_{Also, I claim no knowlegde of our legal system. I look up what I can, and the research is done, but I do not back up what I have written from a legal stand point. However, just because something is wrong does not mean I want it to stay that way. If you catch a boo-boo, please LET ME KNOW!! I will do what I can to [hopefully] fix it, or warn people of the mistake.} 

_{Author's Note: This story is based around an original character, or, more honestly, a Mary Sue :o) It is an introductory story to the character so that readers will know a bit more about her and will hopefully be more comfortable with her symbiosis into the SVU Team. However, the background on a case given in this fanfic will be integral to a future fic or, possibly, fics.}

Author: VTerrice

First Day Blues
 

Chapter One: The Walk

Monday, April 30th
 

The streets of New York City overflowed with life, with people, hurrying and scurrying to their destinations. People that had given in to the daily grind, the crunch of numbers, the ticking clock of Wall Street. Every day and every life like so many others, predictable down to the supposedly spontaneous momentous events. Lives on the streets of the city were blurred together, seeming worthless under the facade of self importance. Lives that weren't prepared to be affected by any single unexpected moment in their days, for the better or worse.

Ellandra Seymour took a sip of her rapidly cooling coffee, her mind automatically cutting off the sounds of construction behind her, and looked up at the pedestrian signal. A man brushed against and past her, almost splashing the beverage in her face, and walked out in front, impatient for the signal to change. She shook her head and sighed. 

As the light changed and the crowd bustled forward, Elle walked with them, mostly shielded against the frigid chill by her leather jacket, her face cold to the touch and her knee sore from the low temperature.

The weather was odd for a New York April. Sure it could be cold, but not to this extreme. Elle and her mother had both caught colds and Benny, their neighbor's kid, had just recovered from a brief case of pneumonia.

The month, though, had been a bad one for reasons differing from the chilly temperatures and she was looking forward to more than just the warmer weather forecasted for May.

My old job would be nice.

As she reached the next sidewalk she shivered and thought grimly about her new post as Psychological Adviser to the Special Victims Unit of the NYPD. 

First and foremost, she didn't want the job. Period. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it, and Ellandra had not minced words on the subject. She had made it perfectly clear to the commissioner and his committee how much she did not want the position. They had, in return, made it perfectly clear that that was too bad. She was getting the job. 

Her partner, JP, had helped clear her mind of any real effort of resistance. "After all", he said, "the state is paying your way through the advanced studies and college courses. What happens if they just stop? You know the conditions."

Therefore she went where she was told. Conditions, indeed.

Like a little bitch, she thought shaking her head. Do what you're told, here's your cookie, now go play.

She looked at her watch and saw that it was 9:23. She'd get there in just a couple of minutes.

She stopped at a vender to buy orange juice, a bagel and Aspirin, crushing her empty coffee cup and tossing it into the can on the vender's cart.

Elle knew she'd be helpful at the SVU. Sure. She figured they'd have plenty there to keep her occupied. Likewise, she knew that she'd give her all to this new job just like she did with Homicide and Narcotics before that. Maybe someday she'd even become comfortable in the role given to her. Maybe.

However, she was more than highly aware of how much more she'd be able to do back at her post at Homicide. Being knocked down from a Homicide detective at 25 years old to Psychological Advisor on sex crimes was not only bad for her career, but also horrible on her ego. It was akin to being ripped from the deep end with the adults, shoved into the kiddy pool, and given a bird's eye view of where she had just come from.

Not for the first time, she wondered how her future colleagues were going to react to her. Happy to have another partner on board? Ready to accept and move on? Or agitated? Apprehensive at the intrusion? 

With her experiences she'd bet the latter was more likely, though she'd never worked sex crimes before. She knew working with victims of sexual criminal acts had a harsh mental effect as well as being physically exhausting. So maybe a greenhorn to the SVU would be appreciated, especially one that had worked as a cop for four years and had schooling in the psych department.

About their reactions to her, she had no real idea, just foggy guesses. She had been to the SVU headquarters twice to drop off her personal effects and job related things, but had been met by the captain only the first time and nobody the second. 

Reading what was available on each of the four detectives had given her a small glimpse at the personalities that she could expect and she knew their histories better than her own. One vice, two homicide, and one Narco. She had to eventually find her niche somewhere, even if it was between the cracks.

As she approached the station house, she stopped for a moment, just gazing at it, anxiously. She popped two Aspirin and washed them down with her juice, knowing herself well enough to realize the first few days plus tension equaled major headaches and heartburn. 

Elle took a deep breath of the brisk April air and headed into the Special Victims Unit.

The squadroom was buzzing with activity, phones ringing and papers everywhere. This was not at all uncommon for her type of work, and surprisingly comforting to Elle.

Standing in the doorway she glanced at Captain Donald Cregan's office and found it empty. She was unsure of the correct action to take. She wasn't going to bother any of the detectives but she didn't feel right just waltzing up her desk.

Cregan can't be far, she thought. I'll just wait.

As she stood there tentatively, she realized one of the detectives, John Munch, was missing. She recognized the other three from the pictures supplied in their files: Odafin Tutuola, Olivia Benson and her partner, Elliot Stabler. Tutuola was busy ruffling through papers as he spoke to a young man in tight blues jeans weighted down with files.

Intern, she thought and smiled to herself. Poor kid.

Stabler was at his desk talking heatedly on the phone while Benson was meticulously going through the papers and photos on her desk.

Elle took a large bite of her bagel and looked to the corkboard beside Benson. She found it tacked with maps and photographs relating to the current case. Two of the girls in the photos looked vaguely familiar, leaving Elle a little confused. 

She looked towards the markerboard situated beside the corkboard. "Weekend Rapist" was scribbled in caps across the top and beneath it, a vague description of the MO. The board also held pictures of the victims in happier times and information linking all six. The women all looked strikingly similar with their pale white skin and dark brown hair cut into pageboys or pixie styles. Again two of them seemed to stick in Elle's mind.

She took another bite. Where have I seen those two girls? Why are their faces so-

"Seymour the Shrink, I presume."

She looked to her right, her mouth full, and recognized Munch, the fourth detective, silvering hair and tinted glasses the same as in the picture. She disdained being called a shrink, and something in Detective Munch's voice put her nerves on edge, but she nodded anyway.

He raised his eyebrows and looked down at her appraisingly, then walked to his desk, saying nothing else.

Intruder it is then, she thought regretfully.

She turned back to the markerboard in time to see Benson get up from her desk and head in Elle's direction.

"I'm Detective Olivia Benson. Can I help you?"

Elle put up one finger and drank some of her orange juice in an effort to swallow her bagel bite.

Munch spoke but didn't look up. "She's from psych." 

Benson took a step back and looked her over quickly. "Oh. Well," she gave Elle a brusque smile. "Good to meet you."

Elle shook her head. "I'm not from psych. I'm from Homicide. I-"

Munch interrupted. "But you're the shrink, right?"

"I'm the psychological adviser."

Olivia nodded. "Is that what they're calling it?" 

"That's what I am."

Olivia nodded to her again, then turned to Munch. "None of Renee Anthony's customers knew anything about her, other than she was a very sweet, very shy vet. She apparently had better conversations with the pets than with the owners."

Elle looked at Olivia and hoped she wouldn't be intruding. "Renee Anthony?"

Olivia pointed to a picture on the corkboard. "The latest victim of our most pressing case. Raped, then murdered and left in a public bathroom."

Stabler tossed his phone back to the receiver as he stood. "We're gonna have to go interview the last two personally. Cab driver and a beat cop."

Munch frowned and opened his folder. "Why don't we have any records on her?"

Olivia shook her head. "Well, we only found her two days ago. Give 'em time."

"It's taking longer than usual."

Elle listened carefully. Something was so familiar about the MO on the board. Plus the two girls.

"Oh!" She turned to John. "Wasn't this guy the Groundhog's Day Rapist?"

He looked unimpressed. "Yes."

"On account of his first two victims were on Groundhog's Day. The papers warned everyone to be careful on Valentine's."

"In case he was an all around holiday type guy."

"Right."

Munch stood. "His latest victims have been on the weekend."

"So was Groundhog's Day."

"Yeah. Gives new meaning to TGIF, huh?"

Cregan entered and walked to Elle's desk, unceremoniously dumping a box of files on top. He motioned for her to follow him to his office.

Odafin Tutuola walked over to the group. "If Renee Anthony was married," he started. "Then where's the happy huz?"

"Maybe they're separated." Olivia suggested. "Or maybe they're divorced and she still wears the ring."

Elle stopped behind Cregan who turned back to his detectives. "Or maybe the husband's taken a sudden and permanent vacation. I want you on top of this now. Find out why there's nothing in the house on this guy. I think it's pretty conspicuous for a married woman, divorced or not, to have no evidence of her husband whatsoever. If she was wearing the ring, there has to be something else."

The four mumbled replies. He pointed to Stabler who was putting on his jacket.

"Where are you headed?"

"We've still go two customers of Anthony's left. A cop and a cabby."

Munch cut in. "We've got the cop."

Cregan shook his head. "Wrong. The ME called about a fluid match. You and Fin check that out. Benson and Stabler can check the remaining customers."

"Oh, goody," muttered Munch. "Another day at Forensics. It's becoming like a second home."

Tutuola snickered at his partner. "I'm sure Dr. Briar is just as happy to see you as any of your wives were."

Elle followed Cregan into his office, closing the door behind her and cutting off Munch's reply.

"Have a seat."

She did and looked around briefly. The room was dim and stuffy, but for the most part clean. It benefited little from the light urging its way in through the window peering into the witness room. The light seemed to stop a foot from the edge of Cregan's desk.

She noticed the lack of personal clutter such as pictures or trophies. 

Very professional.

"I'll make this quick. Foremost, welcome to the team. I want to inform you briefly on a few topics. First of all, you understand what your job is here?"

She nodded.

"Good. Second, I just wanted to let you know that this is a very tough division. Sex crimes, dealing with live and needy victims... It can be rough. It requires strength and empathy. I'm sure as a psychiatrist-"

"Chologist. Psychologist."

"Of course. My mistake. I'm sure as a psychologist major, you've learned that."

She nodded again. "We touched on it."

"I'm positive that there are places where you could be of some assistance-"

She interrupted. "Of some assistance?"

He continued. "But at first I just want you to stay behind to let my detectives get used to your presence."

She frowned, leaning forward in her seat. "No disrespect to you, Captain, but how are they supposed to get used to my presence if I'm not there to get used to?"

"Your being here at headquarters will suffice for the time being. The files on your desk are just a few that we're currently working on. These are specific psych related unsolved cases that aren't on high enough priority to send to the FBI."

"So I'm stuck on backlog."

Cregan sat back in his chair, folding his hands. "I'd view it as easing into the job."

Elle rubbed her eyes behind her glasses, then looked back to the file at hand, not really wanting to. This particular case one was one of the more bizarre that she had heard of. A man raping women, then killing them and stealing their ovaries. The women were found in strange positions. 

She frowned in concentration and scribbled more notes on her third pad that day. She was sure the positions were a clue to something, but what? 

I'm gonna have to take the damn files home with me.

That was not a tempting option.

"How's the first day coming along?"

Elle started and looked up to find Odafin Tutuola standing next to her desk.

"Didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to welcome you to the team."

He extended his hand and she took it, glad for the warmest welcome all day.

"Thanks, Detective Tutuola." His strong, firm handshake matched hers and the friendly smile was infectious. She smiled back at him as he glanced at the single clear spot on the edge of her desk and sat. 

"It's Fin."

"Fin. Call me Elle."

"Will do."

Munch walked in with lunch bags from a local diner and dropped them on Benson's desk. She handed one to Stabler, not even pausing from her phone conversation.

Fin took the last one from his partner, who walked back to his desk, not even bothering to glance in Elle's direction. She sighed. There was no question who was going to be the hardest to win over. The real question: should she even try?

Cregan came out of his office. "What have we got?"

Olivia put one finger up and used the other hand to scribble a note.

Elle took off her glasses and put her pen down, thankful to be away from the files if even just for a few minutes.

Fin turned around and offered her some fries. She took a few. "Thanks."

"No prob."

Olivia put the phone back into it's cradle and stood, walking over to the markerboard. "Well, I found out why we couldn't find a thing on Renee Anthony's husband."

Cregan nodded. "She wasn't really Renee Anthony."

Olivia's mouth dropped a little in surprise. "What?"

"You found the husband?"

"Yeah. Blake Anthony. Says here," she held up the scrawled note. "that he died three years ago in Arizona."

"He did. But so did the real Renee Samantha Bay Anthony."

Olivia threw the paper in the trash bin and sat back down, grabbing her lunch. "They didn't say anything about that."

"Well," Munch started, feet up on his desk, soup in hand. "If our girl wasn't Renee, then who was she?"

"Shellie May Pruit. Our database kept bringing up only one answer to Anthony, a black school teacher from Arizona who died in a house fire three years ago. So, the geniuses finally realized the rape victim's ID must have been a fake. They ran the picture through and found a match for a DUI six years ago in California under the name 'Shellie May Pruit'. They cross referenced the name and found that she was wanted in Idaho as a suspect for her stepfather's murder."

Stabler looked over to the markerboard. "Did she have a motive?"

Cregan cleared his throat. "Rape."

The detectives glanced at each other in moderate disbelief.

Olivia shook her head. "Let me get this straight. She might have killed her stepfather because he raped her-"

"Two confirmed reports at 13 and 19."

"Was she a runaway?"

Cregan nodded.

"So she escapes her rapist stepfather and comes here, only to be raped again and this time, murdered."

Munch looked at her over the rim of his glasses. "Small world."

"I'll say."

Cregan looked over his detectives. "She probably wore the wedding band to make herself feel safer."

"A lot of good it did." Stabler started, anger evident through the tension in his voice. "Ironic though, isn't it? Wearing the ring to keep her safe is what got her killed."

"If that's why she wore it."

Cregan walked over to the board and erased Renee Anthony's name, replacing it with the correct one. "So, Munch. Find out anything useful on your fieldtrip to the science department?"

"Other than you never get used to the smell? Yeah, actually. It looks like our boy neglected to wear a condom twice. So far his samples don't match anyone in the system, but it's too early to tell either way." 

Fin, still perched on Elle's desk, looked up at his captain. "Kind of absent minded of him, isn't it? Not to mention careless." 

Elle bit her lip. "Um..."

Everyone turned to her. Cregan raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Yes, Miss Seymour?"

"Well, it might not have been careless. Or absent-minded."

Olivia looked at her, expression betraying her amusement at the new shrink, along with something rare for Elle. Disdain. A bit of what she caught from Munch's every glimpse in her direction.

Elle sat up straight in her chair, feeling very much on the defensive all of a sudden. She was not used to challenges to her position and knowledge. Hadn't had to deal with them for a little under two years when she had proved herself to Homicide. And that's exactly what she saw in Olivia Benson's eyes. A challenge. 

Scrutiny was one thing. But being outright disliked was gonna be hard to fix.

"What do you mean?" Olivia asked. "You think he did it on purpose?" 

She shook her head. "Not exactly. I just don't think he cares. I don't think it matters. Not just to him, but period." She stood, walked over to the corkboard and looked at all of the pictures; the victims as they were found. 

"All of the bodies, with the exception of the fifth who evidently put up more of a struggle, were in good condition. Including the clothes. Not even a visible wrinkle. All of the bodies are situated in the same last pose: sitting straight up on the toilets of public restrooms with their hands outstretched and clasped together."

"Don't forget his second victim. Found in her own house."

She ignored the surly tone in John Munch's voice and pointed to the picture of the second victim. "But in her own bathroom. Just like the others. With every woman, it's the same. No excess blood, not even from the victims' head wounds from the gun shots."

Munch, again, interrupted. "The first victim was strangled."

She, again, ignored the man. "No signs of panic, which shows this guy keeps his composure throughout. If he's not in the database, odds are the condoms are just a personal preference. And I don't think he'll be in the database. Anyone this precise-" She pointed to the picture of Sandra Maple Drake, the second victim and the youngest at 29. "-would not make such a huge mistake."

Fin frowned at her. "Personal preference?"

"He's a neat freak."

Stabler spoke up. As with his partner, amusement painted his tone. "You mean he wears them just to keep it clean?"

"I'd bet on it."

Olivia shook her head. "That goes against the type of guy we have pegged for these attacks."

Elle swallowed. "Then maybe you should rethink your description based on the MO."

She took in the reactions from the detectives and their captain. With the exception of Fin, they were not thankful, or even thoughtful, reactions.

"Please," she added. 

* * * * * 

Elle splashed freezing cold water onto her flushed face. She could not remember being this angry since... 

Well, since her first week at Homicide. All the practical jokes they pull on rookies was maddening. But even that was no where as infuriating as one's ability being questioned. And having what could be pertinent information, and being, for all intents and purposes, ignored.

What's wrong with these people?, she thought to herself as she looked into her own eyes through a streaked and grimy mirror. They spend how long bitching and moaning about being shorthanded? Then when they are given someone with a little extra insight to the human mind they just... just...

Elle let out a low, audible growl, then took a deep and calming breath. She stared at herself resolutely in the mirror. They would eventually come to except her. Even that hard ass, Munch. She just had to ride out the bumps and press out the kinks.

She dried her face and left the bathroom, heading back to the squadroom. 

A few feet from the entranceway she stopped, overhearing the heated conversation within.

"Of course she's gonna be right about this." said Stabler. "She's the one with the experience in this area."

She could barely hear Munch's softer reply. "What makes her so much more qualified? We've been here how many years? Done this how many times? She comes in on her first day and wants to completely reconfigure our case?"

Cregan stepped in. "We're just gonna hear what she thinks. Whether you like it or not, she is an official part of this team until she's removed. Let's make good use of her until then."

Until I'm removed? Until? They really do want me out of here as much as I want to be gone.

"Just get IAB out of your mind for now, John."

IAB? What do they have to do with me?

"That's just it, Elliot. As long as she's here, we can't. If she wasn't sent from the commission, then it wouldn't be a problem."

There was an outburst of voices and Elle decided now was as good a time as any. She walked into the room, everyone quieting and looking at her from their desks.

Cregan, skimming over the markerboard's information, spoke up as she headed to her desk. "We were just discussing your observations, Miss Seymour. I don't suppose you'd care to give us your impressions briefly."

She sat down. Here was her chance. "Okay. I haven't read up on the case files yet, so I've only got the basics. What I've learned today and through the media coverage. I'm not sure what you're currently looking for, but a man who's not too handsome, somewhat on the unsightly side might be a good start. Not at all suave, and very self-conscious."

Munch smiled at her. "We've got that, doctor."

She gritted her teeth imperceptibly at the 'doctor' comment as Munch continued.

"We have the MO as someone possibly faking an injury to get the assistance of random married women."

"I don't know that they are random though, Detective."

Olivia crossed her arms. "Are you saying he knows these women personally?"

"He might. Or he could follow them until he finds out little details that not only make it easier for him, but might help him decide if the prey's the right size for the hunter."

Cregan cut in. "What is it exactly, if anything, that makes you think these women aren't just random victims?"

"Exactly? The hands are always left outstretched and clasped together. I'm sure the significance of this was not lost on you, but I don't think you really delved into want it represents. Though crudely done because they're dead, it's still the classic symbol of prayer. It indicates your Weekend Rapist believes his victims have sinned and were begging for forgiveness in their lives. He believes that their souls are still begging for that same forgiveness in their deaths. If this man sees himself as one of God's righteous few, then he might also believe that he has punished these women for what they've done. Therefore, he puts their hands in this position in an effort to help them in atonement."

"Atonement for what sins?" asked Fin.

"I don't know. Maybe these were all women that cheated on their husbands."

Munch cut in. "Anthony didn't have a husband."

"This murderer didn't know that. He could have seen Renee Anthony grabbing a stolen kiss here and there."

Olivia shook her head. "That doesn't fit with what we know about Anthony."

Elle thought for a moment. "Well, maybe it was the fact she lived alone. If this guy followed her home, he would have noticed a lack of husband, or an absence of any male influence. He might have seen this as her choosing to leave or be apart from her husband. It's possible he's a divorcee himself. Or all the women in his life have left him. You know."

Stabler nodded, following Elle's lead. "Mother could've died when he was a young child. Same with his grandmother. Girls could have found him unattractive in high school, college. The usual."

"Right."

"Okay," started Cregan sarcastically. "A homely divorcee who has bad relationships with women in general."

Everyone but Elle looked over at Munch. "Hey. I resent the homely comment."

Cregan looked back to Elle. "That's gonna be really hard to find in New York. But just in case there happens to be more than one, have you got anything more specific? Attitudes, behaviors, habits?"

"Since your second victim was found in her own apartment, he probably knew her."

"Sandra Drake. We figured that one out already as well."

Elle looked over at Munch, eyes conveying her annoyance. "Congratulations, Detective. You wanna smiley face or a gold star?"

He smiled at her frustrated reaction.

Damn it, Elle, she thought. Never let them know they get under your skin. First rule of kindergarten.

"No thanks. But if you've got a green one..."

Elle looked back over to her new captain. "You most likely have picked up on the rest. Until I read the files I really can't say much, though from the symbolism of the hands, he's probably very religious. He probably has a normal nine to five job, only becoming this avenger on the weekends. As for his MO, it seems like you've got it. He tricks women into trusting him, then takes over, asserting his power. At the end he executes them for what he sees as their wrong doing, which could be adultery. Or, if the women were faithful and just completely random victims-"

"With the exception of number two." Fin added.

"Their sins, in his mind could be as simple as being the type that would ignore him. Notice how they're all very pretty women, probably around his own age. They could look like the type of women he himself is attracted to."

"So," started Olivia. "If he's attracted to them, and they're married, he's found his victim."

"Possibly."

"You're sticking to the 'unfaithful wives' bit?"

"I'm not sticking to anything until I've read the file."

Cregan nodded. "Anything else?"

"Just something I caught earlier. I mentioned he could be a neat freak. With the pains this man goes through to get these women in the correct postures I'd say he keeps pictures of the crimes."

Munch's eye traveled to the pictures on the board. "That would make sense. Neat freaks to the point of anal retentiveness don't have a reputation for being the most imaginative people. So a token of his deeds wouldn't be good enough. He'd actually have to see what he did, not just visualize it."

"Right." Elle smiled inwardly at the fact that, whether or not it had been a conscious effort, Munch had just included her in the group.

Maybe there's hope after all.

Elle had been familiarizing herself with the Weekend Rapist case when her phone rang. 

For a moment she looked at it, dumbfounded. Who had her extension? Even her mother's nurse had only the headquarters number.

The phone rang again.

Oh, God. Could it be an emergency? Could her mom-

"When that gadget there starts to make that ringing sound," said Munch from across the room. "it means that there's someone on the other end that wants to speak to you."

She picked up the phone and looked at her watch, making a point of ignoring John. 5:43pm. Later than it felt.

"Hello?"

"Hey there, little Elf."

"Oh, Stephen." She laughed for no other reason than just hearing him over the phone and sat back in her seat, relaxing.

"Talk about a day brightened. I swear to God, the sound of your voice is like rain to my desert."

"Ooh. That's romantic." A pause. "That bad, huh?"

She looked at Munch who was dialing a number on his own phone. "Worse."

"Wow."

"What are you doing calling me? Shouldn't you be working?"

She heard him sigh softly and knew immediately the kind of day he had endured. "You, too?"

"Yeah."

"Well, look on the bright side. At least you like your job."

He laughed. "Not what you expected?"

"Not quite. You didn't answer my question though."

"About why I'm calling now?"

"Yup."

He took a deep breath. "Well, I spent my lunch hour and then some trying to squeeze the smallest bit of information out of this witness."

"A witness, huh?"

"Yeah, The kind with connections up the ass."

"Political or mob?"

"Both."

"You got a politician into the interrogation room?"

He laughed lightly. "Right. I'd be promoted to Captain just for getting one to step in the building."

There was a pause from the other end and she wondered if someone had interrupted their phone call with breaking news. She waited patiently.

"Listen, El." he started again, becoming very serious. She could imagine him running his hand through his fuzz-cut blond hair and frowning, the dimple between his two eyebrows deepening. "When can I see you again? I mean Wednesday was our anniversary."

She smiled. "I know." Finally, a man who remembered the little things. 

"I understand things are getting more complicated with your mom, but I was just wondering if there was any chance at all that we could-"

"How about Thursday?"

She could feel him grinning through the connection. "Absolutely. That'd be great. I-"

Benson and Stabler walked through headquarters' doors wrenching Elle's attention from the conversation at hand. Stabler pulled a handcuffed man in a gardener's uniform behind him, followed by Olivia who stopped to mention something to Munch before trailing her partner. 

Munch stood and headed towards Cregan's office.

"It would be nice-" 

Stephen was still on the phone.

She sat up straight and watched as they took the suspect into the interrogation room. 

"Um, Steve, I'm gonna have to call you back. They brought in a suspect."

"On the first day? I'm impressed. Call me."

"I will."

She heard the click and she dropped her own phone in it's cradle. 

She couldn't help but wonder, after ten months of dating, how a casual love you could be so damn hard to say. They were both, when you came right down to it, cops. They both dealt with the shittiest of the shitty everyday. When she had worked homicide, they had both been putting their lives in danger on a regular basis. 

Yet the man, for the life of him, could not utter a simple I love you. He did love her. He had made sure that she knew that. 

He had, of course, said it before, but only when he felt it was imperative to the situation. In just a casual, no-stress way? Not once.

"What's up?"

She looked up from the phone to find Fin walking in to headquarters. "Looks pretty serious."

"What? Oh, that." She looked at her phone, pushing Stephen from her mind. "No, that's nothing. But Detectives Benson and Stabler brought someone in. I think it's for the weekend rapist case."

Fin put his jacket on his desk, and walked towards her.

"Suspect?"

"That's what it looked like."

"Let's go."

* * * * *

Elle massaged her neck and looked at her watch. The guy's lawyer and vice's interpreter had been with the suspect for over half an hour. There was nothing suspicious about it, just an immigrant that did not understand his rights, or why he was here. She had been told to stay and watch the goings-on while Cregan called the assistant DA and the team got more background information on the gardener. 

Elle took another look at the man straining to understand what he was doing at a police station after six on a Monday, and shook her head. He did helpless well, but Elle felt that was only because it was a genuine reaction to the situation he was facing. This was not the man. 

And The SVU had to know it. They were grabbing at straws, and could Elle understand their desperation. The Weekend Rapist had raped and murdered six women in the last two months in New York City alone.

Here's to hoping the bastard doesn't travel much.

There had been no mistakes, no eyewitnesses, no clues. There was nothing on this man but what they could catch psychologically, and even that was scrapping at the bottom of the barrel.

Elle stared into and through the room, her thoughts distant. There had to be something. Anything. A slip print, transfer evidence, or some whacked connection linking the victims. 

Damn it. Her forehead moved to rest against the chilled two-way mirror, eyes closed. It was her first day and already she was frustrated. That state of being was nothing new for her, she'd always thrown herself head first into her work. But she had been expecting at least a full week before she could really get into her position here.

There had, however, been a lot of things she'd expected. And so far everything was different, nothing like anticipated.

Opening her eyes, she suddenly understood an inkling of what it was going to take to become part of this team. For the first time since she had been told of the position, she was happy she had it.

Elle still wanted her position at homicide back, would take it in a hummingbird's heartbeat, but she realized that she'd soon be proud to wear the SVU tag. Even if there was no badge in her future here.

She lifted her forehead from the glass as the door to the viewing room opened. She turned to see Cregan escorting a blonde woman in a suit up to the window. Benson and Stabler followed.

Her new captain turned to her. "Anything?"

She shook her head. "I'm not sure if they're even getting anywhere with him."

The blond woman turned to Cregan, her eyebrows raised. "New intern?" 

Cregan stepped back. "Sorry, no. Elle, this is Alexandra Cabot, the ADA. Alex, this is our newest addition, Ellandra Seymour. She's from homicide."

"Ah, the psychologist major." Alex smiled lightly at Elle, and offered her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm sure you'll be a big help here." She returned to Cregan. "I have to be in court in twenty minutes. Is this our guy or not?"

"We're not sure yet. His lawyer won't let us come near him until he understands his rights."

"'Understands his rights'?"

"He's an immigrant. From Italy."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Why am I here?"

Benson started in. "We want to know if we can hold him, even if he doesn't understand."

"What've you got?"

Benson and Stabler looked at each other, and Stabler looked back to Cabot, taking the initiative. "Alberto Bandini, 47. He lives and works at the Rosa Vista Complex in Manhattan as a gardener. We have eyewitnesses that can place him sneaking around the last victim's house on the night she was raped and murdered."

The door opened Munch peeked in. He handed a sheet of paper to Olivia, then left. Benson looked over the note in her hands.

Alex turned to look through the two-way glass. "Wasn't she murdered in her pet hospital?"

"Yes, but he had time to get there."

"What else?"

"Noth-"

Benson interrupted her partner. "We have him purchasing products from her office on almost a regular basis."

"That's not enough to hold him even if he was properly Mirandized and you know it." Alex sighed. "I know this is the first lead you've had with this case, but Detectives, to be honest, you've got nothing. I really can't help you here. Establishing that the suspect knew the victim and was seen at her house on the night of her murder is a great start. But it's circumstantial. You're just gonna have to find more hard evidence, or pry something out of this guy. If you'll excuse me," She walked to the door. "I have a court appearance to make."

Benson and Stabler made room for the ADA as she opened the door and left. 

The interpreter looked towards the mirror, then got up, heading for the door. Cregan opened the door for him. 

"He's ready. He understands what his rights are and why he's been arrested."

Cregan nodded. "Thanks, Lenny. We really appreciate this."

He smiled. "No problem. I've been meaning to drop by and see my old vice buddy anyway."

Olivia gave him a warm smile then followed Stabler in without a word. Lenny followed, closing the door behind him. 

The lawyer, Leonard Sear, sat next to his client. He was a public defender Elle knew well from previous interrogations she herself had partaken in during her span as a Narc. She never saw Sear work homicide though, which was just as well. The man was an arrogant, overdressed monkey who earned way too much, only causing his ego to inflate.

Cregan and Elle stood at the window waiting for the interrogation to commence. 

"You think this is the guy?"

"Honestly?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise, Miss Seymour."

"No."

He nodded.

Olivia's voice came over the speaker. "Do you know why you're here?" Lenny spoke in clipped and forced Italian to Bandini who nodded and began speaking very fast. 

"He says it's because you're looking for someone who raped and murdered Miss Anthony."

Bandini put his hands on Olivia's, his eyes locked on hers and pleading. "Detectivo, non colza lei, prego capisco questo."

"He asked you to please understand, he didn't rape her."

Stabler put his hands palm down on the table and faced Bandini who pulled back from Olivia, becoming wary of Elliot instinctively. "Tell him that he's going to have to explain what he was doing at Anthony's house around midnight, Friday the 27th."

"I don't think he should-"

Bandini looked over at his lawyer. "Io stupid avvocato non ha fatto nulla in modo da posso dire loro che tutto."

Lenny looked towards Sear. "Basically, he said that he didn't do it, so he can tell them everything."

"What was that stupid part? I assume that means the same thing in Italian as it does in English."

"Of course. Stupid lawyer." 

Elle smiled.

"Then what am I doing here if he doesn't want me?"

Stabler interrupted. "Just tell him to explain what he was doing at Anthony's house Friday."

While Lenny translated, Bandini got edgy, moving around in his seat and pushing his hands through his thinning black hair. He then exploded in fast and furious Italian before the interpreter could finish.

"He saying... he was over there because he saw some kids... no teenagers messing around. They like to vandalize things, spraypaint, turn over garbage cans, wreck gardens, that sort of thing. They're not from the... community. Not from the complex. They come from out... they come from the city."

Olivia nodded to the interpreter. "Ask him to describe what happened?"

He did and Bandini seemed to relax a little in his still intense verbal report. "He lives... next to, no behind Renee and the only time he is able to do his own gardening is late at night. He says that he saw the kids and ran over. Most left by the time he got there but one kid had dropped his light... He caught the kid and..."

He spoke to Bandini quickly in Italian, and Bandini nodded.

"Si, si. Puliscono l'immondizia. Adolescenti."

Lenny turned to the two detectives. "He said that he caught the teen and made him help him clean up the overturned garbage cans."

Stabler crossed his arms. "How'd he do that?"

"He told the kid he'd tell his parents."

"I thought he didn't speak English."

Bandini looked at Stabler. "No, English. No. La madre, padre. Si? Capisca?"

"He just mentioned the kids parents?"

Lenny asked Bandini, and Bandini nodded. 

Olivia and Elliot looked at each other, and Olivia looked back at Lenny. "So he actually knows these kids?"

"Apparently at least one of 'em."

"Well," Stabler started. "Tell him we need the name of this kid and his parents. Not only as an alibi, but to prove why he was there."

Lenny nodded then turned to Bandini, speaking softly. The Italian looked at the interpreter, then the two cops, then his head collapsed harshly into the metal table, causing a brief echo effect.

"Ouch," muttered Cregan beside Elle. She had been thinking the same thing.

In the interrogation room, Stabler spoke to Lenny. "If he can't re-"

Bandini's hand shot up and formed the universal sign for wait a minute. After a few moments the man muttered something.

"What?"

His voice was louder. "Tommy."

Stabler bent down to the table. "Tommy what? Last name."

The Italian started mumbling something.

"What's he saying?"

Lenny shook his head. "Something about a building, a post office, a bank-"

The Italian shot up out of his chair quickly sending it to crash against the wall and both detectives reached defensively for their weapons.

"BANCA!! BANKS!!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Tommy Banks!" He nodded at the two detectives. "Si?"

Elle couldn't help but laugh a little. "Wow."

Cregan gave her a small smile. "Tell me about it."

* * * * *

"His story checks out."

Elle looked up to catch Fin walking into headquarters followed closely by Munch. They were both rubbing their arms briskly, and Munch's skin had gone from an even complexion to a mixture of ice white and flushed red.

Benson looked over at him. "John, you don't look so good."

"I know. I tried to get Fin here to cuddle for warmth, but he's 'not into that'."

Olivia laughed. Elle hid a smile by looking down at her files, pretending to be busy.

"Great partner I've got."

"So his story checked out. Anything else?"

Munch filled a coffee cup for himself and one for his partner who was eagerly waiting behind. "Other than Bandini scared the living daylights out of that kid by yelling at him in Italian for fifteen minutes? Or that Aleisha and Xander Banks were not at all happy to learn of their son's extra curricular activities. Nothing really. What about you?"

"Well, Bandini lives with his daughter who is currently in Las Vegas visiting her fiancé's mother. We also found out that the purchases he made at Anthony's were for an elderly neighbor. Bird food, cat and dog medicine and the like. Bandini even took the cat in last year. Seems he developed quite a liking for Signora Anthony."

"Signorina." 

Olivia frowned at Munch. "What?"

"She was actually a signorina, or unmarried woman. But then, Bandini wouldn't have known that."

Elle picked up her phone and dialed information asking for the number of a local cab company.

Fin sighed and stretched, looking at his partner and Benson. "So we're back to square one. No leads. No nothing."

"That's a double negative."

Fin looked at his partner. "Anyone ever tell you, you really try people's nerves."

Elle dialed the number.

Munch looked innocently at Fin and Benson. "Olivia?"

She smiled at him and stood, stretching. "You're an angel."

"That's what I thought."

"A fallen angel."

"Yes." Elle spoke softly into the receiver, but still interrupted the banter, something she had hoped she would not do. "I'd like a cab please."

Fin frowned at Elle as Olivia grabbed her jacket. "When are you guys heading home?"

They looked at each other and nodded. Munch turned to her "Now." 

"Well, I'll see you guys tomorrow." Munch and Fin mumbled replies. 

Elle hung up the phone and started packing the files into her oversized purse. Olivia turned to leave then looked back at Elle.

"Goodnight, Seymour."

Elle looked up startled. Olivia could not have used her first name, it was to personal for their relationship so far. But the fact that she had forgone the 'Miss' in front of her last name said a lot. It said that she was a part of the team, and that Olivia was making an effort.

"Goodnight, Detective Benson." With that she walked out the doors or the squadroom and into the hall.

Fin stood and walked over to her as she grabbed her leather jacket. "A cab?" he asked. "I don't mean to be getting into your business or anything."

She shook her head. "No, no, that's okay. My car's in the shop right now."

"Wanna ride?" 

She smiled. "No thanks. But I really appreciate the offer."

Fin smiled knowingly. "Goin' home to a boyfriend?"

She cringed inwardly, thinking about Stephen's proposal on their nine month anniversary, before her mom had taken a turn for the worse. 

We can all three live together, El. It'll be nice. You're mom loves me.

She had looked at Stephen with a sad sort of loving in her eyes. When she remembers you.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and looking back at Fin. "My boyfriend? No, I uh, I live with my mother."

Fin smiled at her and asked. "She still make you PB&J sandwiches?"

Elle laughed a little at the light joke. "Not exactly." 

In a rare moment of what Elle could only think of as bonding, Munch smiled at her. "I wish I still had my mom to take care of me. It'd make my life a lot easier."

Looking down, picturing all of what her mother had once been and what she had slowly dissolved into, Elle nodded. "Yeah," she said softly, staring at everything and nothing. "Yeah."

Me, too, she thought despairingly.

She said her goodnights quickly to the confused detectives then walked out of the squadroom. She broke out into a light jog down the hall and made it out into the frigid night air. Far from freezing it was still too cold to be thought of as nippy, or even brisk. Elle stood there waiting for the cab, just thinking, glad to be away from people for a moment.

A little while later the cab pulled up to the curb. Elle got in, gave the address and just sat back against the seat, letting the cab's heat envelope her.

"Hey, Missus!"

Elle groaned and opened her eyes, momentarily disoriented.

"Hey, you! Time to wake up. You home now, eh?"

She realized that she had fallen asleep on her way home from work. She looked around groggily and recognized her apartment building, slowly falling apart due to old age and maltreatment.

She paid the cabby and got out into the biting cold.

This weather really is ridiculous.

It wasn't much better inside, the heat not working in much of the building. As she passed the broken elevator walking towards the stairs she thought about the case files in her purse. There was no way she'd be able to go over them tonight. She doubted if she'd make it all the way up the stairs without collapsing.

It wasn't the twelve hour workday. That was standard. It was the stress and anxiety that came with a new position in a new division. When she had moved to Homicide from Narc, she'd been edgy and unable to sleep half the time, and close to a coma the rest. Her appetite would come and go, leaving when a healthy diet was available and coming back when fast food was the only convenient cuisine at hand. 

As she reached the seventh and final floor of the building she leaned against the frame wall, resting. She closed her eyes to the chipping and stained walls, hideous brown carpet worn down to the wood and nails in some places. She could hear the neighbors a floor down yelling at each other again, and her own next door neighbor's techno-pumping radio. She ignored the rancid smell of animal waste and pushed herself off the wall, suddenly more eager to get home. 

She dug her keys out of her purse, but before she could even locate the correct one, the door was unlocked and opened. Her mother's 45 year old Italian nurse, Margarita Manchini, moved to let Elle get past. The welcome heat of the apartment instantly warmed Elle.

"How'd you know I was here?" she asked putting her purse on the table.

"Kids next door were arguing and started throwing stuff out the window. They stopped just a moment after your Taxi pulled up."

She smiled at the nurse. "How is she?"

"She's asleep. Wrote in that journal for fifteen extra minutes tonight."

Elle looked up surprised. "She's written more?"

Rita looked at her sadly. "'Fraid not. She sat there trying to figure out what she was thinking, you know? Trying to find the words."

"Right." Elle said dejectedly. Being unable to say what they were thinking was common enough for Alzheimer's patients, and becoming more common with her mother who'd always been so articulate and outspoken. Now she was shy, timid even, and she could never express herself.

"At least she still tries." Rita added helpfully, cleaning up magazines from the couch.

"Right, right. Of course. Didn't you two get up early this morning?"

"She wanted to see Central Park and the Empire State building today."

Elle looked up in surprise. "What happened?"

"Well, she had a small episode at the top, but it was only for about five minutes. It was while she was looking out over the city."

Elle rubbed her neck. Gwen's episodes had been coming more frequent lately.

"She made it fine after that until we went further down Fifth Ave. We decided to save Central Park for next time."

"Tired?"

"Yes, but she thinks she can handle it better next week, after her appointment."

"I meant you."

Rita looked up. "I was just cleaning up here. Then I'll go to bed."

Elle walked over and took the medical magazines from the nurses grip. "I've got it. You're not our maid, remember. Just go on to bed. I can't see how you're still on your feet."

"Thank you, Miss Seymour." Rita left towards her room and Elle watched her.

"Six months now. You can call me Elle."

"Yes, Miss Seymour."

Elle smiled and shook her head, then focused on cleaning bits of the living room. The rest of the apartment was, as always, almost spotless thanks to Rita's and her own devotion to a clean place to live.

Elle walked over to her mother's bedroom door and opened the crack further. She could see her mother's form breathing on the bed. 

She walked in and glanced down at the journal on her mother's desk. Not even a third of the page had been written in her mother's degenerating handwriting, and most of what had been written were facts. The doctor had told her mother that the point of the journal was to help her express herself and remember.

Elle walked further into her mother's room and sat down on the bed. She ran her fingers lightly through her mother's graying crimson hair.

So, she'd had another episode. Gwenyth could rarely recall even the most momentous events in her life, but when a memory came knocking, she'd just stop right then and right there. Stop anything anywhere, no matter what, and just relive it. On a few occasions Elle had been awakened in the middle of the night to find her mother sleep-walking, and talking to people in her dreams. Some of the people, including Elle's two older half sisters, had been dead for years.

She then turned on the monitor next to the bed, and grabbed the smaller radio, putting it into her jacket pocket. Gwenyth might need her in the middle of the night, scared and lonely, and Elle took no chances. 

Leaving the door open, a safety precaution that had long since become habit, she walked out into the hallway and turned up the thermostat. Her mother always seemed to get chills in the night no matter how hot it was. 

She heard Rita call out a goodnight to her, and abruptly became overwhelmed with claustrophobia, unable to answer. The walls seemed to tighten, her apartment looked like a prison, and sweat formed on her forehead. Elle became dizzy, nauseated, and scared breathless. She swayed slightly, but firmed her grip on the wall and took out her inhaler, taking deep breaths once allowed.

These attacks had become more and more frequent as her mother deteriorated in front of her eyes. Her doctor said the stress had something to do with her sudden claustrophobia and asthma, and told her that moving her mother into a hospital or home would do her health and sanity wonders. As a psychologist she would have agreed, but this was her mother she would be talking about, not a patient, victim or suspect. Her mother was not going to a home just because she caused Elle little stress.

She quickly walked towards the front door, heading for the roof, and pushing her doctor's advice to the farthest corner of her mind. 

* * * * * 

Elle shivered in her leather jacket, and stared at the city's perfect brisk night. The jacket, once upon a time her father's, had been a deep burgundy color. It had seen better days and now looked as if all the color had seeped of it. 

Like my mother, Elle thought grimly, seeing her mother's pale face so glad to see someone she thought was just a roommate. 

Despite being reminded many times that Ellandra was her daughter, Gwenyth hadn't recognized her kid in more than a month. She remembered little things about Elle's life: her personality, her job, sometimes remembered her boyfriend. But it was getting harder and harder for her mother to remember people who were not always and constantly in her life. And Elle was always at work.

All the life and memories just seeping away, like god-damn water colors, she thought bitterly, feeling a lump in her throat. Or sidewalk chalk in the night rain.

Well, not all of the memories had vanished. Before Rita had come Elle had sometimes walked in to speak to Gwenyth and had found her standing in front of the closet, or the bed, or the window. Sometimes she'd walk in the house and find her standing in the middle of the kitchen or in the living room. Her episodes.

Just standing, not really gazing, but remembering. Remembering things that held no significance to her, no significance to the woman she had become, but to the woman she had once been. Memories of her playing with her daughters, memories of a husband that had loved her once. Memories of a life she no longer knew as her own.

And for those rare moments her life seemed to have purpose, seemed to be happy again. For those times when the good memories came back, she would be the woman Elle had known most of her life. The amazing woman Elle had looked up to and found strength in. 

But even in those moments, even when she had the memories and the face of Gwenyth Seymour, she was utterly unreachable to Elle. Elle could not talk to her or reach out for her, because the moment she broke her mother's attention, the memories slipped away.

Her mother, the woman who would remember her, hold and love her, was hidden cruelly inside this vacant version of her older self, hidden from view. She was inside watching the home videos of her memories, but she could not see Elle standing behind screen. 

Memories about Elle's two twin sisters that had been ten years older than herself. Memories of the once loving and true Ernest Seymour, and a very young, very innocent Elle.

Once the lights went on and the screen went up, her mother would stare at Elle with a confused lost expression that Elle had come to hate. 

She shivered in the cold. There were good times still. Her mother treated Elle just like one would treat a best friend, always wanting to go walking and visiting places. 

But maybe it was best that Gwen did not remember her daughter, because Elle was so inaccessible for most of the time, always pulling so many hours and shifts, and even when she came home she'd still be working on profiles and other work she'd brought with her. In addition to when she wasn't working on work, she'd be reading her college texts and trying for her MA.

Elle looked out over the horizon, seeing the heart of New York city from her rooftop. She often wondered if there really were other people on Earth, or if maybe they were all just there in the backdrop of her life. Like extras on a movie set. No actual purpose other than to make the sets busy. The extras of life were there to make everything seem less lonely. 

Then again, if her job showed her anything, it was that everyone had this kind of ultra-depressing sorrow and unending grief in their lives. In New York City it was sometimes hard to see people as more than a huge moving entity, one large group, just another thing you pass on the way to work or while your out shopping. But as a cop working with people's minds and psyhces she would be the refuge for some of these people, these hollow things that no one has the insight to see are just like them.

She took one last glance at the skyline, something that never changed but never dulled, and started back towards her apartment. She'd wake up early to get a head start on the files. She wanted to know every last inch of that damn Weekend Raper case before she went in tomorrow morning.

THE END