DISCLAIMERS: The characters in the story are the creation of Dick Wolf, NBC owns the rights to Law and Order: SVU. I'm just burrowing the characters for entertainment and I'm using them without permission just for fun not for profit. No money is being made, and no harm is intended.
The story is my own as are any errors that may have slipped past my beta reader who by the way is not an SVU fan, but since my native language is Spanish, my friend translates my spanglish into proper English. Minu you rock! Although I can't figure out why she doesn't like SVU, and not due to any lack of effort on my part (sigh). Also my eternal gratitude to JD for taking the time to betaread this piece!
SPOILERS: There might be some mention of events during the 2nd through the 5th season, Set when Alex is in the witness protection program (WPP), so there may be some spoilers for those who have not seen L&O SVU to that point. I have taken several literary liberties in order to write this story and as D said in her story Live Like You Were Dying, what would be the point of rewriting the SVU scripts? That is why it's called fan fiction; so fair warning to the keepers of the Canon. This is kind of AUish and not Ghost, and most definitely not like the Conviction fiasco.
PAIRING: Alex/Olivia what else is there? (Grin). No offense meant to any of the other possible pairings and Casey's shippers.
Violence/Sex/Language:
It contains some violence, mention of rape nothing extremely graphic but could be disturbing, Sex, hmm, of course there is, not overly used, but there are some scenes I'm shy, so let's just say you were warned. Some swearing, of course! I mean sorry. This is femslash, if you don't like it, don't read it! If you're under 18 or the idea of two women expressing their love towards each other bothers you, DO NOT, and I repeat, DO NOT continue reading this story. If it is illegal in your country and or state, move or don't read it until it is, what are you waiting for?
A/N: Oh, and this is my first L&O SVU story, your patience will be most appreciated, due to the language issue (S/E). I have several chapters written but they have to be edited. And feedback of all kinds is welcome, constructive criticism not homophobic, or narrow-minded ok!
AN2: Revised Edition 28-03-09
Sorry for the long Yada, yada but it does have to be said.
Don't forget to read and review.
If I Close My Eyes
By V
Prologue
It had been at least five years since I had been here last, not since my mother had passed away, it's ironic but the only place I had ever felt her love was here. Perhaps that's why when I was a child I would escape from her drunken stupors to the refuge of this grand old tree and I would close my eyes and feel as if I was that three year old child once again and her arms around me and telling me that I was her little treasure. It was the only time that she told me that, before I in all my childish innocence ruined the moment by asking for a dad that I didn't have, I was only three after all, there are some that say that you can't remember that far back, but I did. And to this day I recall her eyes filling with tears and her hugging me tighter, so tight that it hurt and I complained, but she didn't let me go, and I didn't say anything else. That was the last time that she took me to the park. After that day she began to drink religiously every afternoon while I hid in my closet crying until I fell asleep not understanding what was going on.
It was a short while later that she screamed out in all her drunken rage that I would never have a father because mine had raped her and I was the product of that heinous act. As a child of six years I didn't fully understand what rape was, but I did understand that it was something bad. I could see it in her face. All twisted and contorted by pain, the torturous screams and cries that would shake her body when she drank. It was then when I first started to escape to the park to dream and to remember that once upon a time she had told me she loved me and to treasure that dream that during my childhood and turbulent adolescence managed to save me from those dark and violent alcoholic days of her life.
It's incredible how cruel human beings can be, not only as adults, but also as children or uncontrollable and hormonal adolescents. It would seem that the more normal life is, the less compassionate you are for the less unfortunate. It didn't matter if your father was a rapist like mine or if he simply left your life due to divorce or an accidental pregnancy. The fact that you did not have one nor had both parents was not a guarantee that you wouldn't be the object of ridicule and mockery. I learned that at a very young age, it was easier if one of your parents had died, but not having one and not having an acceptable explanation for their absence was worse. Up until this day, even after seeing all I have seen through the years working as a detective of sexual crimes and dealing with the heartless perpetrators, the innate cruelty of human beings still astounds me.
Over the years I tried not to be just another statistic, for many years I fought against those damn genes that I was convinced ran through my blood as a product of my violent conception. Not only did I do the impossible to assure myself that I would be able to go to college, but always with the intention of serving on the police force. After a few years as a beat cop I was eventually able to pass the exam detective exam, finally achieving my goal in my mind. I never had a doubt what I wanted to do. SVU was my objective, my way of fighting for the victims like my mother, like me, to make a difference even though it was too late for my mother. Always waiting for the day I would do her justice. However my years as a detective have shown me that it wasn't the past that ruled your life, but the present. It took me years and many uneasy moments to be able to recognize it. On that day I knew that my past should not control me and that the future did not exist; much less live in fear of it.
The first time I saw her, God, it was a shock, I couldn't take my eyes off of her, so beautiful, those blue eyes that saw through you with just one glance, almost as if stripping the soul naked. I thanked the powers that be that as a detective I had learned how to control my facial expressions, otherwise she would have seen immediately how I felt and I would have felt like a fool. I was bewitched and the only thing I could do was pretend, that in reality it was the opposite and I just couldn't stand her.
Her first year at SVU as our primary ADA was a constant pull and push, a revelation for both of us. What started with sporadic invitations to O'Malley's or Chauncey's for drinks after a long hard day or to celebrate a sentencing soon turned into breakfasts at Luigi's and occasional invitations to dinner whenever I managed to overcome my shyness —shy? Me? For God's sake I had never known the meaning of the word until I met her. I managed to invent valid excuses to stop by her office late in the evenings and seeing her still working I would invite her to dinner to discuss this or that case. Sometimes she accepted and other times she didn't. One day that she declined because she had a date I felt that I would die from jealousy and pain. Jealousy because she was mine, and pain because I knew that she wasn't and she would never be.
Both of us were blind, they say that there is no one more blind than the one who refuses to see. I say tat there is no one more blind, deaf or mute than the one who dies by his own blade. Our courtship was the longest in the history of humanity, since the word was first invented. I say this seriously, in some ways we were always fighting over warrants, arrest orders, evidence to bring cases to trial, etc. Part of me understood that she was being reasonable just for the fact that the law was picky that way. Isn't it supposed to be innocent until proven guilty all over the world? She would say that you are innocent until the evidence proves otherwise. Probable cause doesn't matter neither do gut feelings, even though she might believe that the perp deserves to be hung by the crown jewels from the top of the Empire State Building. The truth is subjective, the truth is impartially partial and justice isn't blind. If it were the world would be better off, how? I don't know, better? Who knows, there are absolutes or there isn't. Sometimes there are shades of gray, the end justifies the means and at others the price you pay isn't worth the sacrifice.
You need to be both, very strong or very dumb to do our kind of work and that's what I mean when I say that our courtship was the longest in history. One day we were arguing over an arrest warrant and within hours I just wanted to hold her in my arms and protect her from hysterical mothers or victims betrayed by the criminal justice system. As a detective it was normal for her to be in the precinct going over evidence or witnessing an interrogation, what wasn't normal was that it was only my desk where she would sit or that she would stand so close that she would invade my personal space. Not that I minded of course, however, my heart and my blood pressure did but not me…besides it was completely justifiable for me to spend so much time in her office going over my testimony or that I needed to speak with her on the phone from time to time. After all she was our ADA.
Then one day I was the victim. Eric Plummer made me remember that justice was not blind and that the life you swore to dedicate to bring justice to victims was now tainted by evidence that pointed to a suspect that in truth was not. Innocent people died because you did what you do best, be a special victim's detective.
I had never felt so alone and useless and less deserving of love as on that day that I had to pull the trigger. I felt just as murderous as anyone of the most degenerate of perpetrators I had ever arrested when I killed him and found out that his gun was not loaded. One more innocent life stained for my desire to do justice, a good man turned murderer because my evidence pointed to his culpability. I felt betrayed by the system, by my partner but most of all, I felt betrayed by myself. I didn't want to know anything about anyone or anything. IAB had suspended me until the investigation over the shooting was over. I had killed a man after all, even if there had been witnesses. I hid away in my apartment to drown myself in guilt and self-pity. The Justice is blind with open eyes.
I just fell apart; my eyes were swollen from all the crying, my body screamed with pain from tense muscles and my nervous system was almost in shock. I laid on the floor in a fetal position, crying and moaning when I heard her voice calling me from afar, and felt her warm sweet body wrapped around me. I felt warm arms surround me and heard a distant voice that whispered tender and comforting words. She refused to let me go, she refused to leave me alone.
The next day I awoke within her arms on the sofa, feeling as if a truck had run over me. I turned and her beautiful blue eyes looked straight into my naked soul. My heart skipped a beat, I forgot to breath. What I saw in her eyes couldn't be true, my tired mind tried to tell me.
"What are you doing here?" I asked in a raspy and trembling voice, a voice that I did not recognize as mine.
"There isn't any place else I'd rather be Liv, don't you know that by now?"
She and I were the typical cliché; she the princess and I part of the masses. She was a trust fund baby, with private schools, debutante balls, Harvard and a penthouse with a view of Central Park. And I was the bastard daughter of a rapist, with an alcoholic mother who was harassed and frowned upon for being who she was. I was the one who never knew what it was like to have a birthday party or a house with servants or a chauffer, just a simple detective in the NYPD with a modest savings account and a retirement plan, a tiny apartment in downtown Manhattan with old furniture. I never thought for a moment that she might be a lesbian, fully convinced that she was not only straight, but that she was a blue blood WASP from Boston that would never notice someone as common as me and secondly, that she would ever tell me she would prefer living with me in my tiny apartment instead of uptown Manhattan in a penthouse that was cold and full of luxuries if that meant having to give me up. No, no, to this day I don't believe it.
It's been years since I've been here, not since the death of my mother. The sun feels so warm, the air moves my bangs, and I'm in NYC, in the heart of Central Park. If I close my eyes even for just a moment, I can dream that she is still with me. I can feel her hand in mine; smell her aroma, a mix of orange blossoms and ginger. God, if I close my eyes for just a moment I can feel her name kissing my lips, Alex…