DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and all characters are property of NBC and Dick Wolf.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

One of Those Days
By sHaYcH


You ever have one of those days where getting out of bed was the absolute worst mistake you could have ever made? You know - the kind of day where the toaster catches on fire, the eggs taste like sand and the coffee, oh the horrors of the coffee that is so weak it's like drinking a kid's version of coffee? The kind where your sweetest and most beloved child grinds up their brown, black and green crayons and then adds some charcoal from the bar-b-que for good measure? Yeah, that's the day Casey Novak was having.

Her heels, brand new from some hoity-toity Fifth Avenue boutique that her father just had to buy for her? Snapped, in three pieces even, as she stepped from a curb to the door of a taxi.

Hair that had finally – finally – grown back to her natural shade from the godawful experiment in "the grass is always greener on the other side of the peroxide bottle" was frayed, frizzed and generally misbehaving in ways that the young ADA was absolutely certain was the reason behind Petrovsky's critical remarks toward Casey's closing statements for the Koepler case.

And now, this.

Rain cloaked New York in a shade of gray that should have warned her that something heartbreaking was headed her way. Wet clothes and hair hung in dripping strands around her face, the water puddling on the floor as Casey struggled to juggle her keys, a laptop case and a massive box of files outside of her apartment door.

Finally, she shoved the key into the lock, twisted it and heard the blessed sound of the tumblers falling into place. Opening the door, she walked into the dimly lit but warm foyer. As she walked in, she dropped the keys and the laptop bag onto a small table. The box landed on the floor nearby the much battered remnant from her college days.

Sighing, she dragged herself into her kitchen, kicking her shoes into general direction of her bedroom. One went left and ended up hanging precariously from the back of one of her dining chairs but she didn't care. She'd grab it later, when her brain wasn't feeling like a puddle of warm Jello. From under the sink, she withdrew a bottle of scotch and poured herself two fingers' worth of the brazen amber liquid.

It was courage and fire and the memory of smoke filled bars and too many fingers belonging to too many strangers, but it was also exactly what she needed. As the last of the booze slid down her throat, she threw her head back and let out a soft whimper.

With that comment on the general nature of her universe, she turned to feed her fish. Two still, floating forms drifted across the top of the tank.

It was the perfect cap to a perfectly fucked up day. Flashfire anger sparked in her brain and before she could consider her actions, she growled, "Aw shit, not another one!" and kicked the cupboard.

Now, usually when one kicks something solid, one realizes that the solid thing will not move. In fact, said solid thing is, well – solid.

In her tired-had-a-bad-fucking-dayness, Casey forgot that. She also neglected to remember the need for shoes in that situation.

Her toes collided with the solid oak door. There was a sharp crack, and then, the titian-haired ADA was hopping up and down, bitching and cursing the whole time while fighting tears of pain.

Then her doorbell rang and it was the very distinctive, "Bing, bing – pause – bing, bing, bing," of Detective Olivia Benson. Now normally this wouldn't be a problem. In fact, Casey would usually have come out of everything short of a coma to answer the door.

Right this very moment, however, she heartily wished that she were dead. Or maybe just imbued with the ability to teleport.

Unfortunately, that sort of thing just didn't happen in real life. So, gathering the shreds of her dignity and doing her best to rub away the marks of her tears, Casey hurried to the door and answered it.

"Hey, Liv. What's u-" Her words drifted off as she was greeted by the leather-jacketed, rain-dusted detective standing outside her doorway. Held in Olivia's hand was a single, slightly wet, rose. It was coral pink with curling, blood red edges.

The detective smiled charmingly and offered the flower to Casey.

Taking it absently, Casey just stared at the other woman.

With nothing left to hold, Olivia shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. Softly, she said, "Heard you'd been having a crappy day. Thought I'd try to make it a little better."

She turned to go and was stopped by a gentle tug on her arm. The tug became a pull as she was drawn toward the taller woman.

"Thank you," whispered Casey huskily. Their gazes met briefly before Casey abruptly dipped her head down and softly kissed Olivia. Gentle passion flared and flamed into all-out desire as they tumbled through the door and landed somewhere in the vicinity of the couch, kissing and tearing at each other's clothes.

Ending up tangled in a mass of denim, leather, silk and wool, they ended up laughing and trading kisses while trying to extricate each other. Finally free and mostly naked, Casey said, "You are staying, right Detective?"

Olivia leaned over and nipped the ADA's nose, then gentled it with a soft kiss. "Of course. I don't bring flowers to just anyone."

Casey grinned and found her much-abused bloom. A bit bedraggled now, it still held a sweet charm that made her heart beat just a little faster when she looked at it. Setting the rose on her coffee table, Casey stood and reached a hand out to Olivia. "I'm glad," she said as she hauled the detective to her feet. "I'd hate to think my girlfriend was in the habit of showering strange women with symbols of her undying affection."

A wicked grin flitted across Olivia's lips as she replied, "No, just ADAs who have terminally bad luck with certain salt-and-pepper haired judges."

Casey's laughter followed them all the way back to the bedroom.

Later, while lying snuggled in her lover's arms, Casey reflected that some days, you really could get lucky enough to find a piece of gold in a pile of horse crap.

The End

Return to Law & Order: SVU Fiction

Return to Main Page