Ava Cabot
Pride
A Law and Order: SVU fic
Disclaimer: Of course I don't anything. I wish. And I don't know if the intersection of 12th and Washington really exists in New York. All errors are my own.
Call my name
And save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run,
Before I come undone.
Save from me from the nothing I've become.
Now that I know what I'm without
You can't just leave me, breathe into me
And make me real.
Bring me to life.
Evanescence: Bring Me To Life
Casey Novak POV
Many nights ago, when I wasn't an ADA for the Special Victims Unit, I dreamed dreamless dreams. That thought seems terribly redundant now, since now I see dead bodies in my sleep.
I don't remember the last time I cried seriously. Maybe it was when I finished my first case, and saw the nearly dead little girl staring at me with haunted eyes. Or maybe it was the picture of Alexandra Cabot, my predecessor, who glared at me from the desk of John Munch, who still clings to the belief that she'll return, even though it's been almost a year, and she's supposedly long dead.
Or it's just the angry eyes of Olivia and Elliot that steal my nights away now. I can't ignore their eyes anymore. I see the way they look at me. They hate me for replacing Cabot. But there's something behind her story. Everyone claims she's dead, but I don't believe lies.
Alexandra Cabot is out there, somewhere, biding her time to return.
She was on my mind when my front tire blew out tonight. Just by staring at her pictures around the SVU office, I already knew more about her than I would prefer.
Alexandra was in her early thirties, around the same age as Detective Benson. She had fine honey-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, seeming to see into my very soul and more. Her smile was faint, hinting very slightly at happiness. She was intelligent, witty, and beautiful. Detective Munch kindly conveyed all this to me late one night, as I sat staring at the photo, mesmerized by a woman that everyone believed was dead, except me.
"Shit," I muttered, pulling over to the side of the road. A yellow request- for-assistance phone sat nearly two feet away. I would be home within the one a.m. range, should I be so lucky.
It wasn't fair how everyone in SVU treated me like an outsider. I had been a lawyer for just as long as that Cabot woman, just not an ADA. Maybe I hadn't been the Special Victims Unit ADA for four years, but I was still perfectly competent and capable of doing just as good of a job.
I wasn't Alexandra Cabot, though, and this made me the loner.
I contemplated this while dialing for assistance. Leave it to me to blow out a tire at midnight. With my luck, a tow truck would be there within an hour. It didn't matter, though. I could disappear off the face of the Earth, and I doubt the SVU detectives would care.
I didn't hear the other car pull up beside me. I did hear the pounding footsteps, though, as they came closer and closer to the phone booth. I clenched my fists together. Maybe they would just go away.
"Need some help, miss?" he asked, tapping my shoulder with a dirty finger.
I cringed slightly, hanging up the phone, and tried to smile. "No. Thank you, though."
A scar of a tattoo lined his broken face, marred with cuts and wrinkles. Mussed dark hair framed his round face, and dark eyes glittered with a strange twinkle underneath a set of short lashes.
If he attacked me, there would be no problem giving a description.
"Excuse me," I said, pushing past him.
His hand, cold from the New York night, grabbed my pale wrist. "Let me help."
"Let go of my arm."
"I just wanna help."
"You can by leaving me alone."
Both my wrists were in his hands now. "Don't make this hard." His voice was slurred. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, stale and dizzying.
"Let go. Now." I dug my heel into his foot, and he yelped, swearing loudly.
"Bitch!" he screamed, throwing a heavy punch at my face.
I ducked narrowly, running to my car. He recovered quickly for a drunk, and reached out for my ankle, grabbing it and knocking me down. I tasted salty blood in mouth, as concrete met my face.
Blindly I started kicking. "Someone help me!" I screamed. "A man's trying to attack me!"
"Shut up," he growled, pulling me towards him.
"Someone! Damn it, help—"
"Shut up!" he shouted, finally cuffing his hand over my mouth. A shining knife glittered against the streetlamp. "One word, and I'll slit your fucking throat."
I couldn't talk or breathe now. He pulled me up, grabbing my keys and throwing them at my car. The car alarm sounded off, but he ignored it, pulling my shaking body towards the alley.
I thrust my elbow back, hitting his chest, and then groin. My nails, sharp as a cat's, dug into his face. I wasn't getting raped. I wouldn't get raped. Damn it, I was fighting back.
"You fucking bitch," he cried, a whoosh of air escaping from his lungs. I heard him groan and shout as I clawed his face from in front, reaching and pulling for anything I could find.
He reached around from the back, grabbing my waist and holding me tight. The knife flickered briefly, before he sliced one wrist.
"Oh God," I moaned, seeing a fresh course of blood trickle onto the ground, dripping off my navy skirt.
"Let me go," I begged. Maybe if I begged for my freaking life, he would let me go. "I'll give you anything---money, my keys---just don't hurt me."
"Shut up," he hissed, throwing me against the alley wall. By now, the street was at least three yards away. Woefully, I saw another street light die out.
I knew no one was coming for me.
And I watched him tear my blouse off.
Olivia POV
Babies rarely sleep, as I soon found out after Jonathon was born.
Elliot had told me horror stories from when all four of kids were babies, about how they would cry into the night and sleep for only two hours, before they awoke and cried for the rest of the day.
It wasn't so bad for me. I took care of Jonathon during the day, working up in the Crib while Elliot and Cragen took care of the assignments. Munch and Fin helped, keeping him entertained while I napped for a few hours. Often I was still exhausted when Fin woke me up, saying that Jonathon was hungry, or he needed to be changed, or he just wouldn't stop crying for me.
Being exhausted never bothered me. I was used to pulling ungodly hours long into the night. Feeding a growing baby was what made me even more tired. I felt as if all the vitamins and nutrients I ate were just sucked out when Jonathon needed to be fed.
Everyone was understanding. They knew it would have been impossible for me to stay at home all the time. Elliot and Cragen didn't mind being temporarily partnered up. At least all the cold cases were getting filed on time, with me filing and typing all day. That way, I could stay with my son and still work decently. It seemed like a good plan.
The clock in Cragen's office chimed twelve times, signaling the start of another long night. Downstairs, Munch, Fin, and Elliot sat slumped over their desks, absently writing and yawning aimlessly. The room was so silent, that I could hear Cragen tapping his pencil in anxiety.
One of our cases had no leads, and the three rape vics we had could offer no help.
They didn't see their rapists face well enough to give a description.
It was all the same. They were young women, in their late twenties or early thirties, all with dark red hair. Their cars had broken down, and a seemingly Good Samiritan had pulled over and offered some assistance. He was often drunk, and when the women tried to get away, he pulled them off the street and raped them.
This case was literally eating away at all of us, as many cases with few leads did. We were trying to pull something out of nothing. Casey was being difficult, having still barely broken into being our replacement ADA.
Sometimes I catch John looking at her aimlessly. He tries to imagine what Alex would be doing in Casey's place. If Casey's decisions would be different than hers. What Alex would do instead. In his mind, it was all about Alex and nothing else.
The lastest incidence had happened three days ago.
"Where the hell is Novak?" called Cragen, breaking his pencil in half. "Wasn't she supposed to drop by and pick up the files on this damn case?"
"She called about an hour ago, Cap," muttered Fin. "Said she would come by in the morning instead."
"I don't give a damn if she had other plans. Call her damn cell phone and get her ass down here."
"I'll do it," I said softly, reaching over Jonathon's sleeping body and grabbing my cell phone.
"Thanks, Olivia." Cragen glanced out from his doorway, his stern features softening ever slightly when he saw my worn face smiling back at her.
"No problem," I replied, already dialing her number. I wondered where Casey would be at midnight on a Thursday night. But it didn't matter, really. When duty called, nothing was more important.
Three rings went by before someone picked up.
And that was when I heard screams.
Casey POV
I was freezing when my cell phone rang. I didn't remember having it on, but then again, now I was thankful that someone was trying to check on me.
"Pick it up," he demanded, throwing the phone at me.
Shivering, I grabbed my torn shirt, hugging as I pressed the green receive button. "Hello?" I whispered.
"Casey?"
Oh God, it was Olivia calling from the squadroom.
The man stared at me. I wasn't stupid enough to answer my phone and risk rising his fury level.
But then again, I was terrified and wanted desperately to be saved.
"Olivia, you gotta help me!"
"Casey? Where are you?"
"Shut up, you fucking bitch!" he screamed, yanking my phone away.
"I'm at 12th and Washington!"
"Shut up!"
"Someone's raping me!"
"Casey!"
"Olivia!"
"Shut up!"
My phone went sailing against the wall, shattering into three neat pieces.
"That'll be your body if anyone calls back."
I nodded, shivering underneath the shredded remains of my blouse. "I doubt it'll happen again. You decimated my cell phone. And in case I receive any telepathic messages, I don't think you'll---"
"Shut up! Don't you ever just shut up!" He threw his hand across my face. A burning, numbing sensation crept through my muscles, as they relaxed into oblivion. Darkness was taking over me. The slashes from my wrists must have leaked enough blood for me to consciously disappear. Thank God for some miracles. Maybe now, I'd be out of it while he hit me.
Bruises burned blue, black, and purple across my battered body. I didn't even want to know what else he did to me. My body was a mess, and I desperately wanted EMS, SVU, or anyone to show up and save me.
I must have been going insane. I could faintly hear sirens. Did Olivia call? They must have. No one hated me that much. They were coming—someone was coming!
"Cops," he muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a dirty black marker. He spit on my bare, freezing stomach, as I winced away from his grin. "Now just to leave my mark, and I'll be outta here."
He grabbed me roughly again, viciously carving letters onto my skin, milky- white in the faded streetlight. An unmarked sedan---Olivia and Elliot--- burned tire rubber at the street. I could hear the ambulances coming. Olivia's pounding footsteps became louder, as my attacker threw the marker at me and ran.
"He's over there," I croaked, aimlessly lifting up my arm. Covering myself up was my main priority now. I didn't want them to see me beaten, raped, and on top of everything else, half-naked.
It seemed like a stupid worry, later.
But here in the now, with Elliot in hot pursuit of my rapist, I just wanted to go. Anywhere. It didn't matter. The hospital, my apartment, even the SVU squadroom would be a better place than this filthy alley.
A series of shouts and tumbles further down the alley told me that Elliot had tackled him. EMS officials dressed in almost blinding white uniforms threw blankets over me, and said I was going to be okay. Olivia's eyes bore into mine. But I didn't see anger in them.
It was regret.
"You okay, Casey?" she said softly.
I would have responded to her. Except then, blessed darkness took me.
I was safe at last.
St. Catherine's Hospital
Room 511 B
"We should do this now, Casey, while you're memory is still fresh. Jason Cray isn't going anywhere, remember? He can't hurt you."
"I know that, Olivia," I said, my voice edgily snappy. "I've heard you talk to victims for awhile now. I know the drill." My eyes drifted to the privacy curtain. "I just never imagined I'd be one."
"No one ever does."
"Don't you?"
"Don't I what?"
"Wonder if every man you see on the street will rape you or someone else."
"Sometimes, yes. I think I've been in SVU too long. I can almost tell if a man we catch is innocent or not." She carefully sat on the edge of my bed. "Usually, they look guilty."
"Just by looking in their eyes, huh? It's that simple for all of you?"
"We've been there a long time."
"Yeah, and I haven't. I'm just the newbie, right?"
Olivia hesitated before answering. "No. Casey, you have to understand—"
"I understand, Olivia. The only problem with me is that I'm not Alex Cabot, right?"
"That's not true."
Elliot, Fin, and Munch entered from the darkened doorway. All of them were watching me.
"Did you take her statement?" asked Munch, pushing his glasses up. "She can rest after we leave, and that should be soon."
"I'm not going to sleep for awhile, John."
"I can see that. You're just a bundle of energy, aren't you Novak?"
"I'm not more energetic than Alex."
His hand, hovering above my status chart, dropped. We all watched him walk back carefully, stumbling into the white plastic chair adjacent to my bed. My words did hurt---but I was hurting more.
"Don't say her name," said Fin gently. "It hurts an old man like Munch to hear the name of his deceased."
"So now Alex belongs to him?"
"They were in love."
"Were is a past tense."
"I think we're done here," announced Elliot, silencing Fin with one stern glare. "Casey's upset, and probably just needs to rest. We'll take her statement tomorrow."
Olivia nodded, knowing she would be the one appointed to the task. Fin cast a final glare at me before stomping out, crossing his arms and waiting outside.
"We should go," said Olivia softly, taking Elliot's hand in hers. "It's getting late, and like you said, she should rest."
"I'll see you all tomorrow, then," I said, drawing the thin coverlet around me.
"Just me and Olivia," replied Elliot, already half-way out the door. "Rest up, Casey, and we'll talk about the rape kit tomorrow."
I saw their retreating figures exit through the narrow door, not even waiting for John to heave his old and broken body out of the chair.
"Are you planning to stare at me all night?" I asked, looking at him.
"No."
"Then what is it you want?"
"The truth."
"What truth?"
"Do you hate us?"
"Hate you? Me?" My tone was acidly sarcastic. Of course I hated them. Everyone of the SVU detectives treated me like dirt since my first day. I was more hands-on then they were used to, but that's just how I handled my cases. I was no Alex Cabot, and they had to accept that she wasn't coming back.
I didn't believe she was dead.
"She's not dead, you know."
"What?" My statement startled him somehow. The cool, cynical exterior he had been milking since my first day instantly vanished. Now I saw the internal John Munch, a man who just wanted to find the woman he loved. He didn't want to believe she was dead. He wouldn't believe it until he saw the body.
"Did someone send you a vision?" His voice, weakly contemptuous, showed shades of worry.
"No. I just don't think she's dead, that's all."
"Why?"
"There isn't a body in her coffin. Olivia and Elliot were with her the night she died, and even though they swear she's dead, I can tell that they're lying. I've seen enough liars in my life to tell the difference between honesty and fallacy."
"Have you?"
"Yes."
He rose slowly, cracking his knuckles as a distracting thought. "You really think she's out there?"
"I read her case file. She was attacked by Columbian drug lords. One is dead. But the other, Cesar Valez, is on the run. Maybe Alex is in the Witness Protection Program. You never know."
"Seems too far-fetched."
"Is it?"
He paused. "I just want to have her back."
John Munch was a man broken with heartache. My body, enclosed in a scathing, numbing cocoon loosened, and I tumbled out. I felt remorse for everything I had just said minutes ago to Olivia, Elliot, and Fin. But they weren't there to hear my sudden apology. Only John was—but that was what mattered most. Alex mattered to him the most.
"Patience, Mr. Munch. She'll come back to you someday. Maybe not tomorrow, or the week after, or even in a year. But she will be back. Cesar Valez can't run forever, and they can't keep her cooped up in a new identity until the end of time."
"You're sure?"
"No. But is anyone ever really sure about anything?"
He cracked a small smile. "Don't get all philosophical on me, Novak."
"Casey, John. Not Novak, not ADA Novak, just Casey."
"Fine, Casey. I'll take your half-baked advice, and wait for Alex to come home to me."
"She will."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're so convincing, that I think I will believe you."
"That's good."
"Rest up. Olivia and Elliot aren't fun when low on sleep."
"Especially when their baby keeps them up half the night."
"Thus the reason I never had offspring."
"Good night, John."
"Night, Casey."
The door closed silently behind him. The IV hooked up to pump in blood to replace all I had lost was long done, and I was alone, in a silent hospital room. My cuts were healing and covered in antiseptic. All the bruises were turning green; a sure sign that they would be gone soon. I was injured, battered, and completely traumatized, but the road to recovery was looking good.
I didn't see what my attacker—Jason—had carved on me until I was admitted to the hospital. Across my cut belly, he scrawled, "Pride." I had no idea why he had written that. Maybe he knew the sins of my prideful past. Maybe he knew how I never took crap from anyone, no matter how important they were. Whatever the reason, he was now sitting in Rikers, awaiting the trial where I would prosecute him myself. I would find justice and put this piece of my life into full circle.
And maybe John could put everything into order too. For both his sake and Alex's, when she returned.
I won't deny that I'm too bold or overly audacious in some cases. My sense of pride may have cost me my honor tonight, but I would soon set everything straight.
Sometimes, my pride can cause my downfall.
A/N: so, what did you all think? I'm expecting CONSTRUCTIVE reviews from everyone, okay? It's been a great run, and I'm sad to close this fic up with one more chapter, with the return of Alex Cabot to New York. Help me reach my goal of 100 reviews at the end of chapter nine. I'll keep posting good O/E angst if you do...
Bisous,
Ava
Pride
A Law and Order: SVU fic
Disclaimer: Of course I don't anything. I wish. And I don't know if the intersection of 12th and Washington really exists in New York. All errors are my own.
Call my name
And save me from the dark.
Bid my blood to run,
Before I come undone.
Save from me from the nothing I've become.
Now that I know what I'm without
You can't just leave me, breathe into me
And make me real.
Bring me to life.
Evanescence: Bring Me To Life
Casey Novak POV
Many nights ago, when I wasn't an ADA for the Special Victims Unit, I dreamed dreamless dreams. That thought seems terribly redundant now, since now I see dead bodies in my sleep.
I don't remember the last time I cried seriously. Maybe it was when I finished my first case, and saw the nearly dead little girl staring at me with haunted eyes. Or maybe it was the picture of Alexandra Cabot, my predecessor, who glared at me from the desk of John Munch, who still clings to the belief that she'll return, even though it's been almost a year, and she's supposedly long dead.
Or it's just the angry eyes of Olivia and Elliot that steal my nights away now. I can't ignore their eyes anymore. I see the way they look at me. They hate me for replacing Cabot. But there's something behind her story. Everyone claims she's dead, but I don't believe lies.
Alexandra Cabot is out there, somewhere, biding her time to return.
She was on my mind when my front tire blew out tonight. Just by staring at her pictures around the SVU office, I already knew more about her than I would prefer.
Alexandra was in her early thirties, around the same age as Detective Benson. She had fine honey-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, seeming to see into my very soul and more. Her smile was faint, hinting very slightly at happiness. She was intelligent, witty, and beautiful. Detective Munch kindly conveyed all this to me late one night, as I sat staring at the photo, mesmerized by a woman that everyone believed was dead, except me.
"Shit," I muttered, pulling over to the side of the road. A yellow request- for-assistance phone sat nearly two feet away. I would be home within the one a.m. range, should I be so lucky.
It wasn't fair how everyone in SVU treated me like an outsider. I had been a lawyer for just as long as that Cabot woman, just not an ADA. Maybe I hadn't been the Special Victims Unit ADA for four years, but I was still perfectly competent and capable of doing just as good of a job.
I wasn't Alexandra Cabot, though, and this made me the loner.
I contemplated this while dialing for assistance. Leave it to me to blow out a tire at midnight. With my luck, a tow truck would be there within an hour. It didn't matter, though. I could disappear off the face of the Earth, and I doubt the SVU detectives would care.
I didn't hear the other car pull up beside me. I did hear the pounding footsteps, though, as they came closer and closer to the phone booth. I clenched my fists together. Maybe they would just go away.
"Need some help, miss?" he asked, tapping my shoulder with a dirty finger.
I cringed slightly, hanging up the phone, and tried to smile. "No. Thank you, though."
A scar of a tattoo lined his broken face, marred with cuts and wrinkles. Mussed dark hair framed his round face, and dark eyes glittered with a strange twinkle underneath a set of short lashes.
If he attacked me, there would be no problem giving a description.
"Excuse me," I said, pushing past him.
His hand, cold from the New York night, grabbed my pale wrist. "Let me help."
"Let go of my arm."
"I just wanna help."
"You can by leaving me alone."
Both my wrists were in his hands now. "Don't make this hard." His voice was slurred. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, stale and dizzying.
"Let go. Now." I dug my heel into his foot, and he yelped, swearing loudly.
"Bitch!" he screamed, throwing a heavy punch at my face.
I ducked narrowly, running to my car. He recovered quickly for a drunk, and reached out for my ankle, grabbing it and knocking me down. I tasted salty blood in mouth, as concrete met my face.
Blindly I started kicking. "Someone help me!" I screamed. "A man's trying to attack me!"
"Shut up," he growled, pulling me towards him.
"Someone! Damn it, help—"
"Shut up!" he shouted, finally cuffing his hand over my mouth. A shining knife glittered against the streetlamp. "One word, and I'll slit your fucking throat."
I couldn't talk or breathe now. He pulled me up, grabbing my keys and throwing them at my car. The car alarm sounded off, but he ignored it, pulling my shaking body towards the alley.
I thrust my elbow back, hitting his chest, and then groin. My nails, sharp as a cat's, dug into his face. I wasn't getting raped. I wouldn't get raped. Damn it, I was fighting back.
"You fucking bitch," he cried, a whoosh of air escaping from his lungs. I heard him groan and shout as I clawed his face from in front, reaching and pulling for anything I could find.
He reached around from the back, grabbing my waist and holding me tight. The knife flickered briefly, before he sliced one wrist.
"Oh God," I moaned, seeing a fresh course of blood trickle onto the ground, dripping off my navy skirt.
"Let me go," I begged. Maybe if I begged for my freaking life, he would let me go. "I'll give you anything---money, my keys---just don't hurt me."
"Shut up," he hissed, throwing me against the alley wall. By now, the street was at least three yards away. Woefully, I saw another street light die out.
I knew no one was coming for me.
And I watched him tear my blouse off.
Olivia POV
Babies rarely sleep, as I soon found out after Jonathon was born.
Elliot had told me horror stories from when all four of kids were babies, about how they would cry into the night and sleep for only two hours, before they awoke and cried for the rest of the day.
It wasn't so bad for me. I took care of Jonathon during the day, working up in the Crib while Elliot and Cragen took care of the assignments. Munch and Fin helped, keeping him entertained while I napped for a few hours. Often I was still exhausted when Fin woke me up, saying that Jonathon was hungry, or he needed to be changed, or he just wouldn't stop crying for me.
Being exhausted never bothered me. I was used to pulling ungodly hours long into the night. Feeding a growing baby was what made me even more tired. I felt as if all the vitamins and nutrients I ate were just sucked out when Jonathon needed to be fed.
Everyone was understanding. They knew it would have been impossible for me to stay at home all the time. Elliot and Cragen didn't mind being temporarily partnered up. At least all the cold cases were getting filed on time, with me filing and typing all day. That way, I could stay with my son and still work decently. It seemed like a good plan.
The clock in Cragen's office chimed twelve times, signaling the start of another long night. Downstairs, Munch, Fin, and Elliot sat slumped over their desks, absently writing and yawning aimlessly. The room was so silent, that I could hear Cragen tapping his pencil in anxiety.
One of our cases had no leads, and the three rape vics we had could offer no help.
They didn't see their rapists face well enough to give a description.
It was all the same. They were young women, in their late twenties or early thirties, all with dark red hair. Their cars had broken down, and a seemingly Good Samiritan had pulled over and offered some assistance. He was often drunk, and when the women tried to get away, he pulled them off the street and raped them.
This case was literally eating away at all of us, as many cases with few leads did. We were trying to pull something out of nothing. Casey was being difficult, having still barely broken into being our replacement ADA.
Sometimes I catch John looking at her aimlessly. He tries to imagine what Alex would be doing in Casey's place. If Casey's decisions would be different than hers. What Alex would do instead. In his mind, it was all about Alex and nothing else.
The lastest incidence had happened three days ago.
"Where the hell is Novak?" called Cragen, breaking his pencil in half. "Wasn't she supposed to drop by and pick up the files on this damn case?"
"She called about an hour ago, Cap," muttered Fin. "Said she would come by in the morning instead."
"I don't give a damn if she had other plans. Call her damn cell phone and get her ass down here."
"I'll do it," I said softly, reaching over Jonathon's sleeping body and grabbing my cell phone.
"Thanks, Olivia." Cragen glanced out from his doorway, his stern features softening ever slightly when he saw my worn face smiling back at her.
"No problem," I replied, already dialing her number. I wondered where Casey would be at midnight on a Thursday night. But it didn't matter, really. When duty called, nothing was more important.
Three rings went by before someone picked up.
And that was when I heard screams.
Casey POV
I was freezing when my cell phone rang. I didn't remember having it on, but then again, now I was thankful that someone was trying to check on me.
"Pick it up," he demanded, throwing the phone at me.
Shivering, I grabbed my torn shirt, hugging as I pressed the green receive button. "Hello?" I whispered.
"Casey?"
Oh God, it was Olivia calling from the squadroom.
The man stared at me. I wasn't stupid enough to answer my phone and risk rising his fury level.
But then again, I was terrified and wanted desperately to be saved.
"Olivia, you gotta help me!"
"Casey? Where are you?"
"Shut up, you fucking bitch!" he screamed, yanking my phone away.
"I'm at 12th and Washington!"
"Shut up!"
"Someone's raping me!"
"Casey!"
"Olivia!"
"Shut up!"
My phone went sailing against the wall, shattering into three neat pieces.
"That'll be your body if anyone calls back."
I nodded, shivering underneath the shredded remains of my blouse. "I doubt it'll happen again. You decimated my cell phone. And in case I receive any telepathic messages, I don't think you'll---"
"Shut up! Don't you ever just shut up!" He threw his hand across my face. A burning, numbing sensation crept through my muscles, as they relaxed into oblivion. Darkness was taking over me. The slashes from my wrists must have leaked enough blood for me to consciously disappear. Thank God for some miracles. Maybe now, I'd be out of it while he hit me.
Bruises burned blue, black, and purple across my battered body. I didn't even want to know what else he did to me. My body was a mess, and I desperately wanted EMS, SVU, or anyone to show up and save me.
I must have been going insane. I could faintly hear sirens. Did Olivia call? They must have. No one hated me that much. They were coming—someone was coming!
"Cops," he muttered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a dirty black marker. He spit on my bare, freezing stomach, as I winced away from his grin. "Now just to leave my mark, and I'll be outta here."
He grabbed me roughly again, viciously carving letters onto my skin, milky- white in the faded streetlight. An unmarked sedan---Olivia and Elliot--- burned tire rubber at the street. I could hear the ambulances coming. Olivia's pounding footsteps became louder, as my attacker threw the marker at me and ran.
"He's over there," I croaked, aimlessly lifting up my arm. Covering myself up was my main priority now. I didn't want them to see me beaten, raped, and on top of everything else, half-naked.
It seemed like a stupid worry, later.
But here in the now, with Elliot in hot pursuit of my rapist, I just wanted to go. Anywhere. It didn't matter. The hospital, my apartment, even the SVU squadroom would be a better place than this filthy alley.
A series of shouts and tumbles further down the alley told me that Elliot had tackled him. EMS officials dressed in almost blinding white uniforms threw blankets over me, and said I was going to be okay. Olivia's eyes bore into mine. But I didn't see anger in them.
It was regret.
"You okay, Casey?" she said softly.
I would have responded to her. Except then, blessed darkness took me.
I was safe at last.
St. Catherine's Hospital
Room 511 B
"We should do this now, Casey, while you're memory is still fresh. Jason Cray isn't going anywhere, remember? He can't hurt you."
"I know that, Olivia," I said, my voice edgily snappy. "I've heard you talk to victims for awhile now. I know the drill." My eyes drifted to the privacy curtain. "I just never imagined I'd be one."
"No one ever does."
"Don't you?"
"Don't I what?"
"Wonder if every man you see on the street will rape you or someone else."
"Sometimes, yes. I think I've been in SVU too long. I can almost tell if a man we catch is innocent or not." She carefully sat on the edge of my bed. "Usually, they look guilty."
"Just by looking in their eyes, huh? It's that simple for all of you?"
"We've been there a long time."
"Yeah, and I haven't. I'm just the newbie, right?"
Olivia hesitated before answering. "No. Casey, you have to understand—"
"I understand, Olivia. The only problem with me is that I'm not Alex Cabot, right?"
"That's not true."
Elliot, Fin, and Munch entered from the darkened doorway. All of them were watching me.
"Did you take her statement?" asked Munch, pushing his glasses up. "She can rest after we leave, and that should be soon."
"I'm not going to sleep for awhile, John."
"I can see that. You're just a bundle of energy, aren't you Novak?"
"I'm not more energetic than Alex."
His hand, hovering above my status chart, dropped. We all watched him walk back carefully, stumbling into the white plastic chair adjacent to my bed. My words did hurt---but I was hurting more.
"Don't say her name," said Fin gently. "It hurts an old man like Munch to hear the name of his deceased."
"So now Alex belongs to him?"
"They were in love."
"Were is a past tense."
"I think we're done here," announced Elliot, silencing Fin with one stern glare. "Casey's upset, and probably just needs to rest. We'll take her statement tomorrow."
Olivia nodded, knowing she would be the one appointed to the task. Fin cast a final glare at me before stomping out, crossing his arms and waiting outside.
"We should go," said Olivia softly, taking Elliot's hand in hers. "It's getting late, and like you said, she should rest."
"I'll see you all tomorrow, then," I said, drawing the thin coverlet around me.
"Just me and Olivia," replied Elliot, already half-way out the door. "Rest up, Casey, and we'll talk about the rape kit tomorrow."
I saw their retreating figures exit through the narrow door, not even waiting for John to heave his old and broken body out of the chair.
"Are you planning to stare at me all night?" I asked, looking at him.
"No."
"Then what is it you want?"
"The truth."
"What truth?"
"Do you hate us?"
"Hate you? Me?" My tone was acidly sarcastic. Of course I hated them. Everyone of the SVU detectives treated me like dirt since my first day. I was more hands-on then they were used to, but that's just how I handled my cases. I was no Alex Cabot, and they had to accept that she wasn't coming back.
I didn't believe she was dead.
"She's not dead, you know."
"What?" My statement startled him somehow. The cool, cynical exterior he had been milking since my first day instantly vanished. Now I saw the internal John Munch, a man who just wanted to find the woman he loved. He didn't want to believe she was dead. He wouldn't believe it until he saw the body.
"Did someone send you a vision?" His voice, weakly contemptuous, showed shades of worry.
"No. I just don't think she's dead, that's all."
"Why?"
"There isn't a body in her coffin. Olivia and Elliot were with her the night she died, and even though they swear she's dead, I can tell that they're lying. I've seen enough liars in my life to tell the difference between honesty and fallacy."
"Have you?"
"Yes."
He rose slowly, cracking his knuckles as a distracting thought. "You really think she's out there?"
"I read her case file. She was attacked by Columbian drug lords. One is dead. But the other, Cesar Valez, is on the run. Maybe Alex is in the Witness Protection Program. You never know."
"Seems too far-fetched."
"Is it?"
He paused. "I just want to have her back."
John Munch was a man broken with heartache. My body, enclosed in a scathing, numbing cocoon loosened, and I tumbled out. I felt remorse for everything I had just said minutes ago to Olivia, Elliot, and Fin. But they weren't there to hear my sudden apology. Only John was—but that was what mattered most. Alex mattered to him the most.
"Patience, Mr. Munch. She'll come back to you someday. Maybe not tomorrow, or the week after, or even in a year. But she will be back. Cesar Valez can't run forever, and they can't keep her cooped up in a new identity until the end of time."
"You're sure?"
"No. But is anyone ever really sure about anything?"
He cracked a small smile. "Don't get all philosophical on me, Novak."
"Casey, John. Not Novak, not ADA Novak, just Casey."
"Fine, Casey. I'll take your half-baked advice, and wait for Alex to come home to me."
"She will."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're so convincing, that I think I will believe you."
"That's good."
"Rest up. Olivia and Elliot aren't fun when low on sleep."
"Especially when their baby keeps them up half the night."
"Thus the reason I never had offspring."
"Good night, John."
"Night, Casey."
The door closed silently behind him. The IV hooked up to pump in blood to replace all I had lost was long done, and I was alone, in a silent hospital room. My cuts were healing and covered in antiseptic. All the bruises were turning green; a sure sign that they would be gone soon. I was injured, battered, and completely traumatized, but the road to recovery was looking good.
I didn't see what my attacker—Jason—had carved on me until I was admitted to the hospital. Across my cut belly, he scrawled, "Pride." I had no idea why he had written that. Maybe he knew the sins of my prideful past. Maybe he knew how I never took crap from anyone, no matter how important they were. Whatever the reason, he was now sitting in Rikers, awaiting the trial where I would prosecute him myself. I would find justice and put this piece of my life into full circle.
And maybe John could put everything into order too. For both his sake and Alex's, when she returned.
I won't deny that I'm too bold or overly audacious in some cases. My sense of pride may have cost me my honor tonight, but I would soon set everything straight.
Sometimes, my pride can cause my downfall.
A/N: so, what did you all think? I'm expecting CONSTRUCTIVE reviews from everyone, okay? It's been a great run, and I'm sad to close this fic up with one more chapter, with the return of Alex Cabot to New York. Help me reach my goal of 100 reviews at the end of chapter nine. I'll keep posting good O/E angst if you do...
Bisous,
Ava