"I have a protective detail. My mom has a protective detail. I'm not backing off."
Alex had sat, stunned, as the DEA agent played a tape for her. Two inmates at Rikers casually discussing her home address, her schedule, whether it was useful to attack her mother instead.
She was still in shock while they tried to tell her what happened next. A protective detail. Security systems. Federal marshals.
"No, I want to go home now." This wasn't happening. Panic was clawing at her.
"Okay," Benson cut in. "We'll take you."
Police detectives made good armed escorts.
The agent reassured her that everything was handled. That was his word. Handled. There was nothing to worry about. She hadn't believed him, but she nodded, numbly.
Once they got to the street, Benson was in cop mode. "Alex. Why don't you stay with me tonight, until we figure this whole thing out?"
It had to be serious, if she was offering in front of Stabler. Alex was pretty sure he knew, but Olivia Benson was too professional to discuss their non-relationship casually.
"No, it'll be okay," Alex said. "But thanks."
Everything was handled.
Across the parking lot, the agent's car exploded.
Late night in the squadroom. She still had cuts and bruises on her face. So did Benson and Stabler.
They were discussing the ingredients of the bomb, and the maker's signature, as if they didn't already know who had set it. Zapata, clearing up loose ends.
Stabler nodded. "And he's not gonna stop until you back off or you're dead."
"Men like Zapata live on other people's fear," she argued. "The intimidation is always there. I can either accept it, as part of my job, or concede everything."
She was going to see this through to the end. Or so she thought.
That was when the DA called her into his office to announce he was pulling the plug. Too many bodies. The Feds had a better case. Hand Zapata over on the drug charges.
She had argued, bitterly, about the message that would send. Caving to the cartel's intimidation tactics said that New York's justice system was easily circumvented with a few well-placed bombs. But the DA wouldn't budge. It was out of her hands.
The squad took her out for drinks. They tried to reassure her that Zapata would do more time for the drug charges, anyway, and that if he turned on his superior, Velez, then he was dead in the water.
"It just ... it never seems like enough, you know?" she said. "Livia Sandoval dies without any justice, and we're supposed to be happy about it? We can close cases, but the victims -- even if they survive, their lives are ruined. I just get so sick of it."
"Alex." Stabler gave her a rueful smile. "We can't always win."
"But that's just it. Even when we win, we don't."
They'd left the bar after that. She'd killed the mood, anyway.
"Get you a cab?" Stabler offered.
"No, I'm not far, I'll walk," Alex said. "Look, I'm sorry I'm such a buzzkill."
"Don't be silly," Benson said. She'd said more, but it was drowned out by several loud bangs.
Everyone always said gunshots sounded like a car backfiring, but to Alex, they sounded like gunshots.
There was a burning tear in her chest, and then she was staring up at the stars. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
"Alex," Olivia gasped. "No. No, no, no, no, no, no. Somebody! Call an ambulance. Call 911, now!"
Olivia was blocking the stars, her voice echoing in Alex's ears. She was leaning all her weight on Alex's shoulder and talking and talking and talking.
"Alex. It's okay, Alex. Alex, look at me. It's okay, sweetie. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me, Alex. They're coming right now and you're gonna be okay. Alex, you're gonna be okay. Look at me. You're gonna be just fine. You're gonna be just fine. Now just stay with me ..."
Hold on. She was supposed to hold on. She nodded ... but her head didn't move. Why wouldn't her head move? She was so tired. Olivia was further and further away.
"Alex," Olivia whispered, sounding desperate. "Alex. Alex. Alex. It's okay. Look at me. Look at me."
Don't cry, Olivia. Olivia never cried. Alex opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Don't cry.
When she awoke, she was in a hospital, and she ached. Her shoulder, her arms, her chest, even her head. She hadn't been shot in the head, had she?
Shot. She'd been shot. Walking on the sidewalk, and bangs of gunfire. Olivia holding the wound shut. She had to see if they were okay. She had to know what was going on. Alex tried to sit up, but fell back against her pillows again. Dammit.
"You're dead." She hadn't seen the man in the room with her. He was one of the higher-ups at the DEA. The agent's boss.
Could she talk? She licked her lips slowly and tried. "I didn't think hell would look like a hospital."
She wouldn't be in this much pain if she'd gone to heaven. Besides, she was a lawyer.
The man grunted and tossed a newspaper onto her bed. No Leads on Slain ADA, the cover screamed. At least the picture of her wasn't too hideous.
"This might be our best chance at keeping you alive."
(Part 2 of 2 for establishy. Most of this was swiped from episode 504, Loss, of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. NFI, NFB, but OOC is love.)
She was still in shock while they tried to tell her what happened next. A protective detail. Security systems. Federal marshals.
"No, I want to go home now." This wasn't happening. Panic was clawing at her.
"Okay," Benson cut in. "We'll take you."
Police detectives made good armed escorts.
The agent reassured her that everything was handled. That was his word. Handled. There was nothing to worry about. She hadn't believed him, but she nodded, numbly.
Once they got to the street, Benson was in cop mode. "Alex. Why don't you stay with me tonight, until we figure this whole thing out?"
It had to be serious, if she was offering in front of Stabler. Alex was pretty sure he knew, but Olivia Benson was too professional to discuss their non-relationship casually.
"No, it'll be okay," Alex said. "But thanks."
Everything was handled.
Across the parking lot, the agent's car exploded.
Late night in the squadroom. She still had cuts and bruises on her face. So did Benson and Stabler.
They were discussing the ingredients of the bomb, and the maker's signature, as if they didn't already know who had set it. Zapata, clearing up loose ends.
Stabler nodded. "And he's not gonna stop until you back off or you're dead."
"Men like Zapata live on other people's fear," she argued. "The intimidation is always there. I can either accept it, as part of my job, or concede everything."
She was going to see this through to the end. Or so she thought.
That was when the DA called her into his office to announce he was pulling the plug. Too many bodies. The Feds had a better case. Hand Zapata over on the drug charges.
She had argued, bitterly, about the message that would send. Caving to the cartel's intimidation tactics said that New York's justice system was easily circumvented with a few well-placed bombs. But the DA wouldn't budge. It was out of her hands.
The squad took her out for drinks. They tried to reassure her that Zapata would do more time for the drug charges, anyway, and that if he turned on his superior, Velez, then he was dead in the water.
"It just ... it never seems like enough, you know?" she said. "Livia Sandoval dies without any justice, and we're supposed to be happy about it? We can close cases, but the victims -- even if they survive, their lives are ruined. I just get so sick of it."
"Alex." Stabler gave her a rueful smile. "We can't always win."
"But that's just it. Even when we win, we don't."
They'd left the bar after that. She'd killed the mood, anyway.
"Get you a cab?" Stabler offered.
"No, I'm not far, I'll walk," Alex said. "Look, I'm sorry I'm such a buzzkill."
"Don't be silly," Benson said. She'd said more, but it was drowned out by several loud bangs.
Everyone always said gunshots sounded like a car backfiring, but to Alex, they sounded like gunshots.
There was a burning tear in her chest, and then she was staring up at the stars. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
"Alex," Olivia gasped. "No. No, no, no, no, no, no. Somebody! Call an ambulance. Call 911, now!"
Olivia was blocking the stars, her voice echoing in Alex's ears. She was leaning all her weight on Alex's shoulder and talking and talking and talking.
"Alex. It's okay, Alex. Alex, look at me. It's okay, sweetie. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me, Alex. They're coming right now and you're gonna be okay. Alex, you're gonna be okay. Look at me. You're gonna be just fine. You're gonna be just fine. Now just stay with me ..."
Hold on. She was supposed to hold on. She nodded ... but her head didn't move. Why wouldn't her head move? She was so tired. Olivia was further and further away.
"Alex," Olivia whispered, sounding desperate. "Alex. Alex. Alex. It's okay. Look at me. Look at me."
Don't cry, Olivia. Olivia never cried. Alex opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Don't cry.
When she awoke, she was in a hospital, and she ached. Her shoulder, her arms, her chest, even her head. She hadn't been shot in the head, had she?
Shot. She'd been shot. Walking on the sidewalk, and bangs of gunfire. Olivia holding the wound shut. She had to see if they were okay. She had to know what was going on. Alex tried to sit up, but fell back against her pillows again. Dammit.
"You're dead." She hadn't seen the man in the room with her. He was one of the higher-ups at the DEA. The agent's boss.
Could she talk? She licked her lips slowly and tried. "I didn't think hell would look like a hospital."
She wouldn't be in this much pain if she'd gone to heaven. Besides, she was a lawyer.
The man grunted and tossed a newspaper onto her bed. No Leads on Slain ADA, the cover screamed. At least the picture of her wasn't too hideous.
"This might be our best chance at keeping you alive."
(Part 2 of 2 for establishy. Most of this was swiped from episode 504, Loss, of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. NFI, NFB, but OOC is love.)