#also cragen looks so tired at all times i love him

[sunflowers-and-sweetviolets]

i'm gonna bring back that 'prince of paranoia' thing again

he's so precious

[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 9

A/N: Devon and Barba have to find out how to live alone again after almost 4 months of living together. Devon seems to have moved on, going back to work for the FBI. But it doesn’t take long for SVU to call her back into work.

This chapter follows Devon--Barba is mentioned a few times, but he’ll come back next chapter. This chapter also goes through Olivia being kidnapped by William Lewis in the episode “Beast’s Obsession.” I don’t go into super detail, so I suggest watching the episode if you haven’t.

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Tags: normal SVU stuff, gunshot wounds, William Lewis (if he’s a trigger in himself), kidnapping, at the end, I do describe a man taking a school classroom hostage, so if guns + schools aren’t something you want to read, be wary of that

Words: 5k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba (lemme know if you want to be tagged)

FBI Headquarters

Thursday, May 29th. 2:04pm

Devon was in the vault, putting on the familiar bulletproof vest, then a shirt on over it. Looking in the mirror, she examined herself; she could see the outline on the vest under the shirt, but that was fine. The time for subtlety was gone. Ever since Devon went back to work for the FBI, she had thrown herself into as many projects as she could. Anything to keep busy. Jenkins started her off slowly, joining a raid on a sex-trafficking ring, doing a simple UC—only lasting a night or two at most—here and there, maybe throwing in a hostage situation when they came up. But this case had been two weeks in the making. It was a high-level drug-ring. Devon had infiltrated the dealers and found the supplier. There was a team setting up to take him out as she geared up. Her job, however, was to go after the producer. The man was paranoid, armed to the teeth and always with his two bodyguards. It took Devon days to find where his safehouse—where he cooked the drugs--was. But now that she knew, she was taking him out, dead or alive.

Devon made her way out of the vault, heading towards the transport vehicle. She’d be going in first while her team would establish a perimeter, then they would join once she had a visual. The safehouse was small; just a hallway, main room, and kitchen. Which is why she opted for a pump-action shotgun; she wasn’t planning on taking the bodyguards alive, because she knew that she wouldn’t be given the same courtesy. She made her peace with this choice, even though she hated it—and she knew a certain prosecutor would have hated it, too. But she shook the thought from her mind, shutting out how his bright green eyes would have looked at her with disappointment.

 SVU Department

Thursday, May 29th. 2:30pm

Olivia Benson was shaking as the department moved around her. She had just addressed the public, appearing on TV, to confess that she had lied during William Lewis’s trail. She didn’t care about the consequences, didn’t care what it meant for her job. All she wanted was to find the bastard—or more accurately, find the little girl he had taken hostage. Though, she also felt a strong pull to find him, too, just so that she could finally get rid of him. Whether that meant jail or death, even she didn’t know, but she just wanted him gone, out of her life. Suddenly, she remembered Devon’s words, spoken softly in her office.

“Do you want me to deal with Lewis?”

Olivia caught her meaning, shaking her head. “No, no, it’s fine. He’s not an issue anymore; he’ll be in jail for life.”

Devon nodded. “That just makes it easier to get rid of him. If you ever want me to, I want to be your first call.”

Olivia jammed her hand into the pocket of her dress blues, clutching her phone and whipping it out. She scrolled through the contacts until she found Devon’s name. Desperate and resolve hardening, she hit the call button.

450 Aloe Ave.

Thursday, May 29th. 2:45pm

Devon crept slowly through the front door, having picked the lock. By now, her team was stationed at the back door, the windows, and behind her at the front entrance. She crouched low, holding the shotgun up and at the ready. She made her way on silent feet down the hallway, towards the kitchen. She could hear utensils hitting various pots and pans, liquids bubbling, people murmuring in hushed voices. The walls were extremely thin; any sound Devon made, they would hear. So, she took her time, lifting one leg slowly, then placing it softly on the ground, toes first, before shifting her full weight onto it, then repeating the motion. It was the slowest she had ever moved, but she had all the time in the world. She made it halfway down the hallway when it happened. She put her full weight on her left foot, about to shift and pick up her right when her phone rang out, deafening in the silence. There was a beat of silence in the small space, broken only by the ringtone muffled in her pocket, before she dropped to the floor, gunfire exploding through the wall above her.

Dust and debris rained down on her as she covered her face, her phone still ringing through the explosion of noise. Once the gunfire stopped, the back door exploded open, the team stationed there running in, while the front team burst through the front. Devon rolled out of the hallway, stopping in the main room, laying on her stomach. Grunting, she pushed herself up, charging to join her team in the kitchen. It was over in a matter of minutes; the bodyguards lay dead, bodies sprawled on the floor, blood pooled around their corpses. The producer had been hit in the leg, screaming profanities at the armed officers, but was otherwise unharmed. No FBI agent was injured in the raid. That is, until someone pointed at Devon.

“Motely, you were hit,” one of her teammates said, pointing to her arm. She looked down and sure enough, blood was pouring out of her upper, left arm. It was weird seeing it; the adrenaline still coursing through her meant she didn’t feel it. But she couldn’t deny the blood gushing down her skin. She reached and touched the back of her arm, but there was no exit wound; the bullet was still in her arm.

“Here,” the man said, taking his handkerchief and tying it above the wound, a makeshift tourniquet. It would work until she made it to the hospital to get the bullet removed. “What the hell happened in there?”

“Oh!” Devon said, remembering her phone. She was cursing herself for not turning it off beforehand; how could she have forgotten? I’m never taking it off silent again, she thought. Looking at the screen, she was shocked to see that she had a missed call from Olivia. She dialed the voicemail, curious to see why she called. Her face fell as she listened to the message. William Lewis had broken out of jail? The hospital could wait; she’d make it there eventually.

“I gotta go,” she said, making her way to the door.

Her teammate was stunned. “But, Motely, you’ve been shot! You have to get that checked—”

“I gotta go,” was all she kept repeating as she left. She made her way to one of the cop cars parked along the street. She flashed her badge, said, “I need to take this. I’m just going to the hospital,” and left the officer standing in the street, looking confused.

Under JFK Bridge

Thursday, May 29th. 4:05pm

Devon called Olivia a couple times, but to no avail; it went straight to voicemail every time. Devon fought the urge to scratch her arm; it stopped bleeding—thank god for tourniquets—but the bullet was still in there, and she knew she’d have to get it taken care of soon. But not until she knew Liv was safe. She debated going to SVU, but she knew they’d force her to seek medical attention, so instead she worked on searching for Lewis. Every time she thought she was getting close, all she found was bodies, still warm from when he was there. It wasn’t until a couple hours later that the trail ran cold.

Fuck it, Devon thought. She knew what Olivia would say if she saw the state that Devon was in, but she didn’t care; she had to know that the Sergeant was okay. Devon sighed, pulling up a program on her phone that she had an old FBI buddy install. It was something that she’d never tell Olivia, or any of the SVU detectives, about, but after spending about a year together, Devon had bugged their phones. She updated the tech every time they had a new phone. Though since the force had changed so much since her UC in California, it was only active for Liv and Fin…maybe Munch and Cragen, if they didn’t change their phones. She felt slightly ashamed about it, but this was the first time she had actually used it. It was to keep them safe, she reminded herself. Sure enough, once the tech synced up, there was a little blip on a map, showing Devon exactly where Olivia—or at least, her phone—was.

Weird, Devon thought, looking at the dot. Olivia was apparently in the middle of nowhere—not a promising sign. Turning the engine on, Devon drove to where the blip was, eyes peeled for any sign of Liv, or Lewis. She got out, looked around for a moment, and found a discarded bulletproof vest, and a cell phone. She squatted down, looking at the tire tracks in the dirt; she could follow them for a little, but outside of that, it was a dead end. Getting back in her car, Devon pulled up the map of surrounding areas. There was nothing around, nothing except…an abandoned mill. If I were a serial killer hellbent on torturing a police Sergeant, that’s where I’d take her, she thought, starting the car once more.

She pulled up to the place, seeing a black car parked at the base of the structure. She parked a little way away, not willing to get too close. If her hypothesis was correct, and William Lewis had kidnapped Liv once again, then any interference could mean the Sarge’s death. But Devon thought she could outshoot the man; she shot Marco first, she could do it again. Only one way to find out. Hold on, Liv.

Devon had a thought; she pulled out her phone, texted a quick message to Fin, then threw it on the seat. Not getting caught by a ringtone again, she thought ruefully, and headed towards the construction, shotgun heavy in her hands. She eyed the structure warily, trying to gauge the situation. Once she entered the building, she realized how lightheaded she was; at some point while driving, her arm had started bleeding again. She looked at it now, and she saw a trickle of blood leaking out of the wound, tickling her skin as it pooled down to her hand. She wiped it on her pants, trying to keep a grip on her shotgun. Using her teeth and free hand, she retied the handkerchief.

As she made her way towards the first set of stairs, she felt her legs beginning to shake. From what Olivia had told her, and what she had researched about the man herself, she was positive that Lewis would’ve taken her to the highest point. It gave him a better viewpoint of the land, plus it gave him more time to do whatever he wanted to Liv. Renewed rage coursed through Devon, and she pushed herself to start climbing the structure.

With every step, her arm started bleeding anew, red gushing out of the bullet hole in her arm, the tourniquet loosening. I’m coming, Liv, Devon thought, regripping her shotgun. She had to make it to the top; no one else was there, though, hopefully Fin got her message about their location. But her vision was fading, her knees were buckling underneath her. No…she thought, sinking down to one knee. She leaned against a wooden support beam, gasping for breath, trying to blink away the spots in her eyes.

She heard car doors in the distance. Over here, she wanted to yell, but couldn’t make her mouth vocalize the words. She could hear footsteps below her—she couldn’t remember what floor she had made it to, she could only hope they came to the same conclusion that she did. Go up, she thought.

“Look, blood,” she heard a voice say. It sounded far away, but whether it actually was far or just her blacking out, she didn’t know. She heard radio static, but it was too far to make out the words. At least I know they’re cops, she thought. She must have passed out for a moment because the next thing she knew, she felt a strong hand shaking her shoulder gently, her face smushed against the support beam, shotgun hanging limply from her hand.

“Devon? Are you okay? What happened? Have you seen Liv?” It was Detective Amaro shaking her awake.

Devon’s tongue felt thick in her mouth as she struggled to answer. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a pained groan. It was then that Amaro noticed that she had been shot.

“Shit, we got to get you outta here,” he mumbled. He looked behind him; Fin was moving past him, gun ready and heading up the stairs, Rollins hot on his heels. Another man, older and clearly the one in charge, was standing by Amaro.

“You take her, we’ll find Benson and Lewis,” the man commanded. Amaro didn’t seem happy about being left behind, but he didn’t complain. He took the shotgun, handing it to the man, and pulled Devon’s uninjured arm around his neck, standing with her, arm supporting her waist.

“Top,” Devon whispered out. Before Amaro had a chance to relay the information, however, the radio turned back on, a man’s voice—must be Lewis’s—came through.

“Two chambers left, one bullet.” And then the radio was off again. Even with Devon’s fading mind, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was happening.

“Go,” Devon took her arm back, pushing Amaro towards the stairs. “Go up.” Without him to support her, she slumped against the beam, sinking to the ground. Amaro gave her a hard look, then turned and followed Fin and Rollins. The man holding her shotgun opened his mouth to speak, but then there was a gunshot from above. This head whipped to look up, then he looked back at Devon, then tore up the stairs.

Devon forced herself to her knees, Olivia’s name repeating in her mind, hoping, praying, that that gunshot was her killing Lewis and not the other way around. She started crawling up the stairs before everything went black.

Mercy Hospital

Friday, May 30th. 10:15am

Devon awoke in the soft hospital bed. Her arm stung, but not as bad as it did yesterday. She tested the muscles, clenching and unclenching her hand over and over again. Everything seemed to be working, which was good, though the muscles were weaker. She laid in silence for a few moments before a nurse came in, checking the IV bag.

“How are you feeling today, Miss Motely?” she asked, smiling sweetly.

“Fine, all things considering,” Devon smiled back. She thought back to yesterday, to the botched raid, getting shot. The phone call. Lewis escaping jail. Olivia kidnapped—

“Is Sergeant Benson okay?” she blurted out, jerking upright off her pillows.

The nurse smiled at her, and gently, but forcefully, pushed Devon back onto the bed. “You have a visitor,” was all she said before she left the room. Devon watched her go, confusion furrowing her brow. She remembered the gunshot echoing in her mind, Olivia…was she—could she be--?

“Hey,” a voice said.

Devon turned and relief flooded through her as Olivia walked over to her bed. “Holy shit, you’re okay. I mean, you are okay, right? I see you’re alive, but I know that—”

Liv put her hand up, causing Devon to fall silent. “Physically, I’m fine. Emotionally…this is going to take me…a while….” She trailed off. Devon nodded, knowingly. They both knew trauma and PTSD. All they could do was be there for each other.

Olivia grabbed a chair, brought it over to Devon’s bed. “I don’t want to talk about IAB right now. Right now, I want to hear about why the hell you were found at that abandoned mill with a bullet in your arm. The doctor said you were lucky to be alive, that you didn’t bleed out, that you only have a mild infection.”

Devon grinned darkly. “Well, when I got your call, I was in the middle of a raid. I was injured, and I did plan on going to the hospital, I really did. But then I heard that Lewis was out, and then I couldn’t get a hold of you, and I knew—I knew that he had you. And I was going to shoot that bastard.”

Olivia’s face darkened at her words. “William Lewis is dead. He…he shot himself in front of me,” she chuckled, but the sound had no emotion in it. “He’s actually framing me for it.”

Devon let the words sink in. “Are you kidding me? That…that sick bastard! God, I wish I could bring him back so I could kill him again!” she yelled. “Sorry,” she said, seeing the look on Liv’s face.

“No, I…I get it. He…he definitely knew what he was doing.”

Devon took a breath, calming herself. Liv didn’t need a hothead right now; she needed a friend. “Do you need a place to stay? Or someone to stay with you?”

Olivia reached out and squeezed Devon’s knee. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine. I have a really good therapist, and an even better support system.”

Devon nodded. “Okay. But if you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Deal?”

Liv smiled. “Deal. Though, I feel like last time I called you, I got you shot.”

Apartment of Devon Motely

Tuesday, June 17th. 9:05am

Devon was enjoying a rare day off, stretching on her couch. She groaned as her body burned from her morning workout; she was done with physical therapy for her gunshot wound, but her arm still burned from some of her workouts, the muscles taking longer to heal than the rest. It was getting better, though; she could almost bench press her normal amount, and she could do 3 sets of pullups, compared to her normal 5 sets. But that wasn’t the only reason she was in a good mood; she was going to meet Liv for lunch today. Devon hadn’t seen her since the whole William Lewis thing, only talking to her on the phone; Devon still couldn’t bring herself to go to the courthouse, even in support of Liv, which she felt insanely guilty about. They were going to eat at the precinct—being Sergeant meant she was stuck there most of the time—but that didn’t bother Devon at all. She was just happy to see her friend.

SVU Department

Tuesday, June 17th. 11:10am

Once the elevator doors to the precinct opened, Devon knew something was wrong. The department was alive with activity, officers and detectives alike scrambling to grab their equipment and heading out the door. Devon ran to Liv’s office, catching her right as she was grabbing her jacket and heading towards the office door.

“What’s going on?” Devon asked, instantly alert.

“Got a disgruntled father that took a classroom, including his own kid, hostage. I’ll give you the details on the way,” Liv had responded, not pausing in her flight out of the precinct. Devon followed, mind racing. So much for chatting over lunch.

Once on the scene, Devon had all the facts, plus extras, that she needed. The perp’s kid, Jake, had been sexually abused by his mother for months, hence SVU’s involvement. The father, Steve, had been deeply disturbed by this, and the mother, Delilah, had been taken into custody, though the court date was still looming in the distance. Olivia didn’t know the details on Steve’s reasoning behind the hostages; she only knew the facts. Steve had entered the school—a summer school/day care for elementary kids--with a loaded pistol. He entered the classroom, not letting anyone, even the two teachers, leave, effectively gaining exactly 30 bodies to barter with. The rest of the elementary school was free to evacuate. ESU was already there but couldn’t get a shot on the father—the blinds in the classroom were closed, and they were hesitant to storm the building with so many children in danger. Cops were surrounding the crime scene tape, keeping what looked like the parents, away from the situation.

“Do we have blueprints on the school?” Devon asked as she suited up. She was glad she layered two shirts today: an undershirt and a regular shirt. She stripped off the top shirt, strapping the bulletproof vest on, then stuffed the discarded shirt down the front of it, Rollins and Amaro giving her a weird look. Liv had learned at this point to not ask questions.

“No, but we have a rough outline from the principal,” Liv replied. She mic’d Devon up, and Amaro handed her glasses that had a built-in camera. The glasses were a little annoying at first, but she knew that she’d tune them out soon enough.

“Good enough,” she said, taking the crudely drawn outline from Olivia. She looked it over, picking out and memorizing the path she had chosen. The school had two floors; the entrance she had picked was on the roof, where she could drop into the second floor and on the opposite side from where the hostages were. It was a little harder, but it made it so that Devon didn’t have to be completely silent. She wished she had more info—the type of flooring, whether the doors squeaked, etc.—but she rarely got all the facts before an infiltration anyways. This should be a piece of cake…she hoped. Kids were a sore spot of Devon.

“Am I live?” she asked Rollins, who was in the police van, on the cameras.

After checking audio and video, Rollins gave her the thumbs up.

“Be careful,” Liv said as Devon walked towards the school. She didn’t reply, mind already focused on the task at hand. She made her way to the left side of the school, as far from the targeted classroom as she could be. There was no fire escape or wiring draping from the roof, so Devon had to get creative. She examined the windows, their ledges, and the wall material. She shook out her arms, the soreness from this morning no longer there, but knowing that this was the real test of her injured arm, whether she was healed or not. Taking a deep breath, she climbed on the bottom of the first-floor window, then reached up to the second story window. She was able to get a good enough grip to pull herself up. She struggled her way up the side of the school, arms shaking but never failing her. Once on the roof, Devon caught her breath as she looked for the skylight that the principal had put on the outline—people trying to help often put in too many details, but it would come in handy now. Unsheathing her dagger, she cut a hole in the screen covering the skylight, large enough to fit a hand through it and pop it out from the inside. The glass would be tricky here, but something Devon had done multiple times before. She put pressure on one side of it. It finally gave, popping inward. Like a seesaw, the other side came swinging upwards towards her face. Devon scrambled to grab the side coming at her, catching it before it hit her, or the glass pane fell. She pulled it back out and placed it gently on the roof by the discarded screen. Next, she took the shirt that she had half-stuffed down the front of her vest, and went about cutting it in half, starting a tear with the knife and then ripping it with her own strength. The floor inside was tile, as she had expected with most schools, so she needed to silence her shoes before dropping in. She wrapped her feet in the now ruined shirt and tied it around her shoes as tightly as she could. Satisfied, she lowered herself through the skylight, hanging for a moment before dropping into the second story of the school on near-silent feet.

Devon waited a moment, listening, but heard nothing alarming. Standing up straight, she walked over to one of the classrooms by her, tested the door. It took her four tries to be able to open it silently, but after the fourth try, she was able to continue doing it. There was also a built-in doorstop, a good omen. Plan formed, Devon made her way silently down the stairs. She had unholstered her gun as she crept closer to the classroom. Once crouching outside it, she pressed her ear to the door. Silence. She carefully peeked into the window in the door.

A man with a gun—holding it limply by his waist, pointed at the floor--was standing just inside the door but had his back to it. That meant that 1) he didn’t see her and 2) he had all the kids in front of him. And that meant that she couldn’t blitz him, not when the kids were in danger of being shot.

The kids were either crying silently, hiding under a table, or were pressed into the teacher’s arms. The teachers had a brave face on for the kids, but their eyes betrayed how terrified they really were. But no one looked injured. Good. Now came the hard part; the distraction and the hope that children could keep quiet. Liabilities that Devon hesitated to rely upon but found it necessary to do so. She ducked down, taking a couple steps from the door. She sent a text to Olivia.

Pull him to the window

Devon counted the seconds before she heard a megaphone going off outside. She couldn’t understand what was being said, but she didn’t care, as long as it worked. And work it did; she peeked in the window once more to see Steve head towards the big windows on the far side of the room. He pulled open two blinds to look out, right as Devon silently opened the door. She put the door stopper down, then started to slowly, slowly crouch-walk towards Steve’s back. She had one hand holding the gun steady to his broad back—a bigger target than a headshot—and one hand by her face, holding a finger to her mouth, silently shushing everyone else. She didn’t take her eyes off of Steve, so she didn’t notice if the children or teachers noticed her at her crawling pace.

Steve released the blinds, causing Devon to stop, holding her breath. Steve then put the gun down and leaned on the counter with both hands. Devon forced herself to resume the slow pace, even with the rush of adrenaline that coursed through her seeing him disarm himself. His body rocked with silent sobs, and he put his face in his hands. Once Devon was within reach of the target, she stood to her full height. They were about the same height; that made this easier. She placed the muzzle of her gun against the base of his skull, causing him to jump.

“Freeze, FBI,” Devon said loudly and clearly. “Put your hands above your head.” Steve seemed to think through all of his options in a couple seconds, then made the decision to raise his hands above his head, defeated. Devon reached past him, grabbing the gun and putting it in her waistband before holstering her own gun and cuffing him, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. This could’ve been worse…much, much worse.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Steve said through tears. “M-my son….”

Devon felt a pang of pity for the man—he was under a lot of duress--before remembering the looks of the terrified children behind him. “I know you are, Steve. But we have to go now.”

She turned him from the window and walked towards the door. At that point, the classroom exploded with activity; teachers started thanking her, children started hugging her legs, voices overlapping in fear and relief. Devon knew it was an elementary school but was still shocked at how small the kids were. This could’ve ended much worse.

“Round up all the children and follow me,” Devon ordered. She suddenly wanted to be out of the building, away from this situation. The teachers set about rounding up the 5- and 6-year-olds and followed Devon out into the hall. Devon gave them all a once-over, checking for injuries, before heading towards the school’s entrance. Something was off in the back of Devon’s mind, but she shook it off, more worried about getting everyone out safely. Once at the double doors leading to freedom, Devon stopped the group.

“Stay behind me,” Devon instructed in a low voice to the teachers and children. Raising her voice, she called out, “Coming out! Suspect is restrained; hold your fire!” She then pushed the handle on the door slowly, showing her face first before dragging out the now openly weeping Steve. The teachers and children came out behind her, taking off towards their parents. A little boy, most likely Jake, gave Steve a sad look, tears running down his face, before running to what looked like his grandparents. Devon handed Steve over to a waiting officer and took a deep breath of relief. It wasn’t until she saw a pair of worried parents looking frantically around that the weird feeling she had in the hallway hit her; there were only 29 people grouped together in that hallway. Saying nothing, she turned around and sprinted back to the classroom.

She almost lost her footing when she made it in the classroom door—she still had her shirt wrapped around her feet, making her steps slippery on the tile floor. She looked around the room, panic raising in her throat. Then she heard it, a little sniffle from under a table. She made her way to it slowly and crouched down. A little girl was underneath, holding onto a stuffed tiger like it was a lifeline, and crying silently.

“Hey honey, are you okay?” Devon asked softly. The girl nodded but made no move to come out. Devon thought for a moment on how to approach this; she knew that her parents must be freaking out, but she didn’t feel right dragging the girl out from under the table. Instead, she asked, “what’s your name?”

“A-Ashley,” she whispered back.

“Hey Ashley. My name is Devon,” she gave her a small smile. Devon sat down on the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Not the easiest thing to do with a bulletproof vest on.

“Hi Devon.”

“May I ask you why you’re hiding under the table? You know your parents are worried about you, wondering where you are.”

“I-I’m afraid,” she sniffled, fresh tears spilling over. The fear in her voice was like a punch to the gut. This poor kid is going to need counseling for sure after this. She made a mental note to talk to the parents.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Devon asked. Ashley nodded, sniffling. “I was pretty scared, too.”

Ashley’s eyes widened with this admission. “You were?”

“Uh-huh. Will…will you walk with me until we’re outside? Please?” Devon asked. She learned a long time ago that most afraid kids don’t want to be told to not be afraid, that their fear isn’t valid. But they liked when they heard that adults were afraid, too, and were more willing to help adults overcome their fears.

“O-okay,” she replied in that small voice. Ashley scooted out from under the table, taking Devon’s hand in her own, the stuffed tiger still clutched in her other. Together, they left the classroom quickly, Devon stopping her short of the doors outside, announcing their exit before heading out in case ESU was still around. Her parents cried tears of joy seeing their daughter safe and sound. Devon handed the mother her business card, telling her to feel free to call her if Ashley needed any help, and to find her a counselor. She squeezed Ashley’s shoulder, giving her a small smile and thanking her for helping her outside, then found her way over to Olivia.

“Great work, Dev,” Liv said once within earshot. Devon brushed her off while taking off the vest, the mic, and the glasses. She noticed in the back of her mind that the whole interaction with Ashley was recorded; she had stopped paying attention to the glasses and mic by the time she had climbed onto the roof.

“Tell the principal that I’ll pay for a new screen and window for the skylight,” Devon replied, half-joking. She knew the city would replace it anyways, but Devon would be a faster route. She placed a bracing hand on Olivia’s shoulder as she stood on one foot, unwrapping her shirt from the other.

Liv smiled, then burst Devon’s bubble by pointing out the press that had been held at the line. “Ready for your 15 minutes of fame?” Devon groaned, taking the other half of shirt off her foot.

Devon already hated talking to the press, but something else had caught her eye. The police van’s doors were open and standing outside them were Detectives Amaro and Rollins. And standing right next to them, already staring at her, was Rafael Barba. Even from this far away, their eyes locked. Devon steeled herself, keeping her face as neutral as possible, even though her heart ached at the sight of him. Barba, however, was not as skilled; she saw longing, remorse, and most apparent, a terrible sadness in his eyes. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, even though there was no possible way that Devon would hear it, but instead, Devon broke the eye contact, looking back to Olivia.

“I, uh, would rather sneak out the back way.”

Olivia noticed the look that Devon had shared with the ADA, but said nothing, nodding understandably—she hated talking to the press, too—before flagging down an officer who was parked away from the front lines. Devon followed him to his car, and he gave her a ride home. He talked the whole way, asking where she learned to climb buildings like that, details about what happened once she was inside, and gushing about how great she was. She gave flippant responses, just hoping to be home and trying to erase that look of Barba’s haggard form and intensely sad eyes out of her mind.