Whoever was in charge of filing and storing evidence boxes should be fired. He glanced at the piece of paper in his palm. It should be right where he stood. Elliot looked around. The evidence clerk was nowhere to be seen so it appeared he was on his own.

He understood that evidence from a case a decade previous would be difficult to find, but as he searched through long term storage he felt like it might be a lost cause. He decided to text Ayanna.

E: If I don't find this damn box in the next 15 minutes I'm leaving.

A: Give it another half hour. We could really use the actual physical evidence on this one.

E: These numbers are so out of order they shouldn't have even bothered numbering them!

A: Boxes should be labeled with the last names of those involved. Try looking in that section, but just read the names instead. Might be quicker.

There was nothing quick about this search. As far as he was concerned it was a lost cause, but Ayanna wanted him to keep looking so that's what he'd do.

In his third pass across the same section something finally stood out to him. Unfortunately it wasn't the box he was looking for.

Benson/ W. Lewis

May 2013

Box 1/2

Elliot's stomach sank as he reached for the box. Something told him he didn't want to know, that ignorance was bliss, but a larger part of him needed to know. He held the box in his hands, and took a deep breath. He wondered if he should open it here. For all he knew it was some random one off assault or something Cragen made her pursue. But even as he had that thought, he knew it was bigger than that. Much bigger.

He would need to check it out from storage. No one would look twice at his name on the log, checking out a box that had obviously nothing to do with organized crime. He doubted anyone would cross reference the number. He abandoned his original search and tucked the evidence box beneath his arm. It felt heavy. It felt like the probable reason Olivia kept holding herself back. He swallowed the nervous lump in his throat. He needed to know.

-000-

It was well past dark when he arrived at the shitty hotel he was living at through this undercover assignment. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss his apartment. Even as empty as it was, it was preferable to this place.

He scanned the keycard and opened the door to his room. It looked exactly the same as he'd left it. Not a thing out of place. He carefully set the box onto his bed. It seemed to stare at him with wide brown eyes. Broken, defeated eyes.

He sat next to it and reached for the lid. His hand stopped just as his fingers brushed the surface. He had to be sure he wanted to know before he lifted that lid. He had to be sure he could live with whatever it contained. He let out a long slow breath. If she lived through it then he could too.

He lifted the lid and set it on the bed next to the box. He peered over its edge, slightly terrified over what he might find. Turned out he had every reason to be.

The first item he removed was cryptic at best. Her house key? He set the bag on top of the box lid. Seemed like an unimportant detail. The duct tape ended up being the first thing that made his stomach turn. He pulled three evidence bags with carefully preserved duct tape. When he looked closer he found strands of hair still plastered to the tape. It was Olivia's hair.

He swallowed the rising bile and continued. A broken vodka bottle. Empty bottles of prescription opiates. His heart pounded when he lifted her side arm. He stopped breathing when something out of the ordinary caught his eye.

A mini badge with the numbers 6313 engraved on the surface.

That was the first time he vomited that night. It wasn't even close to the last.

He returned to his bed and lifted the evidence bag containing her firearm. He knew the gun well. He'd held it many times in the course of handing it to her as they rushed to one dangerous situation or another. He slid it out onto the bed. His fingers brushed the surface. No need to worry about fingerprint contamination. This case was long closed, and buried in a sea of boxes. He found the badge clipped to the butt of her gun. He unclipped it, and turned it over in his hands. The only thing he left her.

Semper Fi indeed.

He slipped her firearm back into the evidence bag, but pocketed the mini badge. It wasn't important to the case, but it was eternally important to him.

He mentally prepared for what else the box held, fully knowing he could never be prepared.

The bloody sheet was the next item that made his stomach wrench so violently that he lost the rest of the contents of his stomach.

He pulled out what looked like a metal pipe? He turned the bag over. It was too narrow for a pipe, delicate, but lethal enough to draw blood. His stomach lurched but he had nothing else to lose so he set the pipe aside.

A tightly folded tarp. A familiar necklace. Fearless. Bullet casings. A tangled up wire hanger. He felt accomplished over making it through the physical items in the box. He thought seeing the actual evidence of the attack would be the worst things to see. He was wrong. So wrong.

The photos. The photos sent him barreling to the trash can to dry heave. It didn't matter that he had nothing left to give. His body demanded penance, and he would happily die right in this filthy hotel room if it removed this event from her past.

With every photo his body shook with an emotion he wasn't sure he could label. There was anger. Yes anger was a huge player here, but it was more than that. Deeper. An emotion that tore recklessly at his soul. It had no name, but it bled with feelings of regret, anger, and deep depression. Tears ran freely down his cheeks and The pain in his chest radiated as a real physical sensation. He wanted to die. He deserved to die for this. He might not be the man who pressed hot metal into her skin, but he was the one who could have stopped it from happening. Deep in his core, he knew. He knew that if he hadn't retreated without a word, this wouldn't have happened.

Stomach bile burned his esophagus as he flipped through picture after picture from the medical exam. The once innocuous key laying only inches from his knee caused many of the burns, the brands, left all over her skin.

Every photo detailed violent damage to her body in more and more intimate places. He never imagined that the first time he'd see Olivia's naked body, it would be in the form of horrifically graphic evidence photos.

Four damn days. It was a gut punch he hadn't been prepared for. They didn't find her for four days, and even then, she saved her own ass.

He thought back to their conversation in her kitchen. He begged to know why she didn't call him. Even as she faced the cabinets he read right through her overly controlled emotionless voice. She said she didn't want him to protect her, but he felt there was a deeper message he was missing.

Now it came in loud and clear. She could her voice in his head, detailing the actual reasons she never called.

Why would I call? For you to protect me? No. I learned a long time ago, in a beach front vacation home that I couldn't rely on anyone but myself. All those promises? All that talk of partners… for better or for worse was a lie. Because the ONE TIME I needed you, you didn't come. No one came. I saved my own ass, no help from you…or anyone else. Why would I trust you to protect me? The ONLY person who looked out for me… was me. I don't need you to pick up the damn pieces. I can do it myself.

He knew this case, this abduction, formed the emotionally stoic, empathetic Captain the world knew. Very few people remembered the rule breaking firecracker he'd been partnered with all those years ago. No. The world knew Captain Benson . And now it was abundantly clear that he lost his chance ten years ago. The walls she built were thick and impenetrable, and he wasn't sure he could scale them. He wasn't sure she would even let him try.

Stay tuned for part 2!