A/N: This is a second short-ish fic (4 chapters total), this time surrounding the events in the episode Ghost-I know, it's been done to death, and for that I apologize. Just filling in some gaps for myself prior to starting the sequel to Homeward Bound. This follows the other short-ish fic, Walking Wounded.

And a huge thanks, most importantly, to MB, who beta'd this and improved it immensely with her comments, questions and input. That said, whatever remains that doesn't work is all on me. Thanks for reading.


-1-

Alex was ready to pack her bags the moment she saw Don Cragen on her doorstep that frigid February afternoon, would gladly board a flight to New York as soon as Hammond could arrange it, no questions asked. When the plain sedan pulled up in her driveway, she'd known that some vestige of her former life would be knocking on her door. She had few friends here, and none of them drove a car that was probably just a Hertz rental, but still somehow managed to look like an unmarked police car.

The arrival of Jack Hammond hadn't been a huge surprise. She rarely saw him, but as her only connection to who she'd been, he had become something of a touchstone for her. It was hard enough admitting that to herself; she'd rather eat glass than tell him.

Cragen, though? That was a shock, and her first panicked thought as she peered out the blinds was that something had happened to Olivia. She didn't think anyone would come to tell her that, let alone the SVU captain, who had surely believed her to be quite dead until a day or two ago. Obviously, Hammond didn't drag Cragen out here because of anything to do with Olivia, since no one had even bothered to tell her in person that her own mother was dead.

Velez, then—it had to be. She didn't even really greet them when she opened the door. She simply looked at both men and said, "What happened?"

As they filled her in, Cragen tried not to look as if he'd seen a ghost. He'd been on a 24-hour roller-coaster ride that had started with the shock of finding out the ADA he'd mourned was alive, and was ending in a nondescript living room in Madison, Wisconsin that bore no trace of the Alex Cabot he knew. He hadn't known what to expect, but he quickly understood that he'd come to bring Alex home.


It hadn't been an accident that Olivia was Alex's overnight detail before her testimony in the Connors trial. Hammond had initially vetoed it, of course, though the marshals who'd dealt with her would have gladly let the NYPD babysit her any damn day. She hadn't been called a pain in the ass for nothing, after all. He told her that she was under their protection for the duration-no ifs, ands or buts. He should have known that wouldn't sit well. They'd had a showdown in McCoy's office before she'd begun to prep her testimony with Novak.

"I will stay where you tell me. I will do what you tell me. But if you don't let me have Benson & Stabler as my detail while I'm here, the whole thing is off. I won't testify, and you can ship me off to Wyoming or South Carolina, or whatever fresh hell you can dream up and try to protect me there, now that the cat's out of the bag."

"You think Wisconsin was hell? You have no idea where we could send you." Hammond's new partner, Brad Hawkes, was incensed. Where did this woman get off? And why was Hammond giving her such a long leash? Almost as if he could read Brad's thoughts, Hammond shook his head to silence any further protest from his partner.

"You know, Cabot, I didn't hear either of them volunteer." Hammond had struck a nerve, and he'd done it on purpose. He knew she was bluffing about not testifying—she wouldn't back down now, even for the pleasure of making his job harder. But the trial wasn't her only motivation. "How do you know they'd be willing to get themselves killed for you?"

She didn't answer, seemed reluctant to speak in front of someone she didn't know. He gave a nod to Hawkes, and the younger man left the room. Hammond looked at her for a minute before he spoke.

"Sit down, Alex." He hadn't called her that since—she wasn't sure when, really. Maybe once, in that horrid basement hideaway in the hospital, a room she was still convinced had been some kind of broom closet before she was wheeled in there under an armed guard and heavy sedation.

He'd been such a hardass then, told her to get used to it, and wrap your mind around this. And Emily. That son of a bitch had insisted on calling her Emily, over and over again, even while she could still feel the cold sidewalk beneath her and Olivia's weight on her shoulder, the only thing keeping her alive. I'm Alex, she thought. But no one had cared what she thought, and even now, when she knew he'd saved her life while he was burying his partner, it still made her feel panicked and sick and lonely to remember any of it.

That she'd even managed to convince him to let her see Liv and Elliot before they took her away was a minor miracle, really. She wasn't proud of how she'd done it, but desperate times, and all that. She'd used Donovan, playing his death like it was the only card in her hand. When it came down to it, she supposed it was. She remembered that last morning, locked away in the dungeons of Roosevelt Hospital, after he explained that they'd leave the city that night and start moving her into her new life.


"Agent Hammond, I'm sorry about Donovan..."

"The last thing I need is your sympathy," he'd said tersely. "You're the reason a good man died." Like that thought hadn't occurred to her, like he hadn't already told her that as she sat in the back of an ambulance, shocked and cut and bruised.

"If he were alive, wouldn't you want to know?"

Hammond looked at her. "It wouldn't matter what I wanted."

"They were with me," Alex said. "And I know they're letting this eat them up. You know a cop with a guilty conscience and no confidence is as good as dead himself."

"Or herself," Hammond said, pointedly. He wasn't stupid, or unobservant, and he suspected there were other motives behind her demand, but she had a point. Both of the SVU detectives had been protective of Cabot at the scene when Donovan was murdered, and both were devastated at the hospital when told their ADA had died on the operating table. Stabler hid it far better than Benson, but even he was obviously shaken.

He'd been through it himself, and that kind of grief caused you to second-guess yourself, and take chances you wouldn't ordinarily take, chances that could get you killed. Chances like he was about to take by giving into Cabot.


All these months later, just the two of them sitting here in McCoy's office, he felt sure he'd end up giving in again.

"What the hell is it with you, Cabot? Jesus. Do you think I get extra gold stars for coloring outside the lines? There are policies and procedures, for God's sake. Not that you apparently ever cared."

She just looked at him, knowing he was going to let her have this, but afraid anything more that would come out of her mouth might make him change his mind.

"This about Benson?" he asked. He'd seen the look on Benson's face at the rendezvous that night he escorted Cabot out of New York, and again when he and Cabot had walked into Novak's office earlier that afternoon. There was obviously some unfinished business between them, and he suspected only part of it had to do with Cabot being shot.

She hated to show him any vulnerability, but he was opening the door for her to explain why she needed this, and she couldn't lie. "Yes," she said. A few beats of silence followed. He waited her out. "I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

Her mask had slipped for just a moment, and he saw a person, not a witness, or a duty. She reminded him of his own daughter. He knew he might not be able to give her a happy ending, but maybe he could manage a happy middle, since who the hell knew how or when this would be over? Before he'd allow this, though, he needed to make sure she understood there had to be some give-and-take. She'd have to do everything else by the book.

"Goddamn it. Fine. If they're willing to put up with your shit, the marshals will take a break. Lord knows they've earned it."

She didn't smile—she wanted to, even thought briefly of actually hugging him. Wisconsin had done a number on her. Instead, she just nodded, feeling like she'd given enough away already.

"But remember, everything else goes down just as I say," he reminded her. "When I say it's time to roll out of here, we go. No negotiations, no delays, no last-minute detours for a teary farewell. Got it?"

She nodded. It was a price she was willing to pay. What option did she have?


After prep with Casey, the marshals picked Alex up in the damn SUV—Hammond was unyielding on maintaining control of all transport. The agents delivered her safely to a waiting Elliot at the Wyndham in Chinatown. He'd taken the evening shift—she'd known he would, for a lot of reasons. Benson would arrive about 9 and stay overnight.

Inside room 1236, Alex kept up appearances for Elliot, paying only vague attention to game after game of backgammon and asking the requisite questions about Kathy, the kids. It wasn't that she didn't care—she did—but she was going through the motions. He was encouraging and kind, but he didn't ask about her new life, and she couldn't blame him. Who'd want to know? He was a man who noticed details, and who knew her well. He had surely realized that she was biding her time until his partner showed.

At 8:45, a quiet knock caused Elliot to immediately stand, drawing his weapon as he stood between Alex and the door. That this seemed normal to her was so absurd that she nearly laughed out loud. Seeing the gun hadn't caused her to flinch—she had one at her house. It was guns she couldn't see that haunted her dreams.

Elliot relaxed when he heard Olivia's voice. He let her in and said a quick goodbye as he left. When the door closed behind him, leaving them alone for the first time in almost two years, everything inside Alex was churning. Liv's presence somehow simultaneously relaxed Alex and roiled her emotions. She fought to keep a lid on it, hoping finally to say what had been left unsaid.