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Alex couldn’t believe this was happening.
The newspaper was right there and yet Alex still refused to acknowledge it.
She was about to be discharged today. It would normally be happy news whenever someone on the squad would be discharged only two days after being shot. It meant the wound wasn’t as serious and they were safe and everything was going to be alright.
Only it wouldn’t be this time. She wasn’t just being discharged. She was being discharged into the custody of the FBI. Who would send her across the country with some Federal Marshal watching her every step.
Oh, and it wouldn’t be Alex Cabot living in some house in Wisconsin. It would be Emily. Emily Franklin. They’d given her the file a couple hours earlier. Emily Franklin was born on June 6th, 1969 in Tulsa. She spent her life working for an insurance company. The FBI had already found a workplace for her. A small company in a small town.
Alex tried not to think about it, tried to push it away. But her medical chart said E. Franklin and the newspaper said Alexandra Cabot was dead and maybe it was about time she did think about it because this was what her life was going to look like from now on. Insurance law instead of criminal prosecution. Cooking her own meals instead of getting endless takeouts. Going out to drink with coworkers at 6 PM on Fridays instead of rushing a warrant to a powerful man’s house and bringing him down. Emily instead of Alex.
When a nurse entered, Alex almost didn’t notice. It was the woman’s voice that brought her out. “How are we feeling today, Ms. Franklin? Ready to fill out the discharge papers? There are some men in suits waiting for you, and they asked me to speed things up.”
Alex forced a smile. “Sure, ready when you are.” She hoped the nurse didn’t hear the tightness in her voice. Didn’t see the effort it took to keep the smile on her lips.
The nurse left the room and was back in what felt both like a second and an hour. Did she even have a perception of time anymore? Everything felt foreign. When she came back, the nurse wasn’t just holding a stack of paper, but a plastic bag. “Here are the discharge forms, and these are your belongings. They put them away when you were admitted.” The bag contained blue jeans, some white t-shirt and a leather jacket. None of which belonged to Alex.
“Thanks,” she said with a sweet smile as she signed the papers. E. Franklin in a neat cursive.
She got up from the bed. The door closed behind the nurse and she was suddenly alone. She pulled on the jeans. They were too tight for Alex’s liking, but Emily enjoyed it this way. Then the T-shirt that Alex would only ever wear at home, not to be seen as casual. But Emily was the embodiment of casual, she thrived in it. The leather jacket felt more like something Olivia would have worn. Maybe if she kept thinking this way it would be easier. Emily was just a Wisconsin version of Olivia. She shook her head at the thought. No. There was no second Olivia. There could never be anyone able to come even a little close to the perfection that was Olivia Beson. And it certainly wouldn’t be Emily Franklin.
The men in suits outside didn’t look too pleased with the fact they had to spend so much time waiting for her. “Ms. Franklin, follow me,” one of them said, standing up, and the other followed him like a dog. So did she.
The car ride to the FBI headquarters was quiet. She didn’t dare speak and neither of the agents initiated conversation aside from asking if she’d read the file. Getting a “Yes” was all he seemed to be interested in.
The Federal Plaza was tall and impressive. They didn’t go through the main entrance. After a minute or so in the elevator, they stepped outside and into a small office. She knew little of what was coming but assumed they were going to brief her further on her future in the Program. She wasn’t correct but wasn’t mistaken either. There was just no guessing this was going to be a fucked up version of a Q&A. Two Federal Marshals entered the room and the Agents left. Simple as that. Not even a “she’s yours now,” not even a glance, as if she wasn’t a person who they had to protect, as if she was a burden they were happy to get rid of. Perhaps she should have been more talkative.
“Hello, Ms. Franklin. My name is Deputy Marshal Dawson and this is my partner Deputy Marshal Wilson. We will be taking care of you for the time being. We were told you have already been briefed on your new identity and location, is that correct?”
She wondered what would happen if she said she was never briefed. Would they feel awkward for calling her Ms. Franklin if she told them she’d never read the file? Would they even think of it? “Yes, I have read the file. I’m an insurance agent originally from Tulsa.”
Dawson nodded. She waited for him to say something but when he stayed silent, she took the risk. She’d been thinking about it ever since she was told she was going into Witness Protection. “I would like a favor though,” she said in a voice that almost felt foreign. “I want to see someone from my squad. One last goodbye. I don’t want them blaming themselves for my death when I’m not even really dead. It’s not fair to them.”
The two marshals exchanged a glance. “We don’t allow that..,” Wilson started, but she interrupted him.
“They were right there when the asshole shot me. They did everything they could to save me and they succeeded. All I’m asking is that we don’t let them think they failed. Because it will eat them alive and I could never forgive myself if either of them ate their gun out of guilt.” Her voice was strong but there was something eternally sad in her eyes. As if she’d seen one thing too many. As if she’d have eaten her own gun had she had one.
Wilson was about to protest again but Dawson’s eyes were filled with understanding. It was her hope that at least one of them knew what it felt like to feel the horrible guilt. He did. “I’ll see what I can do. But it can’t be more than two people.”
She pulled a sticky note and a pen from an organizer at the center of the table and scribbled two names.
“Olivia Benson
Elliot Stabler”
In a scrawny and imperfect handwriting.
The transfer was happening. They didn’t get them. She was in a van, her arm in a sling, her hair pulled back, and she couldn’t think of anything but them. How they will likely spend the rest of their lives thinking they failed her. Because she knew them. She knew they would blame themselves.
And then the car came to a stop. She looked out the blacked out window and saw nothing but a small river, barely even deserving of a bridge over it. And then she heard another car come to a stop. She didn’t hear the footsteps. But she saw the van’s door slide open. And then the two familiar faces. They were there.
It took her a couple seconds to pull herself together. She didn’t even know what to say. “I am so sorry about all of this,” her voice didn’t feel like it belonged to her.
Olivia’s expression broke her heart. The tears running down her cheeks, her reddish eyes. “Your funeral’s tomorrow.” It was nothing more than a whisper. She wanted to cry.
“Witness protection,” Elliot’s voice was so quiet and full of disbelief. She couldn’t take it.
“How long?” It was clear Olivia had lost control of her facial expressions completely and utterly when the tears didn’t stop coming.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t say it. “I don’t know.” It felt like a seal on her coffin. A tear streamed down her cheek.
“We’re on the move!” Dawson, always on a rush, eager to get her to safety.
Olivia and Elliot were pulled away gently. All three of them would have given anything to hold on for just a little longer.
Dawson slid the van door closed. Emily adjusted her cast. This was going to be a long drive. Just enough time to remember everything she knew about insurance law.