TITLE: Never-ending Flight
AUTHORS: Adrienne Lee and Miranda Rafferty
E-MAIL: adrienne_miranda@yahoo.com
FANDOM: SVU
PAIRING: A&O
DATE: October 28, 2003
FEEDBACK: This is our SVU cherry. Rough or gentle, just let us know how we did. Please.
ARCHIVE: Ok, just let us know where.
RATING: Nothing beyond TV-level-graphic-ness. If same-sex relationships bother you though, you might want to read something else.
LEGAL STUFF: Copyrighted 2003 by Adrienne Lee and Miranda Rafferty. Non-original characters, if applicable, are used without permission under “Fair Use” doctrine. Authors reserve all rights attached to all original aspects of this work. This is a work of fiction.
SUMMARY FOR SERIES: “This horror will grow mild, this darkness light;
Besides what hope the never-ending flight
Of future days may bring, what chance, what change
Worth waiting--” Paradise Lost, Chapter 2, John Milton
SUMMARY FOR STORY: New life for the counselor?
SPOILER: Post “Loss”. There also might be other bits and pieces from various episodes.
AUTHORS' NOTE: The slightly forlorn and distracted look on an attractive red head exciting the Daley Center caught Adrienne’s eye, and gave her an idea, which very quickly got out of hand.
NEXT STORY: FUTURE DAYS
“Hello?” A light soprano voice called. “Hello, Jaime?” It approached, “Ms. O’Brien! Hey!”
“Oh, sorry, ” Jaime O’Brien jumped and looked up from this morning’s Red Eye. “Ms. Desai.” Noting the disapproving look, “Liz,” she corrected. “I was just reading about the Lincoln Park rapist.” She shook her head.
“Yeah, scary.” Liz Desai concurred, mistaking the distracted look on the fair face for concern over the escalating attacks, “I hope they catch the freak soon.” She tightened her grip on the manila folder, “How many victims now?”
“Eight? Nine?” She tried not to keep track. “Sometimes I wonder if these Chicago cops are even trying.” Remembering the countless nights she woke up to find Olivia pouring over case notes to see if she had missed details or connections, anything to solve the case, **Wonder if it would have taken as long for them.** She blinked, retreated and squarely centered her attention on the petite woman before her.
“Yeah,” Liz shifted her weight, “You’d think they’d work harder since it’s yuppy Lincoln Park,” and wrinkled her nose. “Anyway, Jaime, I was wondering if you’re doing anything tonight.”
“I have to feed my cat.” The chocolate colored scruffy beast who had run across her path, and nearly tripped her. It was windy and pouring, and Jaime was holding her umbrella against the rain in such a way that she didn’t see him until it was too late. He stayed under her umbrella resting on the ground, and watched as she collected the spilled boxes of frozen dinners. When she reached for her umbrella, he scampered off. Only when she was opening the front door did she realize he had followed her home from the grocery store. So she kept him.
“So, that would be a ‘No’,” stating the obvious, “My husband got called out of town last minute this morning, and I’ve got an extra opera ticket,” Liz continued. “Would you like to go?”
“Well…” Jaime O’Brien hesitated. It has been so long since she had gone out with a co-worker. Then she remembered the Barber of Seville premier at the Met that they were to go to. **Did you go without me?** She wondered briefly.
“Oh, come on. I know the Lyric didn’t have the Three Tenors to celebrate their anniversary, but I’m sure they can put up as good a show as the Cleveland Opera,” Desai ensued, genuine.
“It’s not that.” Jaime weakly protested, didn’t really want to discuss any aspect of her supposed hometown. She blushed at the memory of a certain someone sitting behind her in her bathtub, reaching around her waist, impersonating the Rabbit of Seville, “How about a nice close shave... Teaches your whiskers to behave... Lots of lather lots of soap... Please hold still don’t be a dope…”
**Stop it!** She chased away the image, much like she had slapped away the teasing hands. **Get a grip, O’Brien.**
“I’d really hate to waste a perfectly good ticket.” Completely missing the tiny shiver that coursed through her friend, Liz glanced around dramatically and lowered her voice, “8th row center on the Main Floor.”
“All right,” she agreed, willingly hooked by her companion’s enthusiasm. “Thank you. I will join you.” **Can’t avoid people forever.** And she liked the bubbly DCFS attorney.
“Excellent. Let’s meet early,” Desai smiled brightly. “I owe you an overdue appreciation dinner for keeping Ronnie in the juvy system.”
“That’s not necessary. I was just doing my job.” Jaime demurred, remembering the Jackson case she handled nearly two months ago, when she and Elizabeth Desai first met. Jaime had just begun working at the Juvenile Transfer Advocacy department and Desai was her client’s appointed guardian. It was obvious from the start they both cared a little too much about their jobs.
“The poor kid has had so many neglect and abuse referrals... What he needs is counseling, not rotting in jail because he hung with the wrong crowd.”
“I agree. He really didn’t do anything to warrant the transfer.”
“I know. Talk about being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” Her tone of distaste at social injustice turned into relief, “Anyway, I think his aunt down state finally convinced her husband that they should take him. So hopefully, he can get away from all this, and get back on track.”
“Yeah, I hope so, too.”
“Hey, Mark.” Liz Desai grabbed the exiting Assistant State’s Attorney by the arm, “You trying to sneak past me? You know better! I need to talk to you about Perez.” The tall attorney shrugged with a sheepish frown.
She turned back to the grinning Jaime, “Listen. Give me a call at the office later, and we’ll talk about dinner.” Releasing her captive for a moment to squeeze her friend’s shoulder, “I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”
“Ok. I’ll see you later.” Jaime shoved the Red Eye into her attaché, and shut out the imprinted sensation... the Bugs Bunny-esque husky voice whispering, warm against her neck, “Can’t you see that I’m much sweeter, I’m your little senorita…”
**God…** She leaned against the cold marble wall. **What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you control yourself?** Alexandra Cabot never had these problems before. She had always been able to control her emotions… been able to keep it all tightly under wraps. She had even welcomed the nickname Ice Princess, both in law school and at work.
For Alex, duty and career always came first… Relationships at best a distant second. That all changed when she fell in love with Olivia Benson – her salvation and her curse.
She expelled a deep breath and quick-marched into the crowded courtroom. “Let’s get the show on the road,” she spoke to no one in particular.
***************************************************************************************************************
“Jaime O’Brien for the defense, your Honor,”
“How does the defendant plea?”
“Not guilty, your Honor.” She stole a quick look at her client, Marcus Thompson. He had just turned 13, accused of conspiracy to commit murder. The alleged victim was an uncle who allegedly had been molesting the boy for years. **Gun offense and the maximum 3-year probation,** she offered. Marcus had no priors. The prosecutor, eager to maintain his tough-on- juvenile-crime-stance, wouldn’t deal. **Now it’s up to the judge’s discretion.**
How many times had she been on the opposite side of just such a case? The longer she worked as an ADA, the more often she found herself at odds with her superiors. Some of the cases that ended up on her plate made her stomach churn. The law was the law, no matter how unjust. And she felt low even when she scored high.
Week after week, month after month, Alex would wake up in the night, shaken by guilt and hopelessness. And Olivia had always been there to hold her. She had always been there to chase away the nightmares and lull her back to dreamless sleep.
Who would chase away Jaime’s demons now?
The Assistant Cook County Public Defender believed her client when he told her he bought the gun from a classmate to protect himself from his uncle. She wanted to. Having Marcus tried as an adult would not serve justice. **What’s justice? **
Lately, she found herself happier and happier to be on the other side.
***************************************************************************************************************
“You look like shit.” She told the red head staring back. “Yuck.” She reiterated, pushing at the puffiness under her eyes, then absentmindedly checked her hair. She caught herself belatedly, **Too bad I can’t break habits as fast as I pick’em up.** She sighed and reached into the cabinet under the sink.
“Might as well do this now.” She shook her head at the Garnier Nutrisse #63 package and ran her fingers through her blonde highlights growing out.
“What’s wrong with you?” She asked her reflection. It was a rhetorical question, of course.
Even though she always thought the Veronese tale trite, she had looked forward to last night’s outing. She looked forward to not being at home alone on another Friday night, to the company of another person.
**A nice person I wouldn’t mind having as a friend…** She remembered her situation, **Or at least a good acquaintance.** She had planned on keeping everyone at a distance after her relocation here, until she met the devoted DCFS attorney. She was even secretly glad that Liz Desai was so persistent in her pursuit of their friendship. Something about Liz just made her feel at ease.
"Sort of like old fashion chicken noodle soup on a cold day." Her mother would say. "Comforting."
**Sort of like the way Liv makes me feel...** Her thoughts took its natural turn, and she coughed to clear the sudden tightness in her chest.
In retrospect, it was absurd of her to think a night at the opera could help her forget.
It wasn’t so long ago that when she wanted to forget, to ignore her own thoughts, she would blast classical music. She could focus on the structured rhythm, and lose herself in the pathos. **Other people's pathos.** But, the other morning her alarm turned on to the middle of Die Walkure, she barely managed to kill the radio before getting overwhelmed.
**When we first started... Dating. Yeah, I guess that’s what it was.** She acknowledged to herself. **She hated operas.**
Olivia would poke fun at people singing about their deaths for over half an hour. "The Warner Brothers had better ideas," she would claim.
Alex was so surprised when her friend told her she had gotten them a season subscription to the Met. And it wasn’t just the tickets...
They had gone to lunch together a few times with other ADA’s, and met for drinks after work. Then she got assigned to the SVU Bureau. Social group gathering became working meal for three. Then Elliot started to spend less time with them, saying he had reports to type up, or that Kathy was expecting him home. So their ritual meeting became dinner for two.
**And dinner for two became...** She stopped herself.
It was all so easy. There were no defining moments, no labels, and no expectations...
Then one day, quite unexpectedly, things changed for her.
She remembered that cold winter night like it was yesterday. **Almost three years... Guess time does fly when you're having fun...** She sighed.
The temperature had dropped during the evening, and drizzling rain had turned into snow. By the time they got out of the Tannhauser performance, the ground was white and it was impossible to grab a cab. So they decided to walk. A block later, Alex was shivering and longing for hot cocoa, roaring fire, just anything to get warm. Without a word, Olivia took off her own scarf and wrapped it around her neck. And she sprinted ahead before Alex could say anything.
She tried to catch up, to give Olivia her scarf back, but her legs were too frozen. "Wait up!" She yelled.
From the street corner, Olivia started singing, alternating between Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny, “Oh Brunhilde, you’re so lovely... Yes, I know it. I can’t help it... Oh Brunhilde, be my love...” Alex just started laughing.
Then, quite unexpectedly, the cartoon voice stopped. Turning around to face Alex, in her normal soft timbre, Olivia sang the characters’ duet, “Return my love, a longing burns deep inside me... Return my love, I want you always beside me…”
Bright laughter came to a halt. Alex held her breath as her heart thumped. For a blinding instant, she thought Olivia was singing to her.
That was until “Kill the wabbit” started.
**Nothing. Nothing will ever be the same…** She chuckled sadly.
At the Lyric last night, she was enjoying the music, and the performance. She was happy to be there... Until the last scene...
The instant the dark-headed mezzo Romeo fell onto her knees, the sight that tore her heart while her body was in shock came crashing back. She tried to close her eyes and shut out both the image on stage and the one in her mind. Instead she stared at the subtitles overhead drifting slowly by:
“... remember our love...”
“... rest upon my heart...”
“... remember our love...”
“... do not leave me yet...”
“Wait for me...”
“Farewell...”
“No, no, no, no!” The dye bottle flew out of her hand and crashed against the bathroom wall, dark red poured down flesh toned tiles. She grabbed the contact lens container by the faucet and sent that flying. Choking back tears, she sank down against cold porcelain as the plastic cracked against the hard surface, as her hazel colored contacts slid and disappeared into the blood red field.
Gone, it was all gone. She would never have it back.
She might as well have died, for all her life was worth to her now. All of her dreams lost, everything she knew torn away: her mother, her friends… and most importantly, Olivia.
Alex never realized how much she had come to love the life she had, how very much it had meant to her. She never knew how incredibly happy she was, even at the worst of times.
What a fool she had been. How fortunate she was to have someone she so deeply cared for… Who cared about her in return…
Many people would be envious of the life they have given her, she knew. But she was envious of the life Alexandra Cabot had… or could have had…
… with Olivia…
“Olivia…” She let the name slip out between sobs.
**Will I see you again?** She folded her arms around her knees and clenched, “When?**
Had she really thrown it all away just to pursue a petty drug lord? Why didn’t she just let the DEA agents handle it? Two kids would still have their father. Alex would still have her life. How could she have been so stupid? And it was all for no damn good reason?
She was the one who had lost everything, not Velez. Where was the justice in that?
“No...no...no...” She rocked on her heels, “no... no... no...” and for the first time allowed herself to cry, to grieve over the life that was no longer hers, to feel the hurt over her loss.
Time lay still for Jaime O’Brien. Very, very still...
***************************************************************************************************************
“Damn!” Red head jerked up, startled by a shrill ring.
Immediately, Jaime noticed the agitated whimper and scratching on the other side of the bathroom. She rose with effort from the small spot, hugged her robe against her frail frame, and opened the door.
“Hi,” she scooped up the pliant brown bundle. “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” she apologized, and picked up the phone.
“Hello.” She answered softly.
“Hi, Jaime? This is Liz.” A chirpy voice inquired, “Did I wake you?”
“No, I was just playing with my cat.” She tried to sound more cheerful.
“Ah. I just want to make sure you’re ok. From last night, I mean.”
“Yeah. I just get too emotional at operas.” She managed to respond easily.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. My husband, Tom, always teases me about that.”
She chuckled.
“Listen. We’re having a little pre-Thanksgiving get-together tonight. Tom’s invited some of his colleagues from Jones Day. We thought you might want to join us.”
**Jones Day... Nobody there I should avoid.** She mentally went through the list of attorneys who might know her from her past, that the feds provided.
“Um, thanks for the invitation, but I don’t think I can make it.” Jaime fibbed, “I just got the rest of my things earlier this week, and I want to unpack them.” **Right,** she thought, looking around her perfectly sterile apartment, temporarily forgetting the mess in the next room.
“Are you sure, Jaime?” Bright voice turned away, “Hey, Tom, is Dennis coming?” “Yeah.” Came the response. “You should meet Dennis, he’s a cutie.” Liz suggested to Jaime. “And he just made partner.” Tom reminded.
“Uh…” She paused at the banter on the other side of the phone.
“Or, Katie. Hey, Tom, you invited Katie. Right?”
“Yes, I invited Katie, Liz,” Tom sounded perfectly well-trained.
“If you like girls better, Jaime, Katie’s gorgeous and super nice.”
“Liz!” He nearly yelped.
“Well, you never know! Last time I checked, it’s still a free country, Tom.”
“Stop being such a Miss Match, Liz. Please.”
“Actually, I have someone back home," Jaime jumped in. That was not a lie, **I think… I hope.** They never had the chance to settle things. “In Ohio,” she finished quickly.
“Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“Oh, that’s ok. I appreciate your…”
“Hey, you should still come over. Tom’s wondering if you really exist. And everyone’s dying to meet you. Besides, it never hurts to have too many friends.”
“I’m sorry, Liz. I really, REALLY need to unpack, maybe next time.” **Friends.** They were not something she ever had too many of to start with. **Probably can’t start now,** she thought with regret.
“Okay. I’ll see you next week, then. If you change your mind, and I hope you do, just come by. The party starts around 8:00.”
“Ok, thanks. Have fun!” She hung up casually, allowing the tinge of yearning to retreat, and the dull pang to linger for too long moments.
“What should we do today?” She exhaled softly, and asked her lanky companion. Nine to five, weekend off was not a schedule Jaime O’Brien was at all used to.
“Meow?” he cocked his head at her in a most distractingly familiar way.
“How’bout we get you some food, huh?” She scratched his dark head, and smiled despite herself at the loud purr. **I think I’m turning into a crazy cat person.**
“I’m so glad you found me, Oliver,” she laughed lightly at the increased volume, and allowed herself the distraction. “You, little purr-machine, you.”