Barren

Disclaimer: Don't own them, though I wish I did.

Pairing: Casey/Olivia established relationship.

Notes and Warnings: Femslash. It also deals with the aftermath of rape, so it's not a happy piece folks.

Chapter 1

Barren (adjective) - 1) Bleak and lifeless. 2) Without.

The smoke from the tip of the cigarette snakes around in an intricate pattern that dances in the predawn darkness. I sit watching it, mildly fascinated, as I take another drink from the strong scotch in my glass. Bringing the cigarette back to my mouth, I inhale the minty smoke deep into my lungs and close my eyes, savoring the rich flavor.

I haven't smoked for over two years. It was a nasty little habit, picked up in law school, that I thought I'd given up. I guess I was wrong. I've been wrong a lot lately . . .

I thought I was strong, but Madeline Forbes showed me differently. She's dead, by my hand no less, and yet she still haunts me. Her face still dominates my nightmares and her voice is forever whispering in my subconscious mind. My nightmares are horrifying images, a juxtaposition of Milan Zergin and Madeline Forbes, that steal any hope of a full nights sleep.

Even Olivia, my sweet protector, is beginning to show the exhaustion born of being awakened night after night by my screams. She wouldn't tell me, she's not like that. Instead she just holds me until I manage to either fall back asleep, or get out of bed in disgust and leave her to sleep alone.

Two months have passed and I don't feel as if I've even begun to assimilate what she did to me. I remember more of the attack now, it comes to me in my nightmares, though I still swear to Olivia that I don't. If she thinks I can't remember, then she won't press me to talk about it. Maybe if I don't have to talk about it . . . actually tell someone how it occurred . . . then it won't be real. Maybe then, I can leave it in the realm of nightmares where it belongs.

I pull the blanket around my shoulders tightly against the frigid winter air. I'm not really sure how long I've been out on my apartment's tiny balcony, drinking and smoking, but it's long enough that my fingers have turned slightly blue. I don't mind it though, at least it makes me feel, even if it is just the pain from the cold.

Feeling is not something I've done a lot of lately. Mostly, I walk around in a zombie-like trance, simply going through the motions of my daily routines. I think I'm afraid to let myself feel anything. I'm terrified that any little emotion will break down the dam I've so carefully constructed and all of my demons will come pouring forth and drown me in their weight.

I returned to work barely two weeks after the attacks, much to the dismay of everyone around me. They just couldn't understand that I needed justice, not against Madeline, she will never answer for her crimes against me. I needed justice for other victims. Perhaps, it was justice by proxy. I don't know, all I knew is that if I didn't go back to work, I was going to die.

I pour the rest of the scotch down my throat and it burns all the way to my stomach. Noticing that my cigarette has burned down to the filter, I stub it out in the overflowing ash tray and pull another from the almost empty pack. The flame that erupts from the cheap plastic lighter illuminates my face briefly, before sending me back into the welcomed darkness.

The sound of the door sliding open causes me to jerk violently, managing to burn my fingers with the lit cigarette in the process. Dropping it in the ashtray and cursing lightly, I bring the injured digits to my mouth as the small light beside the door flares to life.

"Sorry," she says, pulling the other chair closer to me and sitting down.

Taking in her appearance, a small grin crosses my face. Her hair is sticking out in at least twenty different directions at once and she makes no effort to tame it. Flannel pajama bottoms encase her shapely legs and her old NYPD sweatshirt is faded and worn. I do so love seeing Olivia Benson like this. Raw and unguarded, completely at ease with her surroundings. It is one of the few joys left in my life. I like the fact that I see her at times that she would allow no one else to view.

"How long have you been out here," she asks while staring at the ash tray and empty tumbler disdainfully.

"A while."

She picks up the glass and sniffs it and a cringe decorates her beautiful face, before she sets it down and stares at me intently.

"Little early for scotch isn't Casey?"

She doesn't like that I drink. More precisely, she doesn't like that I drink much more than I should. Social drinking, she herself is guilty of. But drinking all by yourself, at five in the morning? That doesn't really fall under normal alcohol consumption and I know it.

I ignore her question because I have no answers for her. None that she would accept anyway. Her memories of her mother's alcoholism and all the pain that she caused because of it are a constant companion for her and I wonder if she think's that I have a problem. Because I don't. I don't need the alcohol, I just want it . . . there's a difference isn't there?

"Still up for apartment hunting today," I ask, changing the subject.

I really can't bare staying here any longer, it reminds me too much of what happened. I still have trouble walking through my front door into a darkened apartment. Lately, we've left the lights on and though it's hell on the electric bill, it affords me a little more piece of mind. She still keeps her small walk-up, but she basically lives with me. Most of her things have migrated to my apartment and we haven't spent a night apart in two months. I would say that qualifies as cohabitation.

"Uh huh. Any ideas on what you want?"

I think about it for a moment.

"Door man, security system, two bedrooms, and no fire escapes." Sounds reasonable enough to me.

Her face curves into a breath taking smile and she leans in close to kiss me. I freeze for an instant, my heart pounding in fear. Disgusted with my involuntary reaction, I pray that she didn't notice and return the gentle kiss. She's so careful with me, like she thinks I'm going to break. Maybe she's right, perhaps I will break if pushed too hard . . . I'm just not sure anymore.

"I just can't get used to that," she says, pulling back.

"What?" I stare at her in genuine confusion.

"The cigarette taste."

"Oh. Sorry," I apologize, blushing and looking down at my hands.

"It's okay. I'll live."

She holds her hand out to me and I take it, allowing her to pull me into a standing position.

"You're hands are freezing Casey. Let's go take a hot shower and warm you up."

It's funny, we take showers together and sleep in the same bed night after night, yet we still haven't made love. I know I'm not ready. So, I haven't asked and she hasn't pushed. It's just something I'm not ready to deal with yet. It's kind of an unspoken agreement between the two of us. When I'm ready, she knows that I'll let her know. Until then it's something she doesn't even bring up.

We really are an ironic pair. A child of rape who hunts rapists and a victim of rape who prosecutes them. Between the two of us, we have enough issues to keep an entire team of psychoanalysts busy for years.

The hot shower warms my skin but does nothing to alleviate the coldness that has seeped into my being and set up residence. Madeline died in that apartment, but I'm not completely certain that she didn't take my soul with her.

---

Chapter 2

"Do you want to get some lunch?"

No, I really don't. My appetite is nearly non-existent and I know that I've lost weight. Suits and clothing that used to fit my body perfectly now hang on my slim frame loosely. If I lose much more, I'm going to have to go shopping for a new wardrobe and that's not a thought that appeals to me at all.

It's not really that I don't have the money to do it, I do. The small trust that my grandparents set up for me as a child provides me with a comfortable financial safety net. I think, in reality, it has more to do with denial. Buying new clothing is an admission that I've lost a lot of weight and generally I tend to react to things like an ostrich. I like to stick my head in the sand and pretend that nothing's wrong, despite the fact that all hell's braking loose around me.

"Sure, what do you want," I ask, fully aware that Olivia will badger me until I agree.

"Anything's fine, whatever you want."

I give her a look that conveys that I'm really not in the mood to play this game.

"What about Dominic's? It's just around the corner," she says, catching and understanding my nonverbal communication immediately.

I'll have to admit, she is perceptive. It's one of the many things I love about her. She has the cosmic ability to catch the smallest hint and react appropriately. Maybe it comes from her years as a cop. I really don't know, but I am thankful for it.

"Fine with me."

I give her my best smile, attempting to convey that I really am fine. Perhaps if I say it enough, it will be true. I can always hope, right?

I follow Olivia around the corner and into Dominic's, a small Italian restaurant that we visit so often that the staff knows us by name.

"Casey . . . Olivia . . . imagine seeing you two here."

Dominic, the owner and name sake of the restaurant, smiles from his position by the host's podium. His short stature never ceases to offer me a source of amusement. He's barely 5'5" and I tower over the man by at least five inches. Sometimes more, if I have heels on. We regularly tease each other about our respective heights.

"Hey Dom, how's business," I ask politely.

"Same as always Casey," he answers, chuckling lightly.

"You two lovely ladies want your usual table?"

"Sounds good."

Olivia grins at me as the energetic little man grabs our menus and starts off towards the corner table at the very back of the restaurant. The atmosphere of the restaurant is clearly geared towards romance. Most of the tables are made for two and flickering candles illuminate the exposed brick walls in complex patterns of dancing light. The white table cloths are always impeccable and it adds a certain charming simplicity to the overall feeling of the restaurant that's quite inviting.

Allowing Dominic to pull my chair out for me, something that took a couple of times to get used to, I offer the man a genuine smile as I take my seat. He does the same for Olivia and then lays the menus on the table for us to look at.

"You're waiter will be right over," he says, winking at us before he heads off, back towards the front.

I open my menu and peruse the selections, not finding one that sounds even remotely appetizing. Sighing, I look to Olivia, who's already lain her menu down and is currently staring at me expectantly.

"Well," she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I glance at the menu and pick the first vegetarian item that jumps out at me.

"I think I'll have eggplant parmigiana," I say, keeping my eyes on the menu, "you?"

"Chicken Marsala."

The waiter chose that moment to appear and I smile up at the man gratefully, thankful for the distraction. The conversation between Olivia and I was quickly heading towards awkwardness. We place our orders and as he turns to leave, I suddenly feel the desire for a drink.

"Oh, could I have a glass of the house wine as well," I say as an afterthought.

"Sure thing." With that, the man was off, leaving us back to our awkwardness.

I ignore the look from across the table. I really don't drink as much as she seems to think I do. Sighing, I chalk it up to her overprotective nature and move on.

"Did you see any apartments you liked this morning," Olivia asks nonchalantly.

I mentally go through the apartments we'd looked at, weighing each of their merits and disadvantages. There was really only one that met all my requirements, but it was a little bigger than what I'd originally wanted.

"The last one is really the only one, but I don't really need that much space."

I look to her hopefully, mentally willing her to tell me that she'll get rid of her apartment and move in with me completely. She basically lives with me now, but there's still something missing. I would love to be able to call the apartment our home. Right now, it qualifies more as my apartment with an extended house guest.

"That is unless you want to get rid of your place and move in with me," I ask in a teasing tone.

That way, if she says no, I can always play it off as a joke.

"I basically live with you now counselor," she retorts, grinning.

"You could always make it official," I say quietly, the teasing tone all but gone.

She takes my hand from across the table and stares intently into my eyes.

"Is that really what you want Casey?" Her voice holds an edge of hopefulness that sends relief cascading throughout my body.

"Yes, I want that more than anything Olivia."

"Well then, I guess we'd better go by and sign the lease on our new place after lunch then."

I barely resist the urge to jump across the table and kiss her. Instead, I simply squeeze her hand and smile. It feels nice to genuinely smile again, I haven't had much reason to lately. When I have, it was usually precipitated by Olivia. My love for this woman causes my chest to tighten and though I find that terrifying, I know without a doubt that it is also my saving grace.

Our waiter returns and deposits our lunch on the table, along with my glass of wine. I find the smell of the food sickening and I attempt to cover it by taking a sip of wine. The food on my plate beckons and I feel the weight of Olivia's stare. Picking up my fork, I cut away a small piece and put it in my mouth, chewing slowly.

"How is it," she asks, between bites of her own lunch.

I smile and nod, not quite trusting myself to speak.

I hate this. I just want my life back. I want to enjoy my food again and be able to look at the sunrise without dread. I want to lay down and sleep through the night without reliving the rape in every excruciating detail. Sleeping more than a couple hours at a time really isn't too much to ask is it?

"You know Casey, you can push that food around on your plate as long as you want and it's still not going to go away."

I sigh shakily, on the verge of tears, and drop my fork beside my uneaten lunch.

"I . . . don't know what's wrong with me. I can't eat, I can't sleep . . . "

"Sweetie, it's only been two months. It's going to take time," she says, once again capturing my hands in her own.

Time heals all wounds, is that it Olivia? No offense, but I think that's bullshit. I can't even begin to imagine time healing the gaping wound that sometimes hurts so much, I wonder why it can't be seen. How can something that's not even real, physically hurt so much?

I get up from the table and leave the restaurant, so desperate for fresh air that I feel I'll suffocate if I don't have it. Once out on the street, I take a gulping breath of cold air that burns my lungs, but I barely notice it. Tears run down my cheeks and the looks from the people on the street make me rub them away in annoyance. Lighting a cigarette from the pack in my coat pocket, I lean against the rough brick wall in front of the restaurant.

Olivia comes bursting through the door moments later and I watch while she looks around in an attempt to locate me.

"I'm over here," I call out to her, exhaling a long stream of bluish smoke.

She turns towards me and the tension present on her face melts flawlessly to relief.

"Casey, I'm sorry if I said something to upset you," she starts as she walks towards me.

"You didn't, I just needed air . . ." I drop the cigarette and crush it out under my boot.

Bringing her hand to my face, she traces my cheek bone with her thumb and leans in to pull me into a crushing hug that surrounds me and eases some of my turmoil.

"I love you," I say, so quietly that it's practically a whisper.

Her eyes burn bright with love and I know that she loves me too without her having to say the words.

"I love you too."

She kisses me, slowly and gently and I know that we are drawing stares from the people around us. Neither of us pull away, let them stare.

The kiss ends, leaving us both breathless in it's wake.

"Now, let's go sign that lease on our new home," she says, smiling and holding her hand out to me.

I take it and smile back, thankful for this wonderful woman that for some reason loves me as much as I love her.

---

Chapter 3

The apartment's large living area is practically stacked to the ceiling with boxes and not even the dread of unpacking them is dampening my good mood. I was so thrilled when Casey ask me to get rid of my apartment and move in with her 'officially' that I quickly organized the squad into a impromptu moving service, much to their dismay.

"Where do you want this Liv," Elliot asks breathlessly from the doorway.

"Oh, um . . . put it in the bedroom."

I feel her presence behind me even before she slides long arms around my waist.

"Everything under control General Benson," she asks as her chin finds my shoulder.

I laugh at her gentle jibe and mentally thank God that some of her infamous sarcasm is returning. Leaning my head against hers, I grin widely, unable to control my happiness. I honestly don't remember the last time anyone has made me this happy without even really trying.

"Ugh . . . you two get a room." The slight grin turning the corners of John's mouth upwards betrays his acidly sarcastic tone.

"You know your skinny ass loves it," Fin says, grinning and making an appearance shortly behind his partner.

I'm not sure who's face turned redder, mine or Casey's, but it was a close race. Both of us know that neither of them mean anything by it. In fact, if Fin and John didn't pick on us, then I'd start to get worried. Casey squeezes my waist before letting go and heading out the door, presumably to get another load of boxes, and I regret the loss of contact.

"In your dreams boys," I tease, enjoying the easy banter between us.

"If only you could see my dreams Olivia," John replies, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

For the second time in less than ten minutes my face blushes a bright scarlet. I should know better than to get into a battle of the wits with John Munch. I never win. You would think I would have learned my lesson by now.

Elliot walks out of the bedroom and looks between me and John, before breaking into a wicked grin.

"You messing with my women Munch?" His voice is rife with mock intimidation.

"Wouldn't dream of it Elliot," he says, rather non-convincingly.

"Uh huh."

"Hey, a man's gotta have some fun in exchange for forced servitude," John remarks.

We all laugh, enjoying the light-hearted atmosphere, each of us knowing that we should take it when we can get it. John and Fin leave the apartment, still chuckling and joking between themselves and it makes me realize how lucky Casey and I are to have such great friends.

Elliot shuffles up beside me and I turn to look at him. The playful look in his eyes is gone, replaced by a much more serious gaze.

"Hey Liv, can I ask you something," he starts quietly, though no one else is in the apartment.

I nod and wait for his question.

"Is she really okay?"

Damn, he couldn't have asked a harder question. Mainly because the answer is that I really don't know. Some days, I think she is and then others . . . I'm not so sure. I mean, nightmares are to be expected, but they seem to be getting worse with the passage of time. She's lost weight, she's smoking again, and drinking much more than I think she should. Perhaps, that last part is just me though. My mother's affliction has made me ultra sensitive to that and I'm trying my best not to overreact.

Despite all of that, there are some days where I see flashes of the old Casey in those beautiful green eyes. Those momentary flashes give me hope. I know there's a lot that she's not telling me. I'm not sure how I know, I just do. But, it's something that she can only tell me when she's ready. Until then, all I can do is be there for her and be prepared to listen if and when she's ready to talk.

I sigh and look down at my sneakers, suddenly fascinated by the brightly colored footwear.

"I really don't know Elliot. I mean, I think she's doing as well as can be expected . . ." I start, hesitant to reveal too much, even to my best friend.

"I notice that she picked up smoking again," he says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but if that's the worst of what she picks up. I'll live with it."

He nods his head in agreement, staying silent for a moment. I hear his breath catch and I know he wants to ask more. I watch the emotions play out on his face, while he tries to find the words.

"She's lost weight," he finally says simply.

I'm not sure if that's a question or a statement, but either way he's right. She has. Too much for my taste and I've tried to monitor what she is . . . or isn't . . . eating. It's hard though, I'm not with her 24 hours a day. She tells me she's eating, but her thin frame is saying differently. However, it basically comes down to the fact that she is an adult, not a child. I can't force her to eat.

"I know." I don't know what else to say.

"I wish I could have killed that bitch myself, Liv."

"You and me both, Elliot."

We each know that the other is deadly serious. I would have killed Madeline without hesitation, given the chance and I know Elliot would have done the same. A huge chunk of me wishes that I had been the one to shoot her, not Casey. I've killed before in self-defense and defense of others. I can deal with it. But the first time, God the first time you pull that trigger is the worst. It's not fair that she has to deal with that too, on top of everything else.

Casey walks in at that moment, carrying a load of boxes way too heavy for her and I rush to help.

"Here honey, let me help," I say, snatching a couple of boxes off the top of the stack before she can respond.

She sets the boxes down and stares between Elliot and I intently. We both look back innocently. Somehow she knows that we've been talking about her. Damned perceptive lawyers. I think they teach them in law school how to sense any little bit of uncomfortableness and then dive in for the kill. I make a mental note to ask her if they had a class at Harvard geared towards that.

I smile feebly at her, fully aware that I'm probably going to get an earful when the guys leave. Her eyes darken in anger for a moment before she visibly pushes it away and returns my smile.

Fin and John walk in with the last load of boxes and after relieving themselves of their load they stare at us all, sensing the uncomfortable situation they've walked in to.

"Well, that's it. I think it's time for us to get out of here. Right guys?" Elliot looks to them and both nod their heads, readily agreeing.

After a round of goodbyes and hugs, I find myself alone with her and I wince as the anger in her eyes flares back to life.

"What were you and Elliot talking about Olivia," she asks, her eyes never leaving my face.

"He just asked how you were, no big deal sweetie." I try and keep it simple.

Casey's eyes are ablaze with suspicion as she gazes at my face intently, searching it for any sign that I'm not telling her the truth.

"I told him that you were doing as well as can be expected and left it at that." There's no need for me to tell her every piece of the conversation.

I cross the space between us and take her into my arms, loathing how fragile she feels in my grasp. She freezes for a moment and I expect her to pull away, but she doesn't. After a moment, she collapses into my embrace and buries her face in the bend between my shoulder and neck. We stand there for awhile, just enjoying the feeling of intimacy between us.

"I'm sorry," she says without moving from her position.

"I just don't want people to feel sorry for me I guess . . . I don't know."

I push her away a little, so that I can look her in the eyes, but my hands never leave her body. The sadness I find in her eyes is absolutely gut-wrenching.

"Baby, everyone just wants to make sure you're okay. Nobody is feeling sorry for you Casey."

A tiny saddened smile graces her beautiful face and it nearly breaks my heart. I swear to God or anyone else who's listening, if I could get my hands on that bitch I'd kill her a thousand times over for taking away that vibrance that Casey used to exude everywhere she went. The explosion of rage that rips through my body scares me and I'm left feeling helpless and weak in the face of it's intensity.

My blood rushes in my ears and I take a few deep breathes as I try and calm myself back down. She doesn't need to see me upset. I have to be the strong one. I have to be strong for her.

"You okay, Olivia?"

"Yeah, sweetie . . . I'm fine," I smile widely just to emphasize how 'fine' I am.

She looks skeptical, but seems to accept my answer.

"Come on, it's late and we both have to work tomorrow. Let's go lay down, Elliot put the bed together for us," I say, taking her hand and leading her towards the bedroom.

A little while later, each of us are curled under the down comforter, wrapped in each other's arms and close to slumber. My eyelids are heavy and it feels like I have sand in my eyes. I feel sleep calling forcefully and I spare one final glance at her before I allow it to take me. She's sleeping peacefully, the lights from the city outside revealing her relaxed face as she snores lightly. Smiling, I stop fighting it and enter willingly into the realm of dreams.

"NO! Don't do this. Don't touch me!"

Hours later her screams awaken me abruptly and I turn to find her on the far side of the bed, thrashing against an imaginary foe.

"Please . . . oh God, please stop. . . ."

Tears run unabashedly down her pale cheeks as she sobs in her sleep, obviously reliving the violation in her mind.

"Casey," I call out to her, trying to avoid startling her awake.

Her guttural screams echo off the apartment walls, any words long since stolen by terror.

"CASEY!"

She doesn't respond to my voice, so I move closer, careful to avoid her thrashing limbs. I lay my hand gently on her shoulder and shake her a bit. She recoils from me violently, whimpering in either pain or terror . . . I'm not sure which.

Jesus, what did she do to you?

"Come on Casey, baby wake up . . . it's just me . . . it's Olivia."

I move closer again, ignoring the blows to my arms and shoulders that subconsciously I know will leave bruises. Grabbing her shoulders firmly, I shake her, determined to pull her out of whatever hell she is in.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her eyes fly open, wide with fear. She stares at me, uncomprehending and it takes a while for recognition to enter her eyes. Her breathing is terrifying me and I fight to keep the worry off of my face.

"I . . . .can't . . . .breath . . . .," she gasps, wheezing. Her breathing is shallow and I can see how much she is fighting for each single breath.

"Shhhhhh, calm down Casey. Breathe slowly, stop fighting it sweetie," I murmur softly, smoothing her sweat soaked hair away from her face.

"Can't . . ."

Her lips are starting to turn slightly blue and my heart pounds against my rib cage. God, think Olivia! You know what to do dammit, you've talked to George. Out of desperation, I pull her up into a sitting position against my chest.

"Listen to my breathing! Breathe with me Casey."

After a few more terrifying moments, her breathing begins to return to normal and I let out a sigh of relief. I continue to rock her back and forth, stroking her hair and calmly telling her that it's going to be alright. She allows me to hold her for awhile before pulling away and wiping at the tears on her face.

"I'm okay now," she says shakily and I watch her walls slam back into place.

I wish she'd just let me in. I can't help her if she won't let me.

"You go back to sleep baby. I'm gonna go watch some tv okay?"

I open my mouth to argue, but I know it won't do any good. She's made up her mind.

"Okay, try and come back to bed soon," I say, though I know she won't.

"I'll try," she answers and with a quick insincere smile, she's gone.

I lay in the empty bed, listening to her move around in our new apartment, wishing I knew what to do. The tears that run down my face surprise me and I bite my lip to in an attempt to avoid the small sob that try's to follow.

I don't think either of us will be going back to sleep tonight.

TBC