Title: Not Yet Broken In
Author: eroded
Rating: R, for some naughty language
Category: Angst, Vignette
Characters: Casey Novak all by her lonesome. Let's hope she can hold her own.
Summary: Postep for Lowdown. Casey struggles with her job, her memories, and her insecurities. Predictably, angst ensues.
Spoilers: Lowdown
Note: Thanks to Wings for keeping this on her computer even after I deleted it from mine.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. Anyway, if I could pick one to own, you'd better believe it wouldn't be Casey.
Casey splashed the cool water onto her face and held her eyes shut for just a moment. The harsh lighting of the courthouse restroom penetrated her closed eyelids anyway, and she finally opened them again. She blinked once, twice, to clear the stinging sensation as her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent bulb. The image staring at her from the mirror wasn't exactly a welcome sight.
God, Casey, she thought, shaking her head. You look like you need about twenty hours of sleep. She ran her fingers through the hair framing her face and sighed. Not to mention a haircut. When did these bangs get so out of control?
The ADA looked at her watch and decided that enough time had passed. Maryellen Abbot must have left by now. Casey knew it was silly, hiding in the bathroom like that, but she didn't want to chance running into the woman right now. She didn't want to risk looking Maryellen in the eye, didn't want to risk being looked in the eye herself.
She smoothed her skirt, picked up her briefcase, and flashed a smile at the mirror. Note to self: improve fake smile. Finally, Casey pushed open the door and stepped into the empty corridor.
She walked towards the exit and marveled at how different these halls felt when she was all alone, when it was so late at night. Her heels on the tile floor echoed in the silence, and Casey realized it had never been quiet enough to hear them before. Clack, clack clack. Left, right, left, right. She focused on the sharp sound of her own feet, willing her mind to stop buzzing over this latest case.
Get a hold of yourself, Casey. This is SVU, get used to it. It was a speech she'd given herself many times before, starting with her very first case in the unit.
Casey had stormed into the world of "special victims" ready to take on the world in all its horrifying detail. She'd charged headfirst into the underworld of rape, of assaulted children, of women who needed her to speak for them. Now she let out a small puff of air as she chuckled at the memory of her first day on the job. So eager to show everyone exactly what Casey Novak was made of, she'd stepped on some toes and offended the detectives.
"Who the hell are you?" Olivia had demanded. Not the greatest beginning, but Casey had been too smug at the time to take note of it. She'd wanted to respond, I'm the woman who's going to be winning all your cases. Good thing she'd settled for a mere introduction instead. By the time they'd located the missing girl Casey had had enough to send her running to her supervisor, all but begging for a new position.
Way to take on the world.
-------------------
Casey pushed open the doors and felt the chill of nighttime in New York City hit her face. It was early enough in the year that the sidewalk grates were still hissing thin clouds into the air; cold enough that a trek to the subway station felt like torture. Especially in these heels. She walked up to the curb and stuck out her hand, thrilling a bit when a cab appeared almost immediately.
Just this once. I promise, she rationalized to herself as she opened the door and scooted into the back seat. She really didn't have the money to take a cab all the time, but Casey was willing to indulge on nights like this: nights when one horrible day hadn't even ended before the next day began. Hell, the least she deserved was a cab ride.
She called out her address to the driver, who nodded and pulled away from the curb without saying a word. Casey smiled a bit for the first time all day as she settled into the cushioned seat, not even minding the lingering smell of cigarettes and sweat. If anyone had told me that someday, a cab ride would count as a highlight of the day, I'd have laughed in his face, she thought with a smirk. Still, it's the little things in life that count.
After that first case, she'd told herself that it would get easier. Olivia dealt with it, and had been dealing with it for years. All the detectives found a way to deal with the job. And of course, Alex: she'd dealt with everything. She was, apparently, Alexandra Cabot, Patron Saint of Special Victims. Hell, she'd even been martyred for the cause.
Casey saw the ghost of Alex Cabot everywhere. She was in the courtroom, looking out from behind those glasses and critiquing Casey's arguments. She was in the stationhouse, striding around with such purpose that even Cragen sometimes jumped to attention. But worst of all, she was in the minds of the detectives. Their longing for Alex was sometimes tangible, although they'd never dare admit it. She knew, though; everyone did. Casey would open her mouth to speak, and she could almost hear them praying that Alex's voice would come out.
Fuck it, she told herself, but she didn't believe it. Still, she repeated the phrases she often used to pick herself up, almost like a mantra. You are a good lawyer. You are speaking for the people. And yet she sighed in between her words, shutting her eyes to halt the tears that were suddenly springing up. It would help if there weren't so many people to speak for. It would help if Alex hadn't left such big shoes to fill.
Casey bet that Alex wouldn't have stuck her foot in her mouth, wouldn't have told Maryellen that Jeff York was HIV-positive. In retrospect, that had been a really stupid thing to do. But the fact was, not all victims were the ones who had been raped, been murdered.
Special victims were everywhere, and Casey had taken a risk and looked into Maryellen's eyes in the stationhouse. There, she'd seen the same things - the disbelief, the scarred soul, the fear - that she'd seen in the eyes of so many other women. Women she was supposed to be protecting. Special victims.
After that, she'd had to tell her. Even if doing so could put the case - not to mention her job - in jeopardy. HIV status may be a private issue, but the problems it causes aren't. Casey curled and uncurled her fingers, remembering her own family's ordeal: her uncle, her father's only brother. She remembered the initial shock; the gradual decay of his health; the drawn-out, undignified death. How could I have left Maryellen in the dark? How can that be the right thing to do?
Casey stared blankly out the window as the cab meandered through the city streets. She couldn't get her mind off of the Abbot family. The father, whom she'd rightfully put in jail, and yet for whom she still felt sorry. The mother, who had seen her world crumble in a matter of days. And the children, who were too young to understand that the worst was yet to come. Casey had witnessed the suffering of her uncle when she was growing up; she still remembered the nights when she would huddle under her pillow to keep from hearing him cry. She couldn't imagine seeing that kind of pain in both of your parents.
Special victims.
Silently, she turned her head away from the window and let a tear slip down her cheek. She knew that she shouldn't let cases get to her like this. She'd never measure up to Alex, to Olivia, to the job itself, if she kept feeling the victims' pain so deeply. Blinking hard, she fought the tears down. Come on, Casey. You've got to be stronger than this.
----------------------
"Mbuto dhielri," the cab driver mumbled - or at least that was what it sounded like - and Casey looked up to see that they had arrived outside her apartment building.
"Thank you. Keep the change." She handed a few folded bills to the driver and scooted awkwardly out of the cab. I wish there was a graceful way to get out of a car. Her skirt had crumpled in a rather unfeminine way, and she tugged it back down as the wind chilled her stocking-clad legs. She hurried up the steps and inside, waving to the doorman as she passed. He nodded back and gave her a sad smile.
"Another late night, Miss Novak? That makes two of us," he said cheerfully. Casey nodded and rolled her eyes, wishing briefly that a late night for her could mean sitting at a desk and watching people return home.
Once she'd finally gotten to her apartment - some nights, the trip from the lobby to the fifth floor seemed to take forever - Casey shut the door behind her and fell back against it, exhaling slowly and shutting her eyes. She slipped one shoe off and then the other, digging her toes into the welcome mat and rolling her sore ankles.
God, those shoes kill my feet. She lined them up next to the door and wiggled her toes again. Every night, it seemed, Casey found herself wishing she were one of those women who seemed born to walk in heels. I bet Alex didn't slip her shoes off under her desk during the day, she thought briefly, before shaking her head at her own insecurity.
Casey made her way through the apartment without bothering to turn on any lights. She walked into the bedroom, limping slightly until she finally collapsed on her bed and sank into the pillows. God, those heels! Hopefully once I break them in they won't hurt so much.
She set her alarm to go off in four hours and turned on her back, finally letting the tears slide out of her closed eyes. They trickled down the sides of her face, past her temples and into her hair. She knew she needed to toughen up, but no one could see her here. Hell, she'd already indulged and taken a cab tonight; might as well have a good cry while she was at it.
Just this once. I promise.
[end]
Author: eroded
Rating: R, for some naughty language
Category: Angst, Vignette
Characters: Casey Novak all by her lonesome. Let's hope she can hold her own.
Summary: Postep for Lowdown. Casey struggles with her job, her memories, and her insecurities. Predictably, angst ensues.
Spoilers: Lowdown
Note: Thanks to Wings for keeping this on her computer even after I deleted it from mine.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. Anyway, if I could pick one to own, you'd better believe it wouldn't be Casey.
Casey splashed the cool water onto her face and held her eyes shut for just a moment. The harsh lighting of the courthouse restroom penetrated her closed eyelids anyway, and she finally opened them again. She blinked once, twice, to clear the stinging sensation as her eyes adjusted to the fluorescent bulb. The image staring at her from the mirror wasn't exactly a welcome sight.
God, Casey, she thought, shaking her head. You look like you need about twenty hours of sleep. She ran her fingers through the hair framing her face and sighed. Not to mention a haircut. When did these bangs get so out of control?
The ADA looked at her watch and decided that enough time had passed. Maryellen Abbot must have left by now. Casey knew it was silly, hiding in the bathroom like that, but she didn't want to chance running into the woman right now. She didn't want to risk looking Maryellen in the eye, didn't want to risk being looked in the eye herself.
She smoothed her skirt, picked up her briefcase, and flashed a smile at the mirror. Note to self: improve fake smile. Finally, Casey pushed open the door and stepped into the empty corridor.
She walked towards the exit and marveled at how different these halls felt when she was all alone, when it was so late at night. Her heels on the tile floor echoed in the silence, and Casey realized it had never been quiet enough to hear them before. Clack, clack clack. Left, right, left, right. She focused on the sharp sound of her own feet, willing her mind to stop buzzing over this latest case.
Get a hold of yourself, Casey. This is SVU, get used to it. It was a speech she'd given herself many times before, starting with her very first case in the unit.
Casey had stormed into the world of "special victims" ready to take on the world in all its horrifying detail. She'd charged headfirst into the underworld of rape, of assaulted children, of women who needed her to speak for them. Now she let out a small puff of air as she chuckled at the memory of her first day on the job. So eager to show everyone exactly what Casey Novak was made of, she'd stepped on some toes and offended the detectives.
"Who the hell are you?" Olivia had demanded. Not the greatest beginning, but Casey had been too smug at the time to take note of it. She'd wanted to respond, I'm the woman who's going to be winning all your cases. Good thing she'd settled for a mere introduction instead. By the time they'd located the missing girl Casey had had enough to send her running to her supervisor, all but begging for a new position.
Way to take on the world.
-------------------
Casey pushed open the doors and felt the chill of nighttime in New York City hit her face. It was early enough in the year that the sidewalk grates were still hissing thin clouds into the air; cold enough that a trek to the subway station felt like torture. Especially in these heels. She walked up to the curb and stuck out her hand, thrilling a bit when a cab appeared almost immediately.
Just this once. I promise, she rationalized to herself as she opened the door and scooted into the back seat. She really didn't have the money to take a cab all the time, but Casey was willing to indulge on nights like this: nights when one horrible day hadn't even ended before the next day began. Hell, the least she deserved was a cab ride.
She called out her address to the driver, who nodded and pulled away from the curb without saying a word. Casey smiled a bit for the first time all day as she settled into the cushioned seat, not even minding the lingering smell of cigarettes and sweat. If anyone had told me that someday, a cab ride would count as a highlight of the day, I'd have laughed in his face, she thought with a smirk. Still, it's the little things in life that count.
After that first case, she'd told herself that it would get easier. Olivia dealt with it, and had been dealing with it for years. All the detectives found a way to deal with the job. And of course, Alex: she'd dealt with everything. She was, apparently, Alexandra Cabot, Patron Saint of Special Victims. Hell, she'd even been martyred for the cause.
Casey saw the ghost of Alex Cabot everywhere. She was in the courtroom, looking out from behind those glasses and critiquing Casey's arguments. She was in the stationhouse, striding around with such purpose that even Cragen sometimes jumped to attention. But worst of all, she was in the minds of the detectives. Their longing for Alex was sometimes tangible, although they'd never dare admit it. She knew, though; everyone did. Casey would open her mouth to speak, and she could almost hear them praying that Alex's voice would come out.
Fuck it, she told herself, but she didn't believe it. Still, she repeated the phrases she often used to pick herself up, almost like a mantra. You are a good lawyer. You are speaking for the people. And yet she sighed in between her words, shutting her eyes to halt the tears that were suddenly springing up. It would help if there weren't so many people to speak for. It would help if Alex hadn't left such big shoes to fill.
Casey bet that Alex wouldn't have stuck her foot in her mouth, wouldn't have told Maryellen that Jeff York was HIV-positive. In retrospect, that had been a really stupid thing to do. But the fact was, not all victims were the ones who had been raped, been murdered.
Special victims were everywhere, and Casey had taken a risk and looked into Maryellen's eyes in the stationhouse. There, she'd seen the same things - the disbelief, the scarred soul, the fear - that she'd seen in the eyes of so many other women. Women she was supposed to be protecting. Special victims.
After that, she'd had to tell her. Even if doing so could put the case - not to mention her job - in jeopardy. HIV status may be a private issue, but the problems it causes aren't. Casey curled and uncurled her fingers, remembering her own family's ordeal: her uncle, her father's only brother. She remembered the initial shock; the gradual decay of his health; the drawn-out, undignified death. How could I have left Maryellen in the dark? How can that be the right thing to do?
Casey stared blankly out the window as the cab meandered through the city streets. She couldn't get her mind off of the Abbot family. The father, whom she'd rightfully put in jail, and yet for whom she still felt sorry. The mother, who had seen her world crumble in a matter of days. And the children, who were too young to understand that the worst was yet to come. Casey had witnessed the suffering of her uncle when she was growing up; she still remembered the nights when she would huddle under her pillow to keep from hearing him cry. She couldn't imagine seeing that kind of pain in both of your parents.
Special victims.
Silently, she turned her head away from the window and let a tear slip down her cheek. She knew that she shouldn't let cases get to her like this. She'd never measure up to Alex, to Olivia, to the job itself, if she kept feeling the victims' pain so deeply. Blinking hard, she fought the tears down. Come on, Casey. You've got to be stronger than this.
----------------------
"Mbuto dhielri," the cab driver mumbled - or at least that was what it sounded like - and Casey looked up to see that they had arrived outside her apartment building.
"Thank you. Keep the change." She handed a few folded bills to the driver and scooted awkwardly out of the cab. I wish there was a graceful way to get out of a car. Her skirt had crumpled in a rather unfeminine way, and she tugged it back down as the wind chilled her stocking-clad legs. She hurried up the steps and inside, waving to the doorman as she passed. He nodded back and gave her a sad smile.
"Another late night, Miss Novak? That makes two of us," he said cheerfully. Casey nodded and rolled her eyes, wishing briefly that a late night for her could mean sitting at a desk and watching people return home.
Once she'd finally gotten to her apartment - some nights, the trip from the lobby to the fifth floor seemed to take forever - Casey shut the door behind her and fell back against it, exhaling slowly and shutting her eyes. She slipped one shoe off and then the other, digging her toes into the welcome mat and rolling her sore ankles.
God, those shoes kill my feet. She lined them up next to the door and wiggled her toes again. Every night, it seemed, Casey found herself wishing she were one of those women who seemed born to walk in heels. I bet Alex didn't slip her shoes off under her desk during the day, she thought briefly, before shaking her head at her own insecurity.
Casey made her way through the apartment without bothering to turn on any lights. She walked into the bedroom, limping slightly until she finally collapsed on her bed and sank into the pillows. God, those heels! Hopefully once I break them in they won't hurt so much.
She set her alarm to go off in four hours and turned on her back, finally letting the tears slide out of her closed eyes. They trickled down the sides of her face, past her temples and into her hair. She knew she needed to toughen up, but no one could see her here. Hell, she'd already indulged and taken a cab tonight; might as well have a good cry while she was at it.
Just this once. I promise.
[end]