As a trained cop, countless scenarios had been studied, discussed, even acted out. There were so many ways a person could get injured on the job, get killed on the job. She knew this, and had been reminded of it by her mother more than once. Her dad understood though. No, he wasn’t a cop, but two of her uncles were. Still, he always cautioned her even when he told her he was proud.

Would he still be proud now? Would her mother comfort her, but still look at her with eyes that said ‘I told you so’?

And her brothers. How could she bear to look at them now?

Hard breath felt moist against her throat. Her own breath was somewhat constricted by the weight that covered her. Either he was just resting again or he was finally done. She didn’t know that she could handle any more if he wasn’t.

Turning her face to press against the pillow beneath her, Juliet felt him shift as he first raised himself to his elbows, then eased down with a moan. She bit her lip but didn’t make a sound. Another pause, and then he rolled away; the mattress dipping as he swung his legs off of the side.

After a second he stood and tugged his jeans back up to his hips. She kept her eyes closed, refusing to look as he pulled up his zipper, still breathing heavily. Then he returned to the side of the bed to curl his fingers into her hair, bending to inhale against the strands.

She flinched, wanting to strike back. As it was, with her hands neatly pulled into the small of her back with her own handcuffs, it would be a poor attempt. Her legs were equally useless with her pajama bottoms bunched around her ankles.

He didn’t speak to her, though the grunted words from minutes before still slid against her brain, worse as they’d been murmured in the form of endearments- encouragement.

A scrape whisper of metal dragged her eyes open in dull panic, the flash of reflection the only view of the weapon before in lowered towards her throat. She hated that she whimpered.

“Please…”

A yank against her scalp, and the hair wrapped in his fingers was slashed from the rest of her tresses, leaving behind six inches of butchered strands.

Then, straightening once more, he casually walked from the room.

She didn’t allow breath to pass her lips for several moments, but when it did it was with a rough gasp. Wait for him to come back or get the hell out- it really wasn’t complicated. Wriggling her cuffed hands from behind her back to the front of her body, however, was. Still, she made it work, though she managed to scrape the back of her thigh in the process.

It ached to move at all, the bruises and lacerations on her inner thighs throbbing as her feet slid to the floor. Her hair swung forward as she reached into her nightstand for her gun. She’d been aware of its proximity for the last nine hours. Had focused on how close it was… just a few feet away. It had been a gateway to escape after a while- imagining herself at the firing range- shooting targets with her partner…

Knowing she had to preserve evidence she peeled her pajamas the rest of the way off, her top somewhere on the other side of the bed. Grabbing the afghan from the floor, she was forced to set down her weapon in order to wrap it around her shoulders.

She was stuck then on what to do next. Call the cops or go for her handcuff keys in the other room? Should she take her gun with her? But then she’d have to let go of the small blanket. She wanted a shower. What about clothes?

Finally, choosing protection over modesty, she clutched the stock of her gun and shuffled towards the hall. She grimaced as her thighs brushed against one another- tacky with blood and other substances. She couldn’t think about that.

She hadn’t seen her cat since she’d arrived home. She suddenly felt a crushing hurt in her chest at what might have happened to her pet. Was she dead? Had she run out the door that the man had left open?

Edging into the kitchen, her weapon still raised and ready, Juliet laughed harshly when she saw the small gray feline staring reproachfully at her over her empty bowl. The irritated mew only added to the frantic burst of mirth, and she had to bite her cheek to stamp it down.

Her purse was still slung over the arm of her chair. He hadn’t come here to rob her.

Keeping her body facing the living room, moving the gun to one hand, she grabbed the leather strap and deposited the purse on her table before dumping out the contents. The keys fell out next to a tube of Chapstick and her badge. Once more setting down her gun, angry that her hands weren’t cooperating very well, she managed to clumsily grip two fingers around the small key and wedge the tip into the lock of her left cuff.

Circulation rushed back into her fingers, and she nearly groaned from the new ache. Letting her cuffs drop to the table, she shook out tingles before grabbing her gun yet again and fishing out the cell phone still trapped in her purse.

Hands stiff and uncooperative, she could barely dial- finally laying the cell on the table and punching at the numbers with one jutting finger. Picking it up before it started to connect, she felt some of the shakes subside as she made for the door at an angled path. Peering into the dark long enough to determine the street was empty, she pushed the solid wood shut and threw both locks in place.

The operator answered on the other end of the line while she was still leaning against the frame.

“Nine one, one- what is your emergency?”

“My name is Juliet O’Hara, I’m a detective with the SBPD. I’ve been attacked in my home.”

Standard questions, standard answers. No, the perp was no longer on the scene. No, she didn’t have any major injuries. She was fine. She didn’t need an ambulance.

She hung up and checked her clip for the third time, peering out through her curtains before finally edging away from the door.

With adrenaline starting to escape, she found herself shaking again. Everything aching, embarrassed at her exposure even though she was alone, she limped back to her bedroom and quickly dug through the bottom drawer of her dresser. Bypassing underthings, she found a pair of ancient sweats and pulled them over her body. It took everything she had not to race for the bathroom and begin scrubbing.

She didn’t want to sit, certainly not in this room. She didn’t look at the bed. So instead she returned to the living room, gun trapped in her fingers, and prepared to wait.

It took another five minutes before she thought to call her partner.

~~~

She’d been behind the closed door for nearly an hour, being examined, letting them photograph and collect evidence. There was no question what had happened, but procedure was still required as far as the courts were concerned. So was her statement. Carlton wasn’t certain if he’d ever be ready for that next crucial step.

So far he’d only called the Chief. She’d be arriving soon enough to check on her detective and offer a presence that wouldn’t make the younger woman flinch. Even though he’d been the one to drive O’Hara to the hospital, she’d remained leaning against the passenger side door the entire time, staring out the front windshield without a word.

He’d been unprepared for what he’d discovered at her home. When she’d called him, it had been to say she’d had a break in. A break in. Expecting a shattered window, or a busted in door, maybe some overturned furniture, he’d arrived with his hand hovering near his weapon- eyes scanning across his partner while looking for the expected signs of burglary.

Something had jarred though, and he’d quickly looked back, taking in the dark circles below her eyes, the bruises on her jaw and temple, the way her body was slightly hunched. He’d felt cold brought on by nothing more than instinct, and had shivered while his mind immediately sought a different reason for this reaction. She’d fallen in the shower, she’d walked into a door, she’d tripped over her cat- the maniacal fleabag, she’d… anything… anything else- a thousand scenarios could explain the injury. A thousand ways she could have…

He’d taken two steps towards her; she’d backed herself against the wall.

And he’d known.

She hadn’t wanted to talk about it then, her only words being to ask if he could drive her to the hospital. Another cruiser was pulling up while she made her quiet request, and he’d briefed the new officers before escorting O’Hara to his car.

There’d been a smell on her body that had made his stomach slowly rotate- squeezing acid towards his throat.

At the hospital, she’d stepped towards the admitting desk by herself, calmly accepting the clipboard before sitting down to fill out the information. Thankfully the wait hadn’t been long and they’d cleared a room for her half an hour after they’d arrived.

He’d been staring towards the hallway ever since.

The phone at the nurse’s station trilled, a doctor strode by with a cup of coffee and a briefcase, an old man shuffled towards the prescription counter with his wallet already in hand. Somewhere behind him, Lassiter heard quickly approaching footsteps- rubber soles that squeaked and slapped on the tile.

He turned his head, and quickly stood, a flush of heat washing across his throat.

“Spencer, what the hell do you think you’re doing here!?”

“Clearly I’m here for the free lollipops. Also I heard Bozo the clown’s younger brother Bennie was performing for the coma patients and I promised Gus a balloon animal shaped like a llama.”

On cue, Gus lifted his hand with an easy smile.

Carlton wasn’t anywhere close in a condition to deal with this. “I don’t know what idiot blabbed, but you need to turn your little train around and go. Now!”

Obviously not taking the threat for what it was, Spencer went for placating.

“Woah, let’s not get all Jack Webb here. Gus and I are merely stopping by to avail you of our services and let you know we will stop at nothing to catch the vile vagabond that dared desecrate the home of a Santa Barbara police detective.”

Gus nodded. “That’s right.”

“We’re even offering it free of charge.”

“Shawn!”

While Spencer turned to semi-privately consult with his partner, Lassiter scrubbed his hand over his face. His anger had changed into dread at the light-hearted yet concerned tone of the two men. They were worried of course, but only as much as one would worry about a friend whom they thought had been mildly roughed up in a burglary attempt.

God, how was he supposed to…

“…don’t mind, Gus and I have a Hug Me Tender Get Well lion to deliver.” Spencer waggled the lavender stuffed animal that he’d been clutching at his side. His attempt to side-step the detective, however, was quickly blocked.

“I said no!”

“Really Lassy? I thought the whole bodyguard schtick was Kevin Spacey’s thing.”

“Kevin Costner.” Corrected Gus.

Spencer grinned. “Right. Spacey was the alien from K-Mart.”

“K-Pax.”

“Enough!” Grabbing the other man by the arm, Lassiter began dragging the nuisance towards the exit, glad for the excuse to shed some of his built up fury and grief in a constructive manner.

Maybe a bit too constructive as Spencer whimpered at the fingers crushing into his bicep.

“AH! Dude!”

Lassiter didn’t let go until he’d forced them both back out onto the sidewalk- releasing the other man in a hard shove. His finger rose in a point while he allowed his voice to also elevate now that he wasn’t in the waiting room any longer.

“I guarantee O’Hara isn’t going to want either a visit or that stupid toy! The thing she needs is some rest and quiet, and you can’t give her that if you bring your sideshow into her room!” God now his voice was cracking.

Covering his face with both hands, Carlton inhaled wetly before dropping them again and shaking the tension from his wrists.

“Look just… just please… go home.”

Spencer wasn’t moving, nor was Guster. There wasn’t laughter on their faces any longer, and Carlton saw that the grip the consultant had on the stuffed animal was so tight his knuckles had grown pale. When he spoke, the words dragged out in a hoarse whisper.

“What happened to Jules?”

It was the kind of question that was voiced when suspicion had painted possibilities that the brain desperately wanted to deny. Whatever scenario Spencer was imagining, Carlton had no idea if the final answer would be better or worse than the fears winding through his brain.

“Someone broke into her home last night. A man.”

Spencer swallowed hard, and his eyes abruptly glossing over. His fist tightened even more around the pathetic gift- shaking from the hold.

Lassiter closed his mouth, the final truth locked behind his teeth.  He wouldn't betray procedure or his partner's trust further though he'd flirted dangerously close to that edge already.  And going off the looks of both men, he'd clearly said enough to paint the picture.

Gus finally looked away, crossing his arms tightly. Spencer didn’t move. His complexion, though, was rapidly shifting towards pasty. Lips pressed tightly together, shell shocked; he hadn’t looked this bad since the night his mother had been kidnapped by a serial killer.

Lassiter didn’t have it in him to soften the blow.

“From the look of things he must have entered the house sometime after O’Hara arrived home from the precinct. She must have been in bed at the time- probably even asleep as she hadn’t been able to get to her weapon. I don’t know much more than that, and I’d rather not conjecture before I have clearer facts. I do know that O’Har… Juliet, isn’t going to want a lot of company right now. Particularly the kind that involves fart jokes and stupid pet tricks.” He was seething again, his control over his anger practically absent. The fact that Spencer had lost the ability to speak made no difference. He didn’t have any pity to spare for the man.

“Go home.” He said firmly, and then spun back towards the glass door- slapping it open with the palm of his hand.

~~~

The nurse finally left after drawing blood and administering the standard injections. Juliet was grateful for the break, exhausted from both the exam and the night in general. According to the clock the sun would be up about now. She just wanted to go home. And yet, she didn’t want to at the same time. And it was so hard. That was her home. Her first real home that wasn’t an apartment or a place shared with a roommate. She’d earned every penny that went into the down payment, and every dime after that to pay her mortgage.

And now the thought of going back there made her intestines twist into knots.

The door made no sound as it opened again, but as she was facing it, the movement was enough to catch her attention. Expecting a returning nurse, she instead saw Carlton’s face peering hesitantly inside- his eyes not even trying to meet hers. She couldn’t decide if it was amusing or depressing. She settled for not caring and cleared her throat.

“It the Chief here yet?”

Head shake. He still wasn’t moving beyond the barrier of the half open door. “She’s going to stop by your house first and pick up a change of clothes.”

Juliet hadn’t even thought of that. Obviously her previous garments weren’t going to cut it as she was fairly certain they were hanging out in an evidence bag somewhere. She suddenly pictured the Chief picking through her underwear drawer with forensic techs all around and had to fight down a hard giggle. If she let that one loose there’d be no going back, and she was too tired to add a psych eval to her plate. At least today.

“Is there anything I can get for you? Are you hungry or…”

Now Juliet was the one shaking her head. “I don’t need anything.” No need to mention that the idea of food was nauseating.

“Are you thirsty…?”

“I said I don’t need anything Carlton!” Her hand flattened over her eyes. That had been uncalled for, he was just trying to help. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

She dropped her fingers and saw that her partner had finally built up the guts to look her in the eye. His expression, though, was the last thing she needed to see.

“Look, O’Har… Juliet…”

Oh God… God please not now. “Carlton…”

Neither one completed their fumbling starts. The moment Juliet tried to stop his mournful apologetic attempt at comfort the door pushed suddenly wider, and Carlton took a long step back.

Juliet wasn’t certain that this was an improvement however when she saw the next guest appear. Chief Vick stepped past her head detective, a gym bag over her shoulder undoubtedly holding a change of clothes and whatever else she thought necessary. Though Juliet had been allowed a shower, she wouldn’t pass on further cleansing. She could still smell him with every breath.

“Tell me what I can do.”

Juliet shook her head, noticing her partner making his exit now that backup had arrived.

“Nothing. I just want to go…” home… She swallowed, shaking her head again before looking towards the wall. One hard darted up quickly to drag beneath her eyes.

The Chief moved closer to the bed, thankfully settling into a nearby chair rather than offer anything so unbearable as a hug.

“I know it’s hard, but if you’re up for it, I’d like to take your statement while your memory is still fresh.”

Juliet frowned. “I thought Carlton…”

Vick crossed her legs. “I thought you might be more comfortable talking to me.”

Yeah, because we’re such great friends. The bitterness of the thought brought another burn to her eyes, but she kept it back with a deep inhale.

“Fine.” Just get it over with. Get it over with and then find a hotel close to the station and book a room. She could afford a few nights – long enough for... what? Long enough for it to not feel revolting sleeping in her own bed? Long enough for the bruises to fade adequately to be hidden beneath foundation? Long enough for the whole station to know her story so they wouldn't ask awkward questions about the bruises she couldn't hide?

“Tell me what happened after you left the station last night.”

She was sure the question had been asked softly, but it sounded loud enough to have awoken coma patients on the third floor. At least there hadn't been any preamble with apology or pity. There'd be plenty of that to come she was sure.

The sudden weight of a body dropping on top of her jolted her awake, though before she could shout, before she could fight, something was shoved over her nose and mouth. Chloroform? Her brain was muzzy on that detail. She'd felt heavy – yet floating – as he began tearing at her top.

She felt the vibration of her words in her throat and realized she'd begun answering. Apparently distancing oneself from an unbearable situation worked here too. She allowed her brain to disengage. It was easier than really thinking about what she was saying. It must be the right things, though, because so far the Chief wasn't staring at her like she'd sprouted scales. Now that would be an interesting side effect. She giggled.

And now she was getting an odd look. Actually, it was almost a frightened look.

“I'm okay.” She said, the inappropriate tremor of laughter dead within seconds of being born. Stillborn, she thought, but it didn't make her giggle this time. She swallowed hard, and instead fought back the strangle of sudden heat in her eyes.

“Do you think you can continue?”

The words really did sound as soft as they were this time. She saw the out for what it was – saw the open door being offered and wanted to race for it with a desperation she wasn't prepared to deal with. She'd never had to interrogate an assault victim before. Never had to look in their eyes while trying to reassemble all the scattered shards. Would she have let someone off the hook partway through? She knew she wouldn't have.

After the first time, he'd apparently gone exploring. She had still been in and out of it during the attack. It had been over quick. She remembered thinking she'd been grateful for that one mercy. Then she heard the odd shuffle of his steps. He returned, smiling. Her handcuffs dangled from his fingers.

Vick didn't interrupt her again. Even though the words caught at times, she managed to get them out. She'd wondered for a long time why he hadn't killed her. Sometime in the night, he'd lain beside her, just looking at her. He'd seemed fascinated by her hair.

She actually didn't know how many times he forced her. She remembered being slapped. He'd spoken quite a bit while she'd stared towards her wall. She'd thought of the ocean. She'd thought of whales calling back and forth between the waves, diving deep – deep into the blackest parts of their world. She thought of underwater steam vents, where, even in the boiling heat, there was life – transparent shrimps and other creatures existing on the edge of oblivion. So close to death. He'd eased himself over her body again and she'd cried.

She spoke until her voice cracked. She swallowed cool water and spoke some more. She realized she was done when the Chief stood and told her to get some rest. She reached down to pat her shoulder, and Juliet shrank from the touch. Vick apologized.

And then she was alone again.