terrified by the thought of what he might do to her that I broke a metal bar off the bedframe and got free. And then I took him down. And that was just the first time, before he got out of jail again. But that's another story."

She sighed hard, expelling all thoughts of Lewis with her exhalation. She rested her forehead against his and said, "I thought of you, Elliot. I thought my life might be almost over, and all I could think of was you, and how you would take him out if you were there."

"I would," he whispered, stroking her cheeks, his forehead still pressed against hers, his lips brushing within a hair of hers. "I would have killed that bastard, sent him straight back to the hell he came from. Liv, I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. If I could take that pain from you, I would trade places any day."

She silently absorbed his apology, taking it in like honey. He kissed her head and pulled back just enough to see her eyes. "I want to make it up to you, Liv. I know I can't, but I want to at least try. Can I take you on a date?" His eyes grew panicky, and he said, "When you're ready—no rush. I just want to take you to a nice restaurant, maybe coffee afterwards, whatever you want."

She smiled through her tears. "A date. I love it. Thank you, El."

He kissed her lips gently and said, "My pleasure."