I thought I had it all figured out. That there wasn't anything else I could possibly see that I hadn't seen before. But I found myself surprised, yet again. After all, this is New York City. And I'm in the Special Victims Unit. Even if I think I've seen it all, I haven't. But thinking that I have is the only way to keep myself from burning out, so I do it.
And then I saw this. A family murdered and the two youngest children kidnapped by a man who is known by his record rather than by his name. It's a case that only a unit like this could handle, so we're handling it. Why I'm trying to balance all of this on top of everything else is beyond me, but I'm doing it anyways, because I don't have a choice. The entire city's on alert; this is one of those high-profile cases, made that way because of the violence involved.
It scares me sometimes, the extent of violence that I see in some of these cases. But I would rather end up shot than admit that, so I keep my silence. If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it is that some people simply don't have a conscience. But I do. It's probably one of the things that's kept me from crossing the line like I have come so close to doing in the past two years.
It's also probably why I feel so guilty now. I'm standing in the crib, staring at the mirror that hangs in my locker, the same one that caused me to give myself a nasty set of bloody knuckles last year. I see my reflection, but behind that, I don't see the bunks that fill the room, or even the other lockers. I see a child's body, lying there on the cold asphalt outside the bus terminal, eyes wide open and terrified…staring, because that child is dead. And I still can't help but feel like it's my fault.
Questions run through my mind faster than I can keep track of. A few of them stick out rather obviously. Is it because I waited? Because I couldn't make up my mind? When did everything change? There are no easy answers, and I don't expect them. But I can't help but want them. It would make things so much less complicated. I've already been to see Huang, but I don't think it helped much. So I stand here, staring at myself, trying to figure it out on my own.
It isn't working. So I close the locker and head back down to the squad room, still thinking about everything. We found the second child, thankfully alive, hidden in an empty crate in an otherwise empty warehouse. She hadn't been hurt. But in the moments before we found her, I'd wondered if I would be. Having a gun aimed at my head isn't exactly my idea of a good day. Luckily, no one got hurt, I'm still here, and so is my partner, though I haven't seen her since we got back to the squad room. I'm starting to think she might be avoiding me, and I have the feeling that I know why.
We talked while we sat in the hospital waiting room. About what had happened, both in the warehouse and at the bus terminal. One of us made the comment that we'd chosen each other over the job. It was only a few hours ago, but I can't remember which one of us said it. I do remember, however, one of us saying that it couldn't happen again. Somehow the conversation ended up turning to whether or not Olivia would have pulled the trigger. She asked me about my kids, how I'd have felt if I really had ended up getting shot, and she told me she wouldn't have done it, because of all this.
I told her that she and the job were the only things I really had left anymore. And that's why I think I haven't seen her since we got back. I've had a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth at the most inconvenient times ever since I can remember, and I've definitely done it this time. I reach the bottom of the stairs, only to find the other two staring at me, the expressions on their faces torn between sympathy and irritation. I wonder if they know something I don't know, and figure they probably do.
I decide to ignore it, though, rather than say something and end up in an argument, which I'm pretty sure is exactly what they were expecting. After a while, they go back to their paperwork, and I stare at the pictures on my desk, choosing to put my own off for yet another day. The faces blur in front of my eyes, but I already know who they are, so it doesn't matter. What does matter, however, is figuring out exactly where all of this is going, which I probably should have done a while ago, but I didn't, and I'm paying for it now.
Right now, the only things I'm completely sure of are the fact that I'm alive and that I'm breathing. Everything else is up in the air, and until it comes down, I'll have no idea where it's all going to go. So I remain where I am, continuing to stare at the pictures, hoping that maybe they'll help me figure a few things out, and if not, that at least they'll keep me from saying anything to Munch and Fin, because I know they're both staring at me again, even if I'm not looking at them.
And suddenly, it hits me. I meant what I said to Olivia back there in the hospital, even if earlier, it had seemed like the most idiotic thing in the world to have said. But whether or not it will turn into something more, as the rumors around the precinct have been saying for years, is yet to be seen.
For now, though, I go back to those moments in the warehouse, moments where both Olivia and I were caught between life and death, moments where I regretted almost everything I'd said to her since I started on my downward spiral. And I realize something else.
At this moment in time, when everything is uncertain, when everything feels as if at any moment, it's all going to come crashing down on me, there is one thing I have left: my life. It seems worthless at the moment, considering all that has happened. But right now, it is all I have to give.