Disclaimers: I own nothing, I have no rights to the characters. As much as it saddens me, it's true...

Hope you like... I've kept to Olivia, again, but I writing something from another character soon. It's just easier to write her for now.

The bar was dark enough to be mysterious and private, yet lively enough to regularly attract large groups wanting to party or unwind. Right now, I was seeking the mysterious and private aspect of the bar. I was sitting on a stool near the further right corner of the bar where, if I really wanted to, I could see everyone in this place, but at first glance, I wouldn't be seen.

Now, it's not that I was hiding exactly, I had just chosen a bar far from the regular cop bars, and I had chosen a secluded part of the bar so I wouldn't be bothered. Or, well, that's what I keep telling myself when I'm not dwelling on today's events. I'm sitting here, with my jacket on the back of my chair, my second tequila shot between my hands and I can't will myself to sit up straight. The bartender glances at me for the umpteenth time since I got here about two hours ago. I think it's probably because I only spoke to him to order a shot of tequila, and then another, and even then I kept from making eye contact. Maybe it's the gun on my hip.

Which ever it is, his glances aren't as annoying as the concern of my squad members. You see, it's not everyday you kill a serial rapist on the job. It's not everyday that IAB suggests maybe you did it out of some wrongly placed sense of guilt, and not because the rapist was actually going to attack you. Sure, I've been debating my own actions, because when Mary first came to report her rape, I refused to believe her out of some stupid belief I must have had back then. So, when her corpse was found 2 weeks ago, and evidence that she had been tortured since the time she came to me asking for help; it's true, I felt guilty. I questioned my abilities, hell, I almost asked to be taken off the case after I had the dream about killing Ben Spark. That's his name; Ben Spark. I should say, was his name, but it's not like I'm going to forget that fact anytime soon, so why remind myself now?

IAB interrogations are inevitable, and I expected it. The fact that I would be severely considered to have acted without being attacked first, however, really caught me off guard. I knew I had Elliot's testimony, and Cragen would surely back me up, but at the same time, I felt like everything I stood for was being questioned. That lieutenant stood over me, smug, as I recounted the events leading up to the part that Ben had raised his gun at me and cocked it, and after I said I had been practically forced to shoot him, he asked me what it had felt like. I didn't understand it for a second, so I asked him what he meant. He said, "Did it feel like vengeance, or did it feel like duty?" I knew what I had to say, and I said it; and I meant it too. I looked at him square in the eyes and I said, "It felt like what I had to do to save myself and my partner."

My hands are shaking. I know that, because I have been staring at my hands without moving for the past half hour. But I know that thinking about that interrogation isn't helping. After I answered that, Lieutenant Smart-ass said I could go, and I had gone back to my desk. Everyone had asked how it went, assured me everything was fine, and said I had done the right thing. That's when I had enough, and I told Cragen I had to take off a little early. Because it was Elliot, and his damn near psychic brain, who told me it as the right thing to do. He knew that's what was bugging me without having to ask me, and the fact that he spoke the words aloud, made me realize I had lied to Lieutenant Annoying.

Shooting Ben to protect myself and Elliot had felt more like the teetering balance between right and wrong; black and white, than duty. Black was the vengeance I had felt after I had done it, but white was the duty I had felt to protect my partner and up hold the law before I toke the shot.

Actually, it felt like what was wrong with the balance between black and white. My self sense of vengeance and fulfillment should be totally innate, and I should only feel the cold and unwavering truth and absolution that comes with my badge. The law comes down to right or wrong, therefore, black or white. Everything else in life is too. You are either, male or female, tall or short, civilian or cop; everything is supposed to be clear cut and easily categorized.

But vengeance and duty aren't supposed to go on the same scale; let alone on my scale, in my thoughts. I'm supposed to protect the victim, lock away the perps. Kill only when trying to be killed, protect and always serve. So, yes, I did kill because of my duty, and because the law mandates I can take a life if my partner's and my life are in imminent danger. But did it feel like vengeance? Yes, on some level, it did. And I'm sitting at this bar because of that weird and dirty feeling that it brings up, and trying to forget that when I saw Ben doing down, pain and damnation in his eyes, I felt a sense of accomplishment; a sense of something close to resembling joy and triumph.

I down my tequila shot and leave my eyes closed while I feel it traveling down my throat, savoring the sensation of the liquid forgiver of sins, forgiver of actions and thoughts. "Hey, hey, bring me another of these." I tap on my glass getting the bartender's attention. He glances over me, trying to gauge how well I can hold down my liquor. "Are you going to drive home officer?" His eyes settle on my badge for a second longer than necessary, and he gives me a knowing smirk. "That's detective, and no. Now, get me another will ya'?" I give him my nicest, innocent smile, and I see as it slightly crumbles his decision to slow my drinking down.

He puts the tequila shot in front of me and starts cleaning the area near me. God help him, he wants to chit chat. "So, I'm guessing rough case?" There it is; the beginning of annoying conversation. "Yeah, pretty much rough everything." I might as well get a minimal amount of baggage off my shoulders. He makes small talk for a little longer, and when I don't give him anything really sustainable, he drifts away. The third shot is down shortly after his departure, but even though I want another, I'm in no hurry to have him back here.

The bar seemed like a really good idea in the beginning, because I didn't want to talk, I didn't want to face my feelings; I really didn't want to deal either. I wanted the absolution of my thoughts, and I didn't want anyone questioning me. That was then however, and now I want someone familiar; someone to keep me company, but not ask too many questions. Elliot is out of the question, because he would badger me into telling him what's wrong. Casey too for that matter, and I knew Fin was busy visiting his son tonight. Munch was probably available, but, I don't know, something felt off about calling him. The only one left was the captain, and I don't know if I want to go down that path.

I wasn't doing anything wrong by having a few drinks, and I didn't really have to tell him anything about my feelings, because we were out of the office. But I still, it would feel like he's my boss, and he shouldn't see this side of me. Deep down, I knew who I had to call, and I really hated myself for it.

We didn't have the kind of relationship that you tell each other things because you want them to know you better. It was more like, even though you didn't want to know, you know they know you better than you ever thought they would. Woah, I have to stop thinking in circles; the tequila is not helping. Well, the point is, we're friends, and I trust him, and I know he'll understand, somehow, without me saying a whole lot, but at the same time, I'm scared of calling him. I'm scared of his understanding and the way he knows how I think. I don't like to tell him too many details, because... he would understand, and I think that scares me.

I fumble with my cell phone in my right hand, and I open it staring at the screen. Taking a deep breath, I press 6 on my speed dial.

"Hello?"

So... who did she call? How does he know her even though she doesn't like revealing things to him? Why wouldn't she like to tell him things if he's her friend? Does he work with her?

Who knows...? Well, I do. So review, and I'll update soon.