We're All Dealing 1/9
Title: We're All Dealing
Rating:M for Mature
Author: Freesaffran
Fandom:Law and Order: SVU
Pairings :Alex/Olivia
Seasons/Spoilers: No Spoilers. I wouls say set around season 3/4 due to hairstyeles.:
Summary: One very tightly wound attorney gets to know a hardworking detective... a little more than either might expect. This is very much perspective driven. Possibly the beginning of a series. We'll see.:
Author's Notes: I do not have a ton of experience writing fanfiction (actually this is my first non original piece) and, like many am a whore for comments, feedback, etc. So share your expertiece, enjoyment, or musings! I'm grateful for everything.:
Warnings/Disclaimers: Like every other writer in this community, I own nothing.
ONE "Three cans of pea soup, five cans of tomato, and six bottles of Syrrah," Alex announced to her cat and everyone else who cared to know the contents of her pantry. Her empty apartment greeted her with callous silence. "And onto the freezer!" She tried to be upbeat as she announced her new plan for combating dreaded distraction. She did this when she needed to unwind: she cataloged and categorized her fridge, pantry, and if things got really bad, the freezer. It was a coping mechanism: knowing exactly what was in her pantry (and what date it expired) was comforting to Alex, an act of simplicity, order and control. These were three things Alex sought in all aspects of her life; they were the most important tools her father had bestowed upon her, "the building blocks of integrity" he had always said. She sought them in her work, delving into it with everything she had so that failure was not an option. She sought them in the outside world: they tainted her every perception and unfortunately, led people to assume she was judgmental and aloof. Only halfway false. She did judge people, the ones she watched give in, give up, succumb to and lose themselves to desire. Simplicity and order came from understanding the true nature of things and seeing them honestly for what they were.
There was no room for denial, so when Alexandra Cabot was tense, out of sorts, or distracted like tonight, she would logically redirect this frenetic and thus useless energy into something that would be beneficial, like running. Or cataloging her pantry, or rearranging her living room furniture. She had lots of methods, categorized themselves on their ability to refocus her and their efficiency in doing so. The pantry was definitely not low on the list. It was rather time consuming for one, and depending on the frequency of these 'attacks' it could become pretty redundant. After all, how many times in one week can one (even one such as Alexandra Cabot) alphabetize the same six soup cans?
It was particularly bad tonight. She had already made her way through most of the freezer items but still she was unable to get her head into her work. She sat on the couch, staring at the file from a few feet away with the icy glare she usually reserved for greasy rape convicts and their greedy attorneys. On some level it made sense. The file was an adversary, and a worthy one at that. Or was Alex her own adversary, crippling her own defenses for some self destructive cause as yet unrevealed? Here was Alex, after hours of organizing, hours of Control and Simplicity, giving into the greatest cop-out ever (no pun intended). But even as she tucked her hair behind her ears and adjusted her glasses on her face - a meaningless gesture that had almost become a study ritual for Alex in the long nights of law school - even as she mentally prepared herself for the file on the gang-rape-homicide of a thirteen year old girl her oh-so-capable detectives had recently brought her, her body was preparing for something entirely different.
There was really only one thing that Alex Cabot wanted.
And it wasn't money (that had never been a problem, she was somewhat embarrassed to admit), it wasn't justice (far too relative a word to be used as a serious goal. Alex defined justice in every case, her job to bail it out, dress it up, and sell it to twelve good citizens. Justice was rarely fair, and was never easy). It wasn't even the promise of glory: her political aspirations come to fruition with a judge nomination, a senator confirmation or high- powered appointment from an even higher-powered ally. No, what Alex Cabot really wanted was sex with a woman.
It wasn't that she hadn't done it before (there was that one time in college... and then all those times after that). It was just the need for it, the ache of wanting something she couldn't have. It wasn't even the women themselves who were the problem. Aside from her shiny silver credit card she had the searing azure eyes, strong jawline, and the slim yet curvaceous frame that she knew was dynamite-- especially in power suits. Alex knew she was considered by many to be a beautiful woman. She knew this as a fact: it held no pride for her as, she reasoned, she could take no credit for it. Despite, no, because of her privileged upbringing Alex had conditioned herself not to accept what the world was ready to give her, not because she was pretty and blond and could buy out Sak's fifth Avenue if she wanted to. Not even because she was smart, because she couldn't really take credit for genes and luck either. No, Alex Cabot only took what she earned, and what she determined she had earned, which was usually less than even the most tight-assed District Attorneys shelled out to an intern. But she really felt like she deserved this... She missed the feel of legs that had been lovingly lotioned and shaved, the delicate and almost incidental play of an unshaped forearm: every curve and swell of muscle purely what nature had given. She missed the slight uncomfortable and excited buzz she got when she felt breasts rub- ever so gently against her own- nipples hardening and torturing skin like lace. Hell, she missed even seeing breasts at all. And no, her own didn't count. She missed the warm wet slur of another tongue - not seeking dominance, not seeking to subdue or subordinate her, but content as equals to enjoy- to take pleasure in ever succulent kiss, every hollow, and every valley.
But she could not act on these desires, pressing though they were. For one, the District Attorney's office, while not backwater West Virginia, was not the most liberal and accepting place either. For another, she was engaged to Peter Jansen: a promising ADA in his own right, and, to make matters worse- a childhood friend of the family. The Family. How she hated that- it sounded like the Mob. But what was it they said about Old Money? It can do things that no other money could do. This is what truly haunted Alex: the secret fear that behind the hard work, the hours spent over case-law and coffee, the sacrifices given willingly for Control, Order and Simplicity- for Integrity, was Grandaddy and a phone call to his old buddy, the state senator.
"No!" Alex was surprised that she had reproached herself aloud, startled out of the reprieve. Oh well. That was what happened when you were a single woman who lived alone with a cat. She grinned ruefully when she realized that talking to herself was a small price to pay for not having to wake up next to some hairy menopausal man every morning. For now, anyways. They had not set a date yet and that suited Alex fine. Although she knew this marriage was a political necessity she didn't have to pretend she relished giving up her autonomy to any man, especially not one as ball-less as Peter Jansen. It wasn't that he wasn't a nice guy, he was. Too nice, in fact. He had nothing going for him- aside from his sky-rocketing career, of course.
He was the kind of guy who Alex ran into at Family barbecues and had brief conversations about the Bar (Lawyer stuff) and the Hamptons (WASP stuff) and then later wracked her mind as to how she could have possibly spent all of the summer when she was thirteen making out with him in the life guard shack that was between their families beach houses. He was vapid, robotic, and although impeccably good looking in a Swedish Michelangelo sort of way, she couldn't help but wonder if he had always been like that. Was this was the curse of the wealthy and privileged: to seem like soulless bureaucrats to the rest of the world?
Was this why the Detective Squad called her the 'Ice Queen' behind her back? Alex knew it was stupid and childish, and that she shouldn't let it bother her, but still somehow…. She liked the Detectives of Manhattan's 16th precinct, Special Victims Unit. She liked how they joked and teased and trusted each other with their lives so casually. She liked going out for drinks with them to the crummy cop bar by the station, even though she felt out of place, even though she knew people stared at her and her designer suit and her four inch heels that were part of the job description (but were they?) and Aryan profile and good breeding that showed when she smiled and tossed her hair… and she hated it, it made her just want to disappear. But she didn't, and she didn't stop wearing the power suits and the Jimmy Choos because, for better or for worse, people respected Ice Queens, even if they didn't hang out with them, or feel comfortable around them, or like them, even.
She would marry Pete for the same reason: because she needed to politically, and because her parents had said - very politely, though using strong words - that if she did not marry him, she would see some serious repercussions. Rich people never threatened, bartered or black-mailed. They used strong words very politely, and bought off the world. And as backward as it felt, that was why Alex was the way she was, why she was up now poring over case-law and not accepting injustice (Whatever that was) as an answer. It only made her standards higher, only made the rest of the world farther and farther away.
Which brought Alex back to the one thing that wasn't far away - the thirst she so desperately wanted to quench - her own hands, creeping up her leg and into her shorts where it somehow knew exactly where to go to do the most damage. She was touching herself and she hadn't even noticed, hadn't even given herself permission. And because it was wrong, because it was an inconvenience and because she needed it so desperately, Alex let herself think about women, about legs and breasts and wet tender kisses, about fingers running through cropped hair and cupping pierced ears between soft fingers, just to get a hold of something. She thought about running her hands all over - about owning with the mere presence of her desire - the toned stomach and almost grudging curves. Her fingers were going now, rubbing and flicking in small circles, stroking and petting so insistently, with such need that she had to stop momentarily to see that her hand didn't cramp. And this was nice, it was good, but it only made her hungry for more, only made her realize how truly ravenous she was. Her face was buried awkwardly beside her as she continued to touch herself, biting her tongue to increase the sensation, she realized that she needed a visual, something to imagine, to hope for.
And Alex saw her: Strong, dark and shadowed, with a swagger that said "I could take you right here." Her face was obscured by the position of the light. (Why? Alex wondered. It's my damn fantasy. Shouldn't I be able to have what I want?) But because it was a fantasy, the woman did saunter up to her ( looking down at her feet the whole time so her bangs fell into her eyes) wearing… Alex had to stop a moment just to process what she had of the mental image. And by process, she meant moan and continue to touch herself, caressing softly and yet insistently. A shiver ran up and blazed in her belly when she thought about that swagger and the way her short auburn hair fell just so, hiding those eyes.... What was she wearing again? Alex mentally undressed her, starting with the worn in chocolate brown leather jacket, the one with the bullet hole on the sleeve. She reached over built shoulders, and around the defiant hollow spot Alex found so sexy, grabbed hold of the collar of the woman's jacket, pulling it down and then letting it fall as she discovered her arms- capable biceps that she longed to hold her... hold her... hold her… It wasn't until she got to the gun that she realized who it was. And then she just about died.
"Oi Cabot! I need a warrant on Beatty's mothers place, now," Stabler called out from across the station house.
"Good morning to you too, detective," Alex replied.
Elliot smirked. "Sorry if I'm forgetting my manners, rape tends to do that to me,"
"Not at all, Detective, I wouldn't expect anything less from you," She replied with a smile. She and Elliot joked around a lot, but they actually liked each other pretty well. Alex had had no experience with the Special Victims Unit when she started, and (although they didn't know it) she took her cues off of the 'Dedicated Detectives who investigate these vicious felonies'.
After two years however, Alex had developed coping mechanisms of her own. Despite her professional exterior, Alex was passionate, sometimes so that it clouded her judgment. She was not proud of this, in fact she considered it a great flaw. And so, wrapped in icy logic, she did her best to work within the constraints of the Law she had devoted her life to upholding, despite the struggle it sometimes caused her. Sacrifice was necessary evil on the road to achievement. It was funny, she thought, that something that could be so satisfying and fulfilling could also be so frustrating.
"What are you smiling at?" Alex almost died when she saw the only brunette detective saunter up to her with a cup of coffee.
"Oh, nothing, Detective," Alex replied, resting her hand on a chair behind her- mostly for balance.
"Oh come on, Counselor," Olivia said playfully. "I know that look, and it doesn't come from musing about criminal law". She was wearing a dark sweater that stretched tight across her chest and, Alex gulped to notice, on one hip hung her gun.
"I guess I was distracted," Alex said, immediately realizing this was exactly what she meant to conceal, "I've got a lot on my plate between the Beatty case and the thirteen year old who was gang raped." She looked away, realizing this was particularly bad excuse considering who she was talking to. "And this whole wedding thing..."
A strange look came over Olivia's face. Alex was momentarily taken aback, confused and intrigued by the Detectives' expression. Olivia looked down for a moment before asking, "You set a date?". Now she was looking up at Alex through her bangs with a smile- just not an entirely happy one. Or was that wishful thinking?
"Oh, no," Now Alex was blushing at being caught in a bluff. "I'm still just trying to get my head around it," she said, not looking at the detective. "Oh I see," Olivia brightened a little. " I have to say I was a little surprised when I heard you were getting married," She said, the playful tone back. Now on firm ground, Alex became a prosecutor with a winning case.
"And what do you mean by that Detective?" She said with a coy smile.
"Just the that you never seemed like the 'settling down type' to me," she replied. "I mean, I just couldn't see you making making some guy coffee and eggs and massaging his feet… the little league games, the lice and the minivan..."
Alex laughed. "I'm getting married, not becoming a repressed fifties housewife."
Olivia smiled sheepishly. "I know, I just can't see you in a wedding dress. On second thought though, I can't see you in anything other than a power suit." She looked up at Alex to see how she was taking this assault on her womanhood. The ADA was looking away, with a funny little smile, almost smug.
"That is a pity, Detective," She replied, "Because I wear so many other things, and I wear them so well."
Before the Olivia could respond, however, she was interrupted by Cragen bursting out of his office with the news that Beatty's mother had just been found in her own bathtub, with her throat slit. Before the words were even out of his mouth Benson and Stabler were setting down coffee cups, putting on jackets and out the door without so much as a glance behind them. Alex was left suddenly alone in the station house.
"I guess they won't be needing the search warrant," she muttered to herself.