Hey ya'll, thank you so much for the feedback and kudos on this story so far. I'm so glad people are enjoying it! The comments and kudos are driving me to write a lot faster than I usually would so please keep them coming. Thank you thank you!

TW: mentions/flashbacks of sexual violence, pregnancy topics, therapy, abandonment.

NOTES: I don't want to make things terribly confusing but flashbacks are necessary for me to move the story along. They will be in italics with "~~~~~" before and after.

Thanks for reading 3

Chapter Text

March 1st 2013 - the office of Dr. Peter Lindstrom - 11am

Olivia sat comfortably on the oversized leather couch in Dr. Lindstrom's office, one hand rested on her barely visible 14-week baby bump, the other fidgeting with a loose thread on her pant leg.

"Forgive me if it's impolite to say so, but you're starting to show, Olivia. How do you feel about that?" Lindstrom inquired at the start of the hour.

She grinned slightly at the comment and subconsciously rubbed her belly as she spoke, "It's not impolite at all. I'm happy my baby's growing."

"Have you heard from Elliot?" Lindstrom asked cautiously, jotting something down on his notepad as he spoke.

The smile fell from her lips the second she heard her former partner's name, "I have not and I don't expect that I will. Munch tried to call him last week and his number is now disconnected. He's made himself impossible to reach," she replied plainly, staring down at the thread between her fingers.

"Why do you think Elliot doesn't want to be found?"

A long moment of silence passed as he waited for her answer.

"I think…" She struggled to articulate her thoughts and pulled the thread a little harder before professing, "I think he feels guilty for what happened in the warehouse. Like he… raped me. And he couldn't handle it, so he ran away from the fallout. That's the only explanation that makes sense to me."

"Do you feel like Elliot raped you, Olivia?" Lindstrom questioned, and not for the first time since she'd started therapy. She always managed to dodge that particular inquiry, never knowing how to answer it.

She averted her gaze from Lindstrom and ripped the thread a little harder until a small hole appeared in the stitching, "I was assaulted. But so was El. Compton had the guns, he was ready to kill us both. If we hadn't done what we did-"

"-had sex?"

"It's hard for me to call it sex. It didn't feel like sex. It felt like…"

"Like rape?"

Olivia sighed again and rubbed her face in frustration, "I know what you're doing."

"I am just trying to get an understanding of how you view what happened to you in that warehouse. You've made tremendous progress identifying your thoughts and feelings about your attackers and your undercover assignment, but you're still struggling to define how Elliot fits into all of it. You say that you know you were assaulted by Compton, but how would you describe what physically occurred between you and Elliot?

She squirmed in her seat and wished that she could be anywhere else. She and Lindstrom had discussed the warehouse during every session, but her retelling of it was always fairly vague and clinical. It seemed he wanted her to go beyond the superficial explanation and put her experience into words that she hadn't even fully admitted to herself yet. Anxiety bubbled up in her chest at the thought of being that exposed with another person, even if that person was her shrink.

"Elliot did not rape me, he's not a rapist," she stressed, "by a purely physical definition, we had sex. He did not do anything forcibly to me, I consented to everything. I asked him to do it."

"Because the alternative was Compton?"

"Yes."

"Elliot was your safest option." Lindstrom asserted.

"Yes, I was always safe with Elliot," she affirmed. "Even though we were in danger in that warehouse, I knew he had my back."

"You knew that you were safe with Elliot - but your life was still threatened, you didn't want to have sex and you didn't directly consent to Compton's actions. Looking at it from an SVU detective lens, would you say that both you and Elliot were essentially raped by Compton?"

"Rape by proxy comes to mind," she conceded..

She'd given up ripping her jeans open and turned her attention to chewing on her thumbnail, trying to fight away the agitation that was threatening to put her into fight-or-flight mode if he pushed her too far.

"You are able to admit out loud that you were victimized. Do you think Elliot is able to do the same?"

Olivia furrowed her brow, thinking deeply before exhaling harshly, "No, I don't. He's a protector, he's always seen it as his job to protect me. In his eyes, he failed the second Compton's made us remove our clothes."

"Even though it saved your lives?" Lindstrom wondered.

She laughed dryly and said, "He's a complicated man."

Lindstrom chuckled and then leaned over, writing intensely in his notepad.

She would have paid good money to read the wise doctor's assessment of her fucked up life in those little bits of chicken scratch. She'd bet his opinions of her dynamic with her 'best friend and partner' turned 'baby's absentee father' would make quite the read.

After a few minutes of easy silence, he broke his concentration away from his notepad and furthered the discussion, "he may be a complicated person generally, but I don't think this decision was complicated for him. Based on everything you've told me about Elliot, don't you think he would have done anything to spare you being raped by Compton?"

Olivia shrugged half-heartedly, "I don't know anymore. Maybe in theory but Compton was…" She shivered and subconsciously wrapped her arms protectively around herself. "Compton was ordering Elliot to-" she sucked in air deeply and shook her head a few times, trying to calm the panicky feeling rising in her chest., "to be rough. That's where things started to really go down hill and I could tell Elliot was struggling with that. He tried to refuse."

"What happened when he refused?"

She closed her eyes, battling the memory as she whispered, "Compton put the barrel of his pistol in my mouth." The sensation of cold metal filled her mouth with those words. Suddenly her mind was transported back in time, back to that goddamned warehouse. She was naked, positioned on her hands and knees on the disgusting, lumpy mattress with Elliot sobbing behind her. She felt throbbing pain between her legs as the gun clicked against her teeth and the greasy fingers of Compton's free hand wrapped around her throat.

She couldn't breathe. She grabbed at her throat with both hands and gasped for air, eyes clenched tightly as the memories assaulted her in vicious waves.

She barely felt the weight of him as Lindstrom sat down next to her on the couch, his hands gently wrapping around hers to remove them from her neck, "Olivia… Olivia it's okay, you're safe, it's okay, you're safe here. Breathe. Try to take a deep breath," he soothed, "You're in my office, Olivia, you're not in the warehouse. Nobody is hurting you right now. Just breathe ."

The words started to break through her haze and the memories slowly faded out as the sound of Lindstrom's voice filled the spaces in her mind. She found that she could breathe unimpeded once her own hands were off of her neck and she started to recognize the feeling of the couch beneath her and the familiar smell of Lindstrom's cologne.

Her eyes opened slowly, taking in the room in pieces, her overwhelmed mind needing to compartmentalize. She flushed in embarrassment when she realized her therapist was sitting directly next to her with concern etched into the corners of his eyes. The proximity unnerved her and she stood abruptly from her spot on the couch, pacing for a moment before bracing herself against the windowsill.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why that happened." She confessed - pulling in deep, steady breaths and trying not to cry at the humiliation.

"No need to apologize. How many times has that happened recently?" Lindstrom asked kindly while handing her a bottle of cold water from his mini fridge. She accepted it gratefully and took a few big gulps to ease her aching throat before placing the bottle on her forehead. Her face was burning hot and tear-stained.

"Only once," she replied, " I've had plenty of nightmares but nothing like that. Not since…"

"Since the day you discovered you were pregnant." Lindstrom stated.

"Mhm."

"After that first flashback, you told me you were triggered by the feeling that nothing in your life would be the same. What do you think triggered you this time?"

"Thinking about the gun in my mouth… I haven't told anyone about that. I just-" she started trembling again and shook her head as if to shake away the bad feelings, "I came so close to dying, that terror came back to me."

Lindstrom jotted down a few more notes and closed his notebook, "You did well today, Olivia. You talked about things you've been avoiding for months. It might not feel like it right now, but it's progress."

She knew he was right. Even though it was painful, it was progress.

/

March 1st 2013 - the apartment of Detective Olivia Benson - 5pm

Her panic attack at therapy left her jittery, exhausted and more than a bit famished. She entered her apartment building with a bag of Lebanese food and a bottle of peach iced tea balanced precariously in one arm with her purse slung haphazardly over the other. She was greeted with the familiar "out of service" sign on her elevator and her bottom lip quivered just slightly. Normally she wouldn't mind trekking up 3 flights of stairs but the hormones, therapy trauma and hunger were working against her normally tough and logical self. She glared bitterly at the offending sign and willed her tears not to fall.

"Do they ever do maintenance in this building?" a familiar voice quipped from behind her.

She whipped her head around and saw her partner standing a few feet away offering her a cheeky smile.

He walked closer and motioned toward her bags, "Let me carry those for you, Liv."

"What are you doing here, Nick?" She inquired, adjusting the bags in her tired arms, not ready to give in to his offer, "It's Friday night, don't you have plans or something?"

"Nah, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by to check on my partner."

Her heart ached at his words. They reminded her so much of Elliot when he was being overbearing. Sometimes she'd hated it, but most of the time it made her feel like someone gave a damn about her. It healed a part of her that had never felt worthy of care in her life. Nick was giving her a bit of that same kind of care and it warmed her to have it back in some small way.

She laughed at his response, "You mean your useless pregnant partner who's riding a desk for the next 6 months?"

"I wouldn't say useless." He retorted, once again motioning to her bags, "Gimme those bags, Olivia. Your food is getting cold as we speak."

She acquiesced and handed him the items, sighing in relief once her arm was freed. They trekked up the stairs together, her walking slower than usual and him matching her pace like a good partner.

"Just admit you're only here to make sure I eat after my head shrinking session."

Nick chuckled, "okay, you caught me. I'm just doing my part to ensure you have a fat baby."

"You and the kabobs in that bag," she laughed, unlocking and opening her apartment door for them, "you might as well stay for dinner, I bought enough to feed a small army."

It didn't take any convincing for him to agree to that. They settled on her couch with full plates, shoulder to shoulder, eating in companionable silence before Nick spoke again, "How'd it go today, Liv? You seem tired."

She scooped a big spoonful of rice into her mouth, chewing slower than necessary to avoid answering his question. She'd already shared so many heavy things with Lindstrom, she wasn't in the mood to share even more with Nick.

He nudged her shoulder slightly and continued, "You don't have to talk about it, I just worry about you after-"

"-I know, Nick. You're a good partner, you know that?" She smiled at him and offered him a piece of pita slathered with hummus, "It was a rough session, the worst one yet I think. I had another flashback, like the one I had when you drove me to Queens."

"Fuck," he breathed out, "Jesus Liv, I'm sorry."

"But I got through it," she assured him, "I'm home and eating good food with a good friend. I'll be alright."

"Yeah you will, Liv. You'll be great."

January 4th 2013 - the office of Peter Lindstrom - 6:30pm

Dr. Peter Lindstrom was tired, more tired than he'd been in a long time.

January 4th was his first day back in the office after the holidays and he'd had nothing but emergency sessions from 8am onward. He'd spent the first 2 hours of the day counseling a new client who'd cheated on his wife with an escort on New Years Eve. Lindstrom tried to offer sage advice and guidance but the man was mainly focused on justifying why he would never tell his wife.

After the adulterer finally left the office with the parting words of, "thanks doc, I feel better," Peter had a soul crushing session with a long-term client who'd relapsed after 4 years of sobriety and was coping with the aftermath. That was followed by a young woman who'd tried to overdose herself with antidepressants and gin on Christmas Eve night after an argument with her mother.

Then, a young widow who'd spent her first holiday season without her husband. And finally - to end the day on a positively devastating note - an elderly man who'd recently become homeless after selling his house to pay for cancer treatments.

Lindstrom exited his office at 6:30pm with a brutal tension headache and a severe hankering for chicken piccata. As he locked the door and began to descend down the stairs, eager to start the journey home, he heard choking sobs coming from the bench near his building's stoop.

"Who is that? Are you okay?" He called out, turning around to unlock the door he'd barely just closed.

This was not a new occurrence for the doctor. He'd never turn someone away when they showed up like that, vulnerable and splintered and waiting for him in the cold. In his experience, only the most dire situations brought them to him in such a state.

His chicken piccata and Tylenol date would have to wait.

"It's Olivia Benson." she choked out, "Sorry I didn't call ahead."

After a month of treating Olivia Benson, Dr. Lindstrom didn't know everything about the woman yet. He would have described her as stoic, professional, calm. During their sessions, she'd relayed the details of her sexual assault to him in a clinical manner, almost as if recalling details of a victim's file rather than her own trauma. She'd openly examined her attachment to her former partner, her commitment issues in relationships, her abusive alcoholic mother, her rapist father. She graciously accepted his advice and coping techniques for her nightmares and her sadness over her partner's disappearance from her life.

Three sessions a week for a month and he'd never seen her shed a single tear.

Overall, she'd presented as a patient who was not enthusiastic to partake in therapy but was willing to do anything to get her job back. He deeply respected her for that and for the work she did at the Manhattan's Special Victims Unit.

To see her reduced to a puddle of tears on the bench outside of his office... It rattled him.

"Come in, Olivia." He opened the door and watched her pull herself up on shaky legs. She nearly fell walking up the 6 steps to his door and he wondered briefly if she might need medical attention.

He led her into his office, watching her closely as she was still unsteady on her feet. Wordlessly, he motioned for her to sit on the couch before handing her a throw blanket and bottled water.

He allowed her a moment to settle in while taking in her general appearance. He noted that her clothes were soaking wet and her teeth were chattering. He wondered how long she'd been sitting out in the elements waiting for him. Her cheeks were reddened from the cold but he noticed her skin underneath lacked its normal golden hue.

The shakiness, trouble walking, pale skin - he'd seen those things a time or two with trauma victims.

"Did you eat today?" He coaxed while rummaging through one of his drawers and pulling out a granola bar. He walked it over to her and she accepted it shakily, another sob bubbling up from her chest.

"I had breakfast," she stated, unwrapping the snack and taking a generous bite with tears trailing down her face, "I must have forgotten after that. It's been a hard day."

"What happened today?"

She sniffled in a quivering, frantic way that told Lindstrom she was fighting a losing battle against her emotions. She took another bite of the granola bar and stared down at the ground, chewing with obvious difficulty and swallowing hard before mumbling, "I'm pregnant."

A sense of dread settled into Lindstrom's stomach at her admission. He knew of Olivia's history - her mother's assault, Olivia's own origins, the abuse she'd endured due to her conception. She was less than a month past her own vicious assault and the abandonment of her best friend. To discover that she was pregnant with his child as a result of that trauma… Lindstrom worried that this news would severely impact her recovery.

"You found out today?" He questioned.

"Yes," she sniffled, "I tried to call Elliot immediately. Fin and Nick tried to call him, I even tried to call his wife and kids just to get in touch with him. I think they all blocked me. I've never wanted to talk to someone so badly. And they've all just cut me out like I don't exist. I can't even tell him that we're- that I'm pregnant." She popped the last of the granola into her mouth and tried to breath through her nose as she chewed. He started to worry she might choke until she began speaking again, "Nick drove me to his house and I saw a fucking 'for sale' sign on his lawn, no cars in the driveway… I had this realization that he is really gone, that nothing will ever be the same again. And then I had a panic attack or a flashback or something. Nick almost drove me to the hospital but I didn't want to go so I lied and told him I had an appointment with you."

Lindstrom offered a small smile and said, "I'm glad you came here. I know that must have been hard for you."

She shrugged, "you've helped me, even if I don't always tell you that. I'm sorry to show up like this though. If you're going to fire me as a client, can you at least clear me to go back to work first?"

He laughed, "let's not get ahead of ourselves."

March 21st 2013 - Manhattan Special Victims Unit - 1pm

Olivia sat hunched over at her desk, glaring at a pile of documents that were growing by the second. The squad had caught a massive case involving a daycare perp and there were over 30 interviews that needed to be typed up and reviewed. Since she was stuck behind a desk, she had the pleasure of doing most of the paperwork and cold calling for SVU.

"Sorry Liv, here are the statements from Dr. Coldwater and Mrs. Keller." Amanda Rollins said regretfully, adding a few pages to the stack.

Olivia grunted at the younger woman in response.

She didn't hate Rollins, even though the woman was Elliot's replacement, and she took over his desk and she was blonde and southern and maybe a little too blunt sometimes for Olivia's liking.

"So, just about halfway this week, huh?" Amanda gushed, motioning to Olivia's belly, "Must be starting to feel pretty real?"

Olivia glanced down at her protruding belly and nodded at the other woman, "Like you wouldn't believe."

Amanda smiled and put her hand on Olivia's. The younger detective pressed something into her palm as she walked away. Olivia inspected the offering - a pack of peanut butter crackers from the vending machine. Her favorite.

No, she definitely didn't hate Rollins.

Olivia had to admit that the way her squad rallied around her in Elliot's absence was touching. Before the warehouse, she would have rebuked their caregiving and fussing, probably would have been offended by the tender treatment since it was contradictory to the tough cop persona she'd spent the better part of her life perfecting. Her pregnancy had softened her to them and her walls crumbled a little more each day as she allowed their care to infiltrate parts of herself that she'd closed off decades ago when she was just a girl.

Her squad showed up for her everyday - Amanda regularly bringing her snacks, Fin and Nick insisting on driving her to doctor's appointments, Barba showing up at her apartment with healthy groceries and little unisex baby clothes, Cragen sending her home early several times a week with orders to rest and relax. It was all so domestic and so, so soft. It was exactly what she'd craved her entire life - a family.

"Olivia, can you come into my office please?" Cragen called, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Sure, Cap."

She stood up only a tad slower than usual, the 17-week bump only impeding her movement slightly. She made her way into the Captain's office and plopped down into the seat across from his desk without an invitation. Her feet were sore and her pants felt a little too tight, just enough to be uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" She asked, clocking his worried expression immediately. A pit of dread built in her gut as Cragen looked anywhere but at her.

"Barba will be here in 2 minutes, don't panic." He said, trying to pacify her obvious fear.

"Cap-"

A knock at the door startled them both. Cragen recovered quickly and waved Barba in.

The ADA entered in his usual state of pressed suit, leather briefcase, shiny black shoes that likely cost an entire month of Olivia's salary. She noted a stress line between his brows that only appeared during the toughest cases.

"Barba," she stated, an air of paranoia lacing the word, "what brings you here today?"

The man smiled sympathetically at her and the pit in her stomach became a crater.

Ah, so it is me.

He took the seat next to her and opened up his briefcase, pulling out a file and placing it on Cragen's desk before snapping the briefcase closed and tucking it under his chair.

"Brooklyn SVU finished the Compton investigation. The DA is adding more charges," Barba began hesitantly, "There were over 60 tapes recovered from the warehouse, all of which have now been reviewed."

Olivia took in a sharp breath and placed a hand on her chest, rubbing it lightly in an attempt to calm her racing heart.

Barba opened the folder in his hands and stared at the top document, "After reviewing the tape of you and Detective Stabler, the DA has elected to add charges directly pertaining to the crimes Compton committed against you - 2 counts of rape in the first degree, forcible touching, unlawful imprisonment, coercion and attempted murder."

Silence fell over the room as Olivia's racing mind tried to comprehend the words.

"I thought they weren't going to pursue our charges since we were undercover. You said it could taint the case. You said I wouldn't have to go through my own trial, that I could just testify about the UC assignment." Her voice was trembling and her words were laced with accusation.

"That was before." Barba asserted, looking up at her with a pained expression, "Olivia, the DA was under the impression that Compton only orchestrated a sexual act between you and Stabler. The tape told a very different story. What happened to you was-"

"-I know what happened to me," she snapped, "and I disclosed it in my initial statement. I told Fin everything-"

"-Not everything. You didn't mention the gun." Barba whispered, tearing his eyes away from hers to stare down at his file. His words hung heavy in the air.

Compton's threats started replaying in her head at the thought of the gun.

Fuck her harder or I'll blow her head off.

"What about a gun?" Cragen chimed in, looking between his detective and the ADA with a raised brow.

Just a mention of that gun and Olivia was slipping into a flashback. She put a hand up to silence them both.

She placed her other hand on her belly and pressed slightly, grounding herself. Compton's voice was blaring in her head now. She knew if she didn't get a hold of herself that her mind would be back in the warehouse in seconds. She forced her eyes to Cragen's desk, finding a yellow sticky pad, 3 black pens, a mug half full of black coffee, and a handful of colorful paper clips. She took in another deep breath. She counted the paperclips 3 times. She inhaled deeply through her nose and noted the scent of freshly printed papers and Barba's spicy aftershave. Another deep breath through her nose. She pressed a little harder on her stomach and thought of the tiny little being growing just inches under her palm.

She was starting to calm down. She hadn't had another flashback since the one in Lindstrom's office and she certainly didn't want to have one in front of her captain and ADA.

"Olivia-"

"Shh, give me a second," she stated firmly before taking a few more deep breaths. She glanced at Cragen and the haunted look in his eyes felt like a fist to the chest. She turned away from him and focused her attention back on the ADA, explaining through clenched teeth, "I forgot to disclose about the gun during my initial statement. In my defense, I'd been choked unconscious barely 30 minutes before my interview. I realized a few days later that I'd missed some details but I'd assumed the tapes had been reviewed and would fill in the blanks for me. The tapes have been available this entire time. It's not my fault that Brooklyn took 4 months to watch them. I resent the implication that I intentionally withheld information from the investigation."

"Nobody is blaming you, Olivia. Even if you had downplayed what happened to you, nobody would blame you for that either. You knew the tapes would help to tell your story, you shouldn't have had to recount every detail when the evidence was at our fingertips," Barba soothed, "doesn't change the fact that the DA is insistent that we pursue these charges on your behalf. Now that we understand the full picture of what happened to you and Detective Stabler, we cannot turn a blind eye to it."

She blinked back tears and shook her head, "I don't want this. I don't want my name all over court documents for my kid to find someday. I don't want them to know how they were conceived. Compton is facing hundreds of charges, you're telling me the DA can't let these ones go?"

"I tried. I've been trying for 3 days to talk him out of this. He won't budge." He admitted, "I'm going to try and reach Stabler after I leave here to let him know. I doubt I'll find him. Once subpoenas are ready, I'll have to hire a P.I to track him down." Barba put his hand on hers and gave a squeeze, "I'm so sorry about all of this. Liv. Compton's team is filing motion after motion. Trials are far off, definitely won't be before baby Benson makes their grand entrance. Try to put it out of your mind for a while."

"That's easier said than done," she huffed in frustration, "It's not just about a trial. What happened in that warehouse changed my entire life. I'm tired of thinking about it all the damned time."

"I understand-"

"-you don't. Nobody fucking understands. Nobody but Elliot and he's gone." Her voice broke on the last word, "Maybe he had the right idea. Sometimes I think about just getting in a cab and going as far as they'll take me, just leaving the city and raising my baby somewhere far away from here."

"Olivia-" Cragen began, but she stood up from her chair and put her hand up to stop him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I'm just tired, " she murmured unemotionally, walking out of the room without another glance at the men.

The two men's eyes met and the sentiment was clear.