Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters I'm using, however, Alex Cabot's alias, Melissa Strom is my doing.
Author's note: Formatting may be a bit screwy... so basically, save the last bit, which is simply Olivia's suicide note... (or is it) the first line is the speaker, the second line is the title of that bit.
Author's second note: This was originally posted under the account DetectiveLivvy, which was mine. I'm getting rid of it, and reposting my stories under this name. I've done some reformatting/editing though.
Enjoy
Alex Cabot/ Melissa Strom
What is Real?
Being a different person... It's more bizzare than anything else I've ever experienced, and more unpleasant. I don't think I'll ever get used to it... or accept it. Some things aren't meant to be, and this whole 'Witness Protection' thing is one of them.
There are certain defining traits of one's character that we assume will always be... But when you're someone else, with someone else's life story behind you, you have to think before you act. A blonde ADA I once was... once knew... I'm not sure which... was confident and bold... But now, I'm a different woman with different experiences, thrice bitten, six times shy.
My first husband was abusive, so I divorced him, but lost my beloved son in a bitter custody battle. My second husband was everything my first wasn't. And he died, cancer. Then my first husband and son were killed in a car crash. I've apparently known my share of sadness. After repeating the story enough times and acting in accordance with the person it would have produced, it's sometimes more real to me than my true past.
I'm done being her now though. I'm going to be that ADA again, though for now, I'll be strawberry instead of true blonde, my hair can't take any more dyeing. I won't have my old job. I will have the one I've been longing for, loving, all along, that never changed. I'm going back for her. I'm not sure what I'll do once I get there... but we'll be together again.
Out of Character
Donald Cragen
I've been worried lately. As a Capitan, it's my job to watch out for the cops in my squad, to watch out for them as I would my family. That's what they are sometimes like to me, especially because I never had much of my own. John is like a brother, and Fin's like a son. Elliot is like an eldest child, always trying to get it right. That's part of what makes him a great cop. Then there was Alex, a middle child, industrious and hard working, but sometimes a bit distant, before the whole mess that took her from us, Olivia (I am aware that Olivia is a little older than Alex, but it fits for the metaphor) took it the hardest. That brings me to the last member of our strange family, the youngest daughter, a girl with something to prove. First it was that she was tough enough to handle SVU, then that she was nothing like her father. So strong, yet so fragile. If you were to hit her weakness, she would shatter to thousands of pieces, and the weak spot was struck, like a firing pin hitting the primer, it set off a chain reaction when Alex was shot.
The pieces came back together for the most part, enough that she could function, but so many crucial fragments never fell back into place. They went with Alex, and stayed with her, even after we found out our ADA had survived. It seemed she had been getting better, but for the last few weeks, it has seemed the missing pieces have been letting her spirit drip away, the slow leak gradually breaking her down. The second anniversary of the attack is probably the culprit for the recent decline, and I have tried talking to her, but I can't get through.
I took my concerns to Elliot, in hopes that her partner had some insight that could help. He told me she was still as sharp as ever when on the trail of a perp, as compassionate with victims, and as brilliant at interrogations, but he had seen the problem too, and he was amazed she'd kept the depression from seeping over into work. And that she'd been drinking more. After work. Every night. For the last month. I wasn't surprised.
Munch was my next lead, he'd always offered her a shoulder to cry on when she'd needed it, rare as such events may be, and let his sarcasm and conspiracies shut down when she needed sensitivity, like a trusted uncle.
He knew about the drinking, and usually went with her. She'd been drowning her misery in orange liquor. He often drove her home, instead of letting her take a cab, despite her objections, after all, they lived near by.
I thought about asking Fin, the two were fairly friendly, but she probably hadn't confided any more to him than to anyone else. Everything so far was based on observations, and the two didn't usually have the opportunity to spend time together.
I got a call early the next morning, very early, from Olivia. She asked for the day off, I gave it to her, no questions asked, she needed it, and it was a comfort to know the headstrong detective was willing to rest a bit. It would probably do her good.
Observances
Elliot Stabler
Something's been wrong with my partner for a long time now, nothing specific, not an acute depression, but a soft sadness, hanging around her like a mist, clouding her, slowly leeching away her strength, her will. It's scared the living daylights out of me.
I've tried talking to her about it, trying to tell her to rest, or get some help, or just tell me what the problem is, without saying it directly, but either she hasn't noticed, or she doesn't want to hear.
I am a religious man, I've always prayed at night, giving thanks for my family, for everything that's gone right, but it's not been until recently that I ever had to pray for something serious, a speedy recovery for a friend injured in the line of duty, or acceptance letters for Maureen are serious, but this had a different depth. If a buddy from the academy took an extra few weeks to heal, things would be back to normal eventually, and if Maureen didn't get into Brown, she'd get Harvard or Vassar, things would work out, with Liv, it was different.
This thing she's fighting is bleeding her dry. She used to drink socially, out with friends, maybe a glass of wine when at a restaurant, but it used to be she never really drank unless we'd lost a tough one, and then we all did. Lately it was different. A while ago, John and I created an unspoken, yet well understood pact to watch out for her. Every night when she went off to drink herself into oblivion, one of us went with her, made sure she had someone there for her if she decided to talk, made sure she got home at night.
It was all we could do. Watch over her. Watch over her and pray.
Unreachable
Odafin Tutuola
I don't really feel left out, they're still my buds, besides, I've always taken a more direct approach. They have their "Benson Redemption Initiative," and I have my simple, one-man rescue mission.
So far, my methods have had little effect, but theirs have had none. While I have been active, trying to make her open up, they have been like padding, breaking her fall, softening life's blows. The only problem is it isn't working, she is unreachable.
So walled up, she must be scared mindless, she acts like it sometimes. She's the same cop, but the rest of the time, she is not herself. She isn't someone else either. She is hollow. She is no one. Her coffee eyes once showed her strength, vivacity, tenacity, compassion, and most of all her spirit. Now they were vacuums, and in the rare chance I could make eye contact, it scared me, her emptiness threatened to suck away my spirit as well. Occasionally a spark used to shine through, light up her face, even give her enough warmth to laugh or smile, but that grew rarer and rarer, until the last bit of fire was gone from her.
The bastard that shot Alex also shot Benson, and she was dying, slowly bleeding away. The prosecutor was like a ray of sunlight, shining through the tangled, dark forest that was the life of our Liv, giving fierce woman a bit of added strength, but when Cabot left, the strength was taken with her, and it left a gaping would through which the ferocity could seep out.
I don't know if we took to long trying to reach her, or went about it all wrong, but even if we were to have the answer, it might be to late, the one we all knew may be gone.
If No Mitzvah Can Be Done
John Munch
Every Jewish child learns Hebrew.
I was no exception, although I saw no use.
Mitzvah was the first thing they taught us.
I am not a religious man,
But with me that word shall remain.
A truly good man does a mitzvah for a stranger
A somewhat good man does a mitzvah for a friend
A no good man does a mitzvah for himself.
I cannot see a dear friend suffer, the deeds I do for Benson are for me
Because I cannot bear to see her sadness, this mitzvah is for me, so I know
I am the latter of the three.
I try not to let it show, there's a reason for my sarcastic, biting mask
When I see those I care for suffer, their suffering becomes a part of me
I do these things to try to save her
To save her from herself
But if these deeds are to no avail, they shall not assuage my guilt.
The love of her life was stolen from her arms
So soon after she had found the love
And she felt it even more when it was gone.
When her soul mate was ripped from her arms
She cried
That day took its toll on all of us in different ways
We all eventually recovered
Healing in our own ways
All but the greatest fighter among us
She drifted away.
She had always held her head high,
Never hiding from the truth
No matter how ugly that truth was
She faced it head on
And came out stronger for it
But this was different.
At first she seemed to heal
The wound scabbing over
But as more time passed, it began to fester,
As though a promise made was a promise broken
After a year and a half, the wound began sapping her too fast
Suddenly she drank hard
But never slept
And scarcely ate a bite
And wanted it all to end.
Every kiss given
Every smile
Every tear
Everything between the two, the light and the dark
Was slowly killing the one who got left behind
A shadow of herself, wasting away
Wanting to fade away, and blow away like dust
Wanting to forget the memories
But she cannot escape the memories
She can't escape her mind.
Worried
Donald Cragen
I gave her the day off two days ago. When she didn't show up for work yesterday, I was worried, but I also hoped she had decided to relax or go do something for the first time in quite a while. When she didn't show up this morning, I knew something was wrong, and so did Elliot. As soon as he mentioned her absence, he volunteered to check on her, I'd been planning on doing that myself, but he really seemed to want to go. I made him promise to call me as soon as he got there, and again once he had spoken to her, then he grabbed Munch and sped out the door...
Rush Rush
Elliot Stabler
Captain and I discussed Olivia's prolonged absence, I volunteered to go check on her, and grabbed Munch on my way out. I drove his car; it's a bit faster. There was no conversation on the way. The lump in my throat was so tight I could barely breathe, much less talk, and I'm pretty sure he felt the same way. Capitan seemed concerned, the fact that he let us go said a lot, though he was probably trying t hide how worried he was. The drive seemed to take forever.
When we finally arrived at the towering apartment complex, I hopped out at the curb, munch took the car to find a parking structure somewhere. I bolted through the doors, eternally grateful for cheap supers that didn't hire doormen. Knowing already that the elevator would take too long, I hurried up the stairs to Olivia's apartment and was surprised to find the door unlocked. And unnerved to discover she was nowhere in sight...
Too Late
John Munch
I reached the apartment
After parking the car
And found the door wide open
And Elliot hunched over in a chair,
Facing away.
I spied a slip of paper on the table in front of him
In the near-barren apartment.
And read what it had to say...
My Fault, Her Fault, Whose Fault (or All Gone)
Elliot Stabler
Damn her! Damn Her! How could she do this to me? To all of us? Not again! We fought so hard to save her. Why the hell didn't she let us help?
I don't know what to feel. I can't let her go. Fury, that she would do something like this? Sadness, that she's gone? Guilt, that I didn't try hard enough? I don't know. I can't believe she'd do this.
I should have seen it coming. She's been so sad for so long. Hopeless. Helpless. But I always thought we could get through, that she would give us the time, and the chance to bring her back from the shadow she'd become.
But this doesn't seem like the Olivia we all knew. She was a fighter, I thought she would be till the end. I think we all feard watching her fade away, slowly dying on the inside...until she starved herself to death, to miserable to eat, but as long as there was breath in her, there was hope, maybe she'd snap out of it, never till recent'y did we all believe in, rely on, false hope.
I read the note again, not sure what I'm searching for...
How could she see herself as a burden. How did one with such insite turn blind. We WANTED to help, all of us willing to do as much as it took, but she deprived us of the chance. And Alex has nothing to do with this! Olivia knew she'd be back, and probably soon. None of her reasoning fit. I guess that shows just how lost my partner was.
Dont Cry For Me
To my esteemed colleagues and dear friends at the 1-6, I am very thankful for all the support you have provided for me, from when I first joined SVU to the present, and especially in the present. I know every one of you has gone out of your way for me, perhaps even too far out of your way. While I appreciate the sentiment, I can no longer be a burden.
Since I first became a cop, I saw things that no one is meant to see, and every time I close my eyes, I see them again. My hands are stained with blood, both that of those I could not help, and of fellow humans on whom I was forced to open fire. Perhaps the most staining blood was that of my former lover, Alex. I realize you all knew, and appreciate your discreet behavior regarding that matter. I realize that she is still alive, and the knowledge soothes my heart, but the realization that I may never be able to see her again is a different kind of pain. Should she return, tell her I love her, and that she deserves every moment of happiness she gets, and then some. You all deserve that, for the protection you provide for the people of this city. Everyone, have a great life; you will not be seeing me again.
My best wishes,
Olivia Benson
And on that note, please review.