"I don't believe this." It was just after six. Scarcely an hour had passed since Judge Petrovsky had dismissed a pedophilia case. The prosecution had built an airtight case, but a simple lab error had ruined their prospects and sent the pedophile free. ADA Casey Novak, who had already received widespread criticism and hatred from the press and angry victims, had spent the past hour in a bar a few blocks from her office.
Detective Olivia Benson sat across from her in their booth. The early evening conversation protected them from the crowd that would soon swarm the place. "Casey, it's not your fault. The lab messed up, not you."
Casey finished her fourth glass of scotch, the alcohol already blurring her capacity for rational thought. She ignored the impending migraine. "It is my fault," she said quietly. "Three hundred children and counting, and he can just continue because I overlooked it. Not detecting the error makes me look negligent." She sighed, placing her glass on the table. "I have been a prosecutor for twelve years. I have been beaten, threatened, and even suspended because of my job. But never, in all of those years, have I ever felt as ashamed as I do right now."
She called their waitress over, ordering another scotch. Olivia held up her hand. "She's just kidding. She'll have a nice glass of iced tea." To Casey's fury, the waitress took one look at the attorney, whose appearance reflected her tipsy state, and nodded, asking if Olivia wanted another beer.
"What did you do that for?" Casey demanded once the server had walked away. "I'm over twenty one. I know when to stop. I'm too angry to do so, but I'm fine."
"Really?" Olivia sipped her beer. "Stand up."
"What?"
"Just do it," the detective answered. "Stand up and stand still. Humor me."
Casey rolled her eyes, jumping to her feet. The scotch roiled in her stomach, making her head spin almost instantly. With a tiny groan, the attorney sat down as quickly as she had stood. "Doesn't prove anything," she muttered. She moaned softly, burying her head in her arms. "Ugh, the lights are too bright…"
"And you want to keep drinking," Olivia said, shaking her head as their drinks arrived and the girl walked away again.
"Why do you care?" As soon as she said it, Casey regretted her outburst. But before she could speak, Olivia had responded.
"Why do I care?" The detective demanded, anger seizing her voice. "Because you are a damn good prosecutor, Casey, and one case is not worth throwing your sanity out the window. Why do I care? Because I grew up with an alcoholic and I know what it is like to watch someone you love throw themselves away. But if you want to continue drinking, I can't stop you. By all means, order a fifth scotch, then a twenty first, and so on, until you can't walk, can't drive, and can't even remember your own name."
Casey sighed, using every ounce of her remaining strength to lift her head from the table. "More children will get raped, and it's my fault," she said, her emerald eyes flooding with tears. "I didn't stop him from walking out of that courtroom and into his next chatroom. Oh, God, he could be raping one as we speak."
Watching the composed, intelligent attorney fall apart before her eyes, Olivia moved to sit beside her. She wiped Casey's tears away, not caring who watched. "Casey, listen to me," she said quietly. "We will stop him. We will get him somehow, and he will pay for every future he ruined. But for now, you need to pull yourself together. Come on. I'm taking you home."
"You're not my mother," Casey mumbled.
"Someone needs to be," the detective answered. She grabbed Casey's purse, coat, and car keys. "People are staring," she said gently. "You can either sit here and continue drinking your pain away while people laugh and poke fingers at the Manhattan DA drinking in the corner, or you can get over this and come with me. You need an ice pack, some tea, and some sleep. You're not an alcoholic, Casey. And I'm not about to let you become one after one damn case. Now grab your coat and let's go."