If you follow me on social media, this will look familiar from my tumblr post. I just decided to put it here, too. I don't know why I always think about Carisi and Liv's relationship, and this sort of scenario in particular. Or why they failed to bring up the similarities between the Yates case and the Lewis case. Anyway. Here's this little peek into the inner workings of my mind. Enjoy!
"Hey, Sarge," you peek up from behind your glasses to find Carisi poking around the doorway of your office. He's wearing that look - the one he wears when he's thinking too deep into something - and you immediately regret not locking the door.
"What is it?" You sigh, positive that you are not in the mood for whatever words of infinite wisdom are about to come out of his mouth. This suspicion is doubled when he furrows his brow at you, stepping further into your office.
"Is… everything okay?" He closes the door behind him, and it takes every ounce of strength not to slide out of your chair and curl up on the floor beneath your desk. You roll your eyes up to the ceiling before letting them fall shut entirely.
"I'm fine, Carisi, what do you need?"
"Well, I was just going to ask about…" He wanders off the path again, giving you an appraising look that makes you want to punch him in the face, "Wait, are you sure you're okay?"
"Is Fordham Nights offering psychology degrees now?" You bite, wincing at the hardness in your tone. But he doesn't seem to take much of the blow. It occurs to you that he's probably used to these types of jabs around here by now.
"No, it's just…" he tries to explain, "We've - I've - noticed you've been a little…"
You shoot him a look that warns to choose his next words carefully.
" - distracted, is all."
You almost snort at the gross understatement.
"If you haven't noticed, I do have a bit much on my plate," you dodge, hoping the explanation will be enough to keep his questions at bay. But of course, this is Dominic Empathic Carisi Jr. and he seems to have a lifelong goal of seeing how far he can get his foot down his throat.
"Yeah, I get that," he nods, putting his hands in his pockets, "And I know you were real close with Amaro and everything, so it sucks that he's gone now. But, hey, we've still got your back out here. Just so you know."
You blink, a little taken aback by the moment of softness.
"I know," you try for a smile, suspecting it looks as convincing as it feels, "Thanks, Carisi."
When he turns to leave (forgetting about whatever original intention brought him to your office - not that you're going to stop him), you think you've managed a win. But when he gets to the door, he speaks without turning around, his voice a notch lower than you've ever heard it.
"It's that Lewis bastard, isn't it?"
You swear you feel your throat swell shut. It's a few seconds before you can manage to swallow back the lump, and even then, you don't speak.
"I'm sorry," he turns back to you, eyes sincere, "I don't meant to overstep, I swear. I don't mean any disrespect. I just… Well it was in the newspapers a lot, you know, before I joined the squad…"
He's rambling now, nervous, and you're happy to cut him off.
"Yes, thank you, I remember," you avert your eyes to the side, heart still thudding lightly against your ribs at the unanticipated mention. You try and quash the part of your brain that tells you how pathetic you are for still tensing up at the name.
"Right. Well. I noticed this thing with Yates… I guess I can see where these cases might bring back some stuff for you."
Images of the corroded bodies from the beach flood your mind, along with sheet after sheet of medical examinations. It had been everything all at once - complete overload. Faded indications of third degree burns, evidence of sexual assault so violent that it could be indicated even after all this time. What haunts you most are the dismembered pieces that brought you back to seeing Nadia's body in the cold ground, and the knowledge that this could have just as easily been your fate.
But you're keeping it concealed. Keeping your gates closed, because you have to. You don't have a choice. You're a sergeant and you're a mother, and you can't let yourself show one little crack, because you know. You know how those misleading little faults in the glass can spiderweb out so quickly, sending you shattering into a million pieces at the drop of a dime. And quite frankly, you don't have time for all that.
When you regain access to oxygen, you inhale deeply, and as you exhale you slide off your glasses, running a hand through your hair.
"I guess you could say that," you admit, surprised at your own candor. Perhaps the night is simply too late for pretense. Perhaps the road is too coarse to ignore cracks in the windshield.
"I'm really sorry that happened to you, Sarge," he tells you, hands still dangling from his pockets, and you think it's the most serious look you've ever seen on him.
"I can only imagine what the guys at your last station said when they transferred you over here," you chuckle after a few moments of silence, but the light falls away from your eyes, "They were probably laughing their asses off, sending you over to the crazy PTSD broad and her three ring circus show over here."
He waves you off. "Aw, come on, you guys aren't -"
"Trust me," you interrupt, "You came in at a good time. We… had an interesting year. Things were just starting to settle down when you came in."
The second the words leave your mouth, you think of the hospital stays with Noah, the showdown with Rollins' old chief, the shooting that left one of their key members retired, and you see he's thinking the same thing.
"Hold on, you're saying this was the calm version of an average year?"
You can't help it, your face cracks into a smile.
"Welcome to SVU."
Part of him looks genuinely stressed, and you can't help but chuckle at the innocence. He has so much to learn.
"Just when I thought I was getting the hang of it," he shakes his head.
"Just for the record," she corrects him, "You are. You're getting there. It's a tough job, but you're doing it. It takes someone special."
She swears she almost sees him blush as he fidgets with the button on his sleeve. He nods a smile at you and heads for the door, but then he turns around once more.
"Hey, Sarge, just for the record - I never saw you as the 'crazy PTSD broad,'" he pulls his lips into a half smile, "And if those other guys who transferred me thought that was funny? Tell them to keep laughing. Out of four boroughs, you're the only commanding officer who was able to whip my sorry butt into shape."
Your heart genuinely warms, and it hits you in that moment - how much this kid really has grown on you.
"Thanks, Sonny. That means a lot," you say, "Oh. And what was it you came in here for again?"
"Oh," his eyes widen at the reminder, face going serious, "Yeah. Rollins is out there feeling all nauseous again and, I'm not a doctor or anything, but I think I might be starting to catch whatever she's been fighting. Will you feel my forehead?"