Massive spoilers for season 20 episode 16: Facing Demons.
Obviously I started this story after the episode Chasing Demons in season 19, so my story diverges from cannon hugely, including refusing a new ADA.
In my universe of course Liv knows what Brian has been through, but I thought that Facing Demons was too much of a masterstroke to ignore, so I've rejigged scenes and reinterpreted, some just don't exist in my universe. Also I needed to include the deleted scene with Rollins….if you haven't seen it check out youtube "Rollins opens up to Cassidy"

A/N: A huge thank you to Amilyn for the corrections and the discussion.

OLIVIA

My stomach rolls violently.

It's a struggle not to throw up.

I suck in a couple of gasps of air, and try to will the world to stop spinning around me.

Oh God… Bri…..

It can't possibly be….

No. No!

Rollins steps into the space beside me, I can't drag my eyes up to meet her but I've no doubt she has asked a question…

"Oh…it's nothing….it's just ehmmm…one of these kids looks like somebody I used to know…."

I try to guess what she could possibly have asked me, but even to my own ears, the nothing falls flat and as I try to explain further, it becomes even more obvious that something is wrong. Her scrutinising eye quickly finds the item that stopped me in my tracks.

Rollins is sometimes too perceptive for her own good, and she doesn't miss that it is an old photo on the wall of a pedophilic suspect that has shaken me to the core.

I try to wait until she has turned away, but I'm sure she doesn't miss my shaking hands lifting to snap a quick pic of the photo. I curse softly when the camera click removes all doubt, the skilled investigator won't have missed it, even if she doesn't immediately challenge me.

I play at being cool, 'nothing to see here', and can only hope she discounts my reaction as shock at the potential victim pool hinted at by old kids baseball team photos.

But the second I can justify it, I am off, finding my way to an apartment I have only stepped into once before.

I'm trying to swallow down so many questions. The intervening months, since my only other visit to Brian's home, have merely increased the number of questions I have no answer for.

I want to know what horrors he has hidden for all of adult life.

I want to know exactly what he hid fromme.

I have so many questions about those last months we spent together. And I don't know how much longer I can hold it all back.

I always worried about how much I damaged him in the aftermath of Lewis…..but as I have processed the potential effects of his abuse, those concerns I could never completely silence have threatened to overwhelm me.

When he first tried to take care of me; when he was only able to guess at when I needed to feel human warmth and when the glancing contact of his elbow against my arm would make me want to tear my skin off.

Was he battling not to burst into tears and shake in the corner, just like me?

I know that time is not the healer it is so oft touted as. It is learning to cope with loss, recovering from trauma, rebuilding…that is what softens the effects, not calendars turning over.

So much time has passed, but I'm not sure his healing could start without the acknowledgement of the injury. In so many ways the body is so much more resilient than the rest of us. Physical injuries heal, even without care.

But do they?

Untreated cuts become infected.

Skin grows over splinters, only to swell and fester as the body tries to eject the foreign material so real healing can begin.

Broken bones eventually knit back together without interference, but it is only with setting and splinting, or metalwork that it can be assured they don't 'mend' misshapen.

Maybe any kind of injury, physical or emotional, needs proper care.

As Brian sat waiting in the squad-room, in spiralling desperation, yet still hoping for my safe return, did he struggle with his own ghosts as he let his imagination loose, trying to peek into my horror?

How was his understanding of the savageries thrust upon me by Lewis informed by his own childhood experience?

When he moved into my eye-line before the simplest touch, was it because that was what he needed all those years ago? Was it the only way for young Brian to cope? Were all those 'cautions' that irked me so much, informed by his needs after…..

When I tried to conceal my terror at his body's proximity to mine, did I make him feel like a monster?

Did the awkward attempts at hiding a normal morning erection from my battered psyche, even when my flesh and bones were healing, take him back to another time when his body was not in his control?

Did my ill-conceived, wretched attempts at rekindling some intimacy between us, despite his hesitance and discomfort, force him to embody a role that he has lived in fear of for all these years?

I've tried so hard not to dwell on them, and as time as progressed and I have healed, it has become easier but they are still difficult memories. I call one to mind, it was so clearly destined for abject failure…

When he awoke to my hand clumsily pushing into his underwear, his confusion was evident but he was so used to being careful he didn't even think to push me away. He just gently asked what I was doing, and told me not to feel pressured…

Memories and fears began to swamp my courage, as he hardened, but I would not be discouraged even as he suggested we talk more before 'taking such a big step'. He just lay there, allowing me to do what I wanted…his brow furrowed in concern even as his body responded to my fingers started spreading pre-cum down his shaft, my daring fled and I found myself fighting back tears and swallowing back vomit. My hand pulled away as though he had electrocuted me and I plopped back over to my side of the bed. He clicked on the light, hurriedly pulling the covers over his exposed erection "Liv…it's ok. You're safe. I'm not going to touch you." He turned to me, trying to calm me but I wouldn't allow myself to be overarching care grated on me. It was the ultimate proof that I was broken. Any other attempts I had made towards intimacy had been questioned and lightly rebuffed, and finally I refused to be rejected again.

I threw myself into his lap, kissing him sloppily as I ground myself on him. I was only wearing panties and thin sleep shorts, and the feel of his hot hard penis had me panting in fear rather than arousal but I still wouldn't quit. I pulled my top over my head and his hands softly wrapped around my waist to stabilise me, as he continued to try and dissuade me "Liv, please? I don't want to hurt you. There is no rush…"

I declared victory when the words died on his tongue, a quiet groan replacing them as I pushed his face into my chest and continued to gyrate on his cock.

"Do you not want me?" I pouted as sexily as I could.

His fingers circled lightly where they were, on my waist, "God Liv, you are gorgeous, how could I not want you? But you aren't ready…we aren't ready…"

I wouldn't listen to reason, even though my nipples weren't pebbled from lust but rather from the chill of the room.

Despite rubbing against his hardness I was being careful not to stimulate my clitoris, as any direct contact, I had already learned, stopped me in my tracks, but I was going to do this….

"You don't really want this Liv…not now….not like this…it's not something to just push through…" he continued to plead as his hands tried to hold me in place above him without restricting me. He was flushed and very aroused and still trying to stop me.

I had thought that awakening him would reduce his ability to refuse me again, but he was insistent. I pulled my leg over him, kneeling to his side, as I wiggled the underwear and sleep shorts down my legs, lifting one leg then the other until the clothes lay discarded behind me, but he was done sitting passively back. He also rose onto his knees and I could not disguise the full body flinch.

"I'm sorry Liv, I won't hurt you." He promised, reaching to take my hand. "You can see how much I want you Liv but…"

"I want this" The words were whispered and not very convincing, even to my own ear.

I knew this was my best chance now, the only way he would participate was if I could convince him I was ready. He couldn't know how terrified I was, or how determined to remove the obstacle I was, he could not know how right he was…

I was swaying him, he was so aroused and his body was pleading with him as his own hand grasped his cock.

I kissed him deeply, closing my eyes and reaching for him once more, pushing his hand away. He slowly reached for my breast, his thumb grazing the nipple. When I didn't visibly freak out, he relaxed a little, but pulled back from the kiss. He watched me carefully as his hand slid carefully down my body. I tried to pass off the tiny quivers of my torso as arousal, but as he arrived at his destination, my lack of arousal was all too clear, and as I tried to pull away his thumb rubbed against my clit. I froze, a loud sob escaping my lips.

"Liv…" His face telegraphed his heartbreak, and, wrapping the nearest cloth around my scarred body, I fled. Clicking the bathroom door locked, I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet.

Even this long after, I'm filled with shame, guilt and no small measure of queasiness as I remember. I dread to think about the damage I did to him.

When he made so many unbearable attempts to broach a subject I clearly needed to address, what gut-wrenching agonies were breaking loose in him, even as he tried to help me?

What did it cost him to use words that I could never let slip from my lips, in spite of their familiarity, when he has avoided them for a lifetime?

How much did he torture himself to help me?

How many more obstacles did I add, to an already strewn minefield of sexual complications and gnawing guilt?

I think back to the clueless but cocky, young cop I disregarded so easily, when we were both little more than rookies in SVU, what was that man really seeing when we were confronted with haunting cases? Was his seeming emotional clumsiness actually the man struggling to disconnect his memories from every piece of paper that crossed his desk?

I am very lucky to have such a supportive partner; Rafael is incredible. I know I can have any conversation with him. He is open to anything I need to discuss….but there is an intimacy that is not merely mine here. And it would feel like a betrayal to share Brian's secrets, even with Rafael.

I'm pushing down all the emotions that surge up, not allowing myself to remember the last morning I was here, in too much detail.

I'm desperate for him to be home, and at the same time, would love nothing more than to knock on an unanswered door.

After all too short a wait, he pulls it open, his lips immediately pulling up into a warm smile, like he can't help being glad to see me.

Years of uncertainty and self doubt, begin to bubble over as I find myself looking into a face both familiar and oddly unknown.

I try to twist my face to mirror his, to smile back, but it is hard, and I doubt that my attempt is convincing.

Once again I stand before him, uninvited to his home, after months of him carefully keeping me at bay, to blindly throw live grenades into the minefield of our complicated, and scarcely functional relationship.

What am I doing?

"Hey, Liv"

He steps back, hesitantly showing me inside, quickly dropping onto one of the barstools, deliberately keeping his distance from me, his unintentional smile forgotten as his defenses raise. He is an island in the middle of the room…

This has become our new normal, since the morning I found out a secret he had been clinging to for nearly all his life. He keeps me away…as if getting too close is dangerous.

It seems to be a carefully calculated space, almost as though it were court-mandated. I reckon it's more likely to be a calculation based on physicality, just the right length that I cannot reach for him, that he cannot reach for me, without substantial effort and reasonable warning.

I try to understand it for what it is, a survival technique, but it's hard to be pushed away.

Over the last year Rafael has slowly brought me around to the understanding that Brian is struggling to keep so much hurt in, that he cannot weaken in even the smallest way. And our relationship, even now, could weaken him… In some ways I am his kryptonite.

It hurts, even more today, but I try to be careful. I refuse to let careless words loose, determined not to just satisfy the loudest question inside me…is this the one who hurt you?

I'm trying to remember, this time I am not just his friend, I am also a cop, and I'm trying to justify this as a passing inquiry to someone who I recognised from an old photo, rather than a friend who thinks she may have unearthed his abuser…

I hand him my phone, his image from that photo enlarged on the screen.

"I'm flattered that you recognised me…where did you get this?"

Maybe to an outside observer we look reasonably comfortable, but he is perched on the stool, his back to the counter, one foot on the ground ready to bolt…

We are both playing a part.

He has barely been in my presence since…that morning. And we are both pretending that this is not just revisiting the scene of a tragedy for both of us…even without the potential bombshell I am about to lob at him…

"It came up on a case that we're working on…"

"Oh really? What? A deep dive into the Hudson Youth League?"

For a second I almost allow myself to believe that I must be wrong. This is jocular, old Brian. If this is where he was assaulted, he wouldn't be joking about a picture from that time, would he?

"A pedophile named Gary Dolan…."

"Ah …Coach Gary…..Really."

He stands up immediately, walking away from me with studied nonchalance…..but his whole frame tenses as he turns. And that sick feeling intensifies….

"We found this picture in his apartment"

"Oh yeah? Well that was a coincidence for you…"

"We believe that he molested a kid in 2009."

"Hey you want a cup of coffee, Liv?"

He's good…his outward reaction, even to the name, is minimal. Ostensibly moving, unhurriedly, to make a coffee, something very normal when you have a visitor in your home, nothing too damning…if you hadn't got twenty years as an SVU cop under your belt, and didn't know the man in front of you too well to be fooled by his often used distraction techniques.

"No, no, I'm good….so Dolan worked in Magic Shop, that's where he met the victim….three days ago the kid committed suicide…"

He looks me straight in the eye as if he can't process the words I have just said…then he dips his head, deliberately breaking contact with me.

A long sigh accompanies one single word.."Jesus…"

He looks like he is struggling with the same nausea now. His nonchalant mask starts to slip as he hears about Micah's death….

I'm trying to give him a soft entry into the conversation, asking him if he ever saw anything inappropriate…

I know him too well, a direct question is just going to shut him down.

He's also a cop. He knows that I'm not only asking as a friend…I want witnesses to prior bad acts, anything to help my case. And even if I thought he would tell me the truth, I know he is conscious that his answer could draw him into my case.

He starts babbling "Nah was nothing…Only played for him for a season…was a long time ago…" but before I can decipher the rush of excuses, or attempt to convince him how important his information would be, even if it was just suggesting some kids I could talk to… a young woman walks straight in.

He unconsciously flinches, turning to the door quickly, swiping his hand down his face, covering his mouth quickly, as though trying to stop any words from accidentally falling out…

I've no idea who she is, even as my mind makes the obvious suggestions.

The bubble is burst though, whatever odd suspension of reality had been woven into the tense conversation, is gone the second he uncomfortably tries to introduce her. His emotions are becoming too hard to hide from me now, I can see I wasn't wrong to associate this picture, hanging in the home of a pedophile, with the horrific disclosure forced out of this man only a year ago.

So once again, I flee, struggling to paint a smile on my face as I force out the customary "Nice meeting you."

I can hear his apologies following me out the door "Liv, I'm real sorry I couldn't help you out."

I make it out to my car before the tears flow down my face.

I know I'm right…..he didn't confirm it, but I know I'm right…

I try to pull myself together, even if he didn't confirm it for me, I know I need to get Dolan…and not just for Micah…

I pull my professional mask back on, and force myself to go report to Rafael, trying very hard to tell myself that I'm not running to my boyfriend for support and help in figuring out what to do next.

I get to his office to find he's still in court, and despite Carmen's offer to wait for him in his office, I choose to impatiently stand outside the courtroom.

He's not in good form when he finally appears behind the initial burst of people. His brow is crinkled into a deep scowl, his briefcase impatiently taps against his leg, and his stride is lengthened as though he cannot get away quick enough.

I can't remember what the hearing was, but it is clear it did not go well for him.

Now is plainly not the time to have this conversation with him, but that ship has sailed once he barks at me for an update on Micah's case.

All I want to do is fall apart and let him hold me, but he is striding along the corridor ahead of me, and I fall back into my training with a succinct report of Micah's father remembering a doctor's visit when the boy had spilled drain cleaner on his genitals.

"Now I can allege a specific act of sexual abuse the day Micah saw the doctor, it's something…." he eagerly announces, also making it clear my success falls short of what he had hoped for.

"So what else do you need?"

The words are automatic, if he were to look at my face for a second, he would see how devastated I am, but he is totally oblivious, too intent on making sure this case is better than the one he left in the courtroom behind us.

"Preferably a victim who's still alive, and willing to press charges"

I know he doesn't mean to take his frustrations out on me, he just wants to get Dolan, so I don't take offence at his short, cutting remark.

"We're working on that. Look, Dolan has probably been abusing boys since the 80s"

He's still a step or two ahead and doesn't turn around, merely barks "What makes you say that?"

"Because he coached youth baseball back then…"

He strides through his office door as he sighs "Hmmm it's fertile grounds for a predator…"

"You know, one... thing…Brian Cassidy was on one of Dolan's teams…"

He stops dead, his briefcase hanging oddly off his hand.

"Did you ask Cassidy about Dolan?"

He has paled, and looking at me now, he can see how upset I am.

"I did, and he says he doesn't remember anything…"

His briefcase thuds to the floor, and he is across the room before I can blink back my first tear.

"Oh, Liv"

He squeezes me to him, pulling me into his office, closing the door with a soft clunk.

"Jesus, Liv! Start at the beginning…"

He is holding me tight and I can feel he needs the physical comfort as much as I do. This is not the grumpy lawyer who just stomped into the room, still dressed in the lawyer's armour, this is the man.

I explain the entire exchange to him, telling him about the changes in Brian's affect as the conversation progressed. I try to straddle the line of competent cop and distraught girlfriend, conscious that we are at work and liable to be interrupted at any moment.

I show him the picture of a young Brian, as I burst into tears once more. The visual reminder of the child who was so hurt, is too much…..

"This is the guy Liv?"

I can only nod. There is no doubt. I knew once I saw the picture hanging in Dolan's…..but his carefully schooled reaction to a name that has to have been making him sick, the full body stiffness, the plausible but too convenient movement when it was overwhelming him, the tell…the hand over his mouth….

He was a great undercover, he has been highly trained to hide overt reactions, and I believe some of that skill is probably natural, and I hate to consider how much what Dolan did contributed to that skill.

"Rafael, I don't know what to do….."