Chapter Text
“That’s ridiculous!”
Kathleen stands up with such force that her chair topples over backwards, crashing to the floor with a thud. She doesn’t notice, doesn’t care. Her vision is clouded with something akin to rage, to confusion at this absolute impossibility, this act of complete and utter ignorance.
Her father sits up and sighs, surprisingly unsurprised at her outburst to the news. Then again, it’s not just him this is affecting.
Over the course of the last few months, Elliot has been infiltrating a circle of dirty cops, working to gather enough evidence to rid the department of these criminals hiding behind badges. While not working under her direct supervision, this operation was done at the behest of Olivia (Captain Benson, a title Kathleen - any Stabler, really - will proudly herald every chance she gets). It’s been tough on Eli and Bernie. Certainly difficult for her father, having to smear his heart of gold with dirt so as to not give away the kind of man he truly is. But the work itself has been fairly straightforward. Say this, learn this, show up here, report back here. He follows the plan and the job gets done.
Unfortunately, the case is not so neatly closed (because heaven forbid this family catch a break). In fact, it has all but exploded in their faces, rupturing the lives of those involved. The Brotherhood ended with a whimper, the victory being undercut by tragedy (something that seems to be a theme in Elliot’s life as of late).
Frank Donnelly (the man Kathleen had once met at a family picnic, smiling shyly as she hung onto her father’s leg), was unwilling to go down without a fight. In a final attempt to control the narrative, to avenge her father’s perceived betrayal, the man had led Elliot to his house and pulled a gun, demanding answers.
Kathleen doesn’t know what was said, but one thing she knows is that her father is a man of vows, even when it’s to his own detriment. The oath he took as a guardian will always come first, no matter the personal cost. He was willing to exile himself from his home for a decade after a system turned upside-down caused him to kill a girl; Frank Donnelly is nothing compared to that.
Whatever truth her father had chosen to speak, Donnelly had chosen to pull the trigger, and Elliot had instinctively ducked. Only, to both men’s surprise, there wasn’t empty space behind him.
Bridget Donnelly had collapsed, taking a shot to the gut. Despite both Elliot and Frank’s blood-soaked clothing (proof of the attempt to preserve her life), she succumbed to her injuries just a few moments later.
Frank is under arrest. Their infant son is in foster care. Elliot is home. Rumors have been spread.
A band of dirty cops. A rat. A secret op. A dead civilian.
Shunned by fellow cops, attacked by the media, Elliot had laid low until called upon by the circle of Chiefs making up CompStat. It’s this meeting that has sent her father home a defeated man, sans gun and badge, sans pride or direction or hope, while his boss is facing her own internal investigation.
Kathleen had wanted to scream, and that was before she got the worst news of all – the real reason her father is so devastated, so soul-weary.
He wasn’t the only one called into that meeting. He wasn’t the only one involved in the op. He isn’t the only one guilty of staging a fight to fool low-level officers.
He isn’t the only one that the dark side of the old guard has been waiting to pounce on.
Against all rhyme or reason, Olivia, too, has been suspended indefinitely until a further investigation has taken place and a consensus can be reached.
Both their squads, their cases, their jackets and psych evals are being reviewed, torn apart in a search for any other reason to allow them to be the department’s scapegoats. Who the hell do these people think they are? They know nothing of the cops they’re tearing down, the good they’ve done. They’re just looking for a sacrifice to satisfy the piranha journalists that lurk outside their precincts and homes, waiting to capitalize on the worst headline possible rather than the truth.
They know nothing.
“Kathleen.” Her father’s gentle and, oh, so sad voice draws her back to reality. He stands and walks around the kitchen island to stand in front of her, placing his hands gently on either arm. She could cry because his broken, bleeding heart is still reaching out to help hers beat. “We’ll figure it out. Liv has a lot of friends, and I won’t let this bring her down. Not now.”
She just shakes her head, raging blue fire lighting up her eyes as they battle the hopelessness in the identical but weathered ones looking back at her. “And what about you, Dad? All you’ve ever done is tried to do the right thing. I -” She blows out a breath and runs a hand through her hair. “Shit, you did do the right thing!” She’s shouting now and pulls out of his grasp, unable to allow his attempt at comfort to quell the storm within her. She whips back around to face him.
“You aren’t responsible for that woman’s death. Whether he was aiming at you or not, he pulled the trigger like the pig he is. Without you and Liv, who knows what further damage this group would’ve caused? Don’t they see that? Why are you getting punished for that? Why does this keep happening?”
He sighs as his shoulders drop impossibly further. “Baby, it’s just…” He throws a hand in the air, loathing the fact that he’s saying these words to his child. “It’s just how it is.”
All her life, she’s witnessed her father and his partner fight for victims. Victims of society, of the system, of hateful and ignorant people. They’ve sold their souls to help others and have been repaid only in suffering.
Who’s gonna fight for them?
Her head snaps up, a point to her fire now present in her piercing eyes. “It isn’t how it should be.”
She turns and marches swiftly out the door, slamming it shut behind her without looking back.
***
Jet’s having a chill evening.
Or, at least, that’s what she’s telling herself.
She got off work early today. Came home and took a long shower. Dressed in loose, breathable sweats. Popped the cap off a beer, flipped on the TV, and ordered Chinese takeout. Even cracked a window to air out her apartment, which, as Adam so delicately pointed out, is basically a dark underground bunker.
Then again, she’s only off work because she’s facing the prospect of losing the coworker who has very quickly, very surprisingly managed to become possibly her favorite person on the planet. What if the powers that be get rid of him without another thought? What if she never sees him again?
She finds it funny that despite the danger the man has consistently been in since she’s known him, it’s this scenario that’s sending her into a spiraling pit of anxiety. She feels like she’s free-falling and, per usual, that feeling (any feeling) is compounded by self-loathing. She chuckles to herself bitterly.
If a year ago, someone had told her that this old, technologically-challenged man cop would become someone she trusts enough to seek comfort from… Well, she’d have referred them to the nearest shrink.
She should be relaxed. Should be grateful she’s off work and doesn’t have to interact with people. But “should be” is rarely “what is,” and she’s not. As she sits in her dimly-lit apartment, curled in a fetal position on her couch, staring at whatever mindless sitcom is currently on, an empty, unfamiliar ache invades her chest.
It’s loneliness, she realizes. God, who has she become?
It’s probably a good thing, really. Something her shrink would call progress. For the first time in her adult life, she’s craving the presence of another human being. Particularly, one who happens to be a man. A man who’s shown her what a father is supposed to be, not like… No. Not tonight.
Too mentally exhausted to go down that path, Jet groans and sits up. “Tired but filled with nervous energy” is the most uncomfortable limbo to be in, and yet, it's one she’s all too familiar with.
The buzzer to her front door sounds, and she jumps, then rolls her eyes in annoyance at herself for doing so. She swiftly checks the peephole, and her dark brow furrows at the sight before her. The resemblance of the young woman on the other side of the door cannot be mistaken but, ever-erring on the side of caution, Jet speaks through the intercom before opening the door.
“A Stabler, I presume?” she asks in a purposely flat voice. The woman huffs out a laugh before responding.
“That obvious, huh?”
Upon receiving confirmation, Jet opens the door, and the young women share a tired smile and a purpose-driven look.
“What can I do?”