Chapter 9

When Casey gets dressed for dinner with Brian Cassidy, she doesn't feel like she's getting dressed for a date. She feels like she's arming herself for war.

She's taking a weapon, no doubt about that. With no access to a gun, she's used her scarf to tie a kitchen knife to her good leg. It's sharp enough to do some real damage, if it has to, and now, she's going to be ready for anything he tries. She's not just going to head back home, unawares, a walking target.

There's also the problem of what she's going to wear. She can't wear pants, because that would make the knife practically inaccessible. A skirt is really her only choice, but... she can't do that. She only just got the stitches removed from those cuts, which are still red and raw. There is no chance in hell she's going to let anyone see those scars, which is possible if she wears a skirt.

Casey's only option is a dress, and she supposes she'll have to settle for that. She's not usually the type to wear a dress on a date, but she doesn't have a choice now.

She's been agonizing about this for over two days, ever since Olivia set her up with Brian Cassidy, imaging all sorts of horrible possibilities after she tells Brian that she doesn't want to see him again. She has to be ready for anything he tries.

Looking in the mirror, she decides that she doesn't look awful. She's wearing a black dress that falls down to her ankles that she got as a present several years ago. She hasn't worn it until tonight, and now, she's glad she's kept it all these years. It's the kind of thing one would wear to a charity benefit, so it's not too revealing, which is good. Her hair is held in a bun, and she can't deny that that is only because she remembers Danny being able to grab onto her long hair and holding her fast; she's taking every precaution she can to ensure that that can't happen again.

She needs to leave soon. She can't ride her bike yet, because of the cuts, so she's just going to walk there. Not the safest choice, in New York City, but if she takes a cab here and back, she won't be able to tell if anyone is following her. She sighs bitterly, glaring at her reflection in the mirror. She's actually shaking, she's so scared of going on this date. "Look at you," Casey snaps at her reflection. "You're such a screw up. Agreed to go on this date, even though you knew it wasn't safe, and now you can't even calm down? Worthless." She hits herself as hard as she can before shaking her head in disgust and heading for the door.

This is her first time out at night alone since what happened. She can't deny that she's sacred. Every single person on this street could pose a threat to her, and she's starting to regret agreeing to this date more and more now, but, then again, it's not like she had a choice.

Brian appears to be a tough, well-built man who could take Casey in a second. When he greets her, he seems nice enough, but that doesn't mean anything… so did Danny.

"So, Dean tells me that you and Olivia have been friends for years?" Brian asks as they sit down at the table, with Casey next to Olivia.

She nods uncomfortably, clasping her shaking hands in her lap and forces herself to look at him. "Yes. I'm the squad's ADA."

There's an awkward silence, and Brian bites his lip and shifts uncomfortably before Olivia says, "Yeah, we've known each other for about four years now."

While the others start conversing, Casey hesitates before crossing her legs, struggling to reach the knife without being blindingly obvious. When Brian takes off his jacket, she can see his muscles, and they do nothing but worry her.

Brian does make an effort to talk to her, and he is very sweet. She almost feels bad for being so short with him, but the familiar ache of the initials branded into her skin forever reminder her that she has good reason to fear him. The hilt of the knife is hidden in the folds of her dress, and she's gripping the hilt so tightly it almost hurts her hand. It reassures her, but only slightly. She's still nearly sick with fear and the looks Olivia are shooting in her direction make it obvious that the detective knows that something is wrong.

Casey merely tightens her grip on the knife and says nothing.

By the time their food arrives, she feels even worse. Her head is starting to ache and she feels nauseous. Going on this date was an awful idea. She can hardly make a sad attempt at small talk and she's terrified. No matter how hard she tries, Casey can't manage to stop shaking.

"You got somewhere to be?" Brian asks her after she looks at her watch for probably the hundredth time tonight.

"Um, no." What was she supposed to say? That every minute this date continued, she felt more and more nervous? That she couldn't wait for this date to end and was desperate to get away from him?

Olivia and Dean really hit it off. And while Casey's happy for her, she still wants to leave. By the time Olivia and Dean finally stand up, she's shaking so hard Olivia actually asks her what's wrong.

"Nothing… I think I'm coming down with something, that's all." That much is true. Her headache is getting worse and she feels like she's about to throw up, but Casey isn't sure how much of her current state is due to the fact that she's on a date right now.

"Well, I can drive you home," Brian offers, but her mind rebels against the very thought and she has to grip the knife- now hidden away in her pocket- even tighter to keep herself relatively calm.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, though." Whatever happens, Brian can not find out where she lives. He can't be waiting for her when she gets home, with a long, sharp knife and a sadistic grin, if he doesn't know where she lives.

"Well, I think we're going to split. Brian, I'll see you tomorrow." Dean heads for the door, and Olivia tells her that she hopes she feels better before following after him.

As Casey and Brian walk to the door, he asks her, "So, do you want to meet up again, or…?" He doesn't look particularly expectant or excited; in fact, he's the picture of apathy right now. That makes her slightly less frightened of turning him down.

"No. Sorry, it's just that I'm very busy right now; really don't have time for a relationship. For what it's worth, you are nice, though." With that, she hurries to the door. Brian doesn't call her back, which relieves her, and he didn't seem to be disappointed at all by being turned down. It's not like she was particularly enticing on the date; she wasn't nice or funny or endearing. Still, though, that was how Danny had responded. He had tried to convince her otherwise, but only for a minute or two. He hadn't appeared crushed or psychotic. Brian's apparent indifference could simply be a mask; he could be waiting for her when she gets home.

As she walks down the dark, nearly deserted streets, Casey finds herself flinching at every sound, searching around to make sure that no one is following her. With the knife at her side, she feels only slightly safer, but it's better than nothing. But the closer she gets to her apartment, the worse her headache gets. It gets so painful that it's actually hard to keep walking. She supports her head with one hand, the other still grasping the knife, and can hardly focus, despite her hypersensitive nerves and fear that Brian is following her. She's starting to think that she actually is sick. Despite the fact that she refuses to let herself slack off on her self-imposed regime of staying up and working until two in the morning, tonight, she feels as if she can make an exception.

No matter how sick she is, Casey still is aware enough to know that her apartment is not safe. She unlocks it with shaking hands, the knife still in her now sweaty grip. She's about to step inside when she realizes that she's still staring at the ground, because it hurts to much for her to lift her head.

How selfish was she being right now? She could step inside, completely unaware of anything and everything, and find herself on the floor, with her hands in his and trapped above her head and him telling her she wasn't strong enough- all because of a little headache. "You… you worthless whore," she forced out, hitting herself in the stomach. "Look up and focus."

She feels worse than before, but now, she can focus. Raising her head, Casey stepped inside her apartment, the knife in her hand raised defensively.

It was dark. There was nobody there that she could see. Flipping on the lights, Casey stepped forward and examined the couch nervously, where Danny had been waiting for her. There was nobody there. Nothing behind the couch, either.

She painstakingly searches every room at least twice before the pain in her head forces her to stop. Casey now thinks that it's a migraine, something she hasn't had in years. Sleep, she knows, is the only thing she can do to escape from this kind of pain, and, for once, she doesn't feel pathetic for not being stoic and working on her cases until two in the morning. It's still early, only half past ten, but she's exhausted and her head won't stop pounding.

No matter how awful she feels, though, Casey knows that it's not safe. Even though she hadn't seen any sign of Brian anywhere in her apartment didn't mean he wasn't coming. And she doesn't feel good sleeping with the knife; it's very sharp and she doesn't want to roll over and stab herself in the middle of the night.

So, she opts for her softball bat. She feels more at home with a bat in her hand instead of a knife any day of the week, anyway. Casey stumbles to her room, bat resting on her shoulder, blindly changing out of her dress into shorts and a tank top, for once, not caring that her scars are fully visible. Then her stomach flips and she rushes to her bathroom, a hand over her mouth.

When she was finally done being sick, it took all of her strength to stand on shaky legs and wash her face in the sink. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath. The cold water hurt her teeth but did nothing to alleviate the migraine, which caused her to groan in pain and stumble back to her bed, the bat hanging limply by her side. "I hate migraines."

She may be sick, but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel more than slightly nervous in the dark. Lazily dropping her cell phone down on her bedside table, Casey collapsed onto the warm sheets, pulling them over her shivering, cool limbs and burying her head into a pillow. All she could do was pray to fall to sleep's tenuous hold soon.

When Casey wakes up the next morning, her headache is gone.

She gives a contented sigh and rolls onto her side, raising her gaze to look at her alarm clock. It's six thirty.

"Damn," she mutters, sitting upright slowly and running a tired hand through her stringy hair. With a miserable sigh, she rolls out of bed. If she didn't have to work today, then perhaps she would be content to stay in bed for another hour or more, but, nevertheless…

Now that she didn't feel like someone was pounding several dozen nails into her skull, she knew that her migraine was caused by the stress and fear from her date. In the past, every migraine she'd ever had had been a result of just that- stress and fear.

If she was being honest with herself, she wasn't surprised. Yes, she had completely dealt with her rape, but that didn't mean she should be throwing herself into a relationship. They would expect sex, and it's not as if she could get stone cold drunk every single time- and that was probably the only way she would be able to handle someone, let alone a man, touching her… on top of her…

With a shudder, Casey stumbled sleepily out of her bedroom, intending to take a shower and wash away all her memories of last night. "God, you're so pathetic," she mumbled under her breath. "Can't even go on a date without getting a migraine. What's wrong with you, Casey?"

She didn't have an answer.