Law and Order: SVU is the intellectual property of Dick Wolf. The use of the characters, settings, and plotlines is not malicious. This is a work of fiction.

"I just...I don't know what I'm gonna do." Casey Novak swirled her drink, the ice clinking against the short glass. Her red hair fell into her even redder eyes, and her chin and lower lip trembled with the need to cry. Refusing to give into the tears, she swung her arm and tossed the drink back, not even grimacing as she swallowed. "I don't know how to do anything else," she griped.

Olivia Benson, her friend and colleague, shook her head painfully as she watched Casey signal the bartender for a refill. "You should slow down." The more she looked at Casey, in her current state, the more she thought of her mother, and the lifetime of memories she'd much rather forget. "You really...you shouldn't have another one."

"Why not?" Casey scoffed. "It's not like I have to be at work tomorrow. Or the day after." She chuckled bitterly. "Suspended," she spat. "For a fucking year. There's no coming back from that." She bit down hard on her lip and turned her head, scoffing once more as she looked at Olivia. "I did this for you. You and your asshole partner."

"Hey!" Olivia barked back. "Don't you dare! I didn't ask you to commit a Brady violation, and Elliot certainly didn't force your hand in that direction, either! You did this all by yourself, for your own reasons! If you would have talked to either of us about this before you did it, we would have talked you out of it, so don't fucking try to drag us down with you."

Casey nodded at the bartender as he dropped another glass of whiskey in front of her, and she lifted it to her lips as she raised an eyebrow at Olivia. "You and Stabler, you're an 'us,' now?"

Rolling her eyes, Olivia took a long sip of her beer, the bottle being gripped tighter in her hand. She flicked her long, dark brown bangs out of her eyes with one finger as she picked at the label of her beer bottle with her other hand. "You know what I meant."

"And I know what you wanted to mean," Casey said, licking her lips. "You know, I'm a pretty decent judge of character, and I picked up a few skills working with you, so I notice details and shit." She turned on her bar stool and pointed at Olivia with a perfectly manicured finger, her lips curling and her eyes narrowing. "If you so much as shoot a suggestive glance in his direction, he'll pounce on you like a cat on...that stuff...the stuff that cats like."

"Catnip?" Olivia offered, suppressing a laugh and hiding a smirk. "You're so incredibly drunk, my friend."

Casey shook her head. "Not drunk enough to know I'm right. I see the way you look at each other." She tossed back the rest of her drink and slammed the glass on the table. "When's his trial?"

Olivia narrowed her eyes. "Elliot? He didn't do anything..."

"He is not the only 'he' in the world, just the only one in your world," Casey chided, cutting her off. "I meant Lake. The bastard who cost me my career."

Olivia flinched at the mention of that name. Chester Lake had caused more trouble for her unit in the past two weeks than anyone had in the last five years combined. His involvement in a pair of brutal murders, both victims tied to law enforcement, had caused a shit-storm she couldn't find a way to avoid. It formed a terrible rift between her partner, Elliot, and Lake's own partner, Fin, another member of their team. The tension between them ebbed and flowed and boiled, and Olivia usually ended up caught in the middle and forced to take sides. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the side she chose was Elliot's. The constant crashing caused issues with their captain, too, who seemed to think that the answer to everything was a day-or-two at home.

For Olivia, it was always torture, since she went home to an empty apartment every night. For her partner, though, it was probably welcome bliss. He got to spend more time with his perfect family and newborn baby boy. She rolled her eyes again at that thought, her jealousy hidden beneath self-loathing, and she shook her head as she pulled a twenty-dollar-bill out of her pocket and threw it on the bar. "The Twenty-Fifth," she said, finally answering the question.

"Soon," Casey muttered, spinning the empty glass in her hand. Before she was brought before the Bar, she had already planned her course of attack. Now, though, she'd never get to run into the battle. "Tucker involved?"

Olivia nodded. "He's a cop, so IAB is all over it. And, uh, it's coming up fast. Chief of Ds wanted expedition." She swallowed the last bit of her beer. "Langan is defending him, can you believe that?"

Casey was silent, staring into the depths of her empty glass. "Who's prosecuting?"

Olivia took a deep breath and shoved her hands in her pockets as she rose out of her seat. "I have no idea." She looked at Casey. "Close out your tab. I'm taking you home."

"I'm not drunk enough to fuck you, Benson," Casey joked.

Olivia chuckled. "Yeah, you wish that was a proposition, Novak." She waited as Casey flagged down the bartender. Her phone buzzed, then, and she squinted as she fished it out of her pocket. "Benson," she answered, not bothering to look at the caller identification. "Hey, what's...where are you? Slow down. Breathe. El, I need you to...at the bar, but I...um, ten minutes, why?" She listened and her eyes widened. "Okay, okay. You go inside...you have the key, I will be right there, I promise. Yeah, I know. Me, too." She hung up and stared at the phone, confusion mixing with hope, and sadness mixing with fury all at once.

"Go," Casey said, putting her card in her wallet. "Tommy said he'd drive me home. That sounded like Stabler, and it sounded important, so...go."

Olivia nodded at Casey and then threw a thankful wave at Tommy, the bartender. She ran out of the dingy, smoky bar and ran as fast as she could in the direction of her apartment, which, tonight, for a tragic reason no one was prepared to deal with, wouldn't be so lonely.

Her mind raced with thought after thought, rehearsing conversations she'd never have the balls to initiate but felt the need to have on stand-by. The people passing by her were nothing more than blurry streaks of color and fuzzy noises, she was so focused on reaching home. Reaching him.

Every step she took, it felt as though the granite was crumbling beneath her feet. Her long, leather jacket stuck to itself in protest, making it harder for her arms to swing with each powerful footfall. Her jeans gripped her thighs and tugged at the seams, and she cursed under her breath that this had happened on her day off, when she wasn't dressed for running this fast.

She rounded the corner of her block just as her lungs began to burn and the heels of her boots angrily pressed into the heels of her feet, she slowed to a jog, and then a walk. When she came to a stop in front of her building's front steps, she met his eyes and held up a hand and hunched over, panting.

"Jesus," his voice hissed as his hand fell to her shoulder. "I told you to take your time!"

She shook her head as she looked up at him, pointing at him as she heaved heavy breaths. She tried to stand up straight as she shook her head and pointed again, telling him that, when it came to him, she'd always rush.

He pulled her into a hug, knowing they both needed it, and whispered, "Thank you," into her ear.

She pulled away first, her need for oxygen painfully winning the war against the need to feel his arms around her again. With one more deep breath, she gestured to her steps and sat down on the top one. She watched him sit beside her, kicking over a large duffle bag. "Tell me," she breathed. "El, tell me what happened. What did she say to you?"

He pressed his lips together and folded his hands, wringing his fingers as he tried to find the words. "There was no build-up, no lead-in," he began. He licked his dry, cracked lips and sighed, staring out toward a tree across the street. His grey sweatshirt bunched up as he fidgeted on the stoop. He took a breath, ran a hand down his tired, ashen face, and spoke again. "She said...her exact words were...'I lied to you. I'm sorry," he told her. "And then she handed me his birth certificate and this pile of pages I couldn't force myself to read." He brought one hand up to rub his eyes and squeeze his nose, refusing to cry in front of her, convincing himself she didn't already know he'd cried the whole way from Queens to Manhattan.

She blinked once. "I'm so..."

"You saved his life," he interrupted. "He exists because of you, because you thought he was mine. You did it for me, because you thought he was my son. That was so...beyond incredible of you, but, uh..." He felt the tears start to fall and this time he couldn't hide it. He sniffled as he looked over at her. "He isn't mine."

Her heart broke. Her entire being cracked and shattered and she did the only thing she could think of at that moment. She threw her arms around him and as he buried his head into her neck she said, "Anything you need. It's yours. I'm right here."

He nodded against her and gave a long, hard sniffle, sitting up and wiping his eyes. "Your couch, for starters," he said with a laugh. He blinked away a final tear, calming himself down. "And then a beer might be good. A hot shower. And, uh, we should talk. There's...something else I have to tell you, and now...I think it's safe to say it."

She raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Of course," she said. She got to her feet and grabbed his bag for him, holding an arm out.

He chuckled and used his key to open her door, feeling different this time. He tilted his head, wondering what that lurch in the bottom of his stomach meant, but as he walked toward the elevator with her, he figured it out.

This time, he felt like he was truly coming home.

Peace and Love

Jo