This is a tale of Alex trying to get her life back together after she left witness protection. Conviction never happened in this story (TBH, I think Conviction never happened in the SVU world since Alex was brought back. I think Alex was only in WPP for 3 years according to the SVU time line.

The sound of the liquid swirling in the glass is barely auditable among the noise of the fire wood cracking in the fire place. I swirl the liquid a little more before taking a sip. This had become a nightly routine for me since my return to life as Alexandra Cabot almost four months ago, sitting in the darkness of the living room that was dimly lit by the fire place drinking whiskey.

"Am I being moved again?" I asked Agent Hammond as I let him into my new home in Denver Colorado. I had been moved to this identity just after I testified against Connors a little over a year ago.

"Connors has been extradited to Ireland and Velez was killed last week while in prison." Hammond stated as he walked into the living room. He turned to face me because I didn't reply. I had to place a hand onto the wall to stop myself from falling over. "Alex, you're going home."

My mother had sold my brownstone when I had "died" but the feds seized my checking, savings, and trust funds during my time in witness protection. They had given it all back to me when I was released, all $15 million dollars it. It had taken me a month to find a new home but instead of purchasing another brownstone, I opted for a two story high rise luxury condo that over looked Central Park. What sold me was the high level of security that came attached to the building.

I poured myself another glass and drank this one much quicker than the last. Cheers to being a Cabot again, rich, lonely, and depressed. Depression wasn't new to me. During my time in witness protection I suffered through it a lot. Constantly trying to sort out who I was supposed to be on the surface from who I truly am was difficult. There were times where I had slipped and let out a little too much knowledge of the law, especially when my last identity was that of a kindergarten teacher.

I poured myself another glass before putting out the fire. The bright red numbers on the clock reading 2:33 am was a clear indication that I should be heading to bed. But like I stated before, this was a nightly routine ever since I had left the program. The first thing I wanted to do when I arrived back in New York was to visit my grave. That's where Agent Hammond found me.

'Loving, Devoted, and Loyal' were the words written above my name on the headstone at my grave site. I laughed quietly to myself when I repeated the word headstone in my head. God, I could only imagine what my parents went through planning my funeral, bury what was an empty casket believing that their only child had been murdered. "What did you tell my parents to convince them to have a closed casket funeral?" I asked as I heard footsteps approaching me from my right.

"That you had been shot in the head, not the shoulder."

All those years and I had never asked. It had never crossed my mind to think of all the work it took to fake my death in order to keep me alive. All the lies that were told, false documents created and signed. All of the pain my family and friends went through. I haven't reached out to my friends since I've been back. The only person I saw upon my return was my father. I haven't seen anyone. It wasn't because I didn't want to, it was because I didn't know how to. How do you walk back into someone's life after being dead for years? What do you say? Surprise, I'm not dead?

I visited my father after visiting my mother's grave. They had buried her next to me. Even in death, she wanted to be near me. Then the reality of her death hit me. My mother was expecting to see me in the afterlife, to be with me again only to find out that I was still alive. That the pain and sorrow she went through grieving the lost life of her only child was a lie.

The look on my Father's face when he opened the front door and saw me standing there with Agent Hammond close behind me was not etched permanently into my memory. "Daddy…" was all I could say as I felt myself start to cry. I took a step forward and my heart broke when he took a step back away from me. I couldn't blame him. The daughter he buried years ago was standing in front of him. I took a step back and started to turn away when I felt his hand take mine. I turned to look at him as he put his hand on my face as if to make sure I was real. I nodded to assure him I was real. He pulled me into a hug so quick that I did not have time to react. At that moment, all of the bottled up emotions rushed to the surface as I cried in my father's arms. "Daddy I'm so sorry…"

I got settled into my over sized king size bed, finished what was left of my drink and wiped away my tears. I had cried so much over the past few months that I no longer new what I cried for. I cried for the person I used to be. Even though I was free to be her again, I didn't know how. I was Alexandra Cabot for 30 years before she died. I was Emily Dickens for two years and Elizabeth Anderson for one year. I knew how to be Emily and Elizabeth, it was easy but why couldn't I be Alexandra Cabot again? Why is it so hard for me to be me again? I cried myself to sleep again as I let the three words repeat itself in my head, who am I?