Disclaimer: I do not own Law and Order: SVU. It belongs to a genius named Dick Wolf. No profit is being made from this story.
She turned, looking up at the clock again, and bit her lip. Turning back, Casey swept the hallway up and down frantically for the hundredth time.
The hearing was going to begin in ten….nine and a half minutes.
Her heeled-foot was tapping the marble floor with nervous energy as she ducked back to look into the clerk's small office again.
"Come on," she breathed aloud, sweeping the hallway left and right. "For God's sake…"
Of all the days for her to show up on time…
At six minutes till, she had no choice but to abandon her post. Her heels clicked spastically as she jogged down toward courtroom number four.
As expected, District Attorney Arthur Branch was not happy with the phone call she'd had to place to him the night before. Immediately after the change of venue hearing, she was expected to report straight to his office and, to quote his stern directions, "be sure to have your calendar free for this morning".
In other words, she was to prepare for an ass-chewing.
Stopping at the doors, Casey paused to smooth out her skirt and shift her briefcase more securely on her shoulder. She brushed small wisps of hair back into her neat ponytail and straightened, taking a deep breath.
She squared her shoulders and was about to push open the doors when her phone rang.
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The bustle of the hospital was barely audible inside the closed hospital room.
Olivia bit back the huge sigh that wanted to come out and shifted position in the chair for the hundredth time.
I really should have brought my book.
She usually wasn't much of a reader, but this particular novel, Beach House by James Patterson, was turning out to be rather addicting. She'd discovered it purely by accident one evening when she was at the Laundromat- a copy of it was lying on one of the chairs near her washer. By the time the owner had come back for it, she had already gotten through two chapters.
Her own copy was quickly obtained, and Olivia found herself devouring it at a surprising rate. It had ended up becoming quite a relaxing way to unwind before bed and she rather enjoyed the way she could get lost in the world of fiction for a change.
She had been in the middle of chapter thirteen the night before they had gotten called to the warehouse.
Her eyes screwed up tightly and her heart began to pound.
Stop it. Stop it.
Wetness sliding down her cheeks made her eyes fly open again in surprise. Clenching her teeth, she swallowed hard and wiped her face.
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Startled awake, she opened her eyes and immediately winced when her face was flooded with sunlight.
Kathy groaned in annoyance, not ready to wake up. She rolled over away from the window and was surprised when her face hit the comforter instead of her pillow.
A second later, she gasped and sat straight up.
"Shit," she breathed, scooting frantically toward the clock. Horror surged through her when she saw that it was quarter to ten. "Shit!"
Picking up the cordless telephone, she punched in ten numbers as she rifled through the duffle bag that still sat on the floor.
Sliding her jeans off, she quickly slipped into a fresh pair of underwear and pulled out the first sweater her hand came in contact with.
"This is Olivia Benson…I'm not available right now, please leave a message."
Disconnecting the line, Kathy slid her jeans back on and zipped the duffle. She reached under the bed for her shoes and hung the phone back up. Reaching out to grab the bag, she hurried down the hall toward the stairs.
Why didn't somebody wake me up?
The house was quiet, obviously since all of her children were at school. The lights all off and the doors locked, just as she had the twins make sure was done before they left every morning. She hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a Nutri-Grain bar from the cabinet.
Well, of course no one would wake you, idiot. You kissed them goodbye last night. They think you're at the hospital.
Grabbing her keys from the counter, she hurried out the garage door to the car.
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No one spoke to him when he walked into the squad room and Fin didn't know whether or not to take it as a bad sign. All of them had witnessed the incident between him and his partner the day before and he was sure it would only be a matter of time before Cragen became aware of it as well.
John's desk was empty, not surprisingly. He shook his head angrily as he took his coat off. Now more than ever, the squad needed to be working as hard as possible toward getting justice for a victim…and yet it seemed like every day they took another step in the opposite direction.
Maybe he just needed to get back up to the hospital for a while. Maybe a first-hand look at exactly what the point of their job was would get them back on track.
Now if only he could get John to do the same.
"Detective Tutuola."
His head snapped toward the source of the voice. Lieutenant Barry was standing in the doorway of the captain's office, holding the door open. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement and Barry gestured to him.
"Could you step in here, please?" he said, somewhat stiffly.
Fin glanced to the side and realized the other detectives were trying not to make it obvious that they were staring at him.
Setting his face into a defensive scowl, he moved around the side of his desk and walked toward the office.
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He blew through his cheeks and stared out the windshield while he waited. Drops of rain were dotting the glass, making the outside appear blurry.
"Hello," a frazzled-sounding voice said quickly.
"Casey," he said. He paused awkwardly, already feeling the flush rising in his face. "Listen…I-I um-"
"Did you get my message?" she asked urgently.
Don slid his eyes closed. "Yes," he said softly. A red truck cruised past him and whipped into a parking spot nearby. He sighed. "Casey, I apologize for this whole-"
"What happened?" she interrupted. The obvious fear in her voice made him feel even worse. "Is Elliot alright, Don? Did something-"
"No," he cut in quickly. "Nothing happened. He's alright…well, not- not alright…" His words started to tumble over each other in his nervousness and he stopped, taking a calming breath. "I'm sorry for being so blunt in my message, Casey, and I'm sorry if I caused you to worry."
"Don, talk to me," she demanded, the panic unable to be hidden. "His statement makes or breaks this case. If there is a problem, you need to let me know now. I'm walking into the hearing right now…this is our only chance."
He sighed. "I went there last night," he said, his voice sounding weary. "He was delirious…couldn't even sit still." The images popped back in his mind, causing him to shudder. "He's not reacting well to the drugs right now. The doctor said it could be another couple of days before he even becomes lucid, let alone be able to tell us anything."
There was a long pause.
"Casey?" he ventured, when she still didn't speak.
She sighed heavily. "I'll see if I can get the judge to hold the trial," she finally said. Her voice sounded so unconvincing that for the first time the captain became nervous.
"It…it shouldn't be a problem, though…right?" he asked uncertainly. "I mean, he-he's the one the case is centered around…" He let the sentence trail off anxiously.
There was another pause.
"He's the one the case should be centered around," Casey said weakly. Don felt his stomach turn at the grave note in her voice. "But so far, the defense has done a great job of swaying the judge." She hesitated, sounding uncertain. "Don…" She trailed off again.
Her silence was unnerving. "What?" he asked. Nothing. "Casey…what?"
Another heavy sigh filled his ear before she spoke. "There have been a lot of discrepancies involved with the police," she said dreadfully. Her voice was weak. "Haskins has already presented numerous minor details to the judge that make you guys look questionable and….and those little things…" She swallowed hard. "Well…they're adding up, Don."
"What? What kind of discrepancies?" His voice was full of anger. "There are no discrepancies, Casey! We've done our job down to the letter!" He scoffed in amazement. "Are you kidding me? After all these bastards have done the judge is questioning our intentions?"
"I didn't say he bought it," Casey was quick to say. "I don't know for sure really what Judge Verella believes as far as due process goes…all I'm saying is that it's being thrown out there and I don't have any proof to counter with."
"What else is there?" Don asked. "We still need a statement from Elliot, yeah…but there's still physical evidence of assault…he's in the Intensive Care Unit, for God's sake!"
"Don…I have absolutely nothing on my end to work with," she said edgily. "I've gotten no rape kit….the evidence collected from the crime scene is still being held by the court clerk, so I haven't even seen what it is yet. For all I know, it may be useless." Anger was strengthening her voice. "I can only do so much here, you know."
His stomach was twisting so violently that he thought he was going to throw up.
I've been gone two days…what the hell is going on with my squad?
He swallowed hard. "I…I'm sorry, Casey," he said in utter horror. "I haven't been with the squad for a few days. I wasn't aware of all…." Bile rose in his throat and he had to pause to swallow. "I…I know the kit was done because I spoke to Melinda Warner myself."
He closed his eyes and swallowed again. "I'm heading back to Manhattan," he said, making a decision on a whim. "As soon as I find out what's going on, I'll let you know. I'm sorry."
"I have to go," Casey said suddenly, nearly cutting off his sentence. "I'll call you when the hearing is dismissed."
"Good luck," he said before she could hang up.
Her voice was heavy. "Thanks," she said.
His finger slammed into the button and he was dialing again almost before it became connected. He started the car, his hands trembling with anger.
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A small groan brought her head away from where she had it leaned against the back of the chair. Pain shot up the back of her neck and she winced
Getting to her feet, Olivia went to the bedside.
He was lying still, but she could see the rigidness of his body. His face was contorted and he moaned again. The sound tore at her soul.
He turned his face, burrowing it frantically against the pillow. She hesitantly stroked through his hair as he whimpered and continued wrenching around. His face dropped into the soft plush of the stuffed rabbit lying on the pillow.
The sounds abruptly stopped.
Olivia's hand froze next to the call button. She held her breath and waited.
Sniffling wetly, he buried his face further into the soft object and sighed. His body relaxed and his breathing became even.
Tears dripped from her eyes. She brought her head down to rest against the side of his face, her hands continuing to comb across his scalp gently.
She didn't even realize that she was sobbing.
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"Why don't you have a seat?" Lieutenant Barry said, gesturing.
His eyes immediately took in the others crowded into the small office. Besides him and the lieutenant, Detective Kessler, Detective Briscoe, and two men in suits were gathered around the desk.
"I'll stand," Fin said brusquely, realizing right away what was going on.
The two men in suits were IAB agents…and by the looks of it, he and the other detectives were chum for the sharks.
Barry looked at him carefully for a minute and then glanced at the two agents.
A lanky agent with grey hair and cold brown eyes stepped slightly closer to him. Fin looked at him defensively and instinctively straightened.
"Detective Tutuola," he said evenly, his words slow and measured. "Agent Andrew Gilbert, Internal Affairs." He gestured fleetingly to his companion. "Agent Sam Black." He got right to the point without missing a beat. "Your partner is Detective Munch, correct?"
He stared squarely at the other man, one eyebrow cocking slightly.
"Yes," he answered.
"I understand you were present along with these detectives," he gestured to Briscoe and Kessler, "during an incident yesterday afternoon involving your partner and a man currently in your custody."
Fin said nothing.
Gilbert narrowed his eyes, the impatience obvious. "Is that correct, Detective?" he asked.
"No," he clipped shortly.
The agent raised his eyebrows and Fin stared right back.
"No?" Agent Black chimed in suddenly, stepping away from the wall. He exchanged glances with Gilbert and looked over at the two seated detectives. "Detective Kessler, did you not name Detective Tutuola as a witness as well as yourself and Detective Briscoe?"
Fin shot a glare towards Kessler that could have burned a hole through him. Kessler grimaced apologetically.
"I did not witness any kind of altercation between my partner and a suspect," he said shortly. "When I arrived downstairs, Munch, Briscoe, and Kessler were in the middle of a physical confrontation, which I broke up."
Gilbert cut in again, his words exaggerated and dripping with exasperation. "Were there any words exchanged between your partner and a person inside the holding cell?"
He looked at the agent coldly. "The only words came from the suspect as he was insulting my partner and using derogatory phrases towards him."
Gilbert pursed his lips so hard that they turned white. He and Fin glared at each other for a minute and then he turned toward the other detectives.
"This 'physical confrontation'," he said, the quote from Fin dripping with sarcasm, "was brought about because Detective Munch had his weapon drawn in the lockup." He looked at Briscoe and Kessler threateningly before coming back to Fin. "Detective Briscoe, those were your words."
Fin zeroed in on the younger detective angrily. So you're the snitch.
Briscoe squirmed uncomfortably under his fellow detective's angry stare and said nothing.
"Detective," Lieutenant Barry prompted.
Fin glanced at him in surprise. Traitor.
"Detec-" Agent Gilbert began again.
"Yes," Briscoe interrupted harshly.
"Did you see Detective Munch direct his weapon toward any person inside the lockup?" Gilbert continued stonily.
Briscoe glanced discreetly at Fin again.
Fin clenched his jaw, his intent clear in his eyes. Squeal and your ass is mine.
He looked back to the agent and lifted his chin slightly. "No," he said. He raised an eyebrow, daring the other man to challenge him. "I didn't."
Clenching his teeth, Agent Gilbert's gaze flitted to the other chair. "Detective Kessler," he said. "Did you see Detective Munch direct his weapon toward any person inside the lockup?"
"I did not," Kessler said clearly, his gaze never wavering.
Agent Black stepped over to the desk and removed a piece of paper from the edge. "We have a complaint from one Jason Evans," he said evenly. "Currently in your custody, claiming that Detective Munch placed his weapon on his forehead and cocked the trigger." He looked up and at the three detectives. "You're saying he's lying."
Not one of the detectives said a word.
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The participants all rose to their feet.
Casey put down her pen and stood. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Haskins scribbling something furiously on a legal pad before standing as well.
"The honorable Judge Franklin Deems presiding," the bailiff said. "Court is now in session. Be seated."
The courtroom echoed with scuffling feet as everyone sat back down.
The imposing black man in the judge's booth flipped through several papers in front of him. After a moment, he looked out at the congregation.
"Good morning, Counselors," he said cordially.
"Good morning, your Honor," Casey replied.
"Good morning," Haskins echoed.
"We're here to review a change of venue motion filed December 13th, concerning docket number 10-2343, People v. Ethan Jones, Jason Evans, James Bowman, Travis Sutton, John Hughes, Matt Lucas, and Jeffrey Pendleton," he read, glancing at the paper again for a moment. "Under judgment by Judge Warren L. Verella." He looked out once more. "Is this correct?"
Casey glanced at Haskins. He gestured to her with a sly smirk. Her gaze narrowed, but she refused to let him goad her.
"This is correct, your Honor," she said.
"Who requested the motion?" Deems asked.
"The defense, your Honor," Haskins interjected.
Judge Deems nodded. "Mr. Haskins," he said. "You may proceed, sir."
"Thank you, your Honor," he said. He straightened a few papers spread before him and flexed his fingers. "Your Honor, it is my belief that because of the nature of the allegations against my clients, having the trial here will produce unfair prejudices by the public, and in essence, effect the disposition of the jury."
"What evidence do you have for your beliefs, Mr. Haskins?" Judge Deems asked, his voice deep and boisterous.
"The alleged victim is a member of the New York Police Department," he said. He glanced at the pad in front of him for confirmation. "Detective Elliot Stabler." His gaze was steadfast and intense toward the judge. "It is no secret that the police protect their own, your Honor. I have no doubt that allowing the trial to take place among the detective's peers will provide ample opportunity for the jury to be swayed."
Judge Deems looked at him for a moment before turning toward Casey. "Counselor?" he prodded, raising his eyebrows at her.
Casey stood as well. "The NYPD has made Detective Stabler's kidnapping a matter of public knowledge since almost the second week of November," she said. "With all due respect, your Honor…"
She hesitated. "Technically, anyone with access to radio, television, internet, or a newspaper has a chance of knowing something about this case." She allowed a moment for her words to sink in before continuing. "But nonetheless, the people see no reason to object the defense's motion."
Casey waited until the judge looked down at his notes before risking a glance at Haskins. The suspicious scowl he sent toward her sent childish pleasure through her.
"If both parties are in agreement," he said. "I have no problem granting your request, Mr. Haskins." The defense attorney smiled. "Do you have someplace in mind?"
Haskins appeared caught off-guard and hesitated.
"Um…not particularly, your Honor," he answered slowly.
"If I may, your Honor?" Casey jumped in, a little nervously. She waited for Judge Deems to nod his permission. "The people would like to request a trial in close proximity to Buffalo. Aside from being near the general vicinity of where the crime took place, it is also more easily accessible to Mercy General Hospital, which is where Detective Stabler is currently still admitted."
Judge Deems nodded and looked to Haskins again. "Any objections, Mr. Haskins?"
A sudden, almost primal instinct crept up her stomach. She could stomach the man defending scum… but if he tried to jeopardize her friend, fair play was gone.
Almost as if he could sense her thoughts, Haskins was quick to answer. "No, your Honor."
Deems nodded. "Then
I hereby order the criminal trial to take place in the venue of the
Buffalo County Courthouse. Judge Verella will be notified and
will accommodate accordingly." He slammed the gavel down to
finalize the decision and raised his eyebrows at the attorneys. "Are
there any other issues we need to clear up, Counselors?"
"Uh, yes, your Honor," she jumped in, before Haskins had a chance to say anything. She began straightening her notes as she talked. "As of right now, Detective Stabler is physically incapable of providing a statement to the police regarding his attack. Without his testimony, it is impossible to prove the guilt or innocence of the defendants. The people are requesting that a trial continuance be issued until which time a statement can be obtained."
Judge Deems nodded. "So noted," he said, writing on his notes. "I will contact Judge Verella with your appeal. Is there anything else?"
Both attorneys shook their heads and Judge Deems slammed the gavel down again.
"This court is dismissed," he said.
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The bright mid-morning sunlight was virtually nonexistent behind the heavy drapes and to anyone passing by, it was just another empty house waiting for its hardworking owner to return in the evening.
Just the way he wanted it.
John sat with his back against the sofa cushions and drained the last of the bottle of Guinness, letting it drop to the floor carelessly to join the half-dozen others scattered there.
The five remaining bottles sat in the case beside him. He slapped a hand down over the case hard and let his arm drop heavily down to the couch.
His eyes were bloodshot and the five o'clock shadow had turned into more like a two-am scruff. He was almost sure that when he stood up, he would see butt imprints on the cushions.
Fuck all of it.
Fuck shaving and fuck sleep. Fuck brushing his teeth and eating and taking a shower and going to the fucking precinct to be a fucking sex crimes detective.
He wished he'd never heard of the Special Victims Unit. He wished he'd just stayed in Baltimore and retired in his cottage by the bay to write novels for a living like he'd wanted to do after he had grandkids.
He wished Elliot Stabler had never met him.
Sobs erupted from his lips and he dropped his head to his chest. Reaching blindly beside him, he fumbled around until he felt another bottle in his hand.
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"Olivia."
The weak voice caused her to jump and drop her can of Dr. Pepper to the floor.
"Shit," she cursed quickly, hurrying to set it upright.
She bolted from the chair and into the bathroom, removing several paper towels which she quickly placed over the spreading pool of liquid.
It had been almost four days since she had last heard his voice. Doctor Beck had finally been able to start a routine dosage after the initial shock had faded from his system, and though it left him pretty much consistently unconscious, at least she could relax a little knowing that the medicine was finally getting a chance to work.
She and Kathy also had begun a loose routine. Olivia stayed in the room during the day so that Kathy could go to work and be home when her kids came from school, then his ex-wife would come and stay with them during the night.
Kathy had pleaded with the detective to go home. She needed sleep, she needed a shower…she needed to let her body unwind. But Olivia had been adamant in her refusal and nothing the other woman did could change her mind.
So, after getting the okay from Olivia, Kathy had gone over to her apartment and packed a bag with clothes and toiletries. Olivia felt horrible about the other woman going through that kind of trouble, but Kathy only dismissed her apologies with carefree grace and brought her dinner every night.
The reality that he was actually awake again had her nearly tripping in her haste to the bedside.
"Elliot," she said softly, leaning over the railing. She reached out to gently lay a hand on his chest. "Hey….hey, honey."
She saw his facial muscles contract slightly as a shiver coursed through him. He weakly brought the blankets up closer to his chin and fidgeted.
The excitement at seeing him awake again was gone in a flash. Something wasn't right.
"Hey," she said, her voice becoming slightly concerned. "Do you feel alright? Do you want me to get the doctor?" Her heart began to pound and she reflexively moved her hand up to cradle his cheek.
He jerked his head to the side, away from her touch, and she nearly lost her breath when she looked into his eyes.
She had known this man for almost nine years and was so in tune with his every motion that if they were married he would probably want to kill her by now. She had access to his thoughts just by the slight changes that his eye color reflected.
They were always lightest when he was up to something. A shit-eating grin was always, always paired with a pair of eyes the color of the Caribbean Ocean.
Storm-cloud blue was a dead giveaway of crying. Be it from an allergic reaction or a gunshot wound, any type of redness at all would set off a deep blue that was almost too intense to look into.
When he was pissed, his eyes turned the color of slate…and oddly enough, it was her favorite one. As soon as he opened his mouth, of course, she sometimes had to restrain herself from giving him a nice round shiner to match the slate, but there was just something about that smoky hue that made her breath catch.
Thanks to these events, there was a new addition to the collection…the color of fear. She couldn't even describe the hue it made, but it was the one shade that she would give anything to never see again.
But not even nine years worth of moods, expressions, and nuances was enough to recognize this one.
His eyes were so hollow and empty that it seemed as if the pupils had overtaken them. She literally was having a hard time distinguishing any blue in them at all….and for a man who was remembered most often for his stunning eyes, it scared her so much that she almost began to shake.
"Elliot?" she asked again, hesitantly. She prayed her voice sounded stronger than she felt at the moment. "Talk to me. Something's wrong… what is it?"
He turned his head away from her to face the wall.
"I'm thirsty," he said quietly. His voice sounded absolutely drained of life. "Olivia…please, I need something to drink."
Perplexed, agonized, and terrified, she backed away slightly and pressed the call button. He didn't move from his position at all.
The door cracked open a couple of minutes later and a nurse poked her head in. "Yes," she asked cheerily. "What can I do for you?"
Olivia turned toward her. She had to swallow before she could speak. "Could he have something to drink?"
The petite brunette stepped into the room. "Ah, thirsty, Mr. Stabler?" she asked pleasantly, walking to the IV drip. "That's a good sign...the electrolytes are starting to balance out again."
She looked down at the bed, her smile eventually falling when she received no response. She cast a concerned glance to Olivia and the detective stared at the ground.
"I'm afraid liquid isn't allowed yet," she said regretfully, becoming serious. "But how about if I get you some ice chips, is that okay?"
A long silence followed and she looked at Olivia in confusion again.
"Yes," a voice said finally from the bed, nearly inaudible. He didn't turn. "Thank you."
Her brows furrowed, the woman walked slowly toward the door. "I'll be just a minute," she said before disappearing.
Hesitantly, Olivia ventured to the bedside again.
Tears were streaming freely down his averted face and the expression of utter despair she saw had her eyes welling.
"Elliot," she said softly, trying to keep her distance while still coming close. "Sweetheart, what's the matter?"
He sniffled, swallowing, as the tears continued. But his voice was deadly calm…not even a hint of distress at all.
"Just don't leave," he said softly. "Please… don't leave."
"I'm not going to leave," she said. Taking a chance, she stepped up to the railing. "Honey, nothing could make me leave. I promise you." Anxiety was making her voice slightly shrill. "Please tell me, Elliot…please tell me what's wrong."
She watched, her heart in her throat, and waited. There was nothing.
He didn't face her, he didn't speak…he barely even blinked.
All he did was sob silently against the wall.