Epilogue

"You two are a right pair of invalids," said Arthur Branch.  He chuckled to himself.

"Hmph," said Jack.  No concussion from Pooler's blitz attack, just some whiplash and a throbbing headache. 

"You'd think that would've entitled us to some kind of leniency in Tomkins' courtroom today," said Serena, perched on the leather couch that sat against the back wall of the office, a snifter of brandy in her good hand.  The other hand was healing slowly; she could just barely make a fist without sending bolts of pain lancing up her arm.

"I offered you both paid leave," Branch reminded her.

A secretary knocked on the door, handed Jack a slip of paper.  He read it, his face settling carefully into a blank mask. 

"What is it?" asked Serena.

"Brian Pooler just died in intensive care," said Jack.  He passed the note to Serena.

Branch sat back in his plush, well-worn chair.  "Well, that certainly makes things easier for me.  I had about a dozen people wanting to do Casey Novak's job."

"How nice," Serena said, a touch of bitterness edging around the words. 

"You know it's because you've earned the respect of this office," Branch said, not quite admonishing her. 

"I know," said Serena.  She put the snifter down.  "Excuse me."

Jack and Arthur exchanged looks.  "She's had a rough time of it," said Jack.

"You don't need to tell me," said Branch.

Serena sat in her office, sifting aimlessly through paperwork.  She'd had to hunt-and-peck her way through several reports on her computer, which had quickly become tedious.  She almost wished she had put off doing those reports, because she could use a little tedium at the moment. 

Brian Pooler was dead.  There would be no trial, no sentencing.  She was glad and disappointed and angry with herself for being disappointed.  Brian Pooler was dead.  It should have been like a gift, a neat end to the weeks of torment.  Why wasn't she ecstatic?  Was her thirst for revenge that insatiable, or was it some perverse kind of sympathy for a man who hadn't been able to help himself?  She threw down her pen in disgust.

"That kind of day, huh?"

Serena looked up; Olivia Benson stood just outside the door, dressed in her usual pants and v-neck sweater.  "Hi," Serena said, surprised.

"Mind if I have a seat?"

"Of course not."  Serena bade her take one of the two chairs facing her desk.

Olivia plopped down in the nearer seat, her jacket folded in her lap.  "Just stopped by to see how you were."

"You heard about Brian?" Serena asked.

"Yeah."  Olivia fiddled with the fabric of her jacket.  She had killed in the line of duty again.  She was worried that she was getting to be too familiar with the firearm discharge review board.  But she would do it again if it meant she could sit here with Serena at the end of day.

"Was that your first time…firing on a suspect?" Serena asked, hoping she wasn't being too blunt or too forward.  Somehow, she didn't think Olivia would hold either offense against her.

"No," said Olivia.  "I've been in some pretty tight situations before.  But you're safe, and that's what matters."  She brushed away unpleasant memories.  "How are you?"

Once again, Serena felt that tug of compassion from the detective.  Her wounds were laid open in an instant when Olivia took that tone of voice.  "Is it wrong to wish that he'd survived?" Serena wondered. 

Olivia seemed to think before answering.  "Would a trial have brought you a better sense of closure?" 

Serena wished she could get a straight answer.  "I don't know.  I think so.  I just…never felt like I regained control of my life before he died."

"And you feel robbed of that opportunity," Olivia deduced.

"Something like that."  Serena hastened to add, "But I don't blame you."

"It's okay if you do," said Olivia.  "Sometimes people need to focus their frustration to help them move on."

"I do not blame you," Serena repeated emphatically.  "Thank you for saving my life.  And Jack's," she added with a small smile.

Olivia waved a hand casually, trying to make light of the situation.  "It costs the city money to train replacements."

"Then you have the thanks of a grateful city.  Either way, you should let me buy you a drink," said Serena.

"And here I thought I was going to be doing the buying."  Olivia got up, plucked Serena's black overcoat from the coat rack, held it out to the ADA.  "You're not still taking those painkillers, are you?"

"There's really not that much pain to kill anymore," said Serena.  She turned off the light on her way out.