The Countdown to Number Six

Casey woke up on Monday morning with her alarm. She was a little disoriented, finding herself on the couch and all, and she felt surprisingly…alone. She didn't feel the need for a pot of coffee, but she did feel the need for a hot shower. She stood outside of the frosted glass doors as they steamed up, and she let her clothes fall to the white tile floor where they lay in a heap.

She didn't know Megan's number or even her last name. She didn't know where she was staying. She didn't know anything pertinent. She knew the girl left some weird green drink in her refrigerator and left her kitchen immaculate.

She stepped under the water, and thought that perhaps…perhaps…this was for the best.

Perhaps.

She went about her day. She went to her office and she picked up some files. She went to the hearing. She rested her case before lunch. She felt accomplished. The jury had gone to deliberate, but she was sure she fucking pedophile creeper would be put away for life. All of her hard work over the past week paid off, and she had one less case to worry about.

She pranced back into SVU smiling inappropriately, for a moment forgetting about the serial killing, hot girl, monster thing that her teammates were dealing with.

"Liv," she motioned with her hand, beckoning Detective Benson into her office.

"What's up, Case?"

Casey closed the door and stood between it and the woman. She had every intention of asking her to pull prints off of her fucking stapler to make some attempt to find Megan, but then she realized this was stupid and weird…mostly weird, and then some stupid. In the end, she just stood there with her mouth partially open and making a silly face.

"What do you need, Casey?" Olivia prompted her.

She shook her head, "Sorry…nevermind."

Olivia tilted her head to the side thoughtfully, "Ok, but hey…those FBI agents made a bet about which one you'd go out with first."

She chortled and spat out, "Probably the tall one with the longer hair. He seems smarter, although the other one is ridiculously manly."

"They've got twenty bucks on it, so why don't you go to lunch with one."

Indifferently, she said, "May as well…"

"Maybe this will lighten the mood around here." Olivia tried to be optimistic.

"It's hard to lighten the mood among a bunch of men when there's a serial castrator on the loose."

"This whole thing just keeps getting increasingly bizarre. Agent Todd and Fox's supervisor has flown in. He looks like some sort of backwoods, lumberjack man. Apparently he's been under-cover in South Dakota."

Casey turned and peeked between the blinds on her door, "He looks like Santa."

"I'm surprised the media hasn't gotten wind of this…they usually start screaming serial killer after two somewhat similar murders."

She kept looking through at the bustle outside of her quiet office, "The FBI is probably working to keep it hushed – they don't want panic."

"If the pattern continues, another murder is set to happen tonight."

"Any leads as to who it might be?"

The detective shook her head, "Not even any leads on a suspect except that the first guy and the last guy were seen with a hot girl, who may or may not be a pro. We've got a sketch artist in right now, and Munch and Fin have gone out to some of the known brothels around the hotel, hoping she might be working out of one of them."

"Why would a hooker be killing men, but not taking their money?"

"Sociopath is Huang's best guess."

"Not your run of the mill sociopath though…"

"We're dealing with a highly intelligent sociopath, who probably experienced prolonged abuse, who potentially has access to inside information regarding open rape cases, and…well…unreported rape cases. Maybe someone who works at a rape hotline."

Casey shook her head, "God, I wish people wouldn't take the law into their own hands."

"This killer is getting a sort of justice for people who wouldn't have gotten it…" Olivia still sympathized.

"The law is black and white. Just because someone commits a crime, it doesn't give someone else the right to commit another crime in the name of justice. I'd be out a job too."

She rolled her eyes, "If you say so, Case."

"Yeah…well." She cleared her throat and got up her courage, "Can you dust my stapler for prints."

"Why?"

"Don't ask, just do it…stealth…and let me know what you get back…" She opened the door and slipped out. She made her way to the table around which the FBI agents sat.

Dean kicked back in his chair, "Hello, Casey."

"ADA Novak," she corrected and looked at Bobby. She extended a hand, "And you are?"

"Agent Mackey," he said gruffly and shook her hand.

She smiled and looked back at the brothers, "Have you had lunch yet-"

"No, no I haven't," Dean responded and started to get up.

She finished and looked directly at Sam, "Agent Fox?"

He nearly spilled his cup of coffee and sputtered, "No."

"Well, let's go to lunch." She started out, expecting him to follow.

And Sam followed, but first gave Dean a firm slap in the back of the head.

"What was that?" Bobby asked.

Dean rubbed his skull, "I don't wanna talk about it."

Olivia and Elliot kept their laugher to a minimum, and when Dean turned they immediately silenced themselves and looked down at their desks.

Munch and Fin walked in about then. Fin announced, "Look who we found outside!"

"She's pretty much all we found," Munch mumbled and sat down dejectedly at his desk.

Megan followed them in, carrying a large white bag that smelled of food. Today she wore a tight white, sleeveless dress with an angled hem. Everyone looked at her and she said shyly, "I just brought lunch for Casey…"

"Unfortunately," Dean began bitterly, "ADA Novak went for lunch with my partner. You just missed her."

"Oh…" For a split second she was angry, jealous, almost fucking enraged. She gripped the bag, took a deep breath, held it and then said, "Well…does anyone else wanna share this with me?"

"What you got in there anyway, girl?" Fin asked her. He was hungry. "Probably healthy shit."

She shrugged, "It's healthy, but it's good." She sat the bag down on the corner of his desk and looked inside, "I have two Greek salads, one with chicken, one without…some hummus and pita-"

"Hummus is that shit that looks like it's already been chewed – I love that stuff." Fin interrupted her, "How much was it? I'll pay you." He pulled out his wallet.

"You can just have it," she reached in and pulled out the plastic container and the pita triangles that went with it. "No big deal."

"Thanks, Megan."

"If you're giving food away…" Dean got up and approached her

"Here's a wrap," she handed him what looked like a fat burrito covered in tin foil.

"Mr. Munch, you can have this baba ghanoush, if you want," she sat it in front of him. "And here are the salads." She sat the entire bag on Olivia's desk, and then looked at the older man, who was a new addition to the group, "I'm sorry."

He assumed it was regarding her running out of food because she had now given it all away, including what she planned to eat, and he said, "It's ok, little lady."

She smiled and began to back up toward the exit, "I'm gonna go."

No one really argued. Huang came out of the back with Ben Patel, who was the last person to speak with the sketch artist. Huang posted the sketch on the evidence board and thanked Ben for his help. He walked by Megan, stared at her as he passed, and continued on his way.

"I'll let Casey know you came by," Olivia said to her quickly. She felt sort of bad that the girl had brought her lunch and she left with the FBI agent due to her own persuasion.

"Don't worry about it." She looked at the sketch of the hot girl suspect and she looked at Huang, who she had not been introduced to.

He squinted at her and then looked back at the sketch then back at her, then back at the sketch. He waited for her to leave and said, "My God, that girl looks familiar…"

Elliot took a bite of his salad, and shook his fork at the Asian man, "Yeah…she looks like that actress."

"Oh, I know who you're talking about!" He exclaimed as if he won a contest.

"She's Megan. Casey's new temporary assistant girl," Olivia told him.

Bobby got up and took a look at the sketch of the witch. It made him want a beer to wash the taste of disappointment with himself down. He couldn't believe she got away from him all of those years ago. He was young and inexperienced. It wouldn't happen again. He marched into Cragen's office, seeing the lonely old man hang up the phone.

"Captain," he barged in, "I'm going to go get some lunch and a beer. Wanna join me? I'm tired of hanging out with these youngsters."

"I will join you for the lunch, but not the beer."

"Oh, it's the middle of the day, isn't it?" He huffed, "Conventions."

"Not just that, but I've been sober-"

"What the hell for?" Bobby exclaimed, shocked and appalled.

"I…" Cragen began.

"What's that thing I've heard? Quitting is for quitters…or something. Let's go. I'm not a quitter."

"Lunch, but no beer." Cragen stood up and put on his jacket to cover his suspenders.

"How about some whiskey then?"

"No whiskey."

The two men started out, Bobby continued, "Gin?"

"No gin."

"How about bourbon?"

"No bourbon."

Bobby looked at him, "Why don't you grow a beard?"

"I don't…" Cragen looked confusedly at the rugged fellow, "I don't want to grow a beard."

"You can't grow one, can you? Have you tried?"

"What? I don't want to grow a beard. Are you drunk right now?"

"No, I only had one beer with my breakfast."

The two went out the door, continuing their banter.

"So, do you just go by Fox, or should I call you Agent Fox, or do you have a first name that I can call you?" Casey drank her water from a straw with the cup still sitting on the table in front of her.

Sam laughed, "You can call me Amos."

"Amos Fox. That sounds like a fake name."

Sam let out an unintentionally nervous laugh. "So do I still need to call you ADA Novak?"

"No. We're not working, we're at lunch."

"Everyone at work calls you Casey."

"I've known all of them for longer, and we're a team."

"We're part of the team right now."

"No, you're FBI. The FBI isn't so great with teamwork."

"What about Huang?"

"That's totally different."

He crossed his arms, "I don't understand your rules. You have these distinct lines, but vague distinctions."

"No, everything makes sense to me, Amos."

"You're one of those people that thinks everything is black and white, aren't you?" Sam hated vague distinctions that somehow led to distinct categories.

Yes, she was, and Olivia had just mentioned this also, "I suppose I am."

"So there's no gray area, Casey?"

She shook her head, "There is right and wrong. There's no kind of right sometimes under certain circumstances."

"Based on?"

"The law."

"But what if the law is wrong?"

"Shut up. Subject change." She glared.

"Yes, ma'am. You're one of those girls who needs everything to be your way, aren't you?"

"What are you saying?" She snapped.

He put his hands in the air, surrendering, "Nothing. Subject change."

"I'm really not a bitch."

"And I'm really not an FBI agent."

They laughed. They ordered their food and proceeded to somehow talk about their failed relationships and their lack of relationships currently, and whether or not this was all for the best or not considering their lines of work. Sam revealed that he had planned to go to Law School before going into the FBI. Casey revealed that she had wanted to be a meteorologist. Sam shared some feelings, and Casey shared no feelings. If Dean were smarter and a girl, he might be Casey, and soon their chatter turned into something like the repartee between the brothers.

"You're sort of gay," Casey said, chomping on a French fry.

"I'm not gay," he got all flustered and retorted, "You're, like, totally a man-hating lesbian."

"That's not even close to true."

"You're all mean and uptight and a control-freak because you never get laid."

"I get laid plenty. You're the one with all sorts of feelings interfering with your life."

"Vibrators don't count," he muttered, "And my feelings…" He had nothing to say about his own feelings now.

"You're gay with your partner."

"No, he's not…no! Just no!" He slammed a fist on the table. If only it were the first time he'd heard that.

They laughed together again.

"You're…a…jackass," Casey got out between chuckles.

"You need to spend more time with Agent Todd then."

"I suspected you were the nicer one."

"I definitely am."

She let out a snort, and pointed at him, "I can't believe you made a bet with him about me."

"Oh…about that…" He couldn't tell if she was mad or not.

She winked, and got up from the table, "You better buy something good with that twenty bucks I won you. There are no secrets between all of us lonely twats in SVU. Liv told me."

From talking to a buttload of hookers, Munch and Fin found that Hardy had refused to pay several of them and raped them. Of course, none of the women came forward because they're hookers. This helped to cement that the killer was a sort of vigilante, but didn't help at all in predicting her next victim. No one matching the girl's description worked for any of the madams they two detectives talked to, and none of them seemed to know who she was.

The atmosphere of SVU became increasingly chaotic and at the same time solemn as the day wore on. Huang insisted that the perp would slip up eventually and leave some sort of DNA evidence, which would still only be useful if her DNA existed on file somewhere. Huang was, of course, quite certain that their vigilante sociopath had to have committed some sort of prior crimes to perfect her art.

Bobby and the Winchesters knew she wouldn't slip up, and that she only had two victims left. They were running out of time for Poor Bastard Number Six and also running of time to catch this witch until another twenty-five years passed.

Every lead was followed, even the most insignificant ones.

And then shit hit the fan at six o'clock…

"Get in here!" Cragen screamed, prompting everyone into his office.

They all hustled, even the hunters disgusted as FBI agents.

They gathered around the television in his office, and watched as the reporter described Hardy's death to the public in gruesome detail, and then proceeded to speculate that it was related to the other four recent deaths. Cragen was absolutely livid, and wouldn't let anyone go home, not even Casey. He couldn't stop the FBI from coming as going as they pleased though.

At nine, Casey convinced him that she wasn't useful, and Liv stopped her on her way out saying, "Your little assistant stopped by with lunch for you today."

"Oh…" she was surprised and surprisingly disappointed that she missed her, but she didn't reveal this.

"I'll check out your stapler as soon as Cragen stops hovering…" she whispered to her friend.

What she found late that night wasn't very interesting, and she couldn't understand why Casey wanted it done at all. There were no prints on the stapler other than the attorney's. None. For all intents and purposes, it seemed no one else had touched it.