Disclaimer: Second verse, same as the first. I don't own the show.
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John's Apartment
Brooklyn
John
Alex has polished off half of the large pizza. I've pretty much stopped worrying about her appetite at this point. I've only had two slices, myself, but I'm saving room for dessert. I actually made it to the grocery store last week and picked up a pint of my one true top secret junk food indulgence: Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby. I offer Alex some, and her eyes widen.
"You bought a pint?" she asks, sounding shocked.
"They don't sell them any smaller than that," I explain, looking at the carton. It is a little big, I guess, since I just bought it for myself to eat. You'd need the extra ice cream, though, if your intention was to feed an army of junk-food-loving schoolchildren or Alex, who I'm actually starting to believe might be concealing that army somewhere on her person.
"I'm aware of that," she says, rolling her eyes. "You went all the way to the grocery store and all you got was one lousy pint? After a bad day in court, I could polish that off in about five minutes."
"You have got to be the eighth wonder of the world," I inform her. "Where you put all of this junk food, I'll never understand."
"When you end up only having time for one meal a day, you can pretty much eat whatever you want," she reveals, grabbing the carton out of my hand. She glances down into it and then gives me an entreating look.
"I need a spoon."
I wink at her. "Well, come over here and get one, then," I instruct her, trying not to laugh at her pout. "What do I look like, room service?"
She sticks out her tongue as she passes me. I wrap my arms around her from behind in retaliation, starting to pull her backwards toward me but stopping when she cries out in pain.
"Alex, what is it?"
"Nothing," she gasps through clenched teeth, hugging herself tightly. I rest my hands on her hips, all the humor gone from my demeanor. Slowly I pull the hem of her shirt up, cursing quietly at the sight of the large, painful-looking bruise on her lower back. Letting go of her shirt, I step around to stand in front of her. She won't meet my gaze, her eyes fixed on the tile floor.
"Where else?" I ask, my tone as gentle as I can make it when all I can think about is doing serious injury to whoever dared to hurt her. "Alex, where else are you hurt?"
"My knee," she says without looking up. "And my ribs, a little, but they're not that bad. He pushed me into a door and the handle hit me in the back. I landed on my knee when I fell."
I reach out and cup her chin in my hand, tilting her face up so I can see her expression. She looks lost.
"He who?"
She meets my eyes for a moment, trying to decide whether I'll let this slide. She must realize I'm not going to do that, because she closes her eyes and sighs in resignation.
"Todd."
My first instinct is to find him and kill him, but the part of my brain that's still functioning rationally reminds me that my first priority has to be Alex's well-being: physical and emotional.
"Look at me, Alex," I instruct her gently. She does, and I meet her gaze straight on, doing my best to project empathy and support instead of pity or anger. "You did the right thing by coming here. You're safe here and he's not going to be able to hurt you again. Okay?"
"Okay," she agrees, reaching up impatiently to brush her tears away. I can tell she's embarrassed to be crying over this, embarrassed by the whole situation, but she really did do the smartest thing she could by coming to me.
"Come sit down," I suggest, bypassing the kitchen table and leading her over to the couch. She sits carefully, conscious of her bruises. I double back to the kitchen and grab a cold compress from the freezer, handing it to her without comment. Sitting down next to her, I stare intently at my hands, trying to decide the best way to proceed.
"Please don't tell," she blurts out finally. I look over at her, still silent, and she flinches. "I don't want anybody to know."
"Are you going to report it?" I ask, careful not to sound angry or condescending. Working in SVU has trained me to tread lightly around victims of abuse. I'm having trouble labeling Alex as a victim in my mind, though. She's always been so strong.
She glances down, avoiding my gaze. "It's my word against his. I don't have any proof."
"Alex, those bruises –"
"All stuff I could have done to myself." She swallows hard. "If I were his attorney, I'd rip me to shreds on the stand. It would come down to he-said, she-said, and most of the people in the legal system here respect him. It would ruin my career."
I fight down my instinctive response, which is to find McKenna and kill him for putting Alex through this knowing she wouldn't have any legal recourse to deal with it. Instead I lean forward and wrap my arms around her. She's stiff for a moment, but she eventually relaxes into my embrace. Once her head is resting against my chest, I voice the fear that's at the forefront of my mind.
"If he thinks he can get away with hurting you, Alex, he'll try it again."
"It's about control," she replies, voice slightly muffled by my shirt. "I walked out on him. Now he knows he can't control me, so he'll stop trying."
"I'm not convinced, Counselor," I say. She sighs.
"Just promise me you won't tell anyone?"
I promise her I won't. As much as it kills me to keep this a secret, it's her right to decide whether or not she wants to report the assault.
We sit on the couch, both of us silently contemplating the situation, for almost fifteen minutes before something occurs to me.
"Wait her," I tell her, going back into the kitchen. I return with the ice cream, now slightly melted, and two spoons. She smiles weakly, taking the proffered spoon. We both dig in, hoping to find the solution to Alex's problem somewhere between the fudge swirls and the peanut-butter- filled pretzels.
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John's Apartment
Brooklyn
John
I pull the comforter up to her shoulders, sharing a smile with her as I smooth her hair out of her face. We decided it would be best if she slept here tonight; or rather, I decided and she went along with it to keep me from camping out on her doorstep overnight to make sure McKenna doesn't show up looking for her. After all, as I oh-so-helpfully reminded her, she's already camped out on mine today.
"Thanks, John," she says, catching my hand and holding it tightly. "For everything."
I nod, intertwining my fingers with hers. "Just try and get some sleep, Alex," I suggest. "Things usually look better in the morning."
I lay a gentle kiss on her forehead and another one on the tip of her nose. It seems only natural to lean in once more and press my lips to hers. Once my lips touch hers, though, it feels like I've come in contact with a live wire. I've dreamed about this for years, and even though the kiss starts out as chaste as is humanly possible, my whole body screams for more. Against my better judgment I open my mouth, tracing her lower lip with my tongue. Her lips part in response, her head tilting to allow me full access to her mouth. Her tongue brushes against mine, tentatively at first and then with more confidence as her hand comes to rest on the nape of my neck. I'm about to throw common sense to the wind and see where this could go when Alex moans softly, jerking me back to reality. The poor woman was traumatized earlier tonight and came to me for help, and this is how I'm repaying her? By taking advantage of her?
I pull away, seeing a flash of confusion on her face before she looks down, avoiding my gaze again.
"Sorry," she says, sounding choked up.
"No, I'm sorry," I reply, wanting to touch her, reassure her, but knowing I won't be able to stop there. "I had no right to do that. I overstepped myself." Standing up, I indulge myself one last time, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear before heading for the couch. "Good night, Alex."
"Night, John," she mutters, rolling over to her side and facing the wall. I sigh, flipping the light off and closing the door behind me.
"Way to screw things up, John," I tell myself once I'm out of hearing range of the bedroom, grabbing a pillow from the hall closet and flopping down onto the couch. "She just wanted your help, and you decided to try and jump her. Well done. Very mature. Let's just hope you haven't destroyed her faith in the NYPD." Shaking my head at my own idiocy, I try to put it out of my mind and go to sleep. What's done is done, and there's nothing I can do to change it now.
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John's Apartment
Brooklyn
Alex
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting back tears. "Way to screw things up, Alex," I tell myself, grabbing the closest pillow and hugging it to my chest. It doesn't help any; the pillow smells like John's cologne. A stray tear makes its way down my cheek, and I swipe viciously at it. "All he was trying to do was help," I mutter, furious with myself. "And you decided to make a pass at him. Brilliant. Good job completely ruining your friendship."
Now bitterly tired as well as sore, I bury my face in the pillow and cry myself to sleep.
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John's Apartment
Brooklyn
John
Alex has polished off half of the large pizza. I've pretty much stopped worrying about her appetite at this point. I've only had two slices, myself, but I'm saving room for dessert. I actually made it to the grocery store last week and picked up a pint of my one true top secret junk food indulgence: Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby. I offer Alex some, and her eyes widen.
"You bought a pint?" she asks, sounding shocked.
"They don't sell them any smaller than that," I explain, looking at the carton. It is a little big, I guess, since I just bought it for myself to eat. You'd need the extra ice cream, though, if your intention was to feed an army of junk-food-loving schoolchildren or Alex, who I'm actually starting to believe might be concealing that army somewhere on her person.
"I'm aware of that," she says, rolling her eyes. "You went all the way to the grocery store and all you got was one lousy pint? After a bad day in court, I could polish that off in about five minutes."
"You have got to be the eighth wonder of the world," I inform her. "Where you put all of this junk food, I'll never understand."
"When you end up only having time for one meal a day, you can pretty much eat whatever you want," she reveals, grabbing the carton out of my hand. She glances down into it and then gives me an entreating look.
"I need a spoon."
I wink at her. "Well, come over here and get one, then," I instruct her, trying not to laugh at her pout. "What do I look like, room service?"
She sticks out her tongue as she passes me. I wrap my arms around her from behind in retaliation, starting to pull her backwards toward me but stopping when she cries out in pain.
"Alex, what is it?"
"Nothing," she gasps through clenched teeth, hugging herself tightly. I rest my hands on her hips, all the humor gone from my demeanor. Slowly I pull the hem of her shirt up, cursing quietly at the sight of the large, painful-looking bruise on her lower back. Letting go of her shirt, I step around to stand in front of her. She won't meet my gaze, her eyes fixed on the tile floor.
"Where else?" I ask, my tone as gentle as I can make it when all I can think about is doing serious injury to whoever dared to hurt her. "Alex, where else are you hurt?"
"My knee," she says without looking up. "And my ribs, a little, but they're not that bad. He pushed me into a door and the handle hit me in the back. I landed on my knee when I fell."
I reach out and cup her chin in my hand, tilting her face up so I can see her expression. She looks lost.
"He who?"
She meets my eyes for a moment, trying to decide whether I'll let this slide. She must realize I'm not going to do that, because she closes her eyes and sighs in resignation.
"Todd."
My first instinct is to find him and kill him, but the part of my brain that's still functioning rationally reminds me that my first priority has to be Alex's well-being: physical and emotional.
"Look at me, Alex," I instruct her gently. She does, and I meet her gaze straight on, doing my best to project empathy and support instead of pity or anger. "You did the right thing by coming here. You're safe here and he's not going to be able to hurt you again. Okay?"
"Okay," she agrees, reaching up impatiently to brush her tears away. I can tell she's embarrassed to be crying over this, embarrassed by the whole situation, but she really did do the smartest thing she could by coming to me.
"Come sit down," I suggest, bypassing the kitchen table and leading her over to the couch. She sits carefully, conscious of her bruises. I double back to the kitchen and grab a cold compress from the freezer, handing it to her without comment. Sitting down next to her, I stare intently at my hands, trying to decide the best way to proceed.
"Please don't tell," she blurts out finally. I look over at her, still silent, and she flinches. "I don't want anybody to know."
"Are you going to report it?" I ask, careful not to sound angry or condescending. Working in SVU has trained me to tread lightly around victims of abuse. I'm having trouble labeling Alex as a victim in my mind, though. She's always been so strong.
She glances down, avoiding my gaze. "It's my word against his. I don't have any proof."
"Alex, those bruises –"
"All stuff I could have done to myself." She swallows hard. "If I were his attorney, I'd rip me to shreds on the stand. It would come down to he-said, she-said, and most of the people in the legal system here respect him. It would ruin my career."
I fight down my instinctive response, which is to find McKenna and kill him for putting Alex through this knowing she wouldn't have any legal recourse to deal with it. Instead I lean forward and wrap my arms around her. She's stiff for a moment, but she eventually relaxes into my embrace. Once her head is resting against my chest, I voice the fear that's at the forefront of my mind.
"If he thinks he can get away with hurting you, Alex, he'll try it again."
"It's about control," she replies, voice slightly muffled by my shirt. "I walked out on him. Now he knows he can't control me, so he'll stop trying."
"I'm not convinced, Counselor," I say. She sighs.
"Just promise me you won't tell anyone?"
I promise her I won't. As much as it kills me to keep this a secret, it's her right to decide whether or not she wants to report the assault.
We sit on the couch, both of us silently contemplating the situation, for almost fifteen minutes before something occurs to me.
"Wait her," I tell her, going back into the kitchen. I return with the ice cream, now slightly melted, and two spoons. She smiles weakly, taking the proffered spoon. We both dig in, hoping to find the solution to Alex's problem somewhere between the fudge swirls and the peanut-butter- filled pretzels.
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John's Apartment
Brooklyn
John
I pull the comforter up to her shoulders, sharing a smile with her as I smooth her hair out of her face. We decided it would be best if she slept here tonight; or rather, I decided and she went along with it to keep me from camping out on her doorstep overnight to make sure McKenna doesn't show up looking for her. After all, as I oh-so-helpfully reminded her, she's already camped out on mine today.
"Thanks, John," she says, catching my hand and holding it tightly. "For everything."
I nod, intertwining my fingers with hers. "Just try and get some sleep, Alex," I suggest. "Things usually look better in the morning."
I lay a gentle kiss on her forehead and another one on the tip of her nose. It seems only natural to lean in once more and press my lips to hers. Once my lips touch hers, though, it feels like I've come in contact with a live wire. I've dreamed about this for years, and even though the kiss starts out as chaste as is humanly possible, my whole body screams for more. Against my better judgment I open my mouth, tracing her lower lip with my tongue. Her lips part in response, her head tilting to allow me full access to her mouth. Her tongue brushes against mine, tentatively at first and then with more confidence as her hand comes to rest on the nape of my neck. I'm about to throw common sense to the wind and see where this could go when Alex moans softly, jerking me back to reality. The poor woman was traumatized earlier tonight and came to me for help, and this is how I'm repaying her? By taking advantage of her?
I pull away, seeing a flash of confusion on her face before she looks down, avoiding my gaze again.
"Sorry," she says, sounding choked up.
"No, I'm sorry," I reply, wanting to touch her, reassure her, but knowing I won't be able to stop there. "I had no right to do that. I overstepped myself." Standing up, I indulge myself one last time, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear before heading for the couch. "Good night, Alex."
"Night, John," she mutters, rolling over to her side and facing the wall. I sigh, flipping the light off and closing the door behind me.
"Way to screw things up, John," I tell myself once I'm out of hearing range of the bedroom, grabbing a pillow from the hall closet and flopping down onto the couch. "She just wanted your help, and you decided to try and jump her. Well done. Very mature. Let's just hope you haven't destroyed her faith in the NYPD." Shaking my head at my own idiocy, I try to put it out of my mind and go to sleep. What's done is done, and there's nothing I can do to change it now.
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John's Apartment
Brooklyn
Alex
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting back tears. "Way to screw things up, Alex," I tell myself, grabbing the closest pillow and hugging it to my chest. It doesn't help any; the pillow smells like John's cologne. A stray tear makes its way down my cheek, and I swipe viciously at it. "All he was trying to do was help," I mutter, furious with myself. "And you decided to make a pass at him. Brilliant. Good job completely ruining your friendship."
Now bitterly tired as well as sore, I bury my face in the pillow and cry myself to sleep.