Charlie
Summary: You never
know what will happen when you reach out and help someone.
Disclaimer: nothing is
mine. Except this orange juice. Mmm…juicy.
a/n: let's say set in
the fourth season. part 1/2
"Hiya Charlie," Olivia said as she entered her apartment, "anything good on?"
"Nah, I'm watching Dawson's Creek 'til Crossing Jordan comes on."
"Ugh, Dawson's Creek?" Liv laughed, "How can you watch that rubbish?"
"Rubbish?"
"Sorry. It's the English equivalent of-"
"Enough about these English people!" she'd heard about nothing but these English nuts for the past week. "Are they ever going to go home?"
"Better not as long as we suspect them of the running that club for pedophiles. We're so close…" Liv's voice trailed off as she went into the kitchen, ostensibly for a beer, but really for a moment to count to ten. Living with Charlie could be a little more than frustrating. She was just so closed-minded when it came to foreigners, among other things.
"Okay, well, just stop picking up their little idiosyncrasies, okay?" Charlie yelled at the kitchen.
"What do you mean?" Liv said patiently, coming back in with a beer. She sat down on the couch next to her for-the-moment roommate.
"You pick up all their little dialect ticks, like 'rubbish' and 'plait' and 'heaps'."
"Now, 'heaps' was from that New Zealander."
"Whatever, same thing. You're just like a friend I had in middle school. She had this English girl staying at her home, and after a couple days, she was using all these crazy words. And after two weeks she'd even developed a bit of an accent."
"Developed? Sounds like you think that's a bad thing."
"No…not really. It just bothered me."
"And now it's bothering you again."
"I just, I didn't know what she was saying all the time. That bothered me." They were both silent for a bit.
"Why aren't you still friends with that girl from middle school?"
"She moved away."
"And?"
"And cuz she wouldn't stop talking funny."
"Sometimes you're very strange." Liv decided to let it go; she didn't feel like a full out fight with this girl right now. But damned if she wasn't taking Charlie out to expose her to some other cultures. Tuning out the TV, she considered the teenager sitting next to her. Charlie was a good girl, certainly with a different philosophy than Liv, but still a bright girl. She was reasonably well-read; she'd gone to good schools. But when her rebellion struck at 15, it had hit hard. Charlie had fallen in with the wrong crowd, got into drugs and either dropped out or got kicked out of school, that part wasn't clear. The next part of the story changed depending on Charlie's mood, swinging from waitressing to prostitution, but she'd eventually ended up on a bizarre road trip that took her from Denver all the way into a tree in New York City.
Olivia had gotten involved by accident. She'd been in the waiting room, waiting for her turn to speak with a rape victim. Charlie was three chairs over, obviously young and pregnant, and crying her heart out. Olivia couldn't help herself,
"Here," she offered the girl a box of tissues.
"Thanks," the girl managed, then wiped her face down and blew her nose. Liv pulled a garbage can over as she sat.
"Is the baby okay?" The girl nodded.
"Doctor says he's fine." Liv relaxed just a bit.
"Why are you here?" Up close, the girl had many little cuts and scratches on her; she had stitches on her forehead.
"I was in a car accident. Brandon, he …he drove us into a tree." Millions of questions wanted to escape Liv all at once, but she kept herself calm,
"Why did he do that?"
"He was mad at me. It was my fault."
"Why was it your fault?"
"I was flirting with the waiter; and I was doing it on purpose. It was just to get back at him for going to that strip club," the girl's eyes begged with Olivia to understand, "When we came out of the restaurant Brandon asked me if I'd had fun making a fool out of him. I got angry, and we fought all the way back to the car. We were still fighting when all of a sudden he just turned the car and ran into a tree. And now he's going to die! And it's my fault! If only I hadn't-" she started to sob anew.
"Shhhh, it's okay. The accident wasn't your fault." Liv rubbed the girl's back.
"Yes it was! If I hadn't gotten him angry he wouldn't have driven into that tree."
"Do you grab the wheel and turn the car into the tree?"
"No."
"No, you didn't. It was Brandon who was driving, and it was Brandon who lost control and it was Brandon who drove you both into that tree. It's Brandon's fault that he's in the hospital, not yours."
"But…"
"No buts."
The girl's crying had slowed; Liv continued rubbing circles on her back. Both were silent for a while.
"What's your name?"
"Charlie. Well, Charlotte, but call me Charlie." Liv smiled at her as a man approached.
"Ms. Benson, your patient is ready." Liv thanked the nurse.
"Your patient? You're a doctor?"
"No, I'm a cop, Special Victims. Here," Liv handed her a couple of cards, "this is my card, call if you need anything. And these are numbers you can call if you need some support. I have to leave you now. Are you going to be okay?"
"I'm
a little better now. Thanks." Charlie gave her a small smile.
Later that week, Liv had been having a nice, quiet evening at home for once when there was a buzz at the door.
"Who is it?" she asked over the intercom.
"Um, Ms. Benson? It's Charlie, I'm not sure if you remember me...from the hospital?"
"Of course I remember you."
"Oh good." Charlie didn't say anything else.
"You still there Charlie?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Do you want to come up?"
"Yes, but I need help."
"Um, okay. I'll be right down."
Liv had found Charlie smiling hesitantly in the building's foyer, along with a large suitcase.
"The doctor said I can't lift anything too heavy right now. You don't have an elevator, do you?"
"No, I don't. Why do you have a suitcase?" Charlie looked away,
"His family turned me away and left, said they had no place for his whore." Charlie started to cry. Liv took a deep breath and dove in,
"Come
on, it's only three floors up."