I wait in silence, watching the four of them as they sit there, talking amongst themselves. They don't notice me, nor do they pretend to. To them, I am little more than an intruder, someone who wandered in, lost and uncertain as to what I was supposed to be doing. To them, I am little more than a replacement for someone they can never get back. It seems like I am but a sailor in uncharted waters, alone, scared, and wondering if I will ever be able to find my way home. The detectives have no idea how that feels. The four of them have each other, and they have those that they are closest to. They have someone to talk to when a case affects them so profoundly that they storm out of the squad room, unable to carry on, unable to comprehend the horrors that come in and out of here every day. I don't see what they see, nor do I wish to. Hearing about it is bad enough. The circumstances under which some of these cases come into this unit are disgusting, sickening…and it only serves to make me wonder why I decided to take up with the law in the first place.
My eyes wander around the room, my ears taking in the sounds around me, though I ignore those that are speaking, much as they ignore me. I see desks littered with paperwork, desks that have belonged to these detectives as long as they've been in this unit. I see manila folders spread out over them, filled with old case files that maybe, just maybe, might lead them to something that will help them to crack our latest case. Well…it's not really my case, it's theirs. I just sit there in the courtroom, objecting against a defense attorney's statements, trying to convince the jury that the man or woman sitting before them is guilty. I don't investigate. I don't know what they know, nor do I know how some of these cases affect them. Then again…I haven't been here that long. These cases are already starting to get to me, and yet I find myself somewhat intrigued, unable to leave for the sake of helping this unit bring criminals to justice. They don't want me. If it were up to them, someone else would have been assigned to this unit, for to them, I am incompetent, disliked…I am afraid to work like they do, to go against the rules to get what they need when they need it. I am a little bit too 'by the book' for their liking.
Alexandra Cabot was praised for her willingness to take on the workload that came with the Special Victims Unit. Her name was mentioned in most of the conversations between Assistant District Attorneys about their units and their cases. She was revered, in a way, for her determination to bring justice to the streets of New York City. The detectives admired her, and she admired them…even if they did get into it every so often. Her win and loss ration was one that I will never have, and filling her shoes seems to be an almost impossible task. She could handle these cases…but I'm still learning. I'm still waiting for that one day when I'll be able to prove to these detectives that I am not as incompetent as they think I am. Hopefully, that day will come soon. I'm tired of waiting…tired of trying to be someone that I know I am not. Working White Collar was a lot easier than this. It was either you did or you didn't…it was a matter or proving someone guilty, or sitting and watching as the jury handed down an acquittal. Here, it's so much more complicated.
The victims talk, they look at you with eyes that are devoid of any light, and you know just from listening that their lives have been changed from that moment on. You find yourself looking at them, and trying to imagine the sort of pain and distress they're going through, but it doesn't come to you. You know that there is no possible way that you could ever feel what they're feeling, because you have never been through the sort of thing that happened to them. They're frightened, flustered, trying to remember the details, trying to answer all of the questions you're asking, and they can't. They break down, they cry, and you just sit there, feeling some sort of pity for them, wishing that there was something more you could do, but you know somehow that there isn't.
When you find the criminal, the one who committed one of the worst crimes there is to commit, it's a different story. He'll sit there, smirking, hitting on the one woman detective in the unit, her partner will go off, and it'll go on like this until the captain pulls one of them out. I stand there watching on the other side of the one-way mirror, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings, to make sure that the detectives don't cross the boundaries permanently set for them. Sometimes, the crimes are not against defenseless women, but against defenseless children. Those cases always hit the hardest, especially for the unit's lead detective, who has four of his own. The rest just sit there in disgust, wondering what in the world possessed someone like that to bring a child into a world where heartache and suffering would be the only things known. These parents look at the detectives and ask whether or not they have children, and though I don't, I can understand why it irritates the detectives. They, after all, are sworn to protect this city and all that reside within its boundaries, and children are, whether or not one chooses to believe it, this world's greatest natural resource.
Turning towards the window, I close my eyes, still listening to the detectives argue amongst each other. Sooner or later, one of them is going to ask whether or not they have enough evidence for me to get a search warrant. They've got a perp in mind, and I know that their intuition is telling them something that I can only dream of knowing. However, the evidence is, reluctant as they are to admit it, circumstantial at best, and there is probably no judge that would be willing to sign for a search warrant on what they have. Then again, I could always try a trick out of Alexandra's bag, though with my luck, I'd probably end up getting everyone fired. Voices are starting to raise, and now the captain's come out of his office, telling the detectives in an all too familiar tone that arguing isn't going to help, and then he's going to ask where the hell are they on this case. A few minutes pass before someone finally turns to me, though because my eyes are closed, I cannot see them. A voice, quiet, yet firm, asks me whether or not they have enough to get a search warrant. The next thing I know, I'm telling them that they do, that I'll try my best to aid them, to get them what they need, and then I leave the squad room, my heels clicking on the tile floor. Who knows? Maybe today will be the day that I will prove to these detectives that I am an ally, and not a foe. Maybe today will be the day that I'll be officially accepted into this elite circle known as the Special Victims Unit.
Author's notes: Law and Order: SVU does not belong to me, but I'm sure all of you people out there already knew that. This idea came out of nowhere, so…oh, and by the way, Marshmellowluvr…thanks for editing this and making it sound better….