Disclaimer: I don't own SVU. What else can I say?

Broken glass on the ground
Reflecting light from all around
These tiny pieces of my soul
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's
Bleeding life from inside of me
The crimson glass pouring out of me
Passion dying, losing spledor
From purple to blue, losing it's hue
My life in all it's stained glass glory
Nothing more than my tragic story

Home of Lucas Traiylor
January 23, 2006
9:44 AM

I open my eyes and come face to face with a blood red wall. Luke definitely isn't afraid of color, I'll give him that. I still can't believe I agree to stay with him. But it's not like I have anywhere else to go at the moment.

The doctor would only release me if I had someone staying with me. And the only possible choices were my parents or Luke, and I've vowed to never step foot in my parents house ever again.

On the bright side though, I now get to see my daughter more. It's amazing how much energy the girl has. She can run around the house five times in the time it takes me to get across the room… I know that from experience.

I roll painfully onto my back and stretch my arms over my head, yawning. I then prop myself up on my elbows and carefully swing my legs off the side of the bed. Holding back a groan as I push myself into a sitting position, trying to be quiet so not to alert Luke.

I'm so glad to be out of that hospital though. I swear if that nurse poked at my leg one more time, I was going to smack her. I have to admit though; I'm going to miss the almost daily banter with Detective Benson. Not many people appreciate my sarcasm like she does. Especially Luke…

Don't get me wrong, he's a good guy and all, but he can be as dull as a bored sometimes. When we were growing up, he missed out on a lot of fun. He'd refuse to climb trees and build forts with Chris and me… I guess that's what happens when you let that life go to your head.

But maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. At least he's doing well enough… like you'd ever find Luke Traiylor in anything less than a penthouse.

I limp my way across the room, and pull some clothes out of my bag. Too bad I didn't bring my favorite sweatshirt, because my leg is already telling me that it's going to be cold today.

I change as quickly as my sore body will let me than start making my way to the door. But as I pass the closet I notice something sticking out from underneath the door, and lean down to pull it out.

I can't help but laugh when I pull out my old sketch book. I open to the first page and am faced with some demented looking animal. I flip through it, letting the memories wash over me, laughing at some of the weird things I had drawn.

Then I get to a page near the end of the book, and come face to face with a drawing I did of Chris Tolbert and Luke. I'd drawn it before their falling out; they're standing next to each other, arms around shoulders, with a pair of crazy grins on their faces.

I close the book, wishing we could go back to that. Back when we'd sneak out at night to go down to the brook and try to scare each other with horror stories. Back when they had been able to be in the same room without trying to start world war three.

A knock on the door startles me back into reality. The one were Luke is a patronizing control freak, and Chris… well, let's just say he's not around to keep him in line.

Luke lays a hand on my shoulder, causing me to tense. "You alright, angel? You seem kind of out of it." he says, squeezing my shoulder.

I shrug my shoulder to get his hand off me. "I'm fine. I was just thinking about something, that's all." I reply, giving him a convincing grin.

He notices the sketch book in my hand, and his eyes darken. "Am I right to assume that 'something' is named Chris?" he asks, his voice calm and steady. But knowing him as well as I do, I can hear the edge in it.

I roll my eyes in annoyance, tossing the book onto the bed. I situate the crutches under my arms before I turn to face him. "He was our friend, Luke. You could at least pretend to be sad he's gone." I snap, pushing my way around him.

His laugh is harsh behind me. "Oh, I'm sad he's gone, Ros'. But certainly not for the same reasons you are." he smirks, only he could any humor in the situation.

I ignore him and keep limping my way to the living room. I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, and wish that I didn't find that stupid book. Luke always got a little edgy whenever the Chris subject came up.

I hear him following me, and know that he's not going to let this die easily. "What, not going to defend yourself, Rosangela? What happened to the girl who beat up two guys for calling her a girly girl?" he laughs.

I keep silent, trying not to let his insulting tone get to me. He finally realizes that I'm not going to take the bait, and takes a different route. "Rosangela Zoë Adessi, don't you dare walk away from me!" he snaps.

I stop walking, and shake my head a disbelieving grin on my face. "You did not just use my middle name." I mutter, finding it funny that he would have to stoop that low. "I'm not walking away from you. I'm hobbling… there's a difference." I inform him smugly.

But in my head, all I see in that blood red wall…