A/N: I know writing in 1st person with some of these stories makes them less appealing - however, it's the only way I am familiar. And before anyone asks - yes this is a revamp of a previous story. It wasn't going in the direction I had anticipated, and I grew to dislike it. Lastly: I will not quote the episodes verbatim. Ain't nobody got time for that. Without further adieu -
I stared at the end of the hospital as the detective continued to ask me questions. I didn't hear anything she was saying, however. What was her name? I tilted my head, trying to focus back on the person before me and her words - nothing was processing, unfortunately.
At least, not until she mentioned my baby.
Baby. My baby. I never thought in a million years I would ever become a mother. And at sixteen? It made me even more nauseous. But - that was why I was here. To get away from ... the old me. To build myself anew for myself as well as my unborn child.
I could handle anything, so long as my child was in my life.
But - why was the woman before me panicking? Why was she pulling my blankets back - what was that red liquid all over the bed?
What's wrong with my baby?
I sat up in a cold sweat, shaking, bile forming in my throat. I haven't run so quickly since technical school, when I played on ASA College's (unofficial) baseball team. Wretching into the toilet, I would rest my forehead on the cool toilet lid, closing my eyes.
Every year, around my daughter's, Seraphina, birthday, I had this terrible recollection of the events that had led me to ... what I like to describe as my rebirth.
Escape sounded too negative. And no one knew how to respond when you bring up something like that in such a manner, so they tended to leave you alone.
Well, since I'm up ... I would push myself off the ground and clean myself, taking a quick shower and donning something light - a blue blouse, khaki pants, black dress shoes (that had a little wear and tear; maybe it was time to get some new ones?)
I would put my long, red hair into a bun, as I always did, and strolled into the kitchen next, beginning my daily routine of making my kids breakfast.
Seraphina Elise was turning thirteen this year; it was strange that only thirteen years ago I was just some sixteen year old with no direction except (technically) up. But I wouldn't trade those thirteen years for anything. Then, after meeting my closest friend and (recent) husband of five years, Joseph while getting through school and working in Macy's together, Ezekial James came into our lives. But - not by me.
Joseph had been briefly involved with another woman right before we had met (and to say that our engagement was short would be quite the understatement). They had a child together, but she openly admitted to not having interest in her baby - right after having him, and right after Joe and I first started getting acquainted. So - she contacted Joe.
And to speed along the adoption process, we decided shortly after meeting one another that it would be best if we were married. We were already living together, anyway, mostly for convenience, since cost of living sucked.
Our whole family dynamic was screwed up, and would take ... too long to explain.
But here I was, making breakfast for the only family I had ever known.
"You're up, Cossie," stated Joe, using that wretched nickname of my actual name, Cosette, pulling me out of my reverie. I jumped at the sound of his voice and glanced up, seeing him before me on the other side of the island within our kitchen. He had just come home from a run, his dark skin glistening with sweat, and I supposed I had not heard him walking through the door.
"Ah - yes." I smiled sheepishly, chagrin filling me at my own foolishness. "I ... woke up for a little while and wasn't able to get back to sleep. So ..." As I proceeded to pour him a cup of fresh coffee and hand it to him, no cream, no sugar.
Just how did people drink it like that?
He wiped the top of his buzzed head and hands with an old dish towel before reaching for the cup, nodding in gratitude. "Did you want to take the kids to school today? I know that you said you had to be at the station early."
"I can do it - I don't see them a whole lot these days, anyway."
It was true. Olivia had caught quite the case - one of celebrity proportions - so we were working earlier and staying later than normal. But that was fine; it was the job I'd chosen for myself, after all.
I had been a Criminal Justice major (only graduating with my associate's, but it was better than nothing), mostly going in to understand my rights as a single parent - and coming out with an apsiration for a career. I had started working in the courthouse, mostly doing the knitty-gritty dirty work as a regular associate before bumping up just after I got my degree. Unfortunately, that promotion didn't last long, as I'd signed up to join the police academy in the middle of my going to school.
And finally being accepted.
After the rigorous training, after jumping through several hoops, I'd gotten through the Academy and started on a smaller precinct. I mostly helped with domestic violence cases, and did that for a couple of years before requesting for a transfer closer to Seraphina's school and my second job at Macy's. This was also around the time that I'd met Joe.
My life pretty much moved in fast-forward, moving up in the ranks - mostly due to my dependability and ability to relate to the victims - right up to the title detective.
I was happy, of course ... but around the time I'd started, a lot of changes were going on there, as well.
Story of my life, it seemed.
And a story for another day.
First my four year old son came running in, his dark gold hair bouncing in tight curls as he first tackled his father's waist, then came crashing toward me. I picked him up in my left arm with ease, clearly used to multi-tasking as I finished up buttering up everyone's toast, and scooping up eggs from the large skillet onto the everyone's designated plates.
Also one annoying quality in a general household and mothering those particular people for too long - knowing their mannerisms too well.
"Want salt and pepper?" I asked Zeke, already handing the small shakers to Joe for him to season up his own meal. The young boy shook his head, and I would narrow my eyes a bit in response. "I didn't hear that."
"No thanks," he would mutter, wiggling to indicate he now wanted down from my hold, grabbing his plastic Dora-quad plate and taking it to his side of the dining table.
The morning pretty much went on as expected. Getting the kids ready, fighting with my daughter about wearing her school uniform more appropriate - "I know how long it's supposed to be, Seraphina. Pull your skirt down!" - and eventually getting to work with twenty minutes to spare.
"You're late, Jackson" said Captain Harris, grimacing at me.
"Pardon?" I huffed, placing my light jacket over my chair; I wasn't even sure why I brought the thing. It was too warm for it, anyway. "I'm actually early."
The taller man would shrug, gesturing for me to head into his office. I would follow dutifully, walking in to see that the others were already waiting, talking.
"About time. Enjoy your beauty sleep?" jibed Odafin "Fin" Tutoala. When I'd first started at the Special Victim's Unit, right before Olivia's old partner, Elliot, had put in for leave, he'd been even more of a jokester.
On the verge of being outright mean. He'd seemed to ease up, though, after Stabler had left. But - he'd worked with him for quite some time, too, I knew. The loss probably sombered him up.
As horrible as it sounded, I was appreciative.
"You know what it's like getting a teenager up for school," I threw back, rolling my eyes. "I'm surprised I made it here at all. "
"Alright, alright," Harris said, in an attempt to revert our attention back to him. To be frank, none of us particularly cared about listening to him. Our other Captain, Donald Cragen, was out due to a crappy, underhanded investigation. And though he was found innocent and lifted of the charges that had been placed against him, he was still deemed not fit for duty.
A real crock of crap. But - what could we do?
"Olivia, you have the floor."
We all dubiously turned to Benson. Between her and Fin, we respectfully listened to them when they "had the floor", as Harris eloquently put it.
"We're not getting anywhere with Jocelyn Paley," she stated, making my heart sink in my chest. Jocelyn was a high profile case thanks to her novel, Twenty-Five Acts, a pseudo-erotica piece riddled with BDSM.
I had yet to read the masterpiece.
Even considering the contents of her book, none of us believed she deserved what had happened to her: a celebrity host, Adam Cain, had attacked her not once, but twice. One time of which happened within an elevator with a security camera. And the first time, he'd left several harsh marks on her, though at her initial outry denied anything had happened to her.
With all these facts lined in a row, Cain continued to deny that he'd hurt Jocelyn in anyway, saying - as they all did - that she had consented to brutal, rough sex. None of us were buying it.
"We need a warrant -" Liv had continued, but Fin chimed in.
"I don't see how we're getting one, considering Delia Wilson had started naming names." He wasn't wrong. In regards to the investigation that had framed our Captain and left him on an unexplained leave, one of the suspects had started calling out people - elected and judicial officials, officers, et cetera - who were involved in her messed up human trafficking ring. Which left us kind of high and dry as far as an ADA.
"Actually - there is someone," Captain Harris began, reverting our attention back to him (reluctantly). "Rafael Barba."
"Oh yeah," said Amanda. "He was the one who got those two Johns for raping that prostitute."
"Yeah, I thought he was in Brooklyn," Olivia added, looking skeptical - as we all did when Steve Harris spoke.
"Yeah - he took a lateral to Manhattan. The guy's got big brass -" A pause as he assessed his words again. "- ego."
"Alright," I finally said, a hand on my hip, "So, when do we get to meet him?"
"How about right now?" As Harris collected his jacket and keys. "Benson, Rollins, Jackson - you ladies come with me. Munch, Fin: dig up some more dirt on Cain - but tread lightly."
"And what, do I get to read the masterpiece?" joked Nick Amaro, one of two newer detectives. But his smirk would turn into a deep frown when Harris thrust the book into his face.
"We need someone to learn the ins-and-outs of this thing. No surprises when it comes to trial. And - learn of its origins. Who inspired the book? Maybe we'll get a better idea of our victim." With that, Harris headed toward the elevators, Liv, Amanda and I in tow.
Big brass ego, huh? I thought to myself, leaning against the cold wall of the elavator as we desecended. That's quite the description.
A/N: I know it's relatively similar to the older one, and slow coming still, but this is a better fit for how I anticipate the story to play out than the old version. Just stick with me here, it'll elevate, promise.