Chapter 20
The door fell shut behind him without a sound. Cragen allowed the darkness to envelope him, sweeping away the last traces of a raw emotion he was more than happy to leave behind. He was too old for this. One of these days, he was actually going to go home at night. He reached for the lamp at his desk. One of these days he was going to… Cragen blinked as the soft light from his desk lamp illuminated the figure hunched over in a chair across from him.
"Bout time you got here."
Cragen winced slightly at the words. "Fin, what are you doing here?"
Fin raised his eyes slowly. "Couldn't sleep," he grumbled softly. He studied his captain's face carefully, watching for the slightest hesitation.
Cragen nodded wearily. "So you figured you'd come sit in my dark office?"
"Trust me. It's much better than the alternative."
Cragen raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?" He waited for something more.
Fin stayed silent. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, an expression that Cragen didn't recognize suddenly crossing his face. "You don't want to know."
"Okay, you want to tell me what's going on?" Cragen ventured slowly, not quite sure if he was ready to handle the response.
"Not if I'm going to keep my job," Fin returned. He dropped his eyes, changing the subject quickly. "You ever go home?"
Cragen was too tired to pry. "There's not much to go home to." He shifted slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Besides, it's much more exciting to stay around here," he added dryly.
Fin rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I've had about all the excitement I can take for one night."
Cragen met his eyes and sighed, exasperated. "Okay, so is there a point to this midnight rendezvous?"
"Yeah," Fin began quietly. "This case is tearing all of us apart. I could really use a drink right about now." He studied Cragen's face carefully, searching for a response. "I thought maybe you could keep me company."
Olivia leaned back up against the wall, her arms crossed in front of her chest, mentally calculating each second that ticked by. It took exactly 17 seconds.
"A fortune cookie, huh?" Elliot's voice boomed out from the doorway, announcing his presence. It was a voice that she had come to know and love, one that was suddenly devoid of any seriousness. It was a voice that understood her, understood that far too much had already been said for the night. It was one that knew how to maintain the balance that had become their partnership--one that instinctively understood when further words were needed, or when they should be avoided at all costs. It was the voice that didn't disappoint, one that was exactly what she had expected.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't ask." His lips twitched in response, the beginning of a smile picking up at the corner of his mouth. He balled the cup up in his hand, heaving it across the room into the trash can beside the door.
She watched it fall with amusement. "Guess that means I'm not getting that back," she commented dryly.
For a brief moment, she waited for the biting comment that she knew would follow. He opened his mouth to speak, and then changed his mind. Elliot crossed the room toward her, sliding one hand onto the smooth surface of the wall behind her and leaning in until he was just inches from her face. "You owe me a coffee," he grunted instead.
A smile of satisfaction spread over her face. "Tell you what," she murmured softly. "I'll buy you another coffee just as soon as you tell me who she is." The words slipped from her lips cautiously. Her eyes darted over to his face, gauging the reaction.
He hesitated. Shit.How the hell did she always manage to turn everything around before he even knew what hit him? He'd just played right into her hands, and the expression on her face made it clear that she was fully aware of the fact."What are you talking about, Liv?"
Olivia didn't budge an inch. "Tell me who she is--the other vic."
Every excuse in the world seemed to fill his head and yet simultaneously disappear before he could manage to grasp hold of them. Every reason for wanting to shield her from the truth suddenly seemed to disintegrate before he could remember what they were. He clung to the only thing he had left. "What other vic?"
"Don't give me that, El. I'm not some damn doll that's going to break if you tell me the truth. She shot him a murderous glare. "But I sure as hell am going to kick your ass if you lie to me one more time."
In that instant, he finally understood what it was like to be across from her in the box. He suddenly realized why it was that Olivia could push a confession out of a perp before he even realized he'd uttered a word. One look into those eyes, and he didn't have a fucking clue which way was up. "Liv," he broke in weakly.
"Elliot," she admonished in return.
"Leslie Carlton." The name tumbled from his lips before he could stop it. He squeezed his eyes shut. He was truly going to hell now.
"He didn't just rape her, did he?"
The words came from a gut instinct within her that he had long since realized should never be questioned, a gut instinct he always tried to deny and later wished he'd trusted to begin with. Elliot suddenly wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole, anything to spare him from the eyes that somehow managed to look beyond what was right on the surface to the furthest depths of his soul. Those eyes could somehow read what he had been determined to keep hidden, and they were nowhere near letting up. "No," he admitted miserably. His voice was quiet. "We found her body the day after you disappeared."
"How do you know he's the one who attacked her?"
It was the one question he'd been praying she wouldn't ask. It was the one question he wasn't sure he could answer, but at the same time knew he could never avoid. And even though he knew it would come back to kick him in the ass, it was the one question that gave him hope.
It was the question that reminded him that she was still just Detective Olivia Benson--his partner, and the one woman that would always have his back. She wasn't going to let what happened change her. She wasn't going to let it take control over her life. She was going to push forward unrelentingly until she found the answer they all needed, but somehow couldn't find the strength to look for. She was the one who was going to pull them all back together.
Cragen's heart seemed to skip a beat. He blinked, hoping, praying that somehow he had heard Fin wrong.
I could really use a drink right about now. I thought maybe you could keep me company.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Cragen folded his hands in front of him on the desk, forcing himself to maintain a straight face. "I'm not going to condone drinking while you're on this case," he finally managed, the words filled with far too much vengeance.
"Why the hell not? What's so different about this case?" Fin shot back.
Cragen's jaw tensed instantly. "Everything about this case is different," he returned vehemently, rising to his feet slowly.
Fin stormed across the office, pushing right up against the edge of Cragen's desk. "The stakes are higher. That doesn't mean we should abandon all of our values. That doesn't mean we should just give up." As the words tumbled from his lips, he wasn't quite sure who the harsh words were meant for.
"Who are you accusing of giving up?" Cragen demanded, his face turning a shade darker as he fought for a control he had long since lost.
"I never said I was accusing anyone. What exactly are you trying to hide?" Fin's voice had risen to a level he wasn't even sure he recognized himself. He paused. "You're supposed to look after everyone in this squad. You're supposed to be there for us." His voice was uncharacteristically bitter, his words filled with hurt and pain.
"Don't you dare accuse me of not caring about my squad." Cragen's voice rang out through the room, reverberating off of the walls with a vigor that he recognized all too well.
A harsh laugh escaped from Fin's mouth. "Then prove it. Come on, Captain, where's the bottle of vodka in your office?"
Cragen's face turned ashen. He felt as if every bit of life had suddenly been sucked out of him, and the only thing that he possibly had left to fight against it was pure rage. "I don't need this from you." He glared back at Fin. "Get out of my office."
Fin straightened up, moving closer until his face was only inches away from Cragen. "We're not done yet," he answered coldly.
"What the hell is going on here?" Both men spun around to the figure standing in the doorway.
"Stay out of it, John," Cragen commanded furiously. "This has nothing to do with you."
"On the contrary," Fin interrupted, his eyes once again glued to Cragen. "This has everything to do with you, with both of you."
Munch stepped forward tentatively, the confusion on his face evident. As soon as he was close enough to step between them, he put one hand on Fin's arm, gently pulling the two men apart. Fin shrugged out of his grasp. "Don't you dare touch me."
"Fin, calm down. What the hell is the matter with you?"
"What the hell's the matter with me?" Fin spun around to face his partner. "What the hell's wrong with you? Since when does a late night booty call with Gwen take precedence over this case?"
The color drained from Munch's face. He whipped around, already on his way out the door. "That's none of your business," he snapped.
Fin followed him out. "I'm your partner. That makes it my business."
Munch froze, turning toward him slowly. "What I do in my private life is none of your business," he managed through clenched teeth. "I don't have to explain my sex life to you."
"I'm your partner. You should have trusted me. If you needed someone to talk to, I would have been there. You didn't have to run back to your ex-wife."
Cragen stepped forward slowly, his face still registering shock. "John, what were you thinking?"
Munch's calm demeanor snapped. "What was I thinking? It doesn't matter what I was thinking. My private life is not relevant to this job."
"But it is relevant to your emotional state while you're working this case," Cragen added, his voice rising again.
"Emotional state?" Fin snorted. "Now you're talking about emotional state--like you're one to talk. Come on, Captain. Don't you think that picking up the bottle again may have interfered with your emotional state just a little bit?"
"You started drinking again?" Munch demanded, turning around to confront Cragen. "And you want to talk about my emotional state?" He laughed bitterly. "Are you trying to blow this case?"
"Don't you dare presume to know anything about what I have and have not done," Cragen returned heatedly.
"I don't have to make assumptions. It's pretty obvious what you haven't done," Fin broke in. "You obviously don't give a damn about this case, and both of you are too concerned with how this has affected your own lives to even consider how it's affecting Olivia."
It was the last thing he heard before all hell broke loose. Heated words tore through the squad room, each one more vindictive than the last until no one individual voice could be distinguished from the rest. There was no hesitation, no time spent processing the words that spilled forth. There was only pure rage channeled by the desire to do what not one of them was capable of doing on their own.
"Stop."
The single word was spoken so softly they almost didn't hear it. Yet it froze each of them in their tracks. "Stop it." All eyes flew to the top of the staircase at the frail voice that somehow managed to communicate in an instant the emotion hidden behind every heated word.
Cragen was the first to speak. "Liv, I'm…"
"Don't…" Olivia shook her head, too many emotions within her to dare try to speak. So instead she turned back around, her footsteps quickening in a desperate need to escape. Elliot stood frozen at the top of the staircase, as helpless as the rest of them as she did the one thing that somehow managed to rip them apart and connect them all at the same time. Not one of them dared to speak. Not one of them dared to breathe. Not one of them knew how to find the words to tell her they were sorry. And so they just watched--watched her retreat, watched her run, watched her fall in a way that reminded them of how much they all had to lose.
"Liv." The voice that spoke was soft, gentle. Tentatively, he pushed the door to the crib open, pausing in the doorway.
"Elliot, go away." Her words were choked up, muffled by the pillow pressed up against her face.
"Liv, I'm sorry you had to see that. It's not your fault."
She raised a tear-stained face and shook her head. "Yes, it is. It's my fault for letting things get like this. It's my fault for letting him get too close. Jesus, Elliot, I'm a sex crimes detective, and I took that drink. I knew the risks, and I took it anyway."
He froze. He'd read the report. He'd listened to her statement. And yet, at no point had she ever mentioned what had happened in the bar. Not once had she ever given any indication that she remembered any part of that evening. "Olivia, why did you take the drink?"
She drew in a shaky breath. "Because Elliot, I was tired of being afraid. I was tired of being the one to hold it all together. For once in my life, I wanted to go out and not worry about how many women were going to be attacked that night. For once in my life, I wanted to believe that something good was out there--that somewhere, there was somebody who could look at the world in a different way than we do every day. And because damn it, Elliot, I thought he was safe. I wanted so much to trust in somebody that I believed him when he said he was a friend of yours because I thought if there was one person whose judgment I could always trust, it was you."
He wanted to reach out and comfort her. He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to be the one to hold it all together, and yet he wasn't sure how they could ever make it through any other way.
"Elliot, just go home," she whispered softly.
He turned toward her, his own eyes suddenly filling with tears. "I can't Liv. My apartment was destroyed in the fire. I don't have a home to go back to."