Chapter Three: The Case

Olivia

"Goddammit!" I slam the phone back in the cradle and look across my desk at Elliot. "Guess what? We lost her. Novak just called to say our vic has decided NOT to press charges."

"She what?"

"She decided not to press charges. And our message from Novak is… 'change her mind Detectives. That's not a question. I don't care how you do it, but make it happen. No vic, no crime, no trial. Figure it out!'" Wench. The longer she's here the less I like her. If he knew about us, Elliot would say I'm biased. Since he doesn't he just shakes his head.

"Make it happen huh? So now we're in the habit of forcing victims to prosecute?" Elliot looks disgusted. And tired. Did they tell you Kathy left him? Took the kids? What do they tell you about us… anything? I don't think he's sleeping well, if at all. I can finally understand how everyone knew things weren't right with me after you left. Looking at Elliot its easy to see he's fighting a losing battle, and I'm sure as much as I pride myself on being closed off, my pain was as obvious as his is. Elliot picks up his phone and badge and stands, stretching, from his desk. "Let's go talk to the vic."

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This case has really been ripping me up. I wish you were here already. I've missed having you to hash these things out with. You always knew when I needed to just run my mouth about a case. Girl gets raped; targeted because the guy and his friends saw her out with her girlfriend. Yup, her girlfriend. The perps decided to try and "convert her" to the joys of "real sex." You'd have a field day with these three geniuses. Casey's trying to tack on a charge of hate crimes, but she can't seem to make it stick. You would have.

You know I popped one of them in the interrogation room? Misogynistic bastard. Sat there, sneering at me, smirking, looking me over. Asked me how I liked it. If I'd been "converted." At first I thought maybe he knew… maybe he could see—until he said almost the same thing to Elliot later—asking if he'd been converted to the joys of "real sex, you know… with a woman." He was a hateful little shit.

The ringleader, not more than 20 years old but he had such a foulness in him: when he punctuated one particularly snotty sentence with, "Wouldn't you like to know dyke?" I lost it and right-hooked him. If it was your case to try, you would have killed me. I think Casey wanted to. Elliot jumped back into the room and separated me from the perp with this look on his face. You know the one. That, "what the fuck do you think you're doing" look. I was lucky not to get suspended, Novak certainly was pushing for it.

I couldn't help it Alex. You'd understand. You'd have been pissed, but if you'd seen the look on that kid's face, heard the tone of his voice. I felt like he was threatening me, threatening you… threatening us. And I know he couldn't possibly know but all I could hear was what he'd do if he did. If I hadn't clocked him, I would have thrown up.

My confrontation with Elliot was not pleasant. As wrapped up as he is in Kathy's leaving, he still saw that something was different about this. He asked. Asked about me, about my life. And this time… I didn't lie.

"What the hell happened in there Liv?"

"Drop it, Elliot… things got out of control, I lost my temper. Leave it."

"No. Hell no. Get your coat, Cragen's giving us two hours to calm down. Or rather, he's giving you two hours to calm down before we go talk to the vic. We're getting lunch. Let's go."

At the restaurant we both picked at our food. Since Kathy left, he's lost weight, and I can tell he's been following my diet of choice for the last two years. Order food. Push food around. Pay bill. It doesn't take him long to ignore his food altogether, choosing instead to focus on me.

"So talk to me Liv. I've seen you take cases personally before but this is getting out of control. What's going on?"

"Elliot I told you to drop it."

"Olivia, I'm your partner. If something is affecting the job, I have a right to know."

"You know El, that street goes both ways. So partner what's the word from Kathy? Any news?"

It's a low blow and I know it. Elliot's eyes go fiery, and then hard. "That's not what we're discussing Liv and you know it. Stop trying to change the subject. I want to know what the hell has you so out of joint about this case."

I shove the lettuce around on my plate, start dismantling my sandwich in that way that always made you crazy. Taking out the onions, rearranging the pickles. When I look up, Elliot is waiting… his eyes softer now. Like you, he knows me too well. He knows if he waits long enough I'll spill. He's right.

"It's the crime. The vic."

"Liv, we see this crime every day. And vics just like her every day. What's the difference?"

"She's gay."

"So, we've had cases of gays being raped before?"

"Not women." I see his eyes flash as he thinks. He knows I'm right, and I wonder if he can see where I'm going with this.

"You're right. We've never had a case with a gay woman before."

I whisper in correction, "a lesbian."

Elliot looks at me, watches me play with my sandwich. Neither of us has taken a bite. "So that's it then? You're upset because we've got something new. That doesn't explain your reaction in the gray room Benson. What's really going on here?"

Alex

It's been hard, focusing on work this week. I keep having to remind myself that double-life or no, I still have a job to do. Or rather, Elizabeth Regis still has a job to do. I can't stand this petty corporate consultation crap. Two years of helping "executives" dodge legal battles disgusts me. Especially when I think about how I used to actually help people. How I used to actually put people away. Because of me, and some very good detectives, women… and men, saw justice. I don't even get to fight the cases here. I just put together the files, recommend arguments, come up with defense strategies. I help sleazy corporate types get away with petty crimes in order to save their reputations.

As nervous as the idea of the coming trials in the Valez/Zapata ordeal makes me, I'll be glad to be back in the real world of law. Where the bad guys are really bad and get punished accordingly. Where I get to actually stand in a courtroom and fight. It's not the recognition I miss. You never believed me but I always hated having cameras shoved in my face after a trial. But I miss standing in front of a judge, in front of a jury. I miss the look on the guy's face when I present that final, niggling piece of evidence that just nails him. I can tell at exactly what moment I've won the jury over. I can tell exactly when the judge is on my side. I know the exact word that's won them over.

You always said you can tell too. You say I get this look. Something about the way my glasses fall on my nose. "The glasses of justice!" That's what you always call them. Not in public. Not in front of other people. But in your apartment… in my loft. Usually in the middle of pulling them off my face, with one hand reaching behind me to pull me closer to you. I miss that. The way your hand feels in the small of my back. The way your fingers pulling at my glasses could electrify me.

knock, knock

"Elizabeth?" My door swings open to reveal my boss. My Oregon boss. Even after two years I still expect to see Branch's head popping through the crack in my door. "Elizabeth, do you have a minute? We have a … situation with Reynolds. Looks like his charges have just gone criminal. And not in a white-collar sort of way."

Finally something that sounds familiar. Even though my stomach turns at the thought of defending Reynolds in any way (he's a complete louse… I'm sure whatever the charge is it'll involve a sexual assault of some kind), I'm relieved at the potential to return to my natural environment… even if it's not in a courtroom. As much as I hate this job, at least it fills my time. I'm exhausted from rehashing all of our mistakes. I'm tired of reliving those moments. And there's still time before we get to start over. I have to find some way to keep occupied.

So I grab my briefcase and head to Reynolds corner office. Time to work.

Olivia

"You know it's been awhile. Since I've… Jesus Elliot do we really have to do this?" I've put off this discussion for more than three years. More like three and a half. Or is it four already? Ever since you and I started this thing.

"Liv, whatever's going on is showing up in your work and I want to know why. I deserve to know why." He stops but I can tell he's not finished. "Look, this thing with Kathy. It's—too close. Too new. I'll talk about it. You know I will. Just, not yet."

"So what makes you think this is any different? How do you know I'm ready, when you're not?"

"Because I know you Liv. And ever since Cabot left you've been……" Elliot trails off, and I can see his eyes sparking. "Cabot."

"Elliot. Elliot wait! Before you jump to conclusions…"

"Cabot? Are you serious? The ice queen? I thought she was with Langan."

"It's not like that Elliot. I mean, we're not like that, she's not… dammit." I'm frustrated, finding myself tongue-tied even with him. I get why it's hard to talk to you about our relationship, but I thought I could at least find the words to explain it to Elliot.

"Then what is it like Benson? Is that why you're so worked up about this case? It is isn't it? This guy got under your skin, got personal."

I don't bother to respond. I'm too far in it to feign innocence. All I can do is nod. And tell him everything.

Alex

God what a sleaze. Reynolds is now under official investigation for rape. Which means my obligation to defend his sexual harassment claims is now moot… in the hands of an "actual lawyer." And as much as my boss's reminder that I am not an actual lawyer stings, I'm glad to wash my hands of Reynolds. I'll be glad to wash my hands of all of this someday. I wonder if they'll let me come back to my office. Back to real trials, and real criminals. Back to you. For good I mean.

I wonder what you're working on. I know you've been back to work this week. There's never an off moment when you're on. I pick up the New York paper at the newsstand every day. Or rather, Hammond picks it up for me. Control freak. I thought maybe that the longer I had to be around him he might soften. But as it turns out he's exactly what you expected of him. I wish they'd found someone else to cover my personal detail… but Hammond insisted on doing it himself. Ugh. The newspaper was one of his few concessions, although he insists on picking it up for me, just in case anyone was watching to see the now redheaded, contact wearing former ADA buy a New York paper and make a connection. I tried to convince him that a legal consultant for an Oregon-based national company wouldn't raise any eyebrows with a New York Post at the stand but he wouldn't take no for an answer. If I have to admit it, I'd say he actually reminds me a bit of you that way. Although with you I always had –the look– to fall back on. Hammond's not quite as susceptible to doe eyes, and I almost hate to use it on anyone but you.

Papers never mention the investigators. I read about rape cases and victims in smudged black print, hoping for a glimpse inside my favorite bullpen. Novak made the papers last year, the Billy Tripley case. But I think that was more about the sensational nature of his crimes. Too Michael Jackson-esque to stay under wraps. I'm sure you had a hand in it, even though I know it turned your stomach just looking at Tripley. Everyone knows that cases with kids always make Elliot sensitive, but only I know what it does to you.

The thought of Elliot makes me wonder about other things. Two years is a long time, especially when you expect it to be forever. Did you tell him about us? Did you explain your reaction to my leaving? Did you explain the things we didn't say with Hammond breathing down your neck? Did you tell him about those days, those weeks, those months before it happened? Did you tell him about our fights… about the horrible things we said to each other? About how angry I was at you that night. About how I wouldn't go home with you because I was upset by your reticence about certain things. I wouldn't blame you. There are so many times I wish I had someone to tell about you. Not that talking to someone else would change the things I said to you before that night. But the closer I get to seeing you again, the more I wish I had someone to ask for advice. Someone to tell me I was making the right decision, or even the wrong one.

I hope you told him about us. Somehow, it's important to me that you're not waiting for me all alone.