Ava Cabot
Jinx
A Law and Order: SVU fic
Disclaimer: I would never pretend to own anything except the plot.
A/N 1: Read Gypsy Girl first.
----
The outfit for my first day as a new Assistant District Attorney had been picked out for days. Carefully I dressed, remembering my father's wise words that first impressions were always important.
The morning of my debut, so to say, dawned early. It was like starting the first day of school after a long and restless summer. The dream of vacation was done, and the morning of the real deal was here. It was Wednesday, October 8, and I was ready to meet my first day.
Passing the bar exam the first time around had been the previous highlight of my life. Receiving my promotion from Arthur Branch himself was a step up in my life.
What scared me more was who I was replacing.
It wasn't as if the job had been offered to me on a silver platter. I had been working hard in the DA's office for years, under one of the toughest bosses, Arthur Branch. I never caught any breaks—then again, I didn't expect any.
No one knew my personal history, and even if they did, I didn't expect anything of it. No pity, sympathy, or compassion. I wouldn't use my sad story as an excuse for anyone to feel that way about me, or my legal career.
My story made me stronger, and gave me a thicker skin in some ways. Most people think I'm mousy and fragile, unable to take even the slightest bit of criticism. I'll be sure to prove them wrong. I won't let anyone, especially myself, down.
What intrigues me now are the detectives I'll be working with. I've never met them before, but I feel like I know them already, after all the information I've heard through the legal grapevine.
There are four of them, five counting their captain. One woman, three men. They have Olivia Benson, the startlingly beautiful female, with the most compassion of the four. Her partner, Elliot Stabler is a good father with a wife, four kids, and an ax to grind, so it seems. Odafin Tutuola remains the hardcore detective, transferred over from Narcotics years ago. His partner, John Munch, is not only the oldest, but retains a harsh sense of cynicism and scorn. The rumor mill supplied that the death of Alex Cabot hit all four of them equally hard. None of them were over it. No one doubted that they would never recover.
I know that I'm being watched every second that I'm here. People expect me to do poorly and fall back down quietly, returning to the small legal place that I came from.
But I was determined to prove them all wrong.
They call me ADA Novak or just Casey now. My father now proudly boasts to his buddies that my full title is Assistant District Attorney Cassarah Magdelena Novak. That, of course, wouldn't fit on my office-door plaque. It's nice to have some respect around the DA's office now.
I know what they all really want to call me, though: The Incompetent One.
Now, gazing around my new office with a careful eye, I wonder what it will be like to spend years here. I was taking the place of a murdered ADA. Suddenly, it was as if a curse had settled over the position and me.
I had expected many more people to have had a keen eye on Alexandra Cabot's job. But when I was told that I had been the only candidate, a sense of pride and dread settled over me.
'You'll be fine,' Arthur Branch had reassuringly told me. 'Alex's shoes may be big and her win ratio large, but you're ideal replacement, now.'
I know he was trying to be diplomatic, but his words put me in a very awkward position. I was now being portrayed not as Casey Novak, but the person chosen to replace the beloved ADA Cabot. I wasn't her successor—I was her dreaded replacement.
It was definitely not an ideal situation.
Sometimes I wonder that I wouldn't have been as strongly disliked, had the person I was replacing hadn't been murdered and so well loved. Maybe I wouldn't be panicking to whether or not the detectives I was working with would hate or accept me.
I had heard how much Alex meant to Manhattan SVU. Those associated with the borough remained close, staying within close-knit circles. They could understand each other when no one else could.
I was relieved to know that I wasn't taking Alex's office as my new one. That would have been almost frightening—working out of a dead woman's office. I've passed it many times, everything still nearly intact. People around here were careful not to touch or move anything, lest the wrath of the 1-6 be brought down on them. Those four detectives were still fiercely protective of her memory, and couldn't let go. No one blamed them for that.
Pictures of her and the detectives covered the walls, lining up along shelves of thick, dusty books. Nothing had been touched—everything was still preserved. It was as if the detectives, and everyone in the office, were expecting her to miraculously turn up the next day, and resume her duties. That would consequently kick me out of her position, and everything would go back to the way it was before.
It was frustrating that I was never taken seriously.
I fought hard to be in the position I was promoted to, and now I'm toeing the line of confrontational fear. I shouldn't have lied to my father when he called this morning. He asked if I was okay—if I needed to talk before I headed into the office. Being the spineless creature I am, I lied. I lied to my own father, speaking bravely when I was trembling on the other line.
He asked me if I wanted to come over later and tell him about my day. One of his children visits him daily, since we all live within decent driving distance of our old home in Queens. Today was supposed to be my turn.
But that wasn't at the front of my mind, as I approached the Wolcott apartment, that the detectives were poring over. I flashed my ADA badge at the doorman, starting to explain that I was here to investigate a recent murder. He politely replied that two detectives were already upstairs, and he would buzz me up in a moment.
Nervously I rode the elevator up, pondering exactly how I would present myself. I didn't know what they looked like, or how they react to me. I wasn't sure if they would gratefully accept my help, or toss me out into the street.
I can already hear their voices upstairs, with two angry detectives questioning a nerve-wrecked female. I assumed the female to be the late Mrs. Wolcott, and by the desperate tone in her voice, I could tell she fervently wanted the detectives out.
"Did your husband ever bring his work home with him?"
"No." The widow sounded shocked, unable to understand what the detective was showing her.
"No? Then what are these?"
"I don't know." She sounded sincerely ignorant.
Bravely, I entered the home, stepping around the CSI unit. "They look like pharmaceuticals to me. If it's in the warrant, bag it."
The female detective stared at me blankly, holding the small bottle tightly. She had to Olivia Benson. "Who the hell are you?"
Her partner, a male that I again presumed to be Elliot Stabler, approached me quickly. "That's our new ADA. Casey Novak, Olivia Benson. Olivia, this is Casey Novak." Apparently, he was in the loop.
His face seemed familiar somehow. "Do I know you?"
"Yeah, shortstop, cop's team. Come here—" He grabbed my arm, maneuvering me over to the side.
"Oh right, didn't recognize you when you weren't covered in my dust." Inside I winced—a smart-ass comment like that wouldn't get me that far.
"That's very good—what are you doing here?"
"It's my case." I tried to sound both proud and convincing that yes, I could handle a tough case.
"It's not your job, we're the detectives." Olivia was clearly pissed.
"And I'm very hands-on. I like to see my cases through from beginning to end."
"Well, things are being handled just fine here." That Elliot, trying to smooth things over between the two of us. I could tell that they already hated me.
"Great. Tell you what, let me take a quick sweep and then we can go over the crime scene together."
"It's already been processed." She wanted me to feel sub superior, like I was a fish in with the sharks.
"Not by me."
The looks of surprise and anger on their faces matched perfectly, as I proceeded to stand my ground strongly. I wasn't going to budge, just because two detectives weren't used to my methods. I needed to be strong—I couldn't let them see that really, I was scared to death.
I don't remember exactly how I made it through the rest of the day. All I remember is moving woodenly, trying not to let their less-then-warm greeting deter me. Everything moved so quickly—one minute I was at the apartment, meeting Detectives Benson and Stabler, and then I was talking to Arthur, ready to hand in the towel.
It was late when I arrived back home, trudging up familiar steps that I spent so much time on. My father was sitting in the living room, his hand resting on the window curtain, watching the outside for me. He looked more tired than usual—I'd have to ask him if he was resting enough.
A retired construction worker was never at ease, as I had come to learn in recent years. My father hadn't wanted to retire, but a recent accident at a site forced him into a quiet leave. He had to walk with a cane now, a sign of his age. Seeing his children was the highlight of his day, and I wanted to make him happy to see me, his youngest.
I tried to force a reassuring smile across my face, stretching the limits of my acting ability in trying to act cheerful. In reality, I was slightly shaken. My first day on the job hadn't been ideal, and I was angry with myself for letting that get to me. I asked myself, where was that brave law student who couldn't wait to make a name for herself in the courtroom? Mentally, I shot down that thought with the notion that I hadn't expected my detectives to nearly loathe me.
My father, seeing me poised to knock at the door, dropped the curtain and scurried over, pushing the screen door open. His wide smile made guilt wash all over me again.
"How's my girl?" he asked, his voice tired and full of expectations. "Did you have a good first day?"
I didn't want to lie to him again. I could stand fibbing to anyone else, except my family. I loved my father fiercely, and knew that he could probably see the truth through my shabbily constructed lies.
But I didn't want to admit, even to him, that I was afraid of the next day, and how it would turn out. I wouldn't tell him that the detectives I would be working with hated me, and that I was ready to quit after one bad day.
My father's eyes sparkled, waiting for an answer. He wanted me to gush about my successes and hopes for tomorrow, so he could have something else to proudly brag about. He treasured everything I did—in his eyes, I could never let him down.
Like the fool I am, I put the false smile back on my face.
"It was okay, Dad."
----
A/N: Ah, the trials of Casey Novak. Well, at least my version. I hope everyone liked the prequel to Gypsy Girl—please review! Constructive criticism is welcome, because I like to know how I can improve in later works. If you smart fans noticed, the middle name I bagged for Casey, Magdelena, is Mariska Hargitay's. Just a little trivia I inserted in the fic. I look forward to writing more Casey stuff in the future. Thanks!
Ava Cabot
Jinx
A Law and Order: SVU fic
Disclaimer: I would never pretend to own anything except the plot.
A/N 1: Read Gypsy Girl first.
----
The outfit for my first day as a new Assistant District Attorney had been picked out for days. Carefully I dressed, remembering my father's wise words that first impressions were always important.
The morning of my debut, so to say, dawned early. It was like starting the first day of school after a long and restless summer. The dream of vacation was done, and the morning of the real deal was here. It was Wednesday, October 8, and I was ready to meet my first day.
Passing the bar exam the first time around had been the previous highlight of my life. Receiving my promotion from Arthur Branch himself was a step up in my life.
What scared me more was who I was replacing.
It wasn't as if the job had been offered to me on a silver platter. I had been working hard in the DA's office for years, under one of the toughest bosses, Arthur Branch. I never caught any breaks—then again, I didn't expect any.
No one knew my personal history, and even if they did, I didn't expect anything of it. No pity, sympathy, or compassion. I wouldn't use my sad story as an excuse for anyone to feel that way about me, or my legal career.
My story made me stronger, and gave me a thicker skin in some ways. Most people think I'm mousy and fragile, unable to take even the slightest bit of criticism. I'll be sure to prove them wrong. I won't let anyone, especially myself, down.
What intrigues me now are the detectives I'll be working with. I've never met them before, but I feel like I know them already, after all the information I've heard through the legal grapevine.
There are four of them, five counting their captain. One woman, three men. They have Olivia Benson, the startlingly beautiful female, with the most compassion of the four. Her partner, Elliot Stabler is a good father with a wife, four kids, and an ax to grind, so it seems. Odafin Tutuola remains the hardcore detective, transferred over from Narcotics years ago. His partner, John Munch, is not only the oldest, but retains a harsh sense of cynicism and scorn. The rumor mill supplied that the death of Alex Cabot hit all four of them equally hard. None of them were over it. No one doubted that they would never recover.
I know that I'm being watched every second that I'm here. People expect me to do poorly and fall back down quietly, returning to the small legal place that I came from.
But I was determined to prove them all wrong.
They call me ADA Novak or just Casey now. My father now proudly boasts to his buddies that my full title is Assistant District Attorney Cassarah Magdelena Novak. That, of course, wouldn't fit on my office-door plaque. It's nice to have some respect around the DA's office now.
I know what they all really want to call me, though: The Incompetent One.
Now, gazing around my new office with a careful eye, I wonder what it will be like to spend years here. I was taking the place of a murdered ADA. Suddenly, it was as if a curse had settled over the position and me.
I had expected many more people to have had a keen eye on Alexandra Cabot's job. But when I was told that I had been the only candidate, a sense of pride and dread settled over me.
'You'll be fine,' Arthur Branch had reassuringly told me. 'Alex's shoes may be big and her win ratio large, but you're ideal replacement, now.'
I know he was trying to be diplomatic, but his words put me in a very awkward position. I was now being portrayed not as Casey Novak, but the person chosen to replace the beloved ADA Cabot. I wasn't her successor—I was her dreaded replacement.
It was definitely not an ideal situation.
Sometimes I wonder that I wouldn't have been as strongly disliked, had the person I was replacing hadn't been murdered and so well loved. Maybe I wouldn't be panicking to whether or not the detectives I was working with would hate or accept me.
I had heard how much Alex meant to Manhattan SVU. Those associated with the borough remained close, staying within close-knit circles. They could understand each other when no one else could.
I was relieved to know that I wasn't taking Alex's office as my new one. That would have been almost frightening—working out of a dead woman's office. I've passed it many times, everything still nearly intact. People around here were careful not to touch or move anything, lest the wrath of the 1-6 be brought down on them. Those four detectives were still fiercely protective of her memory, and couldn't let go. No one blamed them for that.
Pictures of her and the detectives covered the walls, lining up along shelves of thick, dusty books. Nothing had been touched—everything was still preserved. It was as if the detectives, and everyone in the office, were expecting her to miraculously turn up the next day, and resume her duties. That would consequently kick me out of her position, and everything would go back to the way it was before.
It was frustrating that I was never taken seriously.
I fought hard to be in the position I was promoted to, and now I'm toeing the line of confrontational fear. I shouldn't have lied to my father when he called this morning. He asked if I was okay—if I needed to talk before I headed into the office. Being the spineless creature I am, I lied. I lied to my own father, speaking bravely when I was trembling on the other line.
He asked me if I wanted to come over later and tell him about my day. One of his children visits him daily, since we all live within decent driving distance of our old home in Queens. Today was supposed to be my turn.
But that wasn't at the front of my mind, as I approached the Wolcott apartment, that the detectives were poring over. I flashed my ADA badge at the doorman, starting to explain that I was here to investigate a recent murder. He politely replied that two detectives were already upstairs, and he would buzz me up in a moment.
Nervously I rode the elevator up, pondering exactly how I would present myself. I didn't know what they looked like, or how they react to me. I wasn't sure if they would gratefully accept my help, or toss me out into the street.
I can already hear their voices upstairs, with two angry detectives questioning a nerve-wrecked female. I assumed the female to be the late Mrs. Wolcott, and by the desperate tone in her voice, I could tell she fervently wanted the detectives out.
"Did your husband ever bring his work home with him?"
"No." The widow sounded shocked, unable to understand what the detective was showing her.
"No? Then what are these?"
"I don't know." She sounded sincerely ignorant.
Bravely, I entered the home, stepping around the CSI unit. "They look like pharmaceuticals to me. If it's in the warrant, bag it."
The female detective stared at me blankly, holding the small bottle tightly. She had to Olivia Benson. "Who the hell are you?"
Her partner, a male that I again presumed to be Elliot Stabler, approached me quickly. "That's our new ADA. Casey Novak, Olivia Benson. Olivia, this is Casey Novak." Apparently, he was in the loop.
His face seemed familiar somehow. "Do I know you?"
"Yeah, shortstop, cop's team. Come here—" He grabbed my arm, maneuvering me over to the side.
"Oh right, didn't recognize you when you weren't covered in my dust." Inside I winced—a smart-ass comment like that wouldn't get me that far.
"That's very good—what are you doing here?"
"It's my case." I tried to sound both proud and convincing that yes, I could handle a tough case.
"It's not your job, we're the detectives." Olivia was clearly pissed.
"And I'm very hands-on. I like to see my cases through from beginning to end."
"Well, things are being handled just fine here." That Elliot, trying to smooth things over between the two of us. I could tell that they already hated me.
"Great. Tell you what, let me take a quick sweep and then we can go over the crime scene together."
"It's already been processed." She wanted me to feel sub superior, like I was a fish in with the sharks.
"Not by me."
The looks of surprise and anger on their faces matched perfectly, as I proceeded to stand my ground strongly. I wasn't going to budge, just because two detectives weren't used to my methods. I needed to be strong—I couldn't let them see that really, I was scared to death.
I don't remember exactly how I made it through the rest of the day. All I remember is moving woodenly, trying not to let their less-then-warm greeting deter me. Everything moved so quickly—one minute I was at the apartment, meeting Detectives Benson and Stabler, and then I was talking to Arthur, ready to hand in the towel.
It was late when I arrived back home, trudging up familiar steps that I spent so much time on. My father was sitting in the living room, his hand resting on the window curtain, watching the outside for me. He looked more tired than usual—I'd have to ask him if he was resting enough.
A retired construction worker was never at ease, as I had come to learn in recent years. My father hadn't wanted to retire, but a recent accident at a site forced him into a quiet leave. He had to walk with a cane now, a sign of his age. Seeing his children was the highlight of his day, and I wanted to make him happy to see me, his youngest.
I tried to force a reassuring smile across my face, stretching the limits of my acting ability in trying to act cheerful. In reality, I was slightly shaken. My first day on the job hadn't been ideal, and I was angry with myself for letting that get to me. I asked myself, where was that brave law student who couldn't wait to make a name for herself in the courtroom? Mentally, I shot down that thought with the notion that I hadn't expected my detectives to nearly loathe me.
My father, seeing me poised to knock at the door, dropped the curtain and scurried over, pushing the screen door open. His wide smile made guilt wash all over me again.
"How's my girl?" he asked, his voice tired and full of expectations. "Did you have a good first day?"
I didn't want to lie to him again. I could stand fibbing to anyone else, except my family. I loved my father fiercely, and knew that he could probably see the truth through my shabbily constructed lies.
But I didn't want to admit, even to him, that I was afraid of the next day, and how it would turn out. I wouldn't tell him that the detectives I would be working with hated me, and that I was ready to quit after one bad day.
My father's eyes sparkled, waiting for an answer. He wanted me to gush about my successes and hopes for tomorrow, so he could have something else to proudly brag about. He treasured everything I did—in his eyes, I could never let him down.
Like the fool I am, I put the false smile back on my face.
"It was okay, Dad."
----
A/N: Ah, the trials of Casey Novak. Well, at least my version. I hope everyone liked the prequel to Gypsy Girl—please review! Constructive criticism is welcome, because I like to know how I can improve in later works. If you smart fans noticed, the middle name I bagged for Casey, Magdelena, is Mariska Hargitay's. Just a little trivia I inserted in the fic. I look forward to writing more Casey stuff in the future. Thanks!
Ava Cabot