Twenty-six days. It's been twenty-six days since Jo told me that she wanted to talk to the police. Since she told me everything about what they did to her when she was still locked in that hellhole.

And today -right now- she's finally doing it.

She's talking.

She's in Hanson's office, telling him and two other colleagues that lead her case, everything she knows. It's the first talk of many, as she is aware, but I'm sure that once she'll walk out of that door, the hardest part is done.

She was nervous and frightened, even though we've worked towards this moment for more than three weeks.

Countless talks with Alice; sometimes even more than once a day. Some even harder than others in which Alice pretended to be an officer and asked all the questions that they'll ask her too. All the intrusive questions that will require Jo to spill all the dirt, she asked them. And every time, Jo answered, even though it hurt her.

Three weeks in which Jo felt all the misery the five brought to her all over again. Nightmares, torturous nightmares that would wake her up sweaty and panicked in the middle of the night, even though she was sleeping next to me.

Sometimes they were so bad, she didn't even recognize me when she woke. There was just blind panic and a frantic need to fight, which made it hard to come close to her and bring her back.

In those three weeks, she also shut down on me on regular basis. It scared the shit out of me, especially because when her mind isn't with them and what they did to her, she comes closer and closer.

It's hardest for her, let that be clear, but I can't bear to see her that terrified and scarred either. It hurts me more than anything else ever did.

And the rage I feel towards Leonard and those other four is growing with each day.

But in between all the dark clouds, the hurt, the fear that consumes Jo from time to time, there is our little private sunshine Daisy. She's pulling us through, especially Jo, and I couldn't have been more thankful for that.

She's growing rapidly now; she's getting better at focusing, and she's smiling more and more too. The small outfits that she wore at first are starting to be too small, and she's getting strong too.

She can lift her head and push up on her arms when she's on her belly, and I swear to fuck it's the cutest thing I've ever seen. She even looks proud when she does it.

She's fucking perfect.

Just like now, as if she feels the tension that's radiating from me as I wait for her mum to march out of the door across me, she's a doll. She's doing exactly what I need her to do.

She's awake, looking around with her big, blue eyes without making a sound. She isn't crying, isn't making a fuss about being in the car seat for too long. She's patient, and I love her for it.

Because I'm anything but calm and patient.

It's taking long. It's taking so bloody long, and each second is drumming through my body while millions of questions invade my already stressful mind.

Is she okay in there? Are they giving her the time she needs to fathom everything that's happened to her? Do they back off when it becomes too much? Does she need me there with her?

She's in there for an hour and a half now, and although I'm completely aware that things like these, statements like the one that Jo is making today, take approximately six hours, I can't imagine sitting here for much longer while not knowing how she's doing.

"She's beautiful," a voice suddenly pipes up next to me, and when my head shoots up -a little shocked because I was so deep in thoughts, I might add- I see it's Jaimy.

Jaimy is Hanson's secretary. About the same age as me, black hair and dark eyes, and spontaneous. She's straight to the point and sometimes leaning towards the flirty side, but I know she doesn't mean anything with it. That's just who she is.

I smile and then throw another glance at Dais. Her eyes are starting to become smaller, and given the way her fingers have found her mouth, I can tell she's seconds away from falling asleep.

"She is, isn't she?" I feel the familiar pride rise in my chest again. The past few weeks -ever since Jo and I had that talk in the park- I've felt it a couple of times.

Dais is a beautiful baby, Jo and I know that. But when people that I don't know -sometimes people that I've never even met before- comment on what a beautiful baby Daisy is, I feel ten feet tall and weirdly emotional.

"A doll," Jaimy agrees. "She suits you."

I frown and tear my gaze from Daisy so I can look at Jaimy once more. "She suits me?"

What a weird thing to say.

But Jaimy confidently nods her head. "Yeah. They both do, I saw it when the three of you walked in. It just makes sense. If I didn't know about everything that happened, I would swear she is yours with the brown hair and puffy lips. She suits you."

For a moment I'm completely taken aback by her unusual compliment, but as her words settle in properly, I feel the corners of my mouth pull up.

Jo and Daisy do suit me. Because they're mine.

"And I know you agree," Jaimy giggles, no doubt referring to my grin. "You want a drink? I came up here because I've noticed that you haven't moved since you planted your ass on that chair."

And just like that, my mind goes straight back to why I'm here and to the door across from me, where Jo's telling them her story.

I almost feel guilty for the smile that still lingers on my face.

"No, I'm good, thanks." I wouldn't be able to get something down my throat anyway. Not while I know how Jo must feel right now.

Jaimy nods once again, and after she's given another sweet glance at Daisy -who is now sleeping soundly- she turns and walks away.

And right at that moment, the door in front of me opens.

My eyes shoot up, hoping to see Jo, but it's Hanson that walks out, followed by his two companions that run Jo's investigation. He looks paler than usual, or maybe I'm imagining that, but what I don't imagine is that he looks tired.

When I stand, I get his attention, and he takes two strides so he's standing in front of me while the other two are walking away.

"And?" I ask the unnecessary question, and in response, Hanson takes his glasses off his nose before rubbing his eyes for a brief moment.

Christ, it'd be bad. I know it is.

When his hand falls from his face, he makes eye contact once more. "We've taken a break. She's holding up okay, but she needs a breather now."

I nod as my eyes flicker to the door. It's closed once again, and all I want to do is barge in there and pull her against me.

"This case," Hanson starts, his voice not harder than a low whisper. "It's brutal."

"It is," I agree while I feel the lump in my throat appear. It's not because of what he says; I knew it was brutal for quite some time. But the fact that a man like Hanson -with more than thirty years behind his name- is stating this so seriously, is crashing in harder than I expected.

"We must find those other four," he says, not even to me particularly as his eyes are cast down.

"We must," I agree again.

Hanson nods while taking a deep breath before his eyes find Daisy. He looks at her for a moment, and then he shakes his head and places his glasses back onto his nose.

"You keep them close, Hero. They're going to need you even more now that Josephine is willing to talk. It's going to be tough."

I nod again, this time not able to respond vocally. But Hanson doesn't seem to expect me to do so anyway. He just straightens his back before saying, "You can go to her for a bit. I think she needs it. I promised her to fix her some lunch."

As he walks away, I lift Daisy's car seat from the floor before walking to the door. I knock twice, but I don't wait for her to permit me. I open the door and slip in the moment the crack allows me to. It's darker in the room than it was in the hallway, and therefore my eyes need to adjust for a second.

But when they have, I see her. She's with her back to me, her blonde hair, that she's cut recently so it's just over her shoulders, is in a ponytail. Her head is bowed, and I can see her shoulders shake, no doubt because she's crying.

And it fucking breaks my heart that she's crying alone. Here, in this dark, cold room.

I walk to her, putting the car seat on the table that her elbows are resting on. Her hands are hidden in front of her face, and while I know she hears me, she doesn't lift her head.

"Jo?" I whisper, my hand moving to her shoulder. "I'm here, love."

And then, she almost jumps from her seat. She throws her arms around my neck, even jumping slightly so her feet are dangling above the ground. She hides her face in my neck, and while I lace my arms around her impossibly tight, I feel how her tears wet my skin.

"I'm here," I mumble against the side of her head, in her hair. Her hair that still smells like my shampoo because we still haven't bought her some of her own.

I think we both like my scent on her too much to do so.

"I want to go home," she softly sobs, her whole body shaking against me.

I kiss her head. "I know. And we will go home. I promise."

"I want to go home now. I need you to take me home." Her face lifts, and finally her blue eyes connect with mine. They are red and swollen, and I can tell she's used every ounce of willpower and braveness she owned.

"What did Hanson say?" I ask, still holding her up. I'm even swaying her a bit, hoping it will calm her down a little. "Does he want to continue?"

She shrugs, her eyes closing for a moment which tells me she doesn't know. "He said I have to eat something."

I hum again, placing my lips against her forehead to kiss her there. "Have you told him everything?"

Jo nods, her nails suddenly scraping my neck, no doubt because of my question. "Up until the point that I realized that something was happening to my body."

I let out a breath. Okay, so she told them what they did to her. "How did it go?"

She now shakes her head before hiding her face in my neck once more. "I hate what they did to me. Hate that I have to tell everyone what they did to me. I hate it so much."

"I know, love," I choke right away, squeezing her against me even more. "I know."

"I've told them about the first time. And they kept asking more. I don't understand what they want, Hero. Do they want me to spell it out? They ask for so much detail, even more than Alice ever did." She shakes her head again, her nose running and her breath shocking.

And I know what she means. I know how hard it must be for her, but I also know the importance of their questions. They ask for all the filthy details, simply because they need to have them.

They need to know everything.

"You can always ask them for a break," I tell her, hoping to pull her from this state somewhat.

I feel her nod, but I can tell she thinks it's bullshit too. And somewhere deep down, it relaxes me slightly because I recognize it from the past three weeks.

She's been more confident around me, and she's been calling me out a few times too. I can tell she always shocks herself because she apologizes right after, but I'm enjoying it immensely.

While she still hangs around my neck, I move slightly so I can take a seat on her chair. She catches on, and after a little reshuffle, she's in my lap with each leg on a side and her face in my neck still. Like a little spider monkey.

I rub my hand up and down her back, and I listen to how her breathing turns slower now that she's relaxing more. "Tell me what you need, love."

She doesn't answer right away. It takes at least two minutes before she pulls her face out of her hiding spot that's my neck.

"I want you to take me home. I'm tired and empty." Her eyes, although tired and red, are determined and honest.

And although I think that Hanson wants to continue, I can't deny her this. So, I find myself nodding my head, silently promising her to take her home.

She's done for today.

"I'll take you home."

She nods and then leans forward, her soft, puffy lips touching mine for a second in thanks. And then, she lifts from my lap and goes to Dais.

She's still crying, but the way she softly talks to her daughter in the voice that's only reserved for her doesn't give away her pain. It's the perfect example of what an amazing mother Josephine is. No matter what, she will never show Dais what she's been through.

She told me herself; she refuses to burden Daisy with her past. She's a true hero.

After she's taken Daisy out of the car seat, she cradles her against her chest tightly. Daisy doesn't wake; she just nestles herself against her mother, completely content and without any care.

"Want me to talk to Hanson?" I softly ask, almost afraid to interrupt her moment with Dais.

Jo lifts her head once more, her eyes a little brighter now that she's holding Daisy. "Please," she whispers, nodding her head too.

Goddamnit, I wish I could protect her from everything and just hide her in my house.

"Okay, I will. And then I'm taking you home, yeah?" I promise her again, reassuring her that no matter what Hanson says or thinks, we won't continue today.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I promise I'll talk about it more another time."

"I know, love."

Fucking hell, she's promising something so hard for her, yet she wants to have that control so badly, she's not backing out.

I lean towards her, placing my hand on her cheek and stroking it with my thumb. "You're the bravest woman I know," I tell her honestly before kissing her again, a little longer and firmer this time.

And only when I feel Dais protest in between us, I pull away. I'm pleased to see that Jo's ashen complexion has faded somewhat and that her cheeks are now a little more colored.

"I'll be right back," I promise her before walking out of the room and starting my search for Hanson.

And as I walk the long hallway of the station, I can't contain the small smile as I hear Jo's words over and over again.

I want you to take me home.

It's a little past nine when I find myself climbing in my bed. Jo just gave Dais her last feeding, and after I'd held her up for a good fifteen minutes, I've put her to bed. She didn't even wake; she just nestled into the crisp white sheets with her rabbit next to her.

Jo is taking a shower, and after she will come to bed too. She said she was tired, and after a day like this, I can only imagine how tired she actually is.

When we came home, we didn't talk much about what happened at the station. Jo didn't want to, and frankly, I didn't either. She's told me about what happened to her once, and I don't think I can bear to hear it again.

At least not without trashing something down.

Instead, we made lunch and we ate that while we had small talk about Dais. After lunch, Jo insisted on going for a walk in the park. It did her good.

In the park, we ran into Alex and Felix, who were kicking the ball. I joined them for a bit while Jo watched, and I have to say that it felt fucking good.

Kicking ball while Jo was there too. I don't know why, but it felt awesome.

On our walk back home, we got take out. Burritos, the ones we also had on Christmas Eve. It was Jo's idea and of course, I agreed immediately.

We ate them on the couch while watching Netflix. Friends, a show that I've never really watched. Sometimes I came across an episode in a hotel or such, but Jo and I are now actually watching it properly.

It's not a show I would watch alone, but watching it with Jo is great. I love the way she laughs at the lame jokes Chandler makes, and how she seems to forget everything around her as she watches it. I'm sure it's because she's never really had the chance to watch tv, let alone something she liked herself.

After dinner, I showered with Dais, and then Jo clothed her for the night. And it's now that I find myself in bed waiting for her to join me, at nine.

It's insane how my life has changed in just a few weeks. The old me would have never been in bed at nine. Never. But now, those moments in bed with Jo, are the moments that I'm looking forward to all day.

It's because, at those moments, she seems utterly and completely herself and at ease. The last three weeks, since we prepared for her talks with Hanson, she's been slightly distant. The sexual stuff we did haven't happened since that shower we had at mum's.

And while you would think that's a problem for me, I find myself not caring less even if I wanted to. Because instead, we cuddle. Cuddle like I've never done with anyone in my life before. It's so fucking intimate, and it feels so fucking good to hold her that close and shield her from all her fears, I'd pick it over watching her have an orgasm anytime.

We're in a rollercoaster that doesn't seem to end. If anything, it's getting scarier and scarier with each time we pass the start, but fuck, I don't think I've ever been happier.

"Thank you for bringing her to bed," Jo's voice disturbs my thoughts, and when I look at her, I can instantly tell that she's been crying. Her eyes are swollen and red, her wet hair hanging over her shoulders and wetting her sleep shirt. "Did she fall asleep easily?"

She tries to hide the tremble in her voice, but I hear it anyway. She also tries to hide her face, not looking at me directly.

"She did. Out like a light," I confirm, following her like a hawk while throwing the duvet on the bed open in invitation.

She climbs in while she hums in answer, her head cast down and her hair falling in front of her face slightly. When she's with her back against the headboard, she takes a deep breath while moving her hair behind her ears. And then, she turns her head so she's looking at me, and she forces a smile around her lips.

"Nice shower?" I tentatively ask, not wanting to barge in with deep questions right away although I know I'll ask them anyway.

She nods, visibly swallowing away the lump that's no doubt still in her throat. "Yes."

"Don't lie," I mumble while my hand finds hers and squeezes. "What's wrong?"

She looks down at our hands that lay on the duvet, and as her eyes tear up once more, her thumb following a vein on my hand.

"I feel so filthy," she sobs after a short moment, almost as if she's ashamed. Not almost, as if she's ashamed.

Before I have time to tell her she's anything but filthy, she continues, shaking her head as she does. "Every time I talk about what happened to me, I feel it on me. And somehow, I can't wash it off today. I still feel them, on me."

She sobs again and squeezes my hand a little harder. "I hate it. I hate the idea of still belonging to them. Will it always be like this? Will I always feel like this when I talk about it?"

Just like all the previous times when she's told me this or something along those lines, I feel my blood boil. But the need to make her feel better is taking over like always too.