Disclaimer- Oh how I wish they were mine.
A/N- Please review and tell me what you think.
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Don Cragen was used to frustration and futility, he'd been a cop for almost thirty years. In that time he'd dealt with cases he couldn't solve and victims that would never see justice. Even with all he'd seen, he'd never wanted to do anything else. He had once told Lennie Briscoe they'd have to carry him out feet first. But as he looked as at the picture on his desk, he wondered for the first time why he didn't retire.
The photo was almost six years old, from a time when his 'family' was still intact. The laughing woman in the photo had become a daughter to him. He remembered when she was a wet behind the ears, rookie detective, afraid to make a move or offer an opinion not first validated by her partner. He'd seen her grow into a seasoned investigator, unafraid to go toe to toe with another team member or himself if she felt she was right.
The man standing beside her was like a son to him. He'd brought him along hoping to one day turn over the unit to him. He had always been a righteous cop, dedicated to helping victims find peace by bringing perps to justice.
Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler were both extremely good cops but together they were the best it had ever been his privilege to command. They had been poetry to watch. Their interrogation technique was as smooth as silk, seamlessly handing off the good cop/ bad cop roles effortlessly. Communicating often without even a look passed between them.
The occasion had been Olivia's birthday and they'd surprised her with a cake. A chance comment to Elliot the day before had unearthed the fact that she'd never had a birthday party. So while Melinda Warner and Elliot had kept her busy, Cragen, Munch and Fin had decorated an interrogation room and bought her favorite cake, Triple Chocolate Decadence.
The surprised look on her face had been all the thanks they had needed and the tears she refused to allow to fall as she hug each of them had touched Don in a way he couldn't begin to describe, even to himself. Melinda Warner had taken a picture of all of them arms around each other, laughing at some sarcastic comment John had made.
Six months later he had performed the most agonizing duty of his career. Giving the eulogy at Olivia's funeral had the lowest moment of his professional life. He felt as if a piece of him was buried with her and he knew a very large part of Elliot was there too.
Now he was losing his other 'child'. Elliot sat in Rikers and if they could not convince him to mount a defense, he would face the death penalty. Don hadn't felt this hopeless since Marge's plane had crashed. The bottle he kept in his desk for his detectives seemed to be calling his name and he wasn't sure why he shouldn't answer.
The ringing phone pulled him out of the memories. "Cragen." He answered.
"Don, it's George. I couldn't get Elliot to open up, but he has agreed to see you." Huang told him.
"I'm on my way George." Don hung up and looked once more at the photo. It was time to try and salvage what was left.
