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Title: Awakenings, Pt. I - Revelations

Author: imaginus75

Pairing: Alex/Other

Summary: Alex reflects on the past and present.

A/N: Thank you to Jamie for the beta, the inspiration and motivation. It's not often one gets to work with someone who's work they admire and I'm honored to have been given this chance to work with her. This series is as much hers as it is mine. This is part one of a three part series.

Dedication: To my angel – may you find the love and support to be whatever you want to be.

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Awakenings, Pt. I - Revelations

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Santa Monica, CA

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There was a time in my life when I didn't have to explain anything to anyone, especially to myself. My life was perfectly manicured the way my parents had expected. I grew up going to an all girls private school; attended Harvard Law School; took an ADA position at the Manhattan DA office and started dating the boy next door. Literally. We grew up together, our families living next to each other.

When I first met you, my world was turned upside down. I don't know how, nor did I know why. It was such a simple "hello", a gentle smile, and a soft but firm handshake on a chilly autumn morning, yet somehow, immediately I knew I wanted to be your friend. There was something deep inside me that hoped you would want the same from me. I wanted you to see past the distant and cold exterior that I put on display and see the real me. I never knew the problem would be that even I didn't know who the real me was.

You see, beneath the ADA Alexandra Cabot façade, I didn't know who I was. All I knew was that Alexandra was for everyone else and Alex was for me. I had to have that barrier. I kept my feelings and emotions at arms length not out of want, but out of necessity. I told myself that it was necessary to stay objective in order to make sure every one of my cases was air tight, or else another rapist or child molester walked free.

I couldn't admit the truth that if I let my guard down, then reality would come crashing in and drown me.

I could never figure out how you did it. How you were able to make each and every case personal to you, let them inside and tear you apart. I kept my distance with my so-called professional objectivity. That was until the Cavanaugh-Barnett case. Maybe you rubbed off on me and Sam Cavanaugh slipped through the crack in my emotional wall.

Most of the time, I was able to keep my emotions out of my professional life. I had to be able to separate my career from my personal life. Alexandra Cabot wore neatly pressed suits, had perfectly sculpted hair, was poised and minded her manners. Alex ran around the house in t-shirts, jeans and barefeet, and had no qualms about picking food off her plate with her fingers. Alexandra fought zealously against the toughest of defense attorneys. Alex slept with one. Most people, as well as Alexandra, would've considered Trevor Langan a conflict of interest. Alex was able to draw a fine line between her professional life and her personal life. Alexandra put her career on the line to prosecute child molester Roy Barnett. Alex cried for Sam Cavannaugh.

I was so used to playing those two separate roles that I didn't think the fine line I had drawn could ever be blurred. The thought that someone, other than Trevor, could ever get past the image I projected was completely absurd. Of course up until then, there was never you. I held you at bay, like my emotions, yet somehow you got inside. Through our heated discussions and arguments, I felt like I had found a kindred spirit. Someone who lived and breathed what they believed in, like me. Someone who was willing to give it their all, day in and day out, fully knowing that they couldn't undo the horror that had been inflicted, but only offer comfort and justice. Someone who saw the darkest depths of human nature, knew the demands of the squad, yet returned to the job everyday.

As time passed and I got to know you, I saw that your emotional involvement in cases didn't make you weaker but instead made you stronger, more determined and more compassionate. Little by little, I allowed my emotions to creep into my cases. If it helped me to become more passionate about fighting for the victims, it was a good thing, right? Living separate lives meant that I was capable of turning my brain off from work after hours for the sake of my relationship with Trevor. However, as my time in SVU passed, I realized that I couldn't completely shut out the job. I needed an outlet. When I first started, I had turned down many invitations to join you guys for drinks after work. Eventually, I realized that it wasn't about offering each other solutions or advice. You were just there for each other because you understood. You guys had created your own support system and knowing that I could share my frustrations and disgust over certain cases helped chase the nightmares away.

You had your own demons to deal with, but like the selfless person that you are, you were able to ease my pains and fears that came with the SVU territory. You made the daily grind less about politics and my career, and more about the victims, especially the broken children. And when it got to be too much, you would find a way to make it more bearable. Somehow, you made the days brighter when the sun was nowhere to be found and warmer on the coldest of winter days. And on those hopeless days when I thought human decency had gone to the dogs, you reminded me that there was still good in the world.

My quest for justice began to override my ambition, and when justice seemed out of reach, you became my driving force. There were mornings when the only thought that got me out of bed was the image of you sitting in your chair, elbows on your desk, hands in your mussed up hair, eyes dark and lined with shadows as you combed over photos, reports and witness statements to find what you needed to break a case you'd been working on for twenty four hours straight. It was days like that that made my drive and determination pale in comparison. But it wasn't a competition to see who could be more dedicated. It was a matter of not letting you down. As long as you gave it your all to catch the bad guys, it was my responsibility to make sure they got put away for a very long time. And each time, it would be worth the work and fight to see the shadows lift from your face whenever a guilty verdict was passed.

Although I admired your unfaltering passion, it was your confidence that drew me to you the most. You carried yourself with an attitude that said "I am who I am so either take it at face value, or get out of my way". I admired you for your courage to be yourself, and at the same time, I envied you for being what I couldn't be. You had a girlfriend and you weren't ashamed of it. You were in love with a woman and didn't care what others thought, even if that particular woman was the worse thing that could've happened to you.

It wasn't like I didn't love Trevor. I loved him very much. It's just that you managed to bring out a side of me that I hadn't realized existed. Growing up, I had instances of confusion that I had just ignored and chalked it up to puberty and hormones. Even as an adult, I didn't know what my subconscious was telling me. I spent countless hours in my head, trying to rationalize what my heart was desperately hoping I'd understand. As quickly as the thoughts entered my head, they would be pushed aside. It was wrong. Those thoughts were wrong. I wasn't supposed to feel that way. For all my confidence and strength in the courtroom, I was scared to death of what my mind and heart were telling me.

Then you came along with your killer smile, intense brown eyes, and unparalleled passion for life and I was lost. Try as I might, I could no longer carry on my internal fight between what I felt and what I was taught. Before, it was easy to protect myself from an abstract concept. But you weren't abstract. You had become a very tangible regular occurrence to my daily life. Everyday, you were there, and even when you weren't physically around, I could close my eyes and remember the smell of your perfume and the way your voice sounded the last time I heard it.

As much as I fought it, my feelings for you grew from friendship to something more. I tried to ignore what that something more was. In my mind, there were too many obstacles, too many reasons why we were never meant to be, the least of which was the fact that we were both with people we loved. The bottom line was, I could never be for you what you needed. I could never publicly declare how much I cared for you, at least not in Alexandra Cabot's lifetime. I had too much too lose and I didn't want to take the risk.

You see, my whole life had already been planned out for me even before I was conceived. Alexandra Cabot was supposed to have a long and distinguished career in the New York legal community. She was supposed to marry a doctor or a lawyer and have 2.3 kids with a house and a white picket fence. Being an only child, she was supposed to make her parents proud and carry on the family genes. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with a NYPD detective, least of all a female one. No, good Catholic girls weren't supposed to have sexual feelings for other women. It. Was. Wrong.

I turn from the dark window, away from the waves lapping onto the beach below, and look at the sleeping form on the bed. The bright moonlight seeps through the window and illuminates the outline of her body. Now my whole life is wrong. I am no longer Alexandra Cabot. I am no longer a lawyer in New York. And that, most certainly is not a man.

Instead, three years after my death, I am now Alex McKenzie, a real estate agent in Southern California. And the most wrong thing about all of this, is that I needed a new life, an anonymous life, to set free my inhibitions and allow myself to find comfort in the arms of another woman. Or, maybe it's not the new life, but rather the fact that the woman in the bed is not you. Maybe it's both.

I unwrap the blanket from around me and lay it down on top of her, my "menu du jour". Quietly, I gather up my clothes and put them on, careful not to wake her. I never stay the night. Not with any of them. And God, has there been a long line of them. I think that in the last year, I've slept with more women than all the men I've ever been with. However, none of them were you. None of them felt like you. None of them tasted like you.

Most of the time, I don't even wait until they're asleep. But this one, she reminds me of you. The short brown hair, the piercing brown eyes and a smile that is as bright as the Californian sun. But beyond the physical resemblance, there's something else. And although I can't quite put my finger on it, I can feel it. As I put on my socks, she stirs and lifts her head from the pillow, a glow from the night's events evident on her face.

"Hey." She runs a hand through her short tousled hair, and leans back on her elbows.

"Hey," I match her quiet tone. "I have to go."

She simply nods. She asks for no explanation and I don't offer one.

I put on my coat and shoes and stand to leave. Something about the way she looks at me compels me to walk back to her. I lean down and kiss her and tell myself to leave before I break my promise to myself and end up staying the night.

As I reach the doorway of her bedroom, she calls out to me, "Can I see you again?"

I pause, noticing the way the light reflects off her face. It reminds me of a memory I never had the chance to make, and as much as I know I should, I don't feel like running away. I nod a brief nod. "Yeah."

Without waiting further, I make my way out of her apartment, willing myself to not look back. As I step out into the cool California winter night, I pull my coat closed across my chest and wrap my arms around myself. A slight breeze blows the marine mist up from the ocean and I take a deep breath. Unlike New York, it's quiet here. The only sounds that penetrate my thoughts are the crashing waves to my right and a siren in the distance. It's different here. I'm different here. A piece of newspaper flutters by and I wonder if it feels as lost as I do. And although I've lost myself in this city and in the arms of so many women, I've also found myself. I turn around and take one last look up at the brick building. I see her silhouette in the window against the soft glow of her bedroom and for a fleeting moment I imagine it's you up there.

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American Airlines

Flight 118 - 3 months later

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They told me I was supposed to stay away from New York City. It wasn't safe to try to contact any of my old friends or colleagues. Someone could recognize me. Good luck with that one. I don't even recognize myself when I look in the mirror. Gone are the soft, flowing blonde locks, replaced by shorter brown hair. My once blue eyes are now green. There are a few more lines on my face which has developed harder edges over the years.

I board the plane and make myself comfortable in the leather seat. Real estate agents travel in first class don't they? Oh well, some old habits I'm allowed to keep. As we wait for the rest of the plane to finish boarding, I sit back and look out the window, sipping my orange juice and champagne. My neighbor is an older Asian woman probably in her fifties or sixties. She's sharply dressed in a cream-colored suit, her hair perfect and her perfume is distinct yet subtle.

As her delicate fingers massage lotion into her hands, she gives me a pleasant smile. I return the smile just as my cell phone starts ringing.

"Alex McKenzie," I answer.

"Hi," the soft voice greets me and instinctively I smile as I greet her in return. She does that to me. I tried to fight it at first, but she grew on me, and who would have thought that three months later, she's the one bringing a smile to my face. For the longest time, only two voices could do that to me – Trevor's and Olivia's. I haven't heard those voices in over a year, since the resurrection of Alexandra Cabot.

"I was wondering, maybe if you didn't have any plans tonight we could go for dinner?" she asks hesitantly. Although we fell into bed after our first meeting, she's still shy when she asks me out.

"Actually, I'm heading out of town today," I cringe internally. I tell myself that I'm not lying to her. I'm just not telling her the entire truth. "I'm on the plane right now."

"Oh," She replies. I can hear the disappointment in her voice even though she's trying to hide it. "I didn't realize you were going away."

Of course she doesn't know, because I didn't tell her. It's not like we're an official couple. Sure we've slept together a few times and have gone out on a few dates, but it's not like we answer to each other. She's not my girlfriend and I'm not hers. I don't do girlfriends. The last time I was in a committed relationship, I had found myself falling for someone else. So why tie myself down?

I've been given not a second, but a third chance for a new life. Why not make the most of it? In Wisconsin, I fell into my pattern of caring what other people thought and dated a man. This time, I realized that even if I was lying to other people about who Alex McKenzie was, I couldn't lie to myself about who I was.

"It was last minute," I tell her. Okay, so that one was a lie. "I'll be back at the end of the week." Somehow I felt like I owed her at least that much.

"Do you need a ride from the airport when you get back?" she asks, sounding hopeful.

"It's okay, I can just grab a cab. No need for you to fight through the traffic at LAX."

"Ok," she answered, knowing not to push further.

"Cori? I'll call you later, okay?" I offer in hopes of not pushing her away.

"Ok," she replies. "Have a safe trip."

"Thanks," I answer. "Bye"

I hang up the phone and turn it off. My neighbor catches my eye and I see her smile. I smile back, and for some reason, feel like I should explain myself. Growing up with my mother meant explaining myself and my actions almost on a daily basis. But unlike my dealings with my mother, I don't feel compelled to explain myself to justify my actions but rather to share with another person the feelings and thoughts that I've hid for far too long.

"He's going to miss you," she says simply as she sits back in her seat and closes her eyes. Her voice is gentle and soft with a hint of an accent that's seems to have been buried by years of formal English education.

I open my mouth to reply but stop short. A multitude of responses scatter around in my brain and I don't know which one to pick. Then it hits me and I reply with what Alexandra Cabot would never say but Alex McKenzie would.

"She...will be fine." I look at her to gauge her reaction, ready to see shock and disapproval.

"She wants to pick you up when you return," she says, her face not changing expression. "I'd say she misses you already."

"How did you know?" I ask, surprised that this stranger knew what Cori had asked me.

"I apologize, I over heard your half of the conversation," she replies, opening her eyes to look at me with a small smile.

"It's not serious or anything," I start to rationalize. "We've only been out a few times."

"It doesn't mean she won't miss you," she says, the smile still intact.

Then her face grows solemn. "I apologize, it's none of my business."

"It's okay," I accept her apology and extend my hand. "Alex McKenzie."

Her smile grows wider as she shakes my hand. "Linh Nguyen."

"So what takes you to New York?" I ask in hopes of shifting the conversation to lighter topics.

"I'm going to visit my daughter," she answers. "She wants to introduce me to her girlfriend."

"I see," I reply, quite surprised at the fact that she seems to be taking it all in stride.

"You're surprised that I'm not upset about meeting my daughter's girlfriend," she says, looking at me, her head slightly cocked to one side.

"I admit that I am." I hope my embarrassment doesn't slide into my tone. "It would also explain why you weren't surprised about my situation."

"My brothers and sisters married for money and status," she began to explain. "I married for love. Thirty years later, I can't say that my siblings have been as blessed with the kind of marriage that I had the pleasure of enjoying. I'm proud to say that I've been able to pass on my romantic ideals to my daughter."

"Your daughter is very lucky to have a mother like you," I tell her, wondering if my mother would've been as accepting.

"Thank you," she says, smiling, giving my hand a pat and gentle squeeze.

She looks at me with a slightly more serious look on her face and strikes a chord deep within. "I sense that you are not yet quite comfortable with your situation."

I look away from her eyes and down into my lap, ashamed that a perfect stranger could see through me so well and so quickly.

"I am just becoming comfortable with the knowledge of who I am," I begin. For some unknown reason, I feel safe talking to this stranger about my feelings. I guess after all these years they were bound to find an outlet. "I just feel as though I'm betraying someone."

She gives me an understanding smile instead of becoming judgemental. "I see. You're going to New York to see someone else."

I nod. "Circumstances beyond my control took me away from New York. I just want to see that she's okay."

"She doesn't know you're coming."

I shake my head.

"Are you in love with her?"

I give a nod, not trusting my own voice. I swallow hard. "But we never had the chance to develop anything before I left." For some reason, I found myself wanting to tell this stranger all the things I could not tell anyone since the day I realized that I was in love with Olivia Benson. "Her girlfriend had walked out on her and I was involved with someone else," I began as the memories flooded my mind and I could see it all clearly as if it happened only yesterday...

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End of Part I

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