Disclaimer: Scotty and Lilly aren't mine. Rita Calhoun isn't mine, either. She belongs to—you guessed it!—SVU. I've also given another beloved SVU character a cameo; bonus points if you can spot him. :)
Chapter Ten
Containing A Little Kissing, Much Pacing, and a Paisley Tie
Counselor Rita Calhoun's heels echo off the sidewalk like gunshots as she strides up to us a few minutes later. "Change your mind yet, Valens?"
"Not a chance." Avoiding his attorney's eyes, Scotty turns and starts to climb the steps of the courthouse. "Let's do this."
Left in his wake, Calhoun shoots me a puzzled glance as we both hurry to catch up with him.
"I can't stress enough what a bad idea this is," Calhoun tells Scotty. "Testifying before a grand jury that's investigating you? That's a cardinal sin."
"Scotty, the questions Strauss can ask…" I trail off, hoping he'll get the message, that he'll somehow figure out what I've sworn an oath not to tell him, but the waves of determination coming off him as he yanks open the glass door of the courthouse tell me that even if I gave him a play-by-play of exactly what he'll be up against, it wouldn't make a bit of difference.
"He can ask you anything he wants." Calhoun has to speak a little louder to be heard above the din of the courthouse corridor. "Anything. And it can all be used against you. We can put you on the stand at trial."
"No." Scotty's vehemence draws the attention of a couple passersby. "I'm not gonna just...lay down and let 'em indict me without a fight. I want the grand jury to hear my side."
His attorney's reluctance is obvious from the tip of her sandy-brown updo to the toes of her cherry-red high heels. "You know none of us can be in there with you."
"Don't worry about it," Scotty replies. "It ain't on you."
The heavy wooden door to the grand jury room looming large in front of us, I stop and search Scotty's eyes. "Are you…sure about this?"
His face is set with the same stony resolve he has when we're about to go toe-to-toe with a killer. "You said you wanted me to fight. Hell, you're the whole reason I can fight this. I didn't have any fight left in me until…" Casting a furtive glance around the hallway, he steps closer to me and lowers his voice. "Until last night."
A thrill zings through me at the memories, and Scotty's slight grin indicates he might be remembering the same thing.
"But now…now I got my fight back, Lil. And goin' in there and testifyin' is the only way I can think of to fight. For me. For us."
A smile is creeping across my face, one that, try as I might, I can't hide.
His deep brown eyes take on an earnest shine. "Y'know, maybe this is a bad idea, I dunno, but it's the only one I got. I go down in flames, fine, we'll get 'em at trial. But if there's even a chance in hell I can make this all be over today so we can we can get on with this, with us…" he glances from left to right again, and then slips a warm hand beneath my hair and presses a fierce kiss to my forehead. "Then…yeah, Lil. Yeah. I'm sure."
Over Scotty's right shoulder, Calhoun's hazel eyes are getting bigger and bigger.
"Scotty…" My fingers pluck nervously at his coat sleeve as I take a self-conscious step back.
Tossing a startled glance and an embarrassed grin over his shoulder, Scotty opens his mouth to explain, but Calhoun just smiles and pretends to rifle through some court documents.
"Don't worry, you two. I didn't see a thing."
My coffee has been stone-cold for a while now, and it wasn't any good to begin with, but I'm still clutching the Styrofoam cup, taking occasional, absent sips. There's not much to occupy my attention in this hallway other than the water fountain off to my left and a wooden bench next to the elevator. I tried sitting down for a while, but sitting didn't seem to help, so I've decided to try pacing. Not sure if that's helping, either, but it's better than sitting.
Our co-workers all scattered a few minutes before Calhoun arrived to escort Scotty into the courthouse. Marianne Budzinski, our pharmaceutical-peddling prime suspect in the Hooper case, had just been brought in for interrogation. Normally, I'd have jumped at the opportunity to grill a potential doer, but Will, in that quiet way he has about him, encouraged me to stay here with Scotty while he and Vera took care of the interview. It's probably just as well; this is one of the few times I wouldn't have been able to concentrate on my job.
The elevator dings, and I nearly jump out of my skin. A black-robed, dour-looking judge steps out; a carefully-coiffed attorney, clad in an expensive-looking suit, a bright pink shirt, and paisley tie, nips at his heels, waving a sheaf of papers and chattering in rapid-fire legalese. The judge, muttering something I can't quite make out, hurries down the hall, the attorney still yapping at him as they both disappear around the corner.
Well. That was an interesting distraction. But now, the corridor is quiet again, and the only things I have to occupy my mind are my cold coffee, the dull, throbbing ache in my temples, the web of ever-tightening knots in the pit of my stomach…
…and whatever's been going on behind that thick wooden door for the last two and a half hours. I tried pressing my ear to the door a few minutes ago, but the only thing that got me was a raised eyebrow from a stern-looking uniformed court security officer.
I take another sip of coffee, start another lap of the hallway.
Was this what it was like for Scotty when I was shot? Last night, he told me how he paced the halls of the hospital, not knowing if I'd pull through, and realizing just how devastated he'd be if I didn't…and now, here I am, doing the exact same thing. I almost laugh at the irony.
Remembering our conversation brings to mind some of the questions Strauss asked me on the stand. I was able to shake off most of them before I even left the grand jury room, but the question of Scotty having lingering trauma from my shooting…well, that one I can't quite dismiss. Does he? He seemed fine by the time I returned to duty, but I was such a mess back then that just about anyone would've seemed fine in comparison. And now, thanks to countless hours on my therapist's couch, I've managed to put it all mostly behind me...but some of the things Scotty has said and done the last few days make me begin to wonder, with a sick sense of dread, if maybe it's all still in front of him.
The door creaks open, and my heart leaps into my throat when Scotty emerges. He looks like a boxer who's been in a fight too long, one who's woozy and spent and can barely put one foot in front of the other. His eyes are dark. Haunted. My stomach gives a painful wrench. As bad as it was for me, it looks like it was even worse for him.
Eyes on the floor, he slumps against the wall and scrubs a weary hand over his face. I abandon my coffee cup next to the water fountain and hurry toward him, wishing we were somewhere else, anywhere else, so I could just throw my arms around him and kiss that dark, defeated look into a distant memory.
He glances up at the sound of my footsteps.
"Hey." He sounds as drained as he looks.
My hand finds his shoulder and tries to rub some life back into it through his suit jacket. "You okay?"
The exhausted fighter manages a shaky smile. "I feel like I've been in the ring one too many rounds."
"You wanna go take a walk? Get some air?"
He shakes his head. "Calhoun says it's a quick vote. Only takes thirteen to indict."
My eyes search his, trying to find in their chocolaty depths the reason why he looks so defeated.
In response to my wordless question, he blows out a shaky breath. "Strauss asked me about—about your shootin', Lil. I mean, I expected to have to talk about Yusef, but that?" A slight tremor shudders through his frame. "That threw me."
My heart sinks. "I'm so sorry, Scotty."
"I—I don't even know ninety percent of what I was sayin' in there, I got no idea if I made things better or worse." With a nervous chuckle, he rakes a hand through his hair. "I fought for us, Lil. I really did. I just…ain't sure it's gonna be enough."
"It's enough for me, Scotty."
He looks up. "Yeah?"
Oh, to hell with it. Launching myself toward him, I throw my arms around him and pour everything I'm feeling, everything I have in me, into an impassioned kiss. He's startled at first—who wouldn't be?-but his grateful moan tells me that even if this decidedly unprofessional display costs me my career or costs Scotty whatever's left of his, I've made the right call. He's been staggering through the desert, and he's gulping down my kiss like it's the first water he's had in days.
After what seems like an eternity, but still somehow isn't long enough, I pull away from him and cradle his face in my hands. "Scotty, I love you. No matter what happens, no matter what they decide…I love you." I break off with an embarrassed half-smile. "I know it can't do anything right now, I know it's not much…"
"It's everything, Lil." His arms around my waist, he leans his forehead against mine and drinks me in. "Everything."
At the rapid-fire staccato of heels behind me, I slide my arms from Scotty's shoulders and turn to see Calhoun approaching, with an expression I can't quite decipher.
Scotty clears his throat as she stops in front of us."You were right, Counselor. Testifyin' was a mistake, it was a bad idea, it—it was…."
"No." Calhoun cuts him off with a shake of her head. "I was wrong."
My heart hammering, I search her face, wondering if I dare hope for what I think she might be going to say next.
"Eleven voted to indict; seven didn't." Calhoun's mask of professionalism cracks just enough to allow a broad smile. "You are free to go."
A half-laugh, half-sob slips from my lips as I look over at Scotty. He just looks shell-shocked. Stunned. Like he can't possibly have heard her right, can't possibly dare to believe the good news. His eyes light for a brief moment when they meet mine, but he reins it in and turns back to Calhoun.
"Well, for how long?" he asks. "They'll—they'll just charge me again."
"I'll tell the press the DA overreached," Calhoun replies. "The mayor and the commissioner will trip all over their di-" she bites off the word, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, "...ties walking away from this. If they come after you again, it'll just look like they've got a vendetta."
My smile spreading the width of my face, I glance at Scotty. He looks like maybe, just maybe, he's starting to believe the unbelievable.
"Walk the line, Detective," Calhoun says, "and I won't see you again until you're on the witness stand tryin' to put another one of my clients in jail."
Finally, finally, Scotty cracks a smile and shakes his attorney's hand. "Thanks."
"Thank you, Rita," I echo. She smiles, nods, and walks away.
Happy tears spring into my eyes, my whole body is watery with relief, and I fear I'll never be able to stop smiling. Meanwhile, Scotty's standing there, blinking, adjusting to the sudden loss of the tons of weight he's been carrying around since that fateful, frigid night. After a moment, the truth seems to sink in, and he heaves an enormous sigh, then slips his hand into mine.
"Take me home, Lil."
I glance over at him in surprise. "But your windows still aren't-"
"No, Lil." His eyes are huge and dark, almost childlike in their sheer exhausted dependence. "Take me home."
Finally understanding, I nod, smile, and squeeze his hand as we walk down the hall together.