Dick Wolf owns 'em, I don't that's for damn sure. A/O post "Loss" if you don't like it back away slowly and no one will get hurt.
Lavender
How long until the bed stops smelling like you? I washed the sheets a few days after your "funeral" but your perfume wormed its way deeper, kind of like how you got to me. Part of me wants a clear end to it. Wants a clean break. Another, weaker, part wants your scent to linger. It's the part of me that gives in to the lie, that won't let me open my eyes in the morning when I roll over and breathe in lavender. It makes me keep my eyes closed and tells me that you're just in the bathroom or in the kitchen getting some water. That you'll come back to bed any moment now and then I can give you a proper good morning.
Then my alarm goes off or my cell phone rings and I remember that you're much further off. What's it like there? I hope its somewhere warm. You always chilled way too easily. Constantly wrapping yourself in those heavy wool coats and scarves. Always grumbling about the evils of winter. If I didn't know better I would have sworn that you hadn't been born and raised in the city. Though I never minded warming you up...
You're gone and all I have left is lavender and the job. Funny, its almost like how things were before you charged into my life all blonde hair and arrogance. Now I'm back to the old home and work routine. Home and work, home and work, sometimes its just work… More often than not it's the latter these days, too many memories at home. The job is the only thing that makes me forget, and even then only for a little while. How could I not think of you there? I think I fell in love with you the first day you walked into the precinct.
I don't like the new ADA. Forget that, I loathe Casey. She's not you; never will even come close and I fucking hate her for it. How dare she even try to take your place? I know it's not fair. It's not her fault really. Honestly, I'd probably hate anyone that followed your "departure" given the circumstances.
Well, maybe not anyone. If somehow they had managed to drag Abbie back, things would be different. A friendly face might have helped.
She called afterward you know. Sent a lovely arrangement of yellow roses to the funeral home. What is it they say, you can take the girl out of Texas… Sometimes I think she knows about you. The little comments she makes now and then. I'm almost tempted to ask? I never do, too scared of what her answer would be.
I know she misses you almost as much as I do. We talk about you a lot. I've taken up your weekly emails. I had no idea that the two of you had kept in touch over the years. I guess you still had some secrets after all.
Will I ever get the chance to learn them all? Are you ever coming home? I want to believe. You're coming back to me. I have to believe it, to stay sane. On days when I wake up surrounded by your perfume I'm almost certain that you will. But, what happens when even that goes away?