FIC : 'Moderation in All Things' (Law & Order SVU)
On the somethingth day of Promptsmas, stumoo requested of me, "SVU, Casey and Warner." This was way harder than I ever thought it was going to be. Apparently I am only good at watching SVU, not writing for it.
Title: Moderation in All Things
Fandom: Law & Order SVU
Characters: Casey Novak, Melinda Warner
Word Count: 1068
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Takes place sometime after Casey's return, whenever the hell that is.
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: No one mentioned belongs to me.
Summary: Casey didn't really think through what she was doing until it was already done.
Moderation in All Things
Casey didn't really think through what she was doing until it was already done. She swung by the medical examiner's office and found M.E. Warner stripping off her gloves with a snap.
"You wanna go for a drink when you're done?" Casey blurted gracelessly.
Warner looked around, in case Casey was asking someone else. They were the only two there.
"Ms. Novak?"
Casey could understand her hesitation. They were not exactly friends. But (she made a generic sweeping hand gesture at their stark, bleak surroundings), "I just thought we could both use a break."
Warner took a beat to think it over, maybe a little longer than Casey would've liked, but in the end, her shoulders shifted in a nearly-imperceptible shrug. "Okay. But no cop bars."
Casey smiled for the first time all day. "I'm not a cop."
+
An hour later, wedged into a cramped booth at a tiki bar somewhere on the east side where Casey knew she'd never see anyone she worked with, they'd gotten onto the subject of work wives and work husbands.
"I have a lab assistant, Jerry. He's only been there about eight months, but he never threw up, which is a huge plus."
In a line of work like that, Casey supposed it would be.
"I mean, we're not at an Olivia and Stabler level, or even a Munch and Fin level, but he listens to me better than just about anyone."
"He's paid to," Casey said.
It was a joke, and thankfully, Warner laughed. "Sometimes, that's all it takes. In any case, I hope he stays. High turnover for my department these days, it seems." She took a long swig of her rum and Coke. "What about you? Do you have a work husband?"
Casey thought this over, tried to picture someone in the role. DA Branch? Judge Donnelly? "There's a law clerk..." she started, but shook her head. "Never mind."
"You're pretty isolated, aren't you?" Warner observed.
"I play softball."
"I hear you dominate at softball. But that's kind of your reputation, isn't it? Being a hard-ass?"
"Hey, my job's not easy. I kind of have to be."
Warner threw her hands up in the universal 'don't shoot' gesture. "No judgments here. This is a safe place. Even if it looks like it's a future crime scene."
Casey stared down at her white wine, the only thing in this place that didn't come in a plastic cup shaped like a tiki head. Behind them, two twenty-somethings in silkscreened t-shirts were yelling at each other about nothing in particular. To their left, a young woman was sticking a glowstick from one of the bar's 'specialty' drinks into her bra strap. The plus side of this place was that Casey knew she wasn't going to run into anyone she knew. The minus side was... well, everything else.
"You know, I admire you for that," Warner said, in an offhand sort of way. She swirled her drink in her glass. "Getting to go in all guns ablaze like you do. I've been in the courtroom with you. It's impressive."
"And they say lawyers are masters at BS."
Warner snorted. "You mean you didn't ask me out for a mutual back-patting?"
"Give me some credit."
"Well, I've gotta say, I respect you for that. Cabot was never like that, either." Warner gave Casey the side-eye. "Or is Cabot's name off-limits in these parts?"
Hey, at least she checked. "No, it's been long enough that the detectives have stopped comparing me to her at every turn." Casey stared at her empty glass and debated signaling to the tattooed bartender for a refill. What time did she have to be at the office in the morning? She shrugged. "Thanks for the back-patting, at least."
"Of course." After a long moment, Warner raised an eyebrow significantly. "I'm waiting."
"Waiting? Oh. For the back-patting." Even though she was pretty sure Warner was joking, Casey felt she had to contribute. She liked Warner, after all. It wasn't that hard to think of things she liked about her. It was just hard to say them to her face.
What she ended up saying, however, was, "I think you're the most normal of any of us."
"I think that's supposed to be a compliment, but I think you're a little rusty on how they go."
"It's supposed to be a compliment." Casey searched her words, wondered if she'd find them in the glass. She'd find some, but not the ones she wanted. "You have a family. You have a life. You've done things other than this job. You could leave if you really wanted to."
"You say that like you can't."
Casey frowned at the countertop. She had already left, under particularly unfavorable circumstances. Had Warner forgotten that? In a way, that was kind of what Casey always hoped, that they'd remember her for all the good she'd done, all she'd accomplished, not just for getting censured.
"Maybe once upon a time I could've," she said. "But not anymore. It's not just a job."
"Never is, is it? You get that same manic look in your eye as any of the detectives. As any of the good DAs. The need for justice. I work with homicide cops, too. And they're easier to handle. Their job isn't much different from mine. If you're careful, if you focus, you can manage to get some distance. They can be just bodies, if you try hard enough. It seems cruel, but it gets you through the day and makes you good at your job. The closest I get to live people is when they have be as a short-order DNA swabber. But you, your entire job is live victims." Warner nodded to herself, like she'd just figured out some great truth. "That's why you can't escape."
"You make it sound like I have Stockholm Syndrome."
Warner raised an eyebrow. "Don't you?"
Casey really didn't have an answer for that. It was just as well, because Warner checked her watch. "Damn, it's later than I thought. I've gotta get myself home, before my daughter forgets who I am."
"Right, right."
"Hey." Warner squeezed Casey's forearm. "I had a good time. How about next week?"
"Yeah, sounds great," said Casey, surprised.
"Good idea to get us out of the office," Warner said. "Especially you."
It turned out to be one of the better impulse ideas she'd had.
This fic and more can be found at my AO3 archive!
Title: Moderation in All Things
Fandom: Law & Order SVU
Characters: Casey Novak, Melinda Warner
Word Count: 1068
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Takes place sometime after Casey's return, whenever the hell that is.
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: No one mentioned belongs to me.
Summary: Casey didn't really think through what she was doing until it was already done.
Moderation in All Things
Casey didn't really think through what she was doing until it was already done. She swung by the medical examiner's office and found M.E. Warner stripping off her gloves with a snap.
"You wanna go for a drink when you're done?" Casey blurted gracelessly.
Warner looked around, in case Casey was asking someone else. They were the only two there.
"Ms. Novak?"
Casey could understand her hesitation. They were not exactly friends. But (she made a generic sweeping hand gesture at their stark, bleak surroundings), "I just thought we could both use a break."
Warner took a beat to think it over, maybe a little longer than Casey would've liked, but in the end, her shoulders shifted in a nearly-imperceptible shrug. "Okay. But no cop bars."
Casey smiled for the first time all day. "I'm not a cop."
+
An hour later, wedged into a cramped booth at a tiki bar somewhere on the east side where Casey knew she'd never see anyone she worked with, they'd gotten onto the subject of work wives and work husbands.
"I have a lab assistant, Jerry. He's only been there about eight months, but he never threw up, which is a huge plus."
In a line of work like that, Casey supposed it would be.
"I mean, we're not at an Olivia and Stabler level, or even a Munch and Fin level, but he listens to me better than just about anyone."
"He's paid to," Casey said.
It was a joke, and thankfully, Warner laughed. "Sometimes, that's all it takes. In any case, I hope he stays. High turnover for my department these days, it seems." She took a long swig of her rum and Coke. "What about you? Do you have a work husband?"
Casey thought this over, tried to picture someone in the role. DA Branch? Judge Donnelly? "There's a law clerk..." she started, but shook her head. "Never mind."
"You're pretty isolated, aren't you?" Warner observed.
"I play softball."
"I hear you dominate at softball. But that's kind of your reputation, isn't it? Being a hard-ass?"
"Hey, my job's not easy. I kind of have to be."
Warner threw her hands up in the universal 'don't shoot' gesture. "No judgments here. This is a safe place. Even if it looks like it's a future crime scene."
Casey stared down at her white wine, the only thing in this place that didn't come in a plastic cup shaped like a tiki head. Behind them, two twenty-somethings in silkscreened t-shirts were yelling at each other about nothing in particular. To their left, a young woman was sticking a glowstick from one of the bar's 'specialty' drinks into her bra strap. The plus side of this place was that Casey knew she wasn't going to run into anyone she knew. The minus side was... well, everything else.
"You know, I admire you for that," Warner said, in an offhand sort of way. She swirled her drink in her glass. "Getting to go in all guns ablaze like you do. I've been in the courtroom with you. It's impressive."
"And they say lawyers are masters at BS."
Warner snorted. "You mean you didn't ask me out for a mutual back-patting?"
"Give me some credit."
"Well, I've gotta say, I respect you for that. Cabot was never like that, either." Warner gave Casey the side-eye. "Or is Cabot's name off-limits in these parts?"
Hey, at least she checked. "No, it's been long enough that the detectives have stopped comparing me to her at every turn." Casey stared at her empty glass and debated signaling to the tattooed bartender for a refill. What time did she have to be at the office in the morning? She shrugged. "Thanks for the back-patting, at least."
"Of course." After a long moment, Warner raised an eyebrow significantly. "I'm waiting."
"Waiting? Oh. For the back-patting." Even though she was pretty sure Warner was joking, Casey felt she had to contribute. She liked Warner, after all. It wasn't that hard to think of things she liked about her. It was just hard to say them to her face.
What she ended up saying, however, was, "I think you're the most normal of any of us."
"I think that's supposed to be a compliment, but I think you're a little rusty on how they go."
"It's supposed to be a compliment." Casey searched her words, wondered if she'd find them in the glass. She'd find some, but not the ones she wanted. "You have a family. You have a life. You've done things other than this job. You could leave if you really wanted to."
"You say that like you can't."
Casey frowned at the countertop. She had already left, under particularly unfavorable circumstances. Had Warner forgotten that? In a way, that was kind of what Casey always hoped, that they'd remember her for all the good she'd done, all she'd accomplished, not just for getting censured.
"Maybe once upon a time I could've," she said. "But not anymore. It's not just a job."
"Never is, is it? You get that same manic look in your eye as any of the detectives. As any of the good DAs. The need for justice. I work with homicide cops, too. And they're easier to handle. Their job isn't much different from mine. If you're careful, if you focus, you can manage to get some distance. They can be just bodies, if you try hard enough. It seems cruel, but it gets you through the day and makes you good at your job. The closest I get to live people is when they have be as a short-order DNA swabber. But you, your entire job is live victims." Warner nodded to herself, like she'd just figured out some great truth. "That's why you can't escape."
"You make it sound like I have Stockholm Syndrome."
Warner raised an eyebrow. "Don't you?"
Casey really didn't have an answer for that. It was just as well, because Warner checked her watch. "Damn, it's later than I thought. I've gotta get myself home, before my daughter forgets who I am."
"Right, right."
"Hey." Warner squeezed Casey's forearm. "I had a good time. How about next week?"
"Yeah, sounds great," said Casey, surprised.
"Good idea to get us out of the office," Warner said. "Especially you."
It turned out to be one of the better impulse ideas she'd had.
This fic and more can be found at my AO3 archive!