Every time I glance over to his desk, I feel a little pang of hurt somewhere deep inside me. It's like every time I see a rapist get off. I always think of my mother. I know it's stupid, but I can't help thinking on my mother every time we see a rapist go home, with no jail time.
He was always good about that. Even pulled stuff I couldn't on her case. When he found out, he felt so bad about the comment he had made about my not putting any information about my father. I know he didn't mean it, but then he went and pulled those files he knew I couldn't. He was so supportive, so helpful even though I'd lived with the fact far longer than I'd known him. All he wanted was to help me, but he never treated me like some victim, always as a fellow cop. And I loved him for it.
A couple weeks ago, we were working this case, this one with a little girl. Her mother abused her, and had a tendency to throw things. And all I could think about for the longest time was that story he had told me about his neighbor. When that other little girl died, I thought he'd lost it finally. And her funeral...
Cragen was asking me and Elliot some questions about how the case was going and as we were leaving his office, I swear I saw him. I blinked, sure that the week of late nights was playing with my head. I stopped and stared at his old desk, with him leaning against it, his eyes looking the same as when he had told me about his neighbor. Elliot stopped and turned to me, asking what I was looking at. Shaking my head, I told him nothing, but he knew better somehow. I think he knew exactly what I had seen from the look on his face as we continued to our desks.
It reassured me, in a way, seeing him there, casually leaning against his desk. How I wished he were real and not some ghost. When everyone had gone home for the night, I sat and stared at the spot where I was sure he had been that morning. I sat and allowed myself to cry a little, the first time since his funeral.
I was glad to see him that day. It let me know he was doing good, wherever he was. I had this brief image of him standing on a stage, making jokes to an audience and had to let myself laugh. He was doing okay as an angel, for what else could a man like him be?
A/N: For you slow ones out there, this was Olivia.