What Will It Take? Part V
By: Lori (SixteenOzs)

DISCLAIMER: "ER," the characters and situations depicted within are the property of Warner Bros. Television, Amblin Entertainment, Constant c Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. The story presented here is written solely for entertainment purposes, and the author is making no profit.

Please do not post or redistribute without the disclaimer above, or without the consent of the author.

Feedback is welcome. Please send all questions, comments or criticisms to SixteenOzs02@yahoo.com

SUMMARY: Follows What Will It Take? Part IV

RATING: PG-15. Recount of violence.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: As always, I'd like to thank Trigg for her input and assistance. Thank you!

PART V

"You don't have to do this," he reminded her as they stepped off the elevator and walked towards her apartment the next morning.

"Actually, I do," she said quietly. With a weak smile she said, "What's that about getting back on the horse?"

"There's a big difference between falling off a horse and what you've been through," he pointed out.

She reached out and gently took his hand. "I need to do this, Mark. For me."

Seeing the look in her eyes, he knew it would be futile to argue with her. "Okay," he relented. "Is there anything I can do?"

"You're here," she smiled as she let go of his hand and searched in her purse for her keys.

She glanced in his direction as they entered the apartment. If he had noticed the way her hand trembled as she unlocked her door, he didn't say anything. She sat her purse on the table next to the door, then looked around the apartment and sighed.

He watched her curiously as she started walking through the apartment. It took a moment before he realized what was wrong with the picture. It seemed as if she was looking through the apartment for the very first time, the way she carefully took in everything, the way she gently ran her hand over the surfaces of the furniture.

She walked into the kitchen, and he followed her a moment later. They had put the groceries away and cleaned up the kitchen before they left the day before.

She leaned against the counter, wrapped her arms across her chest and looked around. From the expression on her face, he could tell she was reliving the events of the previous day.

"Elizabeth?" he called gently. "You okay?"

After a few moments, she nodded hesitantly. "Looking around, you'd never imagine what happened here, would you?"

"No," he admitted, "it looks just like normal."

"Only one thing's missing," she said as her eyes fell on the wooden block that held the knife set. There was an empty slot where the largest knife should have been. She continued to stare at the knife set for a few moments before sighing and walking out of the kitchen and into the hall.

She stopped as she noticed the overturned flowerpot, the potting soil spilling out onto the carpet. She knelt on the floor and repositioned the pot. Standing up again, she brushed her hands off and continued to the bedroom.

Mark followed a few steps behind her. Upon taking in the state of the bedroom, he quietly asked, "What happened here?"

"I don't know how long he was here before I got home. He was in here, going through my things, my clothes, my life," she said with a distant look in her eyes. "When I ran in here, I pushed the bureau in front of the door, to keep him out, and some things got broken."

"You don't have to do this right now," he gently reminded her again.

She looked at him and smiled weakly. Her smile faded and her brow creased as she walked closer to the bed.

Her journal was lying on the pillow. Glancing at it, she realized it was open to the first entry of the new year. Mark had flown home from San Diego on New Year's Eve to surprise her. She hadn't been expecting him back for a few more days. He said he wanted to makeup for not being able to spend Christmas together. They ended up ringing in the New Year on a blanket in front of the fireplace with champagne and strawberries. It was the best New Year's she could remember.

She saw one of her gowns next to the pillow. Looking closer, saw a stain near the bottom of the garment, a stain she knew wasn't there when she last wore it. Picking it up, she raised it to her nose and sniffed slightly.

She knew immediately. It was Rollins. There was no doubt. Her throat constricted, she couldn't catch her breath and it felt like the room was spinning. She covered her mouth one hand and stumbled out of the bedroom, pushing off the walls with her other hand in order to maintain her balance.

When Mark followed her into the bathroom a second later, she was emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet. He knelt beside her, pulled her hair back from her face and gently rubbed her back. "It's okay, Elizabeth. I'm right here. You're going to be okay," he assured her.

She stopped vomiting, then rested her forehead against the edge of the toilet. She felt drained, completely and totally exhausted. She wasn't sure she could move if she had to.

After a minute or two, he softly said, "Elizabeth?"

Slowly, she sat up and looked at him, but she didn't say anything.

He reached for a washcloth from the vanity, ran cool water over it, then wiped her face. "Are you okay?" he asked, the worry evident in his voice.

"I'm not sure anymore," she admitted quietly.

"What happened back there?" he wondered.

She sat there for a moment, trying to figure out how to say this. "He was reading my journal. It was opened to what I wrote on New Year's Day. He had my gown, the teal one. There was a stain. It was him," she said disjointedly, fighting back tears. She knew it was true, but at the same time she was still trying to convince herself. Bitterly, she added, "He was in my bedroom, getting off on reading my thoughts, on reading about us."

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

She smiled weakly, "What are you apologizing for? This isn't your fault."

"I'm sorry you have to go through this in the first place," he as reached out and gently caressed her cheek.

"Yeah, me, too," she agreed sadly.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked after a moment.

"I think so," she said somewhat hesitantly.

He stood up, reached for her hand and helped her up. "Do you want to go into the living room?" he suggested.

"Yeah," she nodded.

He hesitated, but then said, "We should probably call the police and let them know what you found."

"Okay," she agreed reluctantly.

"Want me to call?" he offered.

She gave him a grateful look and asked, "Would you?"

"Of course," he nodded. He picked up the phone and called the police. After hanging up, he reported, "They're going to send a detective over."

"Great," she said sarcastically as she sat down on the sofa.

"Can I get you anything?" he wondered.

"Some water would be great," she replied. "I just need to get this taste out of my mouth."

"No problem," he smiled before disappearing into the kitchen. He returned a few moments later. Handing her a bottle of water, he said, "Here you go."

"Thanks," she replied before taking a sip. She recapped the bottle and sat it on the coffee table. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, staring at a spot on the table. After a moment, she asked, "When is it going to end?"

"What do you mean?" he asked as he sat down next to her.

"I thought what he'd already done to me was bad, the rape and then trying to kill me yesterday. But this is worse," she said sadly. "I'm not even sure how to explain it. I've been dealing with this by thinking that it was just sex. If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else. It didn't matter to him. What I held onto was that he didn't know me, he didn't know what I thought, what I like, what I don't like. But now, he knows that, too."

He leaned forward next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. It broke his heart to see what she was going through.

"You were the only person I ever thought would read what I'd written," she admitted quietly. Slowly, she began to explain, "I've kept a journal on and off since my parents divorced. If there was something I couldn't seem to figure out, it always seemed to help if I put it down on paper. I suppose I also liked the romantic notion of keeping a journal. I'd sit at my desk, late at night, writing by candlelight. I was so busy settling in, adjusting to life here and working at the hospital, that I didn't write anything after I moved here. I began writing again last spring, when you and I started spending more time together. I wasn't looking for a relationship, I wasn't prepared for it, but I couldn't deny how much I enjoyed being with you. Seeing that written in front of me made it easier to realize that I shouldn't reject something that felt this wonderful just because it wasn't what I had planned. After things starting getting more serious between us, I continued writing because I never wanted to forget what it felt like to fall in love with you," she finished with a self-conscious smile.

"That is one of the sweetest things I've ever heard," he smiled softly.

"I figured I'd let you read it one day, maybe we'd show our children when they found the person they wanted to spend the rest of their lives with." Shaking her head, she said, "I never imagined someone like Dean Rollins would be reading it." She stopped and swallowed hard, "I can't stop thinking that this is worse than everything else he has done. Because this time, he didn't just violate me. This time, it was us."

"I know it's hard for you to see right now, but there's so much more to our relationship. There is so much that Rollins will never know about, that he could never understand. That's what you have to hold onto right now," he suggested.

"I know," she nodded, "but it still hurts."

"I know," he nodded understandingly.

After a few moments, she asked, "Do you remember that gown?"

He smiled. "Yeah. You wore it the first night we made love. You were beautiful."

She smiled, but it faded after a moment. "And now it's going to be taken as evidence by the police."

"Do you know what I remember about that night?" he asked.

She turned to look at him. "What?"

"The look in your eyes, the way you called my name, how it felt waking up with you in my arms. That's what I remember about that night, about every night we've spent together. That's something that's just between us, no one else can ever know what that feels like, no one can take that away," he explained gently.

"Thank you," she smiled weakly.

"For what?" he asked with a confused look.

"For knowing what I needed to hear right now," she replied.

"As long as you know I'm not just saying this. It's the truth," he said simply.

"I know," she smiled, "and you're right."

"Rollins could never understand we share. He's not capable of understanding something this deep and meaningful," he added.

She sat back and tucked her legs under her on the sofa. "Will you hold me for a while?" she asked softly.

"Always," he replied with a smile.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her back. She closed her eyes then reached for his free hand and laced her fingers with his. "I love you, Mark," she said quietly. "I don't know what's going to happen, but I know that's true. I want to work through this, because I want to be with you again, like it was before."

"I know," he assured her. "I love you, too. And I will always be here for you."

They were quiet for several minutes, until she finally spoke. "Do you remember what you said yesterday, about burning the sweater?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Why?"

Laughing ruefully, she said, "I was just thinking it might be easier to set a bonfire and burn the entire apartment."

He hesitated a moment before asking, "Are you going to move back in here?"

She sighed, then admitted, "I hadn't really thought that far ahead."

"You can stay with me as long as you want," he assured her. "And you're definitely staying with me until the Super gets that door fixed."

"I loved this place when I moved in," she commented. "When I first got to Chicago, I'd come home from a shift at the hospital and work on decorating the apartment, arranging everything just the way I wanted. There's so much of me in here. And now, he's encroached upon that."

"You could move in with me, permanently. Or if you don't think you're ready for that, you could get a new apartment," he suggested. With a smile, he added, "I'd even help you move."

She smiled back. Seriously, she said, "But there's a part of me that feels like I need to come back here. Just sort of to face my demons, so to speak."

"Elizabeth, the only thing you really need to ask yourself is whether you'll ever be able to be alone and feel safe here again. You don't need to prove anything to yourself, or to anyone else," he reminded her.

"You may have a point," she conceded. "Are you sure you don't mind if I stay with you for a while?" she questioned.

"Of course not," he replied.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You're welcome," he smiled.

When he walked into the living room of his apartment later that night, she was sitting on the sofa, staring into space. He took a seat in the chair next to the sofa and studied her for a few moments before finally asking, "Want to talk about it?"

Startled by the sound of his voice, she quickly turned to look at him. Recovering her composure a bit, she countered, "Do you really want to hear about it?"

He knew he didn't WANT to hear about it. He sighed, but then looked her in the eye and honestly said, "If it will help you, then yes."

It was her turn to sigh. "I can't get warm anymore. I take showers, I don't even bother to turn the cold water on and I stay in there until my skin practically blisters. But I can't get warm."

She stopped and looked at him carefully. "Are you sure?" she questioned again.

He nodded.

She sat there for a few minutes as her thoughts went back to that evening. It wasn't hard, it was still all she saw whenever she closed her eyes. "It wasn't that cold, my car was in the garage, so I didn't bother to put on my coat before I left the building. I had the keys in my hand, I was unlocking the door. He came up from behind and clamped his hand over my mouth. I was so shocked I couldn't do anything. I finally realized what was going on, so I started fighting back, but he dragged me in front of the car and pushed me to the ground. He got on top of me, then he said, 'It's been a while, huh, Lizzie? I promise we'll make up for lost time.'"

She stopped and swallowed hard. She knew she had to get this out, otherwise it was going to keep eating away at her and she would never be able to get past it. She took a few deep breaths before continuing. "He kept one hand over my mouth, and picked up a roll of duck tape with the other. He tore a piece off with his teeth and put it over my mouth. I wanted to scream but I couldn't. I started to hyperventilate, I couldn't breathe and I realized I was going to pass out if I didn't calm down. Looking back, maybe it would have been better if I had passed out. At least then, I wouldn't be reliving it every time I close my eyes," she said warily.

"Anyway, I forced myself to breathe through my nose, and I could smell him each time I inhaled," she said in disgust. "He pinned my arms behind my back and I couldn't move. He pushed my skirt up around my waist, and I could feel the cement from the floor on my thighs and my bottom. It was so cold. All I could think about was that I should have worn my coat, because at least then I would have been laying on that. That's crazy, isn't it?" she asked as she looked at him.

"It's not crazy," he assured her. "When I was attacked, I fell into one of the stalls and the guy left, or at least I thought he did. For some reason I still can't figure out, all I could think about was getting my glasses. I pulled myself out of the stall, and that's when he came after me the second time. That's when I got the bruised ribs and the broken hand. Afterwards, I couldn't help thinking that I would have been better off if I'd just stayed still. So, no, it's not crazy that you were wishing you had your coat on."

She smiled weakly. Her smile faded as she said, "He ripped open my sweater and my bra, then he pulled down my hose and my knickers. He made some comment about knowing that I was a natural redhead. He'd asked me about that once while I was treating him, I didn't dignify it with a response then. His hands were all over me, it was so rough."

"I thought it would never end. All I can really remember anymore is the pain. It hurt, oh God, it hurt," she said as her jaw trembled and a few tears slipped down her face.

He moved to sit next to her, carefully watching her expression. He hated seeing what this was doing to her, but at the same time, he knew she needed to let it out.

"I just wanted it to be over, so I could come to you, and you'd hold me, and I'd feel safe again," she whispered. "When he was done, he asked me what I thought he was going to do next. Did I think he was going to kill me? He said he'd considered it, but he thought it might be better if he didn't. He said we might want to have fun again later, so he'd let me live."

As she finished speaking, everything she'd been trying to hold in since the rape came out. She turned and buried her face in his chest. He held her tightly as the sobs wracked through her body.

As the crying subsided, she pulled back slightly. With a weak smile, she said, "You know, that's the first time I've done that since the rape."

"Done what?" he questioned.

"Cried," she said softly. "I mean, there've been tears, but not a full-out cry."

"Feeling better?" he asked with a caring smile.

"Yeah, I think so," she nodded slightly.

"Come here," he said as he carefully pulled her closer.

She nestled next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He reached for the blanket from the back of the sofa, wrapped it around her, then held her gently.

"I just want to get past this," she explained. "I know it's going to take time, but it's been almost two weeks and I can't see where I've made any progress."

"You have, and you will," he assured her. "I think you've come a long way already. Rollins has been arrested, you called Dr. Garcia and you let me back in," he explained with a smile.

"Maybe you're right," she commented.

"Of course I am," he grinned.

"You're also full of it," she teased.

"At least you've still got your sense of humor," he laughed.

"MY sense of humor?" she questioned with a grin.

"Yeah, why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Do you remember our first 'date?'" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "The Trauma Physicians' Conference?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Remember that old guy by the elevator?"

"You're the one that ran into him," he pointed out.

"Well, who had to start the conversation with them?" she countered.

He laughed. "I think that was the best conference I've ever been to."

"Me, too," she agreed. "Even if I did miss my presentation."

"I'm sure it would have been wonderful," he said.

"You're only saying that because you didn't have to listen to it," she laughed.

"I am not," he said, pretending to be offended, before he started laughing. After a moment, he commented, "You look tired. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

"I will," she nodded. "I was just thinking about taking a shower first, if you don't mind."

"No, help yourself," he smiled.

"Thanks," she said as she stood up.

He was in bed reading when she came out of the bathroom half an hour later. He looked up and smiled as he saw her. "I wondered where that shirt went."

She smiled as she glanced down at his Blackhawks sweatshirt. "I borrowed it."

"I guess I won't complain since it looks better on you anyway," he grinned.

She smiled. Climbing into bed next to him, she asked, "What are you reading?"

"'Trauma in the Twenty-first Century: Technology and the E.R.'" he reported.

"For your symposium?" she questioned.

"Yeah," he nodded. "The article's dry, boring and completely uninteresting. I can't wait for the conference," he added sarcastically.

"Maybe you should let me borrow that in case I have trouble falling asleep," she said warily.

"How about if I hold you?" he offered.

"That just might work," she smiled weakly. "And it would definitely be more pleasant."

He placed the article on the table next to the bed, removed his glasses and turned off the lamp. He slid down in bed, and she moved so that her head was resting on his shoulder.

"I love you," she said softly.

"I love you, too," he replied. "Goodnight."

"'Night."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Thank you for reading, as always. Please let me know what you think! SixteenOzs02@yahoo.com

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