Author's Note: I am the worst, the most inconsequential. (Hey, have I mentioned that wine serves as a great motivator for writing?) Anyway, here's another unplanned baby. Thank you so much for your kind reviews! Always lovely to hear from you. It makes me feel less crazy for putting these things on the internet and motivates me more than I can say. Even seeing an email in my inbox that says "Review:" gives me that little burst of joy. So Christmas reviews, anyone? ;) There isn't much Christmas spirit in this, but happy holidays to all of you and a good start into the year 2015! Or, if any of you just happen to be German: Frohe Weihnachten und einen guten Rutsch ins neue Jahr!
Disclaimer: I obviously stole "but he had no face for his fists" from 'The Three Dark Kings' by Wolfgang Borchert (indirect Christmas spirit?), although the phrase is often translated differently. Not sure how Borchert would feel about being used for fanfiction. I bow to him.
"Good work, Detective. I will need your full report ASAP."
Great. That was just fantastic, writing an interim report before the assignment was even done. He rubbed his eyes, trying to stifle a yawn. "I'll type it up first thing tomorrow."
He could practically hear Tucker's raised eyebrows over the phone. "Now would be better."
"Lieutenant, with all due respect" –which wasn't much respect- "I've been on the road for the past three days. I guarantee you, I will write a better report in the morning." He just stopped himself from counting out the work hours. Tucker hated whining.
"Fine." That was quick. "Just make sure it's detailed, I won't have time to go over it tomorrow."
"Yes, sir." Let me kiss your ass for you, sir. He was about to hang up and finally sink down on the uncomfortable looking bed, when he heard Tucker clearing his throat at the other end of the line. "Anything else?"
"You haven't been following the news, have you?"
"I've been a little busy tracking interdistrict drug protection deals." Sassy answers were another thing his boss wasn't exactly fond of. "Why?"
"You…" He hesitated. "I'm not interested in your private business, but you haven't been in contact with Sergeant Benson, have you?"
He bit the inside of his cheek at the unexpected mention of his very recent ex-girlfriend. The past few days had been a welcome distraction, an excuse not to actually figure anything out beyond taking a suitcase and crashing somewhere. "Why?" What had happened in her department now that he wasn't supposed to discuss with her? He was kind of fed up with all the drama.
"There's something you should know. I can't discuss details with you, but you will find out about the incident, anyway."
"What incident?" This was bad, something was off here. Tucker didn't tiptoe. Either he chose to tell you something, or he didn't.
"Brian-"
"What happened?" His vague apprehension blew up into fear in an instant. Tucker generally called him "Detective", except when he barked "Cassidy" at him, but not his first name. "Is everything all right?"
"Benson is safe now; she is out of danger."
Why would she be in danger?, he thought stupidly. The words didn't make sense to him – for an instant. Then, his mind flashed through the scenarios, each more terrible than the next, mixing actual incidents with possibilities. A suspect took a shot at her, a perp took her hostage, someone ran amok at the precinct, she was assaulted during an interrogation, there was a car crash during a pursuit, but she probably got shot, oh no, she got shot, she got shot. "What happened to her? She's safe?" He clung to that one word, willing his mind to stop for long enough so he could pay attention. "What's going on?"
"William Lewis-"
"Lewis?!" A bitter taste rose in his mouth, and for a moment, he thought he might retch. He pictured the psycho he had only seen on that last day in court. Lewis trying to make eye contact with Olivia, again and again. "She wanted all of it."
"Cassidy, I need you to listen to me without interrupting. Lewis escaped from prison. He killed two people, used other people to get to her and took a kid hostage. She made the bright decision to go after him. There was a search for her, Lewis is dead now. Beyond that, I can't tell you much."
It took him a second to process this stoical version of a series of life changing events that seemed to have taken place in that short, short time he had been away. He sat down on the bed, clutching the edge with one hand. Lewis was dead, but the relief was tainted by confusion and doubts. "Made the bright decision to go after him." "What about her? Is she…did she get hurt?"
"Not to my knowledge, but she is still at the hospital."
The full reality of the situation started to hit him at the word "hospital" and the inherent doubt in "not to my knowledge". "What's that supposed to mean?"
"That she is being examined and is not judged fit to give a statement now."
"How did she go after him? How did he even get out of prison?" This was unreal, like a story that he could argue away rationally because it seemed too implausible to be true. He was trying to process all of it, grappling with Tucker's words and trying to catch him out in an inconsistency, something that would explain why he would be saying such things. Because if this were true, why the hell would they have been talking about forms and reports and more work?
"As to that, I can't make a definitive statement, not while the fault analysis is ongoing."
"Why didn't she get a protective detail when a serial killer who's obsessed with her went after her?"
"She did."
"Well, they didn't do a good job, did they, of protecting her?" Anger flared against Lewis, against his superior and his calm voice, against someone who had to be responsible for this. He should have been there. "Why didn't you call me earlier?" As in, the second Lewis escaped from prison.
"You know I can't discuss details of the case with you, given your personal involvement."
"The case?!" Not again, not again, not again. "What case?" Lewis was dead, gone for good. Lewis was dead. How was Lewis dead?
"Again, you know there needs to be a strict separation between your work and this, which is precisely why I didn't call you off your case, and why I am telling you now."
Why hadn't she called him? Of course she wouldn't call him for help per se, but why couldn't she have called him? "Is she in trouble?" The Lieutenant's lack of response told him all he needed to know. She had killed him, or if not she, someone had upon arrival, but most likely, it had been her. "This was Lewis, after everything he did to her-" –which Tucker knew more about than he did- "he was a dangerous, sadistic pig-"
"This conversation ends here" his boss stated firmly, but not unkindly. "Now is not the time for questions. Take the night off, Cassidy."
"Yeah, I…I should…"
"I expect your report tomorrow." With that, Tucker hung up.
Brian's fingers automatically found her in his contacts, swiping across the display that was smudged with his prints. The familiar beeping started, once, twice, three times. Her phone was on. Four. Please, answer. He needed to hear her voice. Five. His heart sank as the familiar, nondescript standard message came. It seemed to take forever until he got a chance to speak. "Hey, I only just heard, I…it's Brian. I'm sorry, I just heard. So call me back when you hear this message, when you get a chance. Please call me back."
She is lying on something on between a bed and a treatment table with her upper body elevated, her arm connected to a drip for rehydration, electrolytes and so on, instructed to rest for the moment while they are off to document every little detail somewhere. Her other arm is in a sling, and the gash on her forehead has been tended to. They have given her fresh clothes, too, probably some deceased stranger's hospital clothes, while her own have been taken into evidence. The random thought crosses his mind that he should probably pick up some new clothes for her somewhere, just basics, because it seems necessary, but he doesn't even know her size. How can he not know her size after all this time?
After the hours it has taken to conduct the rape kit and provide medical care, hours of soft-spoken nurses, of seeing her briefly, of waiting outside with Nick in silence, of grilling Nick for information, of having Cragen talk meaningless words at him, this is the first time he is actually alone in a room with her. It is strangely quiet in here now, with everything that he knows is going on outside. She is lying completely still, staring up at the ceiling and probably trying to avoid moving at all because it hurts, judging from how she winced when she leaned back.
He wants to hold her hand, her good hand, but he knows better than that. Physical contact could be unbearable right now. So he has sat down right beside her, within arm's reach, but not so she has to face him all the time. There is only the silence between them now, and sitting through another second of it seems impossible. Her face holds the familiar, frozen expression of shock and exhaustion, although it is not an expression that he is familiar with from her. He has watched this kind of situation from the outside many times before, with strangers, but being inside is different. The injuries, the blood earlier, the smell, the dead look in her eyes, these things shouldn't be surprising, but they are scary as hell. Being inside, you can avoid saying or doing the wrong thing, but there seems to be no right thing to do. There is absolutely nothing you can do that will make it all better.
"You want some water?" He breaks the silence, because he can't not. He has to stay in the moment now, to remain focused and not think beyond it, not imagine the details of what happened to her or wonder what will happen now or get all emotional. That's not his job.
"No." Her voice is hoarse, her lips dry and cracked with a hint of blood at the top.
"Anything else I can do?"
For a split second, he expects her to rebuff him, but she doesn't today. A polite "no, thanks" is what she mutters at the ceiling. Today, she is letting things happen, examinations, questions, being led from one room to another.
"Okay." He wipes his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Are the painkillers kicking in?"
It takes her a moment to answer that one. "I don't know."
"They will." It's a goddamn stupid thing to say, because he actually doesn't know if or when they will, and he regrets it instantly. "Sorry."
She throws him a brief glance and opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again just as quickly. 35 hours – that is how long it took them to even realize she was gone. Days of torment, a trashed apartment, Nick's stony-faced explanation of what they found at the beach house. But she has saved herself, and she is back. He blinks more rapidly, fighting against the sting in his eyes. She is back.
She is struggling to stay awake, he suddenly realizes, as he sees her eyes fluttering closed for extended amounts of time. She is done answering his questions. "Hey, if you want to close your eyes for a moment, that's okay. I'll stay right here, I won't move."
She closes her eyes briefly, grimacing, and opens them again. "I don't."
He was clutching his phone, as if staring at it would somehow make her call him sooner. He realized he hadn't asked Tucker which hospital she was at, and although he had a pretty good guess as to that, he didn't want to be rushing about the city blindly, and definitely didn't want to just show up without a heads up. But he couldn't just do nothing. What if she didn't have her phone on her, what if it had been taken into evidence or Lewis had tossed it out? He could call Amaro. Nick would know more, Nick would give him information. Olivia had told him explicitly not to call her partner just because he couldn't get a hold of her, unless it was an emergency, but this was exactly that. As he went into his contacts again, his phone began to buzz, an unfamiliar number flashing across his screen.
"Cassidy."
"Hey. It's me" she greeted him in a small voice, but it was enough for the moment.
His stomach clenched with apprehension and relief. "Liv, hi. I was just going to call Nick." It came out like a single word that he nearly stumbled over. "Are you-"
"I'm okay, Bri, I'm fine." Just the reply he could count on from her, the one that actually told him far less than her flat tone did.
"They said you're in hospital?"
"Not to stay. I can go home later. They're just…collecting evidence." Her voice shook slightly at the last two words, and his heart sank.
"Jesus, Liv…" What kind of evidence? "Are you hurt?"
"No, it's not like that. It's nothing like that."
He was pretty sure of what she meant by "that", but couldn't think about it now. How long had she been with him, where had she been, what had happened? These were the wrong questions for the moment. "Good."
"Lewis is dead."
"I heard." He wanted to know how, but she shouldn't trust him with the information because he could be asked about it later. Not on the phone, anyway. "I'm glad."
"The girl is okay. He killed her mom though." She wasn't making much sense, but this seemed important to her. It was like she was trying to give a mechanical lecture on the meaning of a story.
"The hostage, the one you were trying to help?" That much he had pieced together from Tucker's story.
"He wasn't really interested in her. She got…unlucky."
"That's terrible, but no one could have foreseen that."
"He knew he could use her. Planned the whole thing."
"But you saved her" he emphasized. "She made the bright decision to go after him." He didn't need to ask her why, or how that had happened.
"He still won" she replied, her voice barely above a whisper now.
It gave him the chills. He wiped his brow, leaning forward onto his elbow. "I'm so sorry. Where are you?"
That pulled her back to the conversation. "Doesn't matter, I won't be hear much longer. They're sending me home."
"I can come pick you up."
"No, it's fine, the guys are taking me home." She was back in command mode again.
"They're there with you?" That much was a relief at least. They would be looking out for her.
"Yeah."
"Okay, I'll come over to the apartment then."
"No, there's no need. You're undercover."
He frowned. This wasn't exactly unexpected coming from her, but after everything they had been through together, it felt unnecessary. "No, it doesn't matter, this is more important."
"No. This isn't like…like last time. I'm okay."
"Look, I get that you're a big girl and all that and I promise I'm not coming to rescue you or something, I just want to see you."It wouldn't be like last time, it couldn't be like that again.
"No, please, please don't come over." There was something more than stubbornness in her voice, something pretty close to pleading.
It was the pleading that got to him, his ex-girlfriend pleading for him to stay away. "I just don't want you to be alone. You shouldn't be alone right now."
"I want to be alone, Brian. That's all I want right now. Please respect that. It's not about you, it's not…" She faltered. She sounded tired, so very tired. "I appreciate it, really, but it can't be you. It would make…everything…harder. I have to get up tomorrow and face Tucker and explain everything to a panel of people. Again."
The sheer bizarreness of the situation hit him, of how they had only just broken up a few days earlier, of how Lewis had evidently found some massive security leak in the NY State prison system, had succeeded in killing people, in kidnapping, in conning the entire system once again and drawing Olivia of all people out to get to her again. It had happened after all these months, just when a shred of safety had been regained. Maybe it wasn't like last time, but it sure felt like it. After the struggle of the last few months, working so hard to put things back together, they could be broken again so easily in a manner of days. It made him want to scream, to smash things, to kill Lewis himself if he weren't already dead. But he had no face for his fists. He had only powerlessness. "Shit, Liv…it's like a curse from the universe or something…perfect timing too…"
She breathed heavily into the phone. "I really believed I was done with all that."
"I know. But he's gone for good now."
"Yeah."
"Sure you don't want me to come over?" Of course she was, Olivia rarely changed her mind, but he kept hoping against hope that she was simply refusing him out of pride, that she really, deep down, wanted him to come. If that was the case, he didn't want to miss the cue. And still, he couldn't overstep. He couldn't be the one to "make everything harder".
"Positive."
"Okay. But if you change your mind, even if it's at 4am-"
"I'll call. Thanks."
"Can I call you tomorrow? After?"
"Yeah" she muttered absent-mindedly. "I gotta go now, the nurse is coming back. Bye." She hung up suddenly after her last few words had blurred together, her voice strangely constricted.
He dropped his phone on the bed, burying his face in his hands for a moment, warm fingers pressing against his cheeks and forehead. Then, he looked around for something, for anything aside from his phone that belonged to him. There wasn't much in the small bedroom, nothing that he could use responsibly, because he wasn't the type of guy who liked to trash other people's property. So he picked up the half empty water bottle on his nightstand and threw it across the room with as much force as he could muster. It bounced off the wall with a crack, rolling on the floor and coming to a stop in front of his feet. It had remained intact. Plastic didn't smash well.