A/N: So sorry for the stupid long delay. I've been busy busy ;) I hope even a few of you are sticking with this story. Thanks to all who've read it :) I'm thinking that the next chapter will be the last. As always, I love hearing from you all!
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Veronica's foot bobbed up and down as she sat in the chair at a local coffee shop, waiting for Sara to meet her. She was excited; the trial date was set, and she and Sara were both being called to testify.
Veronica was ready to stick it to Bellick and Bagwell. Some people dismissed the idea of revenge, but she lived for it. Dark and twisted as that may sound, she was a lawyer. Justice ran through her blood, and getting the chance to put her own abusers behind bars…it was the most important case she'd ever be on. And she wasn't even the lawyer this time.
It was a slam dunk case and she knew it; the jury had no reason to doubt their story. She and Sara were respected professionals, reliable witnesses- but regardless, she wanted to go over everything with her friend. They weren't "rehearsing" – that sounded like they were fabricating a story. She simply wanted to hear the chain of events from Sara's perspective. Since they'd both returned home safely, they hadn't really gotten the chance to speak privately yet.
The bell chimed as the door opened and her auburn-haired friend entered, a black spiral notebook tucked under her arm. It was a chilly morning, and her gray peacoat was buttoned snugly against her, with an emerald green scarf wrapped around her neck. She saw Veronica and gave a wave. Veronica held up the coffee she'd already ordered her. Sara smiled and shook her head, abandoning her path towards the cashier and coming over to where she sat.
"Soy latte with vanilla," Veronica gestured towards the drink.
"You spoil me," Sara returned as she grinned and sat down, "must be bad if you're getting me such a fancy coffee."
"Not bad," she corrected with a certain coyness, "but I may be buttering you up a bit for a dreary conversation."
"Well, I'm way ahead of you," Sara plopped the notebook down in front of her, "actually, Michael beat you to the punchline."
Eyebrows raising, "Did he?"
"He helped me go through everything last night, helped me remember, asked questions…"
"Good," Veronica replied with a bit of surprise, "that's really good. Better actually. That way my memories didn't mess with yours and get all tangled together."
"Exactly. I feel like being forced to remember everything I can on my own makes my memories more…concrete." She took her scarf off and draped it over the back of the chair, "So, do you wanna compare notes?"
"What makes you think I have notes?" she asked with sarcasm.
"Ha," Sara offered with an eyeroll, "because you are one of the most diligent note-takers I've ever met." Then added, "you probably have twice as many pages filled out as I do."
Veronica looked down, averting her eyes as she gingerly reached down beside her and grabbed the notes from her briefcase. She opened it to a random page and plopped it dramatically on the table in front of them. The pages were filled to the brim with chicken-scratch running in every direction. There were even a few illustrations, hastily drawn in pen.
"Jesus, Veronica," Sara laughed, "is that," she squinted, examining a small illustration, "is that a snake?"
"What?" she looked closer, following Sara's eyeline, "oh…yea. Bagwell always reminded me of one, I don't know why. I drew it when my mind was wandering."
"It's the tongue thing."
"What?"
"That's why he reminds you of a snake," she clarified, taking a sip of her latte, "the way his tongue darted in and out." She shivered visibly.
Veronica nodded slowly, "Yup. You're right," then she laughed and shook her head, softly, "so weird."
After a moment, Veronica looked up to her, "Can I see yours?"
"Well," she flipped open her notes, "I don't have nearly as much as you…but mine are a lot more organized," she joked.
Veronica rolled her eyes, replying with humor, "I bet they are."
Sara stared blankly at the pages in front of her, toying with the upper corner of the paper, "So, what do we do? Read each other's notes or…?"
"Well, mine might not make a lot of sense," Veronica admitted, "maybe we just start from the beginning and compare as we go?"
Sara took another sip of her coffee and inhaled deeply, "Sounds good to me."
XXXXXX
Michael felt useless. His role was a supportive one, he knew that, but sitting around at work while Sara and Veronica jumped through all the hoops required to bring the perpetrators to justice felt…well…useless.
He was proud of them; they were both busy anyways and finding the time to fit everything in- meeting with lawyers, clearing their schedules for the trial dates…he knew it wasn't easy.
He and Sara were spending more nights together than apart now, which brought him a lot of comfort. She seemed to be doing okay, healing as well as could be expected. She was less jumpy, fell asleep more quickly- the fact that she often did so with her back pressed against his front, his arm protectively around her waist made him even more contented with her progress.
He sat at his desk and reminisced the night before, slightly torturing himself but unable or perhaps unwilling to stop his thoughts from wandering. They'd indulged in drawn out kisses; he remembered the feeling of being buried under the covers, surrounded by warmth and softness, legs tangled together, tasting her. His hand had trailed down to her hip, marveling at the smoothness of her skin…the smell of her shampoo had filled his senses, the shampoo that she'd started keeping at his place. She never mentioned it and he certainly wasn't going to bring it up. He liked that she'd started keeping things there, and didn't want to risk pointing it out, to risk making her feel like she was in the wrong or that she wasn't welcome to. He hoped she brought more of her stuff. His closet could easily be cleaned out to make room for her things.
Maybe he'd do that this weekend, he noted; a gesture he was sure wouldn't go unnoticed. The corners of his mouth turned up at the thought; she'd notice the empty space, but knowing her, she wouldn't say anything. Perhaps it would elicit a soft, elusive smile, and the next time she came over, she might just bring an armful of clothes with her. He hoped that she would.
It occurred to him how strange their relationship was, and how most of it went unspoken. They'd been through a lot in a few short weeks, but the tragedies seemed to roll off them, as if they could stand, arms wrapped around each other, and everything life threw at them would bead like water and roll right down their backs. Swept away, leaving them in their bubble of quiet trust.
Even the trial, for example; such a big event. For most, it would likely constitute a turning point, a solid tick on the timeline of their lives and relationship. But it wasn't.
From the outside, anyone could reasonably assume that the trial and the whole ordeal would be this huge "thing" – a cloud surrounding them and their relationship, darkening the skies and suggesting an impending implosion. He'd admit that it did damper things to an extent, but somehow it still took a back seat to everything else. Sure, it took up their time and energy, mostly on Sara's part in the trail preparation, and he felt the ripple effect of it all; she got home later, sometimes he'd catch her in a daze when her mind was obviously elsewhere, but somehow though it all, they still felt exactly the same together. She was still Sara, and despite having weathered a significant storm so early in their relationship, it was still just as easy to be around her as it had always been.
He'd had moments of doubt, wondering what they'd be left with after the trial was over. But as the trial date got closer and closer, he could only conclude that they'd be left with what the always had; an ease. A mutual, almost instinctual understanding of each other, one that didn't seem to wax and wane no matter what circumstances were thrown their way.
But he still wished to put this all behind them, to get it over with.
He sighed and forced his gaze back onto his computer. His eyes darted to the lower right corner, observing that the time was barely past nine. He willed it to go faster, but had a feeling that every day until the trial was over would pass by with a cruelly slow pace. He lowered his head, attempting to bury himself in his work, hoping that a distraction was all he needed.
XXXXXX
*Weeks later*
Sara and Veronica walked out of the courthouse together in lock-step, victorious and exhausted. The trial had gone on for days, but it was finally over. The jury had overwhelmingly declared both of the defendants guilty, and they were both immediately starting their prison sentence.
Sara thought she'd feel a weight lift, but all she really felt was a blank-ness, born out of fatigue and thriving off the fact that she was no longer inside the courthouse. Being out in the world again felt strange, somehow under-stimulating. She listened to the breeze rustle the leaves, felt the sun on her skin as it cut through the chilly air. The lack of man-made noises echoed in her mind.
Despite the chill in the air, the freshness felt good- a stark contrast to the hours and days they'd spent inside. Lingering inside the courtroom for so long had always left a grungy feeling on her hands and skin. She showered every night afterwards, washing off the staleness that the days had left. Knowing that this was the last time? It was a welcome relief.
She tugged her black suit jacket a bit tighter around her and smoothed her hands on her pencil skirt before blinking a few times, trying to take in her surroundings, to process the fact that it really was over, and that she could resume some sense of a normal life.
Veronica clearly wasn't as dazed, as she nudged Sara's shoulder and pointed to the left, "There they are."
Michael and Lincoln were already outside waiting, both dressed in a suit, although Lincoln's tie was already loosened. They'd been there for every day of the trial without being asked; in fact, Sara and Veronica had both insisted that there was no reason for them to miss work and essentially waste hours of their lives listening to their testimony.
That argument didn't last long.
After telling Michael he didn't need to come, he'd slowly backed her up against the counter, leaving her to completely abandon the dinner she was cooking. He met her eyes and tipped her chin up, pressed a soft kiss against her lips, and declared with certainty, "I'm going to be there."
She couldn't come up with any response that could even begin to poke a hole in his resolve.
"Okay," she'd sighed with a bit of stubbornness, although she still didn't really like the idea. It was a waste of time for him to be there, but she understood. He needed to attend, perhaps more for himself than for her, and she had to admit that knowing he was present in the gallery helped when she was on the stand. Sitting up there alone, her mind would wander back to that night of spaghetti and sitcoms, curled up on the couch and telling him her trauma. She spoke as if talking to him; her words were a bit more filtered, sure, but pretending that everyone out there was just another Michael made it less painful and kept her nervousness at bay.
Strange how talking to a room full of Michaels' while on the stand made everything easier, but walking towards him now had her at a loss for words. Where did they go from here?
Veronica unknowingly helped her by offering the first words, "I told you you didn't have to come," she scolded Lincoln as she went in for a hug. He returned the gesture and shrugged, "and I told you I'd be here."
"You're gonna be late for work," she checked her watch, knowing that Lincoln's shift usually started in the afternoon.
He waved a hand, dismissive, "I'll make it back in time. I had to be here for the big finale."
"Well, there were no fireworks, but I hope we didn't disappoint," Veronica joked with a smug grin, basking in their victory.
Sara listened to the banter, glad that someone else was willing to keep a conversation going. Her ability to be social was waning, and she really just wanted to go home and lounge the rest of the day.
"Hey," Michael lightly touched her arm, getting her attention.
"Hey," she replied, leaning into him slightly.
"You ok?" he wondered aloud, softly.
"Yea, I'm just tired," she assured, then watched Veronica and Lincoln continued their conversation, "do you know what they're thinking?"
"Uh, Linc mentioned maybe going out for lunch," Michael checked his watch, seeing that it was almost two o'clock, "or whatever. But if you'd rather just go home…"
She considered the offer. It was tempting; head home with him and change into sweatpants, sink into the sofa and stop fighting the fatigue…
On the other hand, she hadn't eaten since breakfast…maybe that was part of the reason she felt so exhausted. A meal wouldn't hurt, she reasoned, and by early evening she'd be home and could do whatever she felt like.
"No, I am kinda hungry," she admitted, "do you know where they wanna go?"
Nodding towards Lincoln, "He didn't say, but it won't be anywhere too far, since he's gotta go to work after."
"True," she nodded as Veronica looked towards her.
"You guys up for lunch?" Veronica asked.
They nodded in unison.