Title: The Turning of the Leaves
Author: Mercaque
Rating: R
Summary: Three years after the events of "Loss," Alex Cabot is told it's safe to return to New York City. But is she ready for the tremendous changes that await her?

CHAPTER 2

I press the doorbell hesitantly.

The scrap of paper clutched in my gloved hand says this is the right place. But for a brief, irrational, stomach-churning moment, I fear that I have the wrong apartment, that Fong and her crew have sent me on a wild goose chase.

But the door opens, and surely enough, Odafin Tutuola stands before me. Clad in baggy black jeans and a red basketball jersey, he still wears the same goatee, the same slicked-back ponytail, and his eyes still carry the same no-nonsense gleam. The familiarity washes over me, warming my heart. I unconsciously break into a wide grin.

"Can I help y..." Fin begins professionally. He starts to give me the classic size-up – it's something I've noticed police officers do to nearly everyone they meet, whether they're conscious of it or not. But shock interrupts his appraisal as he realizes exactly who I am.

"Sweet holy Jesus," he whispers. His clear eyes are the size of dinner plates, and he's literally slackjawed for a good forty-five seconds.

"Hi, Fin," I answer softly, uncertain how to diffuse his astonishment. "I guess you could say I'm back from the dead."

My attempt at humor, weak though it was, doesn't even register. His lips are still parted slightly in shock. "What... is this?"

Still feeling like an idiot, I glance up and down the hall. "I'd really rather not discuss it here."

"O... of course," he agrees, his eyes still wide. He opens the door and gestures me inside his small, functional apartment.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asks. It's an odd, forced gesture of hospitality that's completely at odds with the bewilderment on his face. "Tea?"

I nod, taking in my surroundings. "I'd like that, thanks."

"Have a seat on the couch," he says, waving me over to a brown leather sofa.

I seat myself and watch him move off toward the kitchen. And then I slap a hand to my mouth, fighting back a sudden gasp.

Fin's stride is jerky and uneven, and he's dragging his left leg painfully across the floor in a severe limp.

A million possibilities fly through my mind. I'm still staring at him in shock when he hobbles out of the kitchen a few moments later and flops down in a chair across from me.

I know my dumbstruck expression is unforgivably rude, but I can't quite muster the right words to ask what happened. The silence is so absolute I can practically hear the water boiling in the kitchen.

After a few awkward minutes, we share a burst of nervous laughter.

"I'll be honest, I don't know where to start," I tell him, my voice shaky and forced.

"You think you don't know where to start?" Fin answers. "Far as I know, I'm talking to a dead woman."

"I... well, obviously not," I tell him. I'm struck by fear as I realize he's going to be the first person outside my family – and Olivia and Elliot – to know I went into the protection program. I know I have no reason to distrust him, but my throat seems to close up in fear. I end up weakly attempting to skirt the subject. "There was nobody left down at the station."

Fin's expression sours. "Yeah, well."

"What happened?"

"First I want to know what happened to you," he insists. "Last I heard, you got shot by a Colombian drug lord."

"Well, I did," I answer tartly. I feel some of the fire of my old life return. "But last I heard, the death of said Colombian drug lord meant I could come out of the witness protection program." I panic slightly; I don't like saying those last three words out loud.

Fin blinks, digesting that. His disbelief hasn't completely abated, but he nods. "Fair enough."

"So what happened to everyone?" I press gently.

Fin sighs tiredly. "It's a long damn story." He cocks an eyebrow at me. "You didn't read the papers or nothin' while you were away, did you?"

"N... no," I admit, gazing awkwardly at my hands. It's the second time in as many hours I've been reminded of my own ignorance. I feel like a fool for having kept myself so isolated. "I didn't really..." My voice is thick. "I didn't want to know what was happening back home, not while I couldn't..."

"Hey," Fin says gently. He hauls himself painfully out of his chair and lurches over to sit beside me. "It's all right." I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You probably ain't gonna like what I have to tell you, though."

My stomach turns to ice. What the hell could have happened?

"Just tell me," I ask softly. I don't trust my voice to go any louder.

Fin sighs. When he speaks, his voice has a rehearsed flatness to it. "Well for starters, Cragen's dead."

"What?" I gasp.

"Heart attack," he continues without waiting for me to ask. "Doctors said the years of alcoholism finally caught up with him. We'd been dealing with some pretty stressful cases..." Fin trails off, his voice strained. "He was a good man."

"He was," I agree dumbly. I briefly wonder where he's buried.

"After that," Fin says, "well, we were in some disarray after he died. I never really thought about how much he held our unit together, but after he was gone..." He pauses. "They brought in some acting captains, but not many people were willing to stay in special victims for long. We really started to come apart at the seams." He dropped his hand to his injured leg with a loud slap. "Matter of fact, that's how I got this."

"I..." I swallow hard. "How?"

"Hmph," he grunts. "We're chasin' down some kiddy molester, and we're supposed to have backup, right? Well, our acting captain had quit that day – said he couldn't take another kid case." Fin's jaw ticks with suppressed fury. "Like I said, it was disarray. Munch had to call for backup. He was tryin' to coordinate everything while I ran down this perp, but fuck. He couldn't do all that himself and watch my back at the same time. Perp could've gone anywhere in the whole damn neighborhood." At the mention of Munch's name, I see a flash of pain in his eyes. "Anyway, long story short, I got broadsided by one of our own squad cars while I was chasin' this guy across the street. Ended up in the hospital for a good two and a half months, and that was AFTER I came out of a weeklong coma." He shivers. "I'm pretty lucky to be here."

I nod mutely; any agreement I can think of feels trite. "Munch must have been pretty upset."

Fin nods sourly. "Yeah, I think he felt responsible. But shit, wasn't his fault the jackass tried to run away."

There's a long silence. Fin's eyes are unsettled. I can tell he came to terms with those experiences some time ago, but dredging them up again is difficult.

The kettle whistles suddenly in the kitchen.

"I'll get it," I offer, hastily jumping up.

Fin gives me a heavy-lidded look. "Don't tell me you pity the cripple."

My jaw hangs open for a shame-filled moment before he breaks into a smile and chucks me on the arm.

"I'm messing with you." He rises slowly and shuffles toward the kitchen.

I trail after him uncertainly. His kitchen is small and sparse, but comfortable. I lean against the counter, and we share a companionable moment of silence as he pours the hot water.

"Speaking of Munch," Fin says, pulling a carton of milk out of the refrigerator, "I know he'd love to hear from you."

"I... really?" I suppress the urge to ask if he'd also died unexpectedly while I was gone.

"Yeah," Fin answers, as if appalled I'd even suggest otherwise. "In fact, I could probably give him a call right now. You cool?"

"Yeah." I smile. "I would like that."

"All right," Fin agrees with a smile. "Haven't seen that cat in a while anyway."

-END CHAPTER 2-