A/N: Okay, my first SVU fic, it was written for my college English class. Basically we had to pick any scene and write it from 2 different POV's. This one's Alex's POV. SPOILERS: Loss, episode 4 from season 5!

I remember when I was little, I used to play games with my brothers. If something didn't turn out right, a roll of the dice or whatever, I used to call a "do-over" and that usually fixed things. Looking back on the Zapata case, I wish I could just stand up and yell "do-over" to make all this chaos end.

I sat in the SUV, looking anxiously out the back window. I recognized the car immediately, you guys were early, as usual. I reached for the door handle and stopped.

I've never been very good at good-byes; I don't know why I insisted on seeing you. I told myself it was for your benefit, but I know that's not true. You've already gone through the pain of losing me once, and now I walk back into your life, just so you can say good-bye again.

The door opened and I slowly climbed out of the car. For the longest time you just stared, trying to decide if I was real or just an illusion.

"I'm so sorry about all of this," I said. You'd argue it wasn't my fault; that was your style. Realistically, all of it was my fault. Donovan's death. My 'death'. You and Elliot told me to forget Zapata. Your boss told me to forget about it. My boss told me to forget about it. Even DEA Agent Donovan ordered me to drop the case. I've always been stubborn. That's just my style. Being an attorney, it's almost a necessity.

"Your funeral's tomorrow," you manage. It was weird to hear those words out loud, even though Alexandra Cabot's been dead for two days. I look at your tear-streaked face and I immediately regret coming back. Maybe I'm selfish, wanting to see you one last time. Maybe I'm selfish for leaving.

I listened as Agent Hammond instructed you to attend my funeral. You continued to stare at me helplessly. I know you wanted to say so much, but you didn't have to.

Elliot finally spoke, "Witness protection."

"Until Velez is extradited or otherwise dealt with," I parroted. I've heard that line too many times in the past two days.

"How long?" You struggled to ask. I shrugged; that question has been running through my mind incessantly.

For the first time since we decided that the witness protection program was necessary, I started to second-guess my decision. I don't have any family in New York, aside from my Uncle Bill. You guys are there to make sure I don't spend holidays alone. You try to make sure I don't work too hard. And you even call to check up on me when I'm ill. That makes you family in my book. Friends and family are what make my life worth living. What good is being alive if I don't have friends to share it with?

The marshal opened the door again, "We're on the move. Sorry, folks. Move them out," he gave me a gentle push towards the car. I gave you one last look, a silent goodbye before climbing into the SUV. Hammond slammed the door, causing me to jump, and sending a sharp pain through my injured shoulder.

I know you, you'll stand there until my car disappears, probably longer. I can't bear to look back; every second I remain here, I'm one step closer to calling this whole thing off. I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. They say when you have a near death experience, your life flashes before your eyes. Rather appropriately, as we pulled away, my memories with your unit flooded my thoughts. As we drove off into the unknown, a strange feeling of peace settled over me when I thought of you and the unspoken promise between two friends.