Author's Note: E/O. Current season. **Trigger warning**: There is SA in this, but not brutal or explicit (so far), I'll give trigger warnings if that changes. I doubt it will. I don't feel like being so mean this time. Please have patience with me, I am working full-time and it will be hard to keep up my usual fast pace. I am dedicated to finishing this one, however. LOL.

The title is from the song, by Bonnie Tyler, from the Footloose soundtrack. But I really like the Adam Lambert version too.

Holding Out for a Hero

Chapter 1

Part One

"Just listen to the sound of my voice, and only the sound of my voice."

The leather squeaked underneath Olivia's seat as she sunk down into the oversized chair. She opened her eyes. "Am I doing this right?"

"Absolutely everything you are doing is fine, Olivia. There is no right or wrong here. Just relax and listen to my voice."

Olivia resisted the urge to stand up and run out the door. Why am I even here?

Dr. Lindstrom could always find a way to get through to her. Without him, she might not have made it through the years after William Lewis took her. She could imagine what her life might have been—lots of nights of gulping red wine, in a different career, no Noah. She had practically been held together by duct tape and raw emotion back then. Instead, she didn't just "live through it", she created a masterpiece out of it. Now it almost seemed like she had it all. Almost. But there was still something missing, something besides just the feel of Elliot's rough skin next to hers, and a sharp edge had started to creep through her nerves.

"Olivia." His voice led her away from her internal wavering. "You are feeling very relaxed, and your head is starting to feel heavy."

She noticed a slight untensing of her muscles and sunk down into the chair until she thought it might consume her. The last time she saw a therapist, she couldn't seem to get the hang of EMDR, and she couldn't help but think the woman was doing it wrong. But Olivia was no expert.

Her last counselor had suggested hypnotherapy, and Olivia perked up and shuddered at the same time. What if she needed to go to deeper state to confront her subconscious blocks? But also, what if she revealed things she never could tell a stranger? Her therapist had reassured her. Nobody could make her say anything she didn't want to.

As usual, her job caused exhaustion and clenched muscles. This latest kidnapping case had sent a cloud over her mood, and she'd noticed a slight tremor in her hands every time she followed a wrong lead in the case.

No wonder she didn't trust anyone. And that was just humanity in general. Letting in a romantic partner—well, that was unthinkable at the moment. No matter how much she dreamed of Elliot's well-contoured arms holding her.

"Take a deep breath." Dr. Wagner said softly, his voice flat and even. "You're feeling tired now."

That was the truth. The only time Dr. Wagner had an opening this week was in the evening. Otherwise, she'd have had to wait another two weeks. With a pedophile they'd arrested today and a child who had his arm broken by his own father, she didn't have to fake exhaustion. She let the sound of his voice lead her.

"Your eyelids are getting heavier—so heavy that you can't open them." She doubted that. She gripped the cushion below her, and then let go.

This isn't working, she thought, and started to open her eyes. They were like steel traps, keeping her shrouded in blackness.

"Your hands are heavy. Your legs…"

Her body became a rag doll. In the last couple of sessions, she had felt herself warm to the presence of Dr. Wagner. He was a fairly attractive man, but not her type. Probably a decade younger than her, he was tall with a figure too gangly for her taste. He had dark hair and wore glasses, which reminded her of a professor she once had. More importantly, he spoke with authority, but gentle, a lot like Dr. Lindstrom.

His steady voice had helped her to glide easily through his office when she'd left, which was probably why she was able to get into this state of mind so quickly now. Before they had started this session, he had reminded her how important it was to follow his prompts, otherwise the therapy might not work, and she would continue her constant state of anxiety. Still, she had yet to let down her guard completely.

"You continue to hear only my voice, and to follow my commands." He left a long space after the words, and she wondered if she had done something wrong. But then he said, "Now, you are at the top of a long flight of stairs, and you will walk down them. As you do, you will go further and further into a deep state of sleep. And I want you to count as you walk down. Take your time, don't rush it. Start at the top of the stairs, and count down from fifty."

She could imagine the stairs and the darkness that they descended into. The vision had her curious, but there was a part of her that wanted to hold back, visioning demons lurking in shadows of a decrepit basement. She could just stop now. She could say, "No thanks."

Or could she?

"Fifty." Her own voice startled her, because she had not expected to be so compliant. "Forty-nine, forty-eight…"

"That's right, keep counting while I'm talking."

"…Forty-seven, forty-six…"

As she descended, a dense fog consumed her, but she persisted to an unknown fate.

"With each step you take, you sink further into sleep. You are so tired, and your body is so heavy. The only thing you feel is peaceful."

She became detached from her body. Her disembodied consciousness forged ahead, facing whatever was hiding. "…Forty-one, forty…"

Like a dream, she floated down, down, losing track of everything around her, until she said, "One".

"Excellent, Olivia. You are in a deep, deep sleep, unable to move unless I say so."

His voice, echoed in her head, his words the only thing in existence. And still there was a twinge of…something. A pang of alarm, a twist of her gut. And then it was gone.

Soon he said, "Now, Olivia, you trust me totally, and you'll do anything for me, right?"

To her surprise, she said, "Yes."

"Anything."

"To demonstrate this, I want you to wiggle your thumb on your right hand, and don't stop until I tell you."

She felt her thumb moving without giving any effort.

"Good. Now you can stop." Her thumb stopped. "And now I want you to push your hair back from your face."

Her weighted hand moved mechanically to her cheek, brushing back a strand of hair that she only now felt.

"Good! You're doing great, Olivia."

Her chest nearly burst. She wanted his approval, but that need startled her at the same time.

"You want so much to be a helpful woman, and you want to follow my commands. In fact, if I told you to murder someone right now, you would."

She flinched. Murder? The suggestion jolted her. But he quickly said, "I'm not going to ask you to do anything like that, though, because I care about you and I would never make you do something you don't want to do."

Her breath slowed, her muscles flaccid once more.

"But there are other things that you want to do for me. And if you do these things, you won't be anxious anymore. Doesn't that sound nice, Olivia?"

She nodded, a queasy flutter moving around in her middle.

"So listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you." The pace of his speech quickened. "When I'm done with my instructions, I'm going to say, 'Be nice,' and you're going to do what I asked you to do. Right?"

She nodded.

He spoke so rapidly that she could barely make sense. "When I say 'be nice', you're going to stand up, walk towards me, and let me take off your clothes one article at a time. It won't bother you at all, and in fact, you will feel nothing. Be nice."

She gasped, but her quavering body rose from her chair and lumbered toward him. To her horror, her legs moved of their own accord across the room, and then she was standing before him as he unbuttoned her blouse. Nausea washed over her, and then disappeared.

"You're doing great, Olivia," he whispered. His once-soothing voice now shredded her nerves, but the way she stood without slapping his hand away or even moving made her heart quicken.

…it won't bother you at all…

The words echoed in her mind, and she disappeared from her own body, leaving it behind for him to take.

She heard a zipper ripping open, the sound of clothes rustling. His fingers slid down her bare belly, bringing her back into herself for a moment, only to leave once more when his fingers fumbled on the button of her pants. And then there was nothing between them except the whoosh of air as he brought his hand up to touch her bare skin.

"Now come sit on my lap."

Her teeth chattered, but when she blinked, she left herself once more. Blankly, she stared at the wall, knowing there was something chilling happening, but stuck in a frozen trance.

His voice pressed into her ear. "When I say the words, you're going to mount me. This will not hurt you. You won't feel anything. You won't even notice what's happening. Afterwards, you're going to go about your day like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Just like any other day."

A flash of panic gripped her trembling legs, and then it was gone. "And then you're going to come back every day at noon, and do it all again. Do you understand?"

She must have nodded, because he said, "Be nice."

There was an alternating conflation of flinching and placid stillness, dread and apathy.

I need to…

The thought vanished, and she was absorbed in the tacky burgundy wallpaper once more.

"You're doing just fine, Olivia."

A cacophony of disturbing noises continued from below her, the whoosh of his breath, slapping of skin, an occasional low groan. And then there was nothing but the sound of her own panting, like a scared deer.

"Okay, you can stand up and put your clothes on again."

Robotically, she did what he asked, and now she could feel something wet in her underwear, and she blew through an urge to vomit. He told her to sit, and she did.

While he finished buttoning his shirt up, he said, "You will remember this, but you won't think anything about it. If anyone asks you anything about our sessions, you will say nothing about it. You won't even tell them you're having sessions. If someone asks about what we're doing here, you're going to tell them you can't talk about it, and nothing else. Got it?"

She nodded, her stomach retching.

"Okay, now you may go, and remember, this is just an ordinary day."

Without a word, she stood, grabbed her bag, and scurried out the door. When she got outside, it was a beautiful evening, warm with birds still settling in with quiet peeping. As she rambled toward home, the air caught her face, the sky drab with a dull, black tint. But her feet slowed on the sidewalk, and she then she stopped completely, bending at the waist. Her body shuddered, and a wave of choking gasps gripped her, cutting her off from the precious air. She supported herself by gripping her knees, and tears began to spill out as she sobbed, right there in the street, right in the middle of the city. A young couple walked past her and glanced at her, then kept on walking.

This was New York City, and she was just another person. This was just an ordinary day.

The sobs rocked her, wrenching every ounce of energy out of her. And when they had drained her, she stood, wiped a hand across her cheek, took a few bumbling steps, and continued.

It's just another day.

Part Two

Olivia swept her hand over the sheets, liking the feel of them because they were so flat, so devoid of contrast. No wrinkles to bump into her prickly skin, no mounds of rumples poking into her. Her tears wet the pillow next to her face. Sleep eluded her.

As soon as she had arrived home, she had slunk past Noah, who was playing a video game, and barely said hello. Now her throat tightened at the thought. How could she just ignore her only son? But she was unable to pass on a love that she was not feeling at the time and hadn't felt since she got here.

She stared at her phone, lying on the night stand. She could call Elliot. It would be one push of a button, and he usually picked up the first time he saw her number. But what was she going to say? There was nothing to tell him.

Before she had dragged herself into bed, she had scoured herself with a hot bath. She couldn't seem to get the water hot enough, because it was hard to feel her skin. Finally when she noticed how red she was, how her legs had turned almost purple, she had realized she was burning. Even then, after she'd turned off the water, she stayed in the bath, grateful for the numbness. She would be fine if the lower half of her sloughed off in the tub.

Why am I feeling this way?

She mentally ran through her day. She had gone to work, taken lunch in her office, talked to Fin, worked some more, gone to therapy, had sex with her therapist, gone home and taken a bath, and skipped dinner.

I had sex?

The thought quickly dissolved into the background of her mental playground. What would she tell Elliot? She could think of nothing out of the ordinary. And yet, she couldn't drift off to sleep. Instead, she lay staring up at the blackness above her, wondering where the darkness blended with the ceiling and whether she could let it consume her completely.

Part Three

Elliot lifted the coffee cup to his lips, but then set it down quickly when he saw her. Olivia's mouth was turned down just a bit at the corners, and he thought about how well he knew her moods, even though he had never even dated her. He stood abruptly to greet her.

Even though she was an independent woman, she never got offended when he pulled out the chair for her, and she thanked him now.

Does she think about me as much as I think about her?

He shook the thought out of his mind so he could be fully present for her. It was just a breakfast meet-up to talk about business, but his gut still fluttered when she sat down in the chair across from him. "How are you?"

As she picked up the menu, he noticed that she hadn't smiled, or made eye contact. His heart fell a little bit at the thought that maybe she wasn't as glad to see him as he'd hoped. With every glance at her, he noticed a new detail—dark wrinkles under her eyes, forehead crinkled in a way that looked like worry, hands just a little unsteady. But she took a sip of water and finally looked at him with an unnamed need.

He didn't dare ask what was troubling her yet. She didn't share as openly with him as she did when they were partners. But he could understand her being guarded with him. After all, he had hurt her horribly, and it was taking a long time for her to trust him. An eternity for him.

She fingered the menu, finally shoving it away. "I know what I want. Two eggs and some toast."

Her voice had a hint of a tremble, and it cracked a little.

"That's all?"

She sighed. "Yeah."

He wanted to reach out and touch her long slender fingers, but he thought that it might be too early in the conversation. "What's wrong?" he said instead.

She opened her mouth with an expectant look, as if she was about to plead for something. But then she said, "Nothing. What's going on in your trafficking case?"

He clenched his lips for a second before deciding to let her change the subject. "Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. We picked up an underage girl in a prostitution sweep, and I thought maybe it would be better for her to meet with you."

She ran her fingers through her long, beach-curled locks. He was surprised at her hesitation, but the pause only lasted a moment. "Try and get her to talk? Of course."

The silence that followed was unusually long, and her spoon clinked against her coffee cup, accenting the echoing calm. He studied her face for abnormalities in expression. There it was again—the slight twitch in her eye.

"Liv, is something bothering you?"

She shook her head, but the way she averted her gaze told him he was right.

Still, she said, "Nah. Everything's fine."

He paused for a moment, not knowing how far to push it, but he couldn't contain himself. "You sure? You know, you can…"

"Always talk to you. I know." She cradled his hand with hers, something he had wanted this whole time. "But you don't need to worry, El. I'm good."

He rubbed her fingers with his thumb, which shot sparks up his arm. "You know I'll always worry about you."

"I know," she whispered, looking at him through groggy eyes. "The feeling is mutual."

The moment between them was over way too soon when she stood and pushed in her chair. "I better get to work."

He stood and touched the small of her back as he escorted her out the door. He couldn't avoid worrying, especially with the subtle hollowness in her eyes. She paused silently when they got outside, looking at him as if she had something to say. His jaw dropped when she grasped him abruptly, gripping him to her tight, like she was going away for a long time. When the shock wore off, he returned the hug, squeezing her as a gesture that, no matter what was going on, he had her back. And then she was gone, and he was left to watch her walk away, wanting to sprint after her and protect her from whatever demons had gripped her.