#captain don cragen

[aries-rising-on-an-aquarius-tide]

A/N: I know it's been a long time, and some of you decided that Evocations was over for you before we rounded the final curve ... but I am still determined to finish it, bc Cabenson deserves it. This story means something to me, even though Cabenson isn't canonically endgame. So, here's the next piece. There's not too much left to cover past this, so hopefully I can do the rest of it justice, too.

Rating: 14+

Spoilers: Scorched Earth, Lost Reputation, Above Suspicion

Trigger/content warnings: references to Domestic Abuse/Violence (M/F), alcohol, Domestic Homicide including graphic description of a crime scene, nausea and vomiting

Evocations: XXV

They say you can never start over the way it was, but for just a little while, they beat the odds. Somehow, it was 2002 again, with Alex in Olivia's bed at the end of the day, it was joints shared on the roof in each others' arms, talking about their years spent apart. There were no rough edges, no fighting. Just fucking, laughter, good food, and solid sleep.

When the world once again shifted beneath Olivia's feet, for the first time it was not Alexandra who left her.

Elliot disappears as though twelve years together evaporated into the aether. No words, no phone call, not a post-it note or a 'kiss my ass' to dream on. At the end of the day that she finds out from Cragen, she walks into her apartment to find Alex making dinner.

"Elliot quit," she tells the blonde, hands fisting her hips in an attempt to push the tremble in her voice down her arms and back into her body.

Alexandra stopped dicing just shy of severing a fingertip in surprise. Biting her lip in dismay at the emotion on Liv's face, she wiped her hands and came around to the brunette, enveloping her in a hard hug, which lasted a long time.

Alex tried what she could to dispel the dark cloud that Stabler's ghost wrapped around Liv; she pulled out every trick she knew from all their stuttered years, making time for wine nights, for trying new restaurants, for black & white film festivals. They were still happy together, but the blonde knew that something inside Olivia was broken, something that all the quality time in the world was never going to fix.

Not everyone's heart is made whole by the love of just one soulmate. Part of the identity Liv had carved out of herself was made to fit into Elliot Stabler, and his absence took up as much space as his presence ever had.

Stabler had been Liv's anchor, and now Alex knew that Olivia was adrift at sea.

.

.

Throughout 2012, ADA coverage was a three-way split for SVU between Cabot, Novak and Cutter. When one of them was handling a sex crimes case, the others were handed cases in other departments. Late that year, Alex got a call telling her to meet a client at the hospital.

A pack of bustling ER nurses parted to reveal a battered middle-aged woman who looked like she had lost a battle with the not-so-jolly Green Giant. For a moment, from a distance, she looked so much like Olivia that Alexandra's heart jumped.

"Hi," she says quietly when she gets within speaking distance. "I'm ADA Alex Cabot. What's your name?"

The scared brunette looked at Alex, but the gaze was hollow. "Betty," she answers through swollen lips, "Betty Bluestone."

When Alexandra gets home that night, she is poised to start telling Liv about Betty's DV case. But the apartment is dark and silent. A ripple of discontent passes through the blonde for the first time since she returned, and she is immediately uneasy. She doesn't call, or text - opts, instead, to open a bottle of wine and order in something to eat.

Hours later, Olivia finds her swaddled in the heavy throw blanket, asleep in front of some flickering old movie. There is unfinished wine and cold Chinese on the coffee table. The brunette shakes the ADA awake, unaware of all the words that come rushing up out of the sleepy blonde's mind about the beaten woman who looks like her.

Before Alex can form any of them, Liv tells her, "Cragen's been accused of murder."

.

.

They fight with each other, but only in their heads. Olivia dives into saving Cragen, which Alex understands, as Cragen is really the only father Liv has ever known. Alex doesn't budge from the Bluestone case, which Olivia won't forgive.

It makes the Autumn longer, and colder. They don't have much time for just each other - they are ships in the night, passing like ghosts, hulking and silent. Over the weeks, Betty becomes the surrogate for Alex's protection and concern: she checks in constantly, arranges shelter, makes sure there is no contact with Mitch, and preps Betty for court until both their voices crack.

Liv goes to war for Cragen; her years at SVU, and Elliott's abandonment both tangled up in her battle plans. She learns the hard lesson that parental figures are never faultless. She refuses to lose another part of what has made SVU her home.

In the end, both battles are lost.

.

.

"Mitch, no. Leave her alone, let's just go home."

Alex is numb with the cold on the stone steps of the courthouse. Her ears lift at the sound of Betty's plaintive voice.

"I should give that bitch a piece of my mind," Mitch Bluestone rumbles back to his wife.

"I just want to go home. I've missed you."

Alexandra's stomach knots at the words that come out of Betty's mouth. She turns just enough to watch the couple continue down the steps in perfect sync, waiting to see if Mitch will throw a snarl back over his shoulder.

Their day in court had been a disaster. Between Mitch's intimidation from the defense table, and his lawyer tearing Betty apart, it had all gone to hell. It had taken an act of divine intervention to keep Cabot from screaming when Betty had apologized meekly after telling the ADA that she and Mitch were going to "try one more time."

She stood in the cold for long minutes after the Bluestones had disappeared from sight, wishing for a joint, wishing for Liv's calm pragmatism, for anything but the emptiness that the defeat had punched into her. Even if she goes home, she knows she won't find relief, because Cragen is still in lockup. Olivia has slept and showered mostly in the cribs at the precinct for weeks, sending errant text messages when she had an extra three seconds in a minute.

So Alex goes to a bar instead, tossing back martinis that make up the largest portion of her meals for the day. By the time a woman makes eyes at her from across the bar, the blonde is four drinks deep, but allows the woman to buy her one more anyway. She stands up to leave when it's empty, and isn't sure if it's the world that's spinning her on her feet, or the Wheel of Fortune.

Perhaps both.

.

.

Alex wakes in bed in the apartment, with Olivia shaking her insistently. The dull ache of a hangover is a weight at the blonde's temples as she wonders when her lover got home, and if it means Cragen's charges are dropped.

"Lex," the brunette mumbles again, "Alex. Your phone's ringing."

She reaches to the bedside table, doesn't recognize the number, puts it haphazardly to her ear anyway. "Cabot," she muffles out.

"ADA Alexandra Cabot?" The voice on the line is far too awake for the hour, and Alexandra winces.

"Yes."

"We found your card in the effects at our crime scene. Is a Mrs. Elizabeth Bluestone your client?"

Her blue eyes snap open wide as she sits up in the bed. Olivia is already back to sleep and breathing softly. "Yes. Did she ask for me?"

There is an apologetic pause on the line, then: "Uh, no ma'am. She's dead."

.

.

Mitch is arrested and long gone from the scene by the time Alexandra arrives. The one cop car that remains outside has lights but no siren, the blue light illuminating the windows in staggered flashes. The darkened house full of shadows hulked on the lawn in the eerie quiet that follows chaos.

Unlike Olivia, who could flash a badge and push her way in to nearly anywhere, ADA credentials didn't grant Alex much entry. She waited uneasily for someone to fetch the cop in charge so she could get inside, and a younger guy, the one that had called her she presumed, came out to meet her.

"Neighbor called in a Domestic Disturbance," he explained quietly as he lead her into the house, "which escalated to Shots Fired before we even arrived. The husband went quietly enough, but the woman was DOA. We found your card in the pocket of her jeans."

At the end of the hall they turned into the bedroom, and Alex was hit immediately by the tell-tale scents of domestic violence that has reached its climax: sweat, gun powder, and the copper-metal tang of spilled blood. Her stomach lurched, already disquieted by her hangover.

Off the master bedroom there was an ensuite. The light inside it was on, the coroner and a CSI stood near the doorway, trading quiet murmurs between them.

"I don't imagine this was their first fight," the young cop said.

"No," Alex confirmed, her heart racing at the idea of looking inside the bathroom. She took another couple steps forward, then halted again. "Did he say anything?" she asked, "The husband?"

The police officer cleared his throat. The coroner, the CSI, both turned their heads to look at him. "He said . . . he said he wished he'd've had more bullets. Ma'am." He took a breath to tell the tall blonde ADA that she didn't have to go in there, but it was too late - she had closed the distance between herself and the doorway.

Alex swayed on her feet for just a second. Her nostrils flared, heart racing as her pupils dilated with the shock of fight or flight. Blood coated the bathroom tile, parts of the walls, and flecked the porcelain of the fixtures. Betty had dropped where she stood, a freeze-frame of her last moment, eyes wide open and a hole bulls-eyed into her forehead. The blood pooled around her head that had soaked into her dark hair was scattered with bits of brain and scalp and splinters of skull bone.

Mitch had said "I should give that bitch a piece of my mind," earlier that day, but instead had gone home and painted the ensuite with pieces of Betty's.

But the worst part were her eyes.

Not that they were open. Not even that they were dull with the finality of it all.

No, the worst of it was that instead of looking surprised by the turn of events the night had taken, Betty looked as meek and as cautious as she'd looked when apologizing to Alex after court. There was no righteous indignation, no pleading or regret.

Betty Bluestone looked for all the world as if she had been expecting it.

Betty Bluestone looked relieved.

Alexandra didn't see the long pale grey hallway wall, or recall ducking the crime scene tape as she rushed past the cop watching the front door. The next thing her eyes fixed on was the Bluestones' lawn as she threw up whatever was left of her drinks from earlier that evening. Normally, the ADA would be ashamed of such a rookie move, but Alex was past it that night. She was past all of it, perhaps for the first time in her whole life.

As the cold night air seeped into her skin, she thought of all her years at SVU. She thought of her years on the run - from Wisconsin to other made up lives, of all the people and love lost along the way. Then of Africa, of how anything she did there had been little more than a drip in a giant bucket of war and violence that never ended. Alex thought of Holland, of Knopf the cat, of Sky High, of the children she was probably keeping Olivia from having. There was all that loss, all those endings, all the change and activism that she had wanted to achieve.

And there was Betty, getting cold on the bloody bathroom tile.

It wouldn't do.

Not anymore.

.

.

The clean white light from above the stove is the only illumination in the apartment when Olivia gets home the night of the day of Betty Bluestone's death. Cragen is still in lock up. Cassidy had been shot. Her entire world was upside down, and all she wanted was to crawl into Alex's arms and find sleep that wasn't tainted with the impotence of all her efforts.

On the counter across from the semicircle of light was a little dark object that Liv didn't recognize. She stumbled through taking off her shoes as she got closer. Slowly, a faint smile crossed her features as she held the item up into the light, turning it.

It was a set of Nesting dolls, but instead of the traditional Russian doll style, they were painted to look like a female cop in uniform. Liv twisted the doll open to get to the next one, closing the largest and setting it aside. She repeated with the second doll.

The third doll was not a cop.

Liv frowned. The third wooden doll was a likeness of Alex: blonde, court-ready in a formal skirt and jacket combo, her reading glasses on. Then the fourth and fifth dolls went back to cops in uniform. Lastly, even stranger, the tiniest of the dolls was painted as a baby. It was just a tiny, indistinguishable face, swaddled in a white blanket. Olivia used a fingernail to part the seam in the wood and popped it open.

Inside of it was a ring.

Alex's ring.

Olivia had bought it for her for the first birthday they'd spent together after Alexandra's return. It complimented the diamond and rose gold one that the blonde had bought all those years ago.

The finality of it gripped Liv slowly, a tingling numbness that started in her toes and filled her all the way up. It felt familiar, and somehow different all at once.

The Matryoshka doll was Alex's goodbye letter.

Olivia was finally, truly, alone.

TBC

[billysjoel]

I can walk, I can talk, I can... All the important things.

[specialvalentinesunit]

[poisonsage808]

Stolen Heart

warnings: kidnapping, swearing, injuries, vomit, panic attack

There’s a balance to having a heart in the Special Victims Unit, the same way a hammer can fix; it can damage just as badly. Working for the NYPD as long as he had, John thought he’d had a handle on his own… until he found himself in a dangerous situation because of it. 

“Munch,“ Cragen called not even half a step into the precinct, “My office. Immediately.”

Looking back, something should’ve tipped him off right then. Paranoid as he may be, he knew being called into the captain’s office wasn’t inherently a bad thing. However because he went way back with Cragen, he knew warning signs. The captain looked almost guilty, his eyes dropped to the floor the minute they met. 

“You piss off dad?” Finn teased.

He turned halfway, shrugging his arms out innocently, “I just walked through the door, I haven’t had time yet.”

The moment he faced the doorway, his smile and shoulders dropped. John knew he wasn’t in trouble but he also couldn’t shake his bones of the heavy weight of impending doom.

He closed the door just as Don was about to tell him to. 

“John, this is Agent Brienne Samson from the A.I.B.”

He forced his stiff limbs to offer a halfassed wave to the agent in the corner of the room. The auburn haired, raven looking woman nodded in greeting, smiling just as fake as he was. 

“Have I done something to put me under investigation by the great Internal Affairs Bureau?” He asked Cragen specifically so he could slip an excusable dose of sarcasm into the question.

“No, John. You should sit down.”

“I’ve known you a long time, Don.” He held up a finger to cut him off, waving his hand around accusingly as he paced the room cautiously. He was a detective, he knew how to get answers. “Did you know you never call me John unless you’re feeling particularly sentimental? Cut the mawkish crap and talk to me like a man, tergiversation gives me indigestion.” 

“Detective,” Agent Samson’s dry voice was filled with urgency, “Now's not the time.”

“No? Then when? ‘Cause now’s looking an awful lot like a character assassination only neither of you will pull the trigger. I know Lee Harvey Oswald didn’t act alone–”

“Munch, I need you to trust me.” Cragen huffed as he collected himself, brows furrowing in sincerity, “Shut the hell up and sit down for this.”

They held each other’s glare for too long, both waiting to see who would crack first. As well as John knew Don, Don knew John. Eventually, with much reluctance, John plopped into a chair before the captain’s desk. Arms crossed, his head lolled to the side dramatically. He looked every bit of an impatient, petulant child while he waited for the irksome mystery to be revealed.

Cragen then nodded to Samson who walked over and slapped a file down on the wood.

“Do you remember putting away a Saul Carter?”

He didn’t keep track of perps he put away anymore, he stored names of the victims he saved nowadays. There were two mug shots about twenty years apart, one was in black and white.  The man in the first photo was smiling almost victoriously, the second he wasn’t and his eyes were notably darker.

John did remember this freak. 

“Back in Baltimore, 1996. I busted him for robbery during a homicide investigation. He broke out of booking and murdered two families in the same neighborhood. He sent me love letters ‘till I retired, then nothin’.” He shrugged, “Thought he died.”

Just as Cragen opened his mouth, Samson interrupted, “Anything else you can remember?”

A beat of suspicion. Cragen sighed in defeat as soon as he saw the gears turning in John’s head. Questioning someone, gathering all the details you could before the panic sets in. He’d done it plenty of times himself.

His attention shot to his captain, “What’s this about, Captain.”

Cragen hesitated and that minuscule detail had the already ringing alarm bell shrieking in his ears. 

His soul left his body when heard your name. John had to hear it though, or he would’ve never believed it. His stomach lurched and white dots began obscuring his vision. Up and out of the chair, he began pacing, eerily quiet and terrifyingly calm. One foot in front of the other, he was only half hearing the information he was being told.

“He hasn’t done anything yet. He called twenty minutes ago—“

John completely stopped listening there, his body jerking to a halt. 

“Twenty minutes? Twenty?” That just couldn’t be right. Twenty minutes ago he had dropped you off at work like he always did, got out of the car to open your door and walked you up to the building. He had told you he loved you, said goodbye, then you pulled him back for a quick peck on the lips. “That’s— No. No! Twenty minutes ago I was there, Don! He’s lying. If they were in danger, I’d know.”

“Detective, we've already confirmed that he’s not lying.” Samson was irritatingly placating, hands out in surrender as if he was a ticking time bomb, as if he was the one with a gun. “We already have video footage and statements from multiple witnesses.”

“Let me see.”

“I don’t advise that. You’re not privy to any information right now. You’re being told as a courtesy, but I’m here to remind you; you’re a liability. You and your fellow detectives cause a mountain of paperwork for my department every time a situation becomes even slightly personal.”

“I’m not asking you.” John breathed out, taking his glare to his captain. His eyes softened, doing the begging his mouth couldn’t. 

Cragen has a good head on his shoulders, but an even better heart. He knows in a situation like this how impossible it is to turn off that detective switch. Despite that, and knowing what he should and shouldn’t be revealing, he gestures behind his desk anyways. 

“Captain Cragen!“ Samson calls out sternly.

“I’m having him confirm the identity of the suspect.” 

John is beside him in two great sweeps of his long legs, watching the blurry video with a hand over his mouth.

The timestamp is engraved in his brain, 6:30, exactly when he brought you to work. John memorizes the way you smile when he says he loves you and how giddy you are snatching his tie, pulling him back for a kiss. You’re at his height for a change, standing on the steps of the building entrance.

“You leave, he goes in.” 

Suddenly, out of the camera’s view, a hooded figure rushes up those same steps the second he drives away. He can see blasts from a gun going off reflecting in the window, then Carter walking out very closely behind you. There’s almost a relief that he can’t see your face, that he can’t see how scared you must be.

“He shot two people, they’re both in the hospital. We followed the street cams all the way to the subway, then we lost him.”

“We? Who’s—“ John cuts himself off, his eyes jumping to the open blinds on the door. “You can’t.”

Samson quirked a brow at his response, judging him like she had any right to. “That is not up to you, detective.” 

“I know what you’re feeling right now—“

“With all due respect, captain, I highly fucking doubt that.”

“—but Benson and Stabler are your best options, Munch! Would you rather some strangers handle this!?”

“Yes!” Munch slams his hands down on the desk, wishing it would sting but he can’t feel it, “If something… If I lose… I wouldn’t move on, Cap. I wouldn’t let this go and I might hate them for it. Please, you can’t do this.”

Cragen’s hand is a heavy weight on his shoulder that does little to ground him. Before he can bestow any wisdom, Samson is interrupting with logic.

“Like it or not, Detective Munch, thanks to you this,” she points to the computer, “is now a case for the SVU and will be treated as if it was any other.”

His fingers curled into tight fists that trembled against the wood as her venomous words seeped into his skin and made him feel filthy with guilt.

“Thanks to–” He scoffs, shaking his head and sneering, “Thanks to me? Are you blaming me for this!? You think I wanted someone to–”

“Agent Samson, that’s enough! Let me have a word with my detective in private.”

Cragen leaves no room to protest, he bullies her out of the room and shuts the door swiftly behind her. Whipping around, he shoves a finger in John’s direction with an expression he can’t read in his current state, but it almost looks as if he’s holding up a mirror. 

“Now you listen to me and you listen good; nothing is gonna happen. But you need to sit tight while they do their jobs. The I.A.B. preemptively,” the word is filled with venom, “sent her to confiscate your badge and gun for the time being and I’ve been ordered to confine you. So, you are to stay in this building until I leave— and I am not leaving until we get them back. Are we understood?”

John swallowed thickly, he didn't trust his voice. 

He nods. 

~

The worst part was always the unknown. He hated mysteries. He hated secrets. He hated cliffhangers. He hated open endings. He /hated the unknown. Sitting there, stewing in the dark made him sick to his stomach with the need for violence. He wanted to hit something, do something, feel something. But all he could do was wait. 

“Munch!”

He thought he knew, it’s the living victims that rip your guts out, that’s what he said. Those were only guts, though, as painful as it was, it didn’t compare to someone reaching into his chest and clawing out the very thing he needed to exist. Without his heart, he felt like a very different man.

“Man, stop!” Finn pleaded, and Finn was never one to sound so desperate. 

He tried focusing on what he knew; he knew this whole fucking situation like the back of his hand, only now he was knee deep on the other side of it, and sinking fast. He was temporarily suspended— that much was clear— and worse, he was treated like any loved one in a missing persons case. 

Fin grabbed his shoulder and forced him to a crashing stop, “Just hold up!” 

His fists trembled at his sides, his breathing erratic.

“Contrary to everyone’s belief, I’m not trying to get myself fired or killed. I’m just goin’ to the bathroom. I don’t need a babysitter for that, do I?”

“Cut the crap, Munch. Say what you wanna say, I can take it.” 

Logically, he knew none of his friends deserved his wrath. 

Rage didn’t follow logic, though. John could count on one hand all the times he felt like this and he was disgusted by it every time. Fin’s intentions, no matter how kind hearted they were, couldn’t get through to him. He’d say something he would later regret.

He pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head.

“Just leave me alone.” 

“I can’t do that, man. You’re my partner. I don’t care what I.A.B. says about you not bein’ able to keep your cool,” Fin slapped a hand on John’s chest and he heard crinkling between the man’s palm and his shirt, “I always got your back.” 

He tapped Fin’s hand gratefully, using his thumb to slip the paper out and into his pocket. 

“I’m around�� if you feel like talkin’.” 

“Noted… Thanks, Fin.”

Hiding in the bathroom stall like he was back in highschool, he damn near ripped the paper trying to peel it open. Benson and Stabler tracked you and Carter to Baltimore. That was a three hour bus ride. If he had anything in his stomach it would’ve gone straight into the porcelain bowl, he was nauseas all over again. 

Now he had to deal with the knowledge he swore he wanted. Bitterly dropping the paper into the toilet and flushing it away, he almost wished he didn’t read it. He didn’t deserve to cry but the tears fell anyway. His back hit the stall door and he sank to his knees, hiding his face in his hands like when he was a boy. The guilt was eating him alive from the inside out and the only thing that stopped him from letting it happen was the unknown. 

You were alive, but were you ok?

~

“He’s going to goad you for a reaction,” Huang explained tentatively, though he was more than aware John knew that already, “Saul Carter has exhibited signs of obsession, but he’s manic and impulsive. Tell him everything he wants to hear but don’t allow him to know he’s gotten to you.” 

“Any advice on how to do that.” John asked dryly.

The piss poor excuse of a rejected abomination that took you reached out again, wanted a friendly chat with him. When Samson initially denied the idea, Fin and Cragen shared a look that said they wanted to toss her out the window. Beautiful, silver bullet tongue Casey and her overpriced Harvard Law degree managed to convince the agent otherwise. She promised Huang would coach John on what to say, (what not to say) what to do, (what not to do) and sit in on the call.

Huang gave him a reassuring, albeit hesitant, smile, “You do it all the time. Say what you need to and nothing more. If he gives you an opening to reveal his location; take it.” 

The phone rings. 

“That’s him.” Cragen states, nodding to him, “Take it.”

Moving too fast to hide how jittery his hands are, he picks up the phone and hits the speaker button.

“You wanted me, you got me.” He greets in monotone. 

“Detective Munch.” The way he said it had his hackles raised. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this. I gotta say, I’m a little disappointed. I was sure you’d be lookin’ for me when I busted out but I guess I’m not as special as sweetheart here. You knew when they went missing but not me, huh?”

Huang must’ve seen his eye twitch because he mouths ‘no reaction’. There’s movement on the other end. Managing to relax his white knuckle grip on the phone, he pushes his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t keep up with Baltimore’s local news or I would’ve been hot on your trail.” 

Though John tried to play into the criminal’s desire for attention, Carter seemed… upset to hear this. He groaned and hit the phone against something a couple times. Huang’s eyes were narrowed at the phone, like he was trying to solve a puzzle without the picture. 

“Not gonna ask how they are? Don’t you care?”

John sneered, baring his teeth to the man who couldn’t see it. Every spare second he has, morning, noon and night, you’re all he thinks about. At the end of every day, when he’s holding you in his arms, he prays for every night to end like that. Does he care? How could he not. Eyes wide and all knowing, Huang shook his head.

“Of course I do.” He said through grit teeth.

Wincing at the sound of crazed laughter, he knew what was going on now. Carter didn’t want his attention, he just wanted to inflict pain. 

“You wanna say hi? Got ‘em a lil’ tied up at the moment but,”

There was a audible rip, a muffled whimper, then, 

 “John?” 

All at once everyone in the room takes a breath upon hearing your voice and steals the air, leaving none for him. You sound disoriented, his name a plea from your lips and it’s torture for him not to come when summoned. Still, he can feel the cavity in his chest aching with hope just from hearing your voice again.

“I’m here.” He keeps his tone flat but tries, for you, to sound softer, “I’m right here. Are you ok?”

“I’m—” 

The sound of a slap had his head spinning. He saw Fin wince and glare at the wall, and Huang tried to keep pity from his eyes as he warily looked at John.  

“You don’t get answers, detective. Since you’re too good to come and finish what you started and get them yourself, remember?” 

John’s eyes flit to Huang who rolls his wrist in agreement.

“Give me an address and I’ll be there, Carter. We can end this, you and I.”

“Ah, what the hell, you can come get me for old time’s sake. You got a pen? I’ll tell you where to go but,” his empty laugh is nails on a chalkboard, “I think we’ll have a repeat of last time.”

Huang is scribbling down the address while Fin rushes out of the room, dialing on his phone. The thunderous bang sends his chair flying backwards as he jumps to his feet. It’s horribly abrupt, everyone’s eyes go wide with horror and they’re betrayed by their duties to continue on as you screech in pain. He’s the only one whose world crashes to a stop and threatens to implode.

“Get that address to Stabler and Benson now. Where the hell did Tutuola go—“

There’s ringing in his ears like he was right next to the barrel, but it’s just the dead phone line. His trembling hand drops the receiver as if it’s a smoking gun and he hadn’t meant to pull the trigger. 

”John!” Cragen bellows, chasing after him. 

He didn’t know he was moving but he couldn’t stop. Not now. The end was near and he couldn’t outrun it if he stopped. 

“John!” 

That was Fin this time, it was hard to hear him over the heavy hand he had on the horn. Pulling his car up on the sidewalk, his partner reached over and shoved the passenger door open. 

He didn’t need instructions for what that meant. 

~

Two hours and twenty four minutes of agony rounded up to a fateful three. The drive was tense and mostly silent. He didn’t have a phone to answer, stupidly leaving it behind with his confiscated badge and gun, but Fin’s was blowing up every twenty minutes. He got an earful from Cragen, warnings from Novak and Huang, more scoldings from Cragen before he stopped answering them. Fin did him a hell of a favor by biting his tongue when John asked if he could go any faster, like it would make Baltimore any closer than it was eight miles ago.

He had to know. 

His mind was infected with a disease ridden double edged sword and the cure was knowledge. 

It was a cruel gamble and his chips were down, but his hand was forced to play. Obviously if you were alive nothing else mattered, no question would ever leave his tongue dry this way ever again– he thirsted to know you were alive. He could fix everything he fucked up if he only could see you were alive, everything would be ok if you were alive. 

Isn’t this exactly why he wanted to remain in limbo? The moment he begins to be hopeful, planning to take time off to take care of you, deal out his apologies, already mentally filling out paperwork for the inevitable desk duty he’d receive– the sword dug into his brain and threatened to kill him with the image of your dead body. What would any of it matter if you weren’t there? Colors would die, tastes would be ash, smells and songs would be burnt rubber from car crashes. The mortal globe he stood on would crumble to nothingness and leave him a shell of a man… but he would be a coward if he didn’t see it through to the bitter end.

Either way, he had to know. 

~

He shouldered through the barricades of double doors, ran too fast in the stretching hallways and rushed right into a woman he almost didn’t recognise amongst the river of blurry faces. Unsure of what he knew and what his intentions were, Olivia held her hands out to catch him, possibly pacify him.

“Munch, just–”

“I can’t wait anymore, Olivia.” He shook his head.

His sincerity didn’t shock her, he’d been honest with her before, the fear lingering in his voice did. She closed her lips, brows pulling together but he couldn’t read her expression. Turning him around, she ushered him to room 217. Leaning besides the door with his arms crossed was Eliot, who straightened upon seeing Munch. Olivia opened the door for him, reassuring him where they’d be if he needed them then promptly closed him in the dark room.

How many times had he been in a hospital before this? For interrogations, for friends, for himself. Nothing could prepare him for a moment like this. His hand trembled as it closed around the curtain but he didn’t hesitate to pull it back.

His legs buckled and threatened to betray him.

You were alive.

The sight shouldn’t have been comforting but it was. Your left shoulder was bandaged for a gunshot wound, arm hung in a blue sling. There was a stitched up gash at your hairline and your lip was busted. He counted seven bruises that he could see and didn’t doubt there was more under that thin hospital blanket. But you were alive. You’d just gone through hell and you sounded indisputably relieved to see the man that put you there, so much so you smiled weakly at him.

“John!”

Tears welled up in his eyes. He never thought he’d hear your voice again, that he’d have to cling to the memory of your agonizing scream. Relief flooded through him and brought him to his knees beside your bed. Gingerly, he took your hand in his own that couldn’t stop shaking. John kissed your knuckles, blotched with red and purple.

“God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should’ve never let this happen, I’m so sorry.”

He repeated the words until they came out a broken sob.

You stole your hand out of his grip and rested it on his cheek so tenderly his heart ached. Patiently you let him weep at your side but smothered his tears with your thumb and a stern look, like you couldn’t stand them. Pulling your hand back, he followed as you guided his face to yours and blessed him with a soft kiss.

“John,” you hissed sweetly against his lips, “this wasn’t your fault.”

He shook his head, stumbling over the script he had written in his mind all day, “I–”

“Don’t punish yourself for this, I hear you’re in enough trouble. This isn’t on you, ok?”

Against his will he swallowed his guilt down deep for another day. He’d do anything you asked. You smiled again when you saw him sober from his shame, just as satisfied as he was for the moment. John’s hand crept to the nape of your neck as he climbed up and leaned over the bed to hug you. Immediately melting into his warmth, you held onto him as best you could with one arm. 

Sniffling despite feeling safer than ever, you whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too. I’m so relieved you’re ok, sweetheart.. I was goin’ crazy.” The sigh that left him was brutal, taking out all the weight and anxiety he’d been holding in all day. Placing a kiss to your head, he could smell the sterilized antibacterial wipes mixed in with your shampoo. He was grateful for both, it was better than the alternative. “I love you so much.”

[illustrious-paladin-lesbian]

I got tagged by @justbabyme!

make a poll with five of your all-time favorite characters and then tag five people to do the same. see which character is everyone's favorite.

this is going to seem weird, guys! I apologize in advance

It was so much harder than I expected! I love so many characters ❤️ I'm tagging @liminal-space-wasteland @nomouthtospeakof @half-skimmed

[minnesota-multiphasic]

Captain Don Cragen, my beloved 💙

[briamichellewrites]

45

Mike was in Manhattan with Bria. She was invited to speak about her experience with sexual assault. He joined her because she wasn’t ready to fly by herself. It took them a while to find the building because they were unfamiliar with the city. The address they were given was One Police Plaza. They went to the front desk, where a woman came over to them and asked if she could help them. They had a meeting with Captain Cragen, and she would bring them over to him.

Bria introduced herself and her brother-in-law, Mike. Once introductions were made, they were invited to sit down. Captain Don Cragen assured them that their conversation was confidential and that their information would not be shared with the media. They thanked him. They were then asked if they needed anything, to which they replied no, thank you. Bria then placed her purse on the empty seat beside her.

“My mom raised me to be a lady

And I never kiss and tell.”

Bradford found a demo that Bria made of a song she wrote. He shared it with Dave, Rob, Joe, and Chester. The song was about not compromising her morals and expressed her strict policy against being sexualized, as it was something she was not comfortable with. Bria and Mike were in New York to give a talk to the NYPD about her experience with sexual assault.

He accompanied her because she didn't feel comfortable going alone. How was she doing? It varied from moment to moment. A few days earlier, she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She was on medication and was receiving treatment once a week. This diagnosis provided insight into why she was experiencing difficulties, and it also helped him and Mike understand her erratic behavior. At times, they suspected she might be using drugs again because her behavior was not normal.

What did that mean? She was unusually cheerful. Mike told him that she could sleep for four hours and not be tired. What did “unusually cheerful” mean? Dave took a moment to think of how to describe it before speaking."

"It means being unusually happy and energetic. I'm trying to think of an example. It's four in the morning, and she wakes Mike up because she just wrote a new song and she wants him to listen to it. She is just super excited and can't wait. The first time we noticed it, we suspected she was on something because she was just super energetic. We searched her room and purse—after getting her permission—but we didn't find anything. Once you see it, you suspect she's using drugs again."

When they learned more about mania, they realized that's what it was. Mania could be mistaken for drug use. Mike called it a "sober high" because that's what it reminded him of. Didn't her father have bipolar disorder? Yes, he did. He was hospitalized for suicidal ideation. Everything he knew about the situation was what Mike told him.

Her mother found out that he had stopped taking his medication, but she had no idea. He was put back on his medication, but it was unclear whether it helped. They were on their way home from the hospital when they were hit by a car. Sadly, that was the accident that killed them.

"They were struck by a driver fleeing from the police. Their car ignited, and both sustained serious burns. They were hospitalized for an unknown period of time before passing away. Bria's diagnosis is probably genetic. Her father wasn't diagnosed until he was in his forties."

"They were in the wrong place at the wrong time," Bradford said.

“Yeah, it’s poetically ironic. His hospitalization was intended to save his life, but he ended up losing it when he least expected.”

That was the definition of irony: Bria didn't grieve until she got to rehab. She only visited them at the hospital once. All the other times, she was high on heroin. She beat herself up for not being there for them before they died. It took a long time for her to forgive herself.

Bria was emotionally drained. When they got back to the hotel room, Mike asked if he could hug her.

"Yeah," she replied.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. To say he was proud of her was an understatement. She did an amazing job talking about a really tough subject. Mike then asked if she wanted to go out to dinner or order room service. She wanted to order room service, so she grabbed the menu and sat down to look through it.

I'm so exhausted. Mike and I have decided to stay for two more days to explore the city as tourists. Can I message you later when I'm not about to fall asleep? – Bria

Of course, take your time. I'm here when you're ready to talk. - Brad

She put her phone back on the table after reading his reply. Everything looked delicious! It was hard to choose. Mike let her take her time looking through the different options. She ordered gluten-free pasta with a diet Coke. That sounded good. After she ate, she was going to take a bath. He might need to make sure she didn’t fall asleep.

He would sit and keep her company. Who was she talking to? Brad. He was just making sure she made it to New York. Ever since she returned from rehab, he was there helping her out. He wanted to make her his girlfriend, but not until she was ready. Until then, he was happy being her friend. Jason informed her that he was dating a guy he met through another guy from one of his classes. His name was Jack. He let him know before they got serious that he was married.

He and his wife were in an open marriage. Jack asked him questions about why they had that arrangement. He was gay, even though he was in love with his wife. Did she know? Oh, yeah. She was one of the first people he told. How did he meet her? Her family was friends with his family. They grew up together.

Their parents always joked about her marrying either him or his brother. They were one hundred percent honest with each other. Where was she? She was back home in LA. He pulled up a picture of her on his phone and showed it to him. He was gay, though he had to admit she was gorgeous! If he saw her on the street, he would have to take a second look. Jason agreed. She was more beautiful in real life, both in looks and personality.

Bria felt relaxed as she soaked in the warm water and bubbles. Mike brought in a chair for her because sitting on the floor was not comfortable. The bathtub was huge, about the size of the one she had at home. She felt like a child in a Jacuzzi, and Mike laughed. She tied her hair up into a bun to keep it from getting wet.

“I just realised that if you and Dave get married, he will be my brother-in-law.”

“We might have to separate you two”, he joked.

“Or keep him from kidnapping Princess.”

He chuckled. They weren't ready to discuss marriage yet, but he knew it would happen eventually. Dave had expressed his desire to spend the rest of his life with him, and he could picture them raising children together through adoption or surrogacy.

He imagined his parents would be delighted to have grandchildren to spoil, and he could picture Muto being strict yet loving, just like he was as a father. It was easy to picture him playing on the floor with their children. Perhaps they would get engaged in a year or two.

She used the water to wash her face, finding solace in its embrace. How was she feeling? She could have stayed in there forever. He chuckled once more. After half an hour, she emerged, and he respectfully gave her privacy to get dressed.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon

[cherryblossoms79]

Law and Order SVU Fanfic (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/328640224-law-and-order-svu-fanfic?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=CherryBlossoms79&wp_originator=g2sDwcoise6mRWAwtidy2gLe%2B3WBKJh5M4Yr0evtx3DvScdz9aXGidXg7vMuMT87JGTe4GQ%2FMaBma4DwfNMdZbzFJ290m%2B%2FNhuk%2BTtAR6UIDn54tfPthhBUsuJVfa%2B28 Elena Yang, 31, is a former homicide detective with the Baltimore Police Department. Six months ago, she relocated to Manhattan, New York. She was looking for work when she was contacted by the special victims unit. She received a call to report to the district and speak with Captain Don Cragen. Disclaimer: *I don't own Law and Order SVU or any of its character except my own. *This is just a fanfic *Rights to Dick Wolf Published: 1/22/23

[barrygeuse]

having svu on in the background sometimes feels like i am falling asleep or doing my own thing but i am in good company. olivia and elliot laugh quietly together just outside my door. john talks to someone on the phone by the foot of my bed, keeping his voice soft. i can hear the clicking of capt. cragen’s keyboard while he works in the front room. it is lovely

[preacherboyd]

Law & Order: SVU | 1x01 Payback

[despite-what-we-both-know]

Mariska pics pt. 2

[thebestofeo]

[• Cant Knock The Hustle - 2x17 •] #OrganizedCrime

[billysjoel]

LAW & ORDER 5x20 Bad Faith

You keep that famous temper of yours in your pocket, huh?

[thegirlwiththepurpleglasses]

okay you can have a little more elliot. as a treat.

[turnthepage11]

Don Cragen being so protective of his squad that he gives Alex his old service weapon and gets her a carry permit so she can protect herself 🥺🥺🥺

[storiesofsvu]

Cragen & Alex are SUCH underrated besties...