Chapter summary: Serena deals with the aftermath of being fired.
Publish date: April 8, 2006
Disclaimer: Dick Wolf owns everybody but Stephanie.
You're fired. The two words were ringing in my ears as I packed up my things. When I left Branch's office and into mine, I noticed a box sitting on my desk, waiting to be filled with whatever sentimental junk I had acquired over the years. I realized that even after four years, barely anything in that office was mine. Just a few knickknacks on the desk and a picture or two on the shelves. I knew that by tomorrow, any and all traces of Serena Southerlyn would be gone. I'd be replaced before anyone knew I was gone. I fought back bitter tears as I packed the few possessions I wanted to keep then lugged it to the elevator, keeping my head down in an attempt not to be recognized as "the woman who just got fired." The doors slid open and Jack McCoy walks out. I brush past him and into the empty elevator, and I hope he doesn't know. But the look on his face tells me he does.
"Serena," he begins, but he has nothing to say. He still has his job. I turn around to face him and he just gives me this look, a combination of sympathy and sadness that softens the hard lines on his face. It was more than I could handle and as the doors slid closed, a few tears escaped down my cheek. I spent the short ride regaining my composure. It was one of the hardest things I had to do, to walk out of the building with that box in my hands.
Outside I make my way for the subway. I sit in a corner seat, my head down. I couldn't bear to look around me. I feel like the box in my lap brands me. Everyone who sees me will know that I've been fired. I just want to fold into myself and disappear.
I didn't realize how much my job meant to me. I took it for granted. I'd go in to work every morning, say hello to the receptionist and the clerks, step into Jack's office and we'd begin our day. Everything was so much of a routine that I never thought about not having it. The more I thought about the things I'd miss, the more upset I got. No more lunches with the guys, no more of our playful banter, no more interviews – no more of those daily instances I never for a second thought I'd be without. Being a prosecutor is my dream job. Seeking justice for the victims and their families, putting the 'bad guys' behind bars – that's what I live to do. And now, with two measly words, I no longer do it.
Being fired is a terrible feeling. It means you are incapable of doing your job, or you do it really shitty. I never thought I'd be put into either of those categories. Too passionate, my ass. How can you be too passionate about something you love to do? Theatre and film people – their passion produces such amazing things. Why can't it be the same for lawyers? Did it really get in the way? So much so I had to be fired for me to see it? Why couldn't he just bring it to my attention and I fix it? I could do that, I could change. Why did I have to be fired? I felt tears gathering in my eyes and I'd be damned to be caught crying on the subway. So I forced the tears back and tried to think of nothing, but the day's events kept invading my thoughts. Finally, it was my stop and I shuffled off the train, onto the street, and toward my apartment. I've lived in the same place for six years, with one of my closest friends. She was one of the only ones to stick by me when I came out my first year of law school. My roommate, Stephanie, is a manager of a restaurant, so between the two of us we're pretty well off, but I still wonder if I'm going to have to move out. I assure myself it won't come to that. But by the time I reach our floor I've convinced myself that I will have to move out and am trying to figure out how to tell Steph she's going to have to start looking for a new roommate.
I unlock the door and go in. Steph is sitting on the couch, watching TV and knitting. And suddenly, I can't bring myself to tell her.
"How'd the trial go?" she asked over her shoulder. I linger in the doorway between the foyer and the living room, trying to come up with an answer without falling apart. But I can't. Instead, I march up to the empty chair and toss the box and my briefcase on top of it, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and practically run to my room so I can get there before the tears start to fall. I sat on the edge of my bed and felt a wave of emotion bubbling up inside of me. I scream out of frustration and anger and throw my unopened bottle of water at my wall as hard as I can. The crackling sound of the plastic does nothing to soothe me. I slide, defeated, to the floor, my back against the bed. I rest an elbow on one of my knees and cradle my head in my hand and am ready to let loose when there's a soft knock at my door. Steph is standing there in the half-open doorway. All it takes is one glance to her and I lose it. I start sobbing and cover my face with my hands. I can feel my whole body shaking and I'm crying so hard I can barely breathe. She comes in, stepping over my outstretched legs, and sits beside me. She must know what happened, but she doesn't say anything. She puts her arms around me and draws me close to her, and lets me fall apart in her arms.
When I've calmed down, she lets go of me and pushes my hair out of my eyes.
"What happened?"
"I got fired. Branch, he said I'm too passionate. That I let myself get emotionally involved in my cases, and that's not good for the office. He said I'd be better at advocacy," I manage to say through my hiccups.
"He fired you because of that? Why not a warning, or something?"
"I guess he thinks I'm hopeless." Tears cloud my eyes again and Steph puts her hand on my shoulder.
"There's something else, isn't there? Something you aren't telling me."
I couldn't bear to look her in the eyes. "I asked him if it was because I was gay, and he said no."
"And? Don't you believe him?"
"I want to, but there's a voice in my head that's telling me he's lying."
"Serena, he's the DA. He can't fire you because of your sexual orientation. Its discrimination and its illegal, surely he knows that." Her voice softens and she takes one of my hands in hers. "In a sense, he is right. I know that's not what you want to hear right now, but you are so passionate about what you do. I don't agree that you'd be better as an advocate. Maybe another branch of the law, instead of homicide. One where you can put your passion to better use. Children's rights or family court, maybe?"
"Maybe. But I really loved the people I worked with. They all mean so much to me. And if I do switch, I won't be working with them, and it won't be the same."
"But you can create these relationships with people in other offices. When you first started working homicide, you didn't know these people, either. You were worried about not getting along or fitting in, but you did. This is like that. You'll be fine, Serena." She said this with so much conviction, I really wanted to believe her.
"Is there something wrong with me?"
"No, of course not. You are very competent at what you do, don't let how you feel right now change that. If you weren't any good, they wouldn't have kept you around for four years."
"But I thought I was doing so well. I thought I'd be able to move up. And with Jack as my mentor – god, he's the best prosecutor there is… And Branch oversees all the New York ADAs, so it's unlikely I'll get a job in another office. I love being a prosecutor and I love New York. I don't want to move. I don't know what to do!" I was getting myself worked up again.
"I know this is hard," Stephanie said softly, rubbing my back. "But we'll get through this. I'll help you get through this. You don't have to do it alone."
"You won't kick me out?"
Steph chuckled. "Of course not. You could probably stay here a year without paying rent and be fine. Listen, how about I hire you until you get another job? I know you did some waitressing in college. And you know my restaurant; it's a nice place with nice customers. Or if you don't want to waitress, you can be a hostess. I know it's quite different from what you've been doing, but it's pretty decent money and it should tide you over until you get a new job."
This was a nice offer since her restaurant doesn't just hire anybody. They only hire people with lots of experience, the elite. I nodded my acceptance. She brought me back into a hug and kissed the top of my head.
"Let's go to dinner, shall we? My treat. Some place nice. No," she said when I start to object. "You deserve it." She squeezed my shoulder as she stood up. "I give you thirty minutes to get ready. On your mark, get set, go!" She grinned at me as she ran out of my room and locked herself in the only bathroom in our apartment. I laughed. Knowing Steph, I'd have two minutes in there before she'd drag me out the door.
I had no idea what I was going to do now, but knowing I had a support system made it a lot easier to handle.