Not Protocol
Title: Not Protocol
Author: Alsike
Fandom: Law & Order SVU/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Alex Cabot/Emily Prentiss
Warning: non-con...ish
Rating: NC-17
Summary: um, sex and moral ambiguities
This was a prompt from the Femslash Kink Meme that sort of ran away with me.
The woman sat slouched in the chair on the opposite side of the interview table, her hands cuffed together behind her back. Her dark hair fell in a curtain, shadowing her face. But Alex could feel her eyes on her.
When Olivia and Fin had brought her in, Alex had been startled at how gorgeous she was, even with her face expressionless and her eyes staring blankly at the floor. The light spray of blood across her face didn’t detract from it.
She hadn’t asked for a lawyer, and Alex almost wanted to encourage her to, even after seeing the crime scene photos, the man with his throat cut, the spray of arterial blood coating the walls of the hotel room. But she hadn’t even left the scene, just sat in the hall across from the door, waiting for the police to arrive.
Alex stepped into the interview room and took the chair across from her. Elliot stood in the corner, jaw set like the wind-up soldier boy he was.
“Emily Prentiss?” she asked. That was what the ID said, the FBI badge.
The woman tilted her head a half-inch to the side as if to see her face more clearly. But she didn’t say anything.
“Is that your name?”
She glanced away, shrugging.
“Did you know William LaMontagne Jr?” Alex slid the picture across the table.
Emily glanced at it once and then looked away, disgust on her face. “If you want to ask if I killed him, go ahead. You don’t need to save my feelings,” she said in a low tone. “I know how this works.”
“You’re an FBI Agent?”
Emily nodded.
“Did you kill him?”
“I don’t remember.”
Alex sat back, crossing her arms, eyeing the woman carefully. She didn’t seem to be lying. And people who had experienced trauma, whether by perpetrating violence or by seeing it, often suffered memory lapses.
Elliot was shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Alex had been waiting for him to jump in with, “he was a loyal fellow officer! How can you not remember? You were the one who stuck a knife in his throat!” But he seemed distracted.
“If you need to use the restroom, Detective Stabler, I can continue this on my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Elliot looked at her, his duty and his need to pee clearly warring on his face. “I’ll only be gone a second.”
The door clicked shut behind him and Alex glanced back at her suspect to see her smiling oddly. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said softly. “It’s not protocol.”
“I think I could handle you. Even if you weren’t in restraints.”
“You mean these?” asked Emily bringing her hands around and dropping the open cuffs on the table. Alex stiffened slightly, but tried not to display her anxiety on her face. “I’ve had some experience with those.”
“He’ll be back in a moment.”
Emily gave a half nod and that odd smile again. Then suddenly she was on her feet. Alex jumped up to try and stop her, but she had darted around the table, and her hand closed on Alex’s jacket collar. She shoved her down until her face hit the table. Alex yelped as her glasses dug into her cheek and nose. Her hands were twisted firmly behind her back. There was a clink, and Alex felt the cold metal of handcuffs close around her wrists.
“What are you- don’t! Emily!”
“Haven’t you worked it out yet? I’m not her.” Emily hoisted her up so her hips rested on the table and her head dangled over the other edge. Without her hands Alex could rock as much as she liked, but the sleek fabric of her suit kept her from gaining purchase on the metal table. She was as useless as a turtle on its back. “Not anymore.”
She heard the screech of metal and looked between her feet beneath the table, to see Emily twist the cheap metal of one of the chairs around the handle of the door. She kicked it sharply and the chair bent into the door. No one was getting that open without a struggle.
Emily sauntered back over to her and rubbed her hands up Alex’s thighs, over her skirt, and then smoothed out the wrinkles over her ass. Her skirt and her jacket had both ridden up with her wriggling and Emily bent close to the small exposed strip of skin between the end of the coat and top of her skirt, and breathed. Alex’s skin broke out into goose bumps.
“Once you let the monster out of the box, it’s hard to put her back in.”
Alex gritted her teeth, trying not to show her fear, even at the utterly vulnerable position she was in. She kept seeing the images of the crime scene: the blood spatter, the victim, on the bed in his boxers, his head lolling at a horrible angle from his body.
Suddenly she was being jerked off the table, and deposited on her knees on the cement floor. Emily was looking straight into her face, and Alex wondered through the fog of fear whether she had chosen that color lipstick to match the blood sprinkled across her cheeks like freckles.
“Cute.” Emily plucked the bent glasses from her face and tossed them onto the table. “But I don’t have a meganekko fetish.” She pushed Alex’s loosened hair out of her face, almost tidying her up. She licked the pad of her thumb and rubbed at a mark that must have come from the table. Alex shuddered at the smear of saliva. Emily’s fingers traced down her throat and unbuttoned her collar. Then she bent her head and lapped lightly at Alex’s pulse point.
“You see,” she said, quietly. “I’m not Emily. Emily always wanted beautiful women, but she never took them. I, on the other hand, am perfectly happy just taking what I want.”
Suddenly Alex realized that Emily might not actually be planning on killing her right away. She didn’t know whether or not to be happy about that.
Emily’s hand closed around her throat, her thumb and forefinger pressing into the underside of Alex’s jaw, cutting off her breathing. Alex’s eyes widened and her mouth opened, trying to pull in air. Emily grinned, and then kissed her. Her mouth was wet and possessive and Alex tried to struggle away, knowing with every action that she would need more air. Emily’s fingers traced over her nipples through her shirt and Alex tried to gasp as they hardened, but couldn’t and choked instead. Emily dropped her and she slumped to the ground, sucking in as much air as she could to her burning lungs.
Emily knelt over her and reached into Alex’s pocket, plucking out her nail file. Alex shut her eyes and tried to hide from the short stick of metal, wishing she just used emery boards. But Emily gave her shoulder a sharp shove until she lay flat on her back, her hands uncomfortably crushed beneath her, with her captor straddling her hips. Emily reached down and slid the nail file under Alex’s top button, she pressed her thumb against the front of it, and with a sharp flick of her wrist, popped it off. She dropped it on the floor, and traced the cool metal tip of the file down her exposed chest.
“Emily also desperately needed to be liked. But really,” she tapped Alex’s involuntarily hard nipples with the file. “I’m getting the response I want just from being feared.” She flicked off the next button, and then the next. She pushed the halves of Alex’s shirt apart and enjoyed the sight of her white lacy bra. She bent down and latched her mouth to the top of Alex’s breast and sucked, quickly leaving a speckled red mark on the pale skin.
She sat back to admire her handiwork, ignoring Alex’s struggles as if they were as insignificant as those of a flea.
“I like that,” she said. “I like marking you. You have good skin for that.”
She reached out and fumbled on the table until she found Alex’s blue ballpoint pen. Warming the ink in her palm, she slowly drew a circle around the hickey.
“Stop it,” Alex managed to hiss. “You don’t want to do this.”
“What?” Emily said, laugher in her voice. “Mark you? But it's so pretty.”
She started writing something in large letters on Alex’s lower abdomen. Alex couldn’t bend her head far enough to read it.
“Let me go. Emily! You know this is wrong.”
Emily tilted her head and drew a blue dot on Alex’s nose. “Yeah, she does. But she’s not in control anymore.”
Alex had dealt with Schizophrenics and Alters before. She just had to make Emily’s rational side come out on top again. “Emily,” Alex said harshly. “Think of your work. Do you really want to become the sort of criminal it is your duty to put away?”
Emily’s eyes changed slightly, and Alex sucked in a breath, suddenly hopeful that she had broken through.
“I already have,” was the quiet answer. “And the truth is,” she said, the sound of her voice vibrating into Alex’s body. “I want to fuck you, maybe even more than my alter does, she’s just given me the opportunity.”
Suddenly Emily was up, the blue pen tossed aside, and Alex was being jerked up, her shirt and her coat forced down her arms to bunch around her wrists.
“That’s an Armani jacket!”
Emily leaned in from behind her and kissed the curve where neck met shoulder. “I think you can afford the dry cleaning.”
Then her fingers were unhooking the catch of her bra and her hands came around to cup Alex’s breasts. Her thumbs gently stroked her nipples and Alex tried to restrain herself from arching into the touch.
“I don’t want this,” Alex roughly managed to get out.
“I don’t believe you.” Emily’s hands slid down her stomach and unfastened her skirt. She tugged it down, her hands caressing the curve of Alex’s ass.
“You’re a rapist.”
Emily laughed quietly. “I love the way you said that.” She caught Alex’s bound wrists and twisted them, then lifted, forcing her to her feet. “You didn’t say, ‘this is rape,’ you didn’t say, ‘you’re raping me,’ because that makes it true. As long as it’s just me, as long as I’m just the rapist, you’re not a victim. Is that what’s going to really hurt? Afterwards? When they break in, and find you bound and limp and well and truly fucked on the table. They won’t see you in the same way, will they? They won’t be able to believe in your strength. Their doubt will eat away at your confidence, until you’ve lost everything that makes you Alex Cabot, ADA extraordinaire.”
“Stop it!” Alex tried to lash out with an elbow, with her head, with anything. But her legs were trapped by her lowered skirt and she lost her balance. Emily gave her a slight push and she fell onto the table.
“Perfect.” Emily caught her knees and pushed her up a little more. Then she jerked off the skirt, stepping between her legs. Alex kicked out, but Emily caught her ankles, and plucked off her shoes, dropping them onto the floor. “You know, if you stop fighting you could pretend it was your idea and you just felt like fucking a suspect in the interrogation room. The boys would love you then.”
Alex sneered. “God, I’ve been in this room with every kind of rapist possible, and I get stuck with a Power-Reassurance one taking my skirt off. Do you want me to pretend this is a date? Should I call you my girlfriend?”
Emily shoved the table until it hit the far wall. Alex’s head smacked back into it with the force of the push and her eyes teared up. She gave an involuntary pained sob.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“Oh, shut up. You know as well as I that rapists always play to type. And you just own the type of zero luck with women and finally snapping. Your Alter basically admitted it.”
“You saw his body and you can still say this to me? I killed him, I jerked on his head so his blood would spray on the walls.”
“And what did he do to you? Did he do this to you? Steal your girlfriend? Rape her?”
“Would it make a difference? It was premeditated. I brought the knife. No one’s getting me off on an insanity defense.”
“They should, psycho.”
Emily climbed onto the table, sitting on her again, and caught Alex’s jaw and kissed her. Alex kissed back, if only to defend against Emily’s tongue. “I really, really want to fuck you.”
“You’d better get moving if you’re going to. Elliot’s like a bull, and when he stops wanking in the viewing room, he’ll be through that flimsy chair in no time.”
Emily’s fingers slid over the damp fabric of Alex’s underwear. “Is that a yes?”
“God,” Alex tipped her head back. “You suck as a rapist.”
Two fingers thrust into her, up to the hilt, and Alex arched, dragging at her cuffs, needing to hold onto something as she slid against the wall. Emily’s body hovered over hers, her hair brushing against her chest and face, as her hand kept moving, fucking Alex to gasps and yelps that she hadn’t felt before with her more considerate lovers. Then her hand slid behind Alex’s back and pinned the chain of her cuffs to the table. Finally, resistance, and Alex’s hips started pushing back. Hot lips on her neck, and a thumb rubbing circles around her clit, long fingers buried deep inside of her. Alex rolled her hips to change the angle and Emily adjusted automatically. Fuck, Alex thought to herself, why are all the people who are really good at sex going to prison?
There was a sudden bang against the door. And then came a crash as the chair spit in half and collapsed inwards.
“Get your hands up! Hands up or I’ll shoot!”
“Don’t you dare!” Alex hissed, glaring at Elliot over Emily’s shoulder. “I’m really, really- Oh, fuck!”
Alex came hard, smacking her head against the wall again, and then slid down onto the table with a half-satisfied, half-pained moan. Emily climbed awkwardly off the table and wiped her fingers uncomfortably on her shirt.
“Hi,” she said to Elliot, and put her hands in the air.
* * *
“Elliot’s being put on probation, for leaving Alex alone with a suspect.”
Olivia settled down behind Munch and Fin, gathered around the small black and white CCTV. Munch offered the others his popcorn.
“I’m really uncomfortable about being turned on by this, man,” said Fin, waving away the popcorn.
“We’re trying to decide whether Alex is in any way at fault in this situation,” said Olivia sharply, taking Munch’s popcorn and dropping it into the trash. “We’re not watching it for gratificatory purposes.”
Munch gave her a look. “Please, don’t tell me the thought of our favorite counselor in cuffs doesn’t make you wet.”
Olivia glared at him.
“Oh shit, this is good stuff,” said Fin, gaping at the screen.
* * *
Alex stripped in her bathroom, purposefully avoiding her reflection in the steamy full-length mirror. Finally she turned and caught sight of the blue markings on her stomach. Her finger traced the words written there.
“Don’t Forget,” it read. Alex shivered, and quickly stepped into the hot spray of the shower, ready to wash it all away.
* * *
Emily sat in the dock and watched her team gather one by one in the gallery. There were only pale sickened faces amongst them. Alex walked briskly down the aisle and dropped her briefcase on her desk. Their eyes met for one long still unnerving moment. Then she turned to the judge.
“The State of New York would like to submit a charge of manslaughter in the first degree.”
Emily’s hands clenched the rail. A ripple of shock shot through the courtroom. Emily saw Hotch’s head turn as he stared down at the prosecutor.
“Are you… certain, counselor?” inquired the Judge, just as doubtful. “Should the perpetrator of such a serious crime receive such leniency from the state?”
Alex glanced over to her again, the doubt at what she was doing clear on her face. “There were… extreme circumstances. The defendant has agreed to plead guilty for the full sentence.”
The judge turned to look at Emily who was pale, with sweat slick on her forehead. “Is that your plea?”
Emily nodded, and then tried to find her voice. “Yes, guilty. I thought it was going to be, um, second degree murder though.”
Alex gave her a very clear ‘shut up’ look. “The State also recommends a psychological evaluation and pending the results, incarceration in a mental facility.”
Petrovsky glanced between the prosecutor and the defendant two or three more times. “Counselor,’ she said with a sigh. “Would you be any more forthcoming about your reasoning behind this if I invited you into my chambers?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“I hope your boss signed off on this, Alex.” Petrovsky tapped her gavel. You have evidence to prove that there is a factual basis for accepting this plea?”
“Yes, your honor.”
She turned to the defendant. “And you understand the consequences of entering a guilty plea?”
Emily nodded.
“I will be your trial judge in three weeks time, 9 AM precisely. Miss Prentiss, you are requested to report to my chambers one day prior to that for extended colloquy about your plea, at the same time. And as for bail…”
Alex opened her mouth, and then shut it again.
“You’re not going to request remand?”
“The defendant will be discharged into the custody of her FBI associates. As it is not a capital offence, I have no other reason to deny bail.”
“Bail is set at $50,000. It will be forfeited if you fail to appear for either appointment.”
* * *
“Why are you doing this for me?”
Emily was leaning against the wall of the bathroom and Alex stiffened, feeling trapped, accosted while bent over the sink to wash her hands.
“I believe you,” she said harshly. “I believe in your extenuating circumstances, and in the fact that you could not take me without my permission. Don’t make a fool out of me.”
Emily stepped closer to her, pulled the taller woman’s head down, and kissed her. It was quick and rough, but as she walked out, Alex had to sink against the counter and just breathe. She wasn't certain if it was a response to fear or to relief.
#
Sequel: Recovery
Author: Alsike
Fandom: Law & Order SVU/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Alex Cabot/Emily Prentiss
Warning: non-con...ish
Rating: NC-17
Summary: um, sex and moral ambiguities
This was a prompt from the Femslash Kink Meme that sort of ran away with me.
The woman sat slouched in the chair on the opposite side of the interview table, her hands cuffed together behind her back. Her dark hair fell in a curtain, shadowing her face. But Alex could feel her eyes on her.
When Olivia and Fin had brought her in, Alex had been startled at how gorgeous she was, even with her face expressionless and her eyes staring blankly at the floor. The light spray of blood across her face didn’t detract from it.
She hadn’t asked for a lawyer, and Alex almost wanted to encourage her to, even after seeing the crime scene photos, the man with his throat cut, the spray of arterial blood coating the walls of the hotel room. But she hadn’t even left the scene, just sat in the hall across from the door, waiting for the police to arrive.
Alex stepped into the interview room and took the chair across from her. Elliot stood in the corner, jaw set like the wind-up soldier boy he was.
“Emily Prentiss?” she asked. That was what the ID said, the FBI badge.
The woman tilted her head a half-inch to the side as if to see her face more clearly. But she didn’t say anything.
“Is that your name?”
She glanced away, shrugging.
“Did you know William LaMontagne Jr?” Alex slid the picture across the table.
Emily glanced at it once and then looked away, disgust on her face. “If you want to ask if I killed him, go ahead. You don’t need to save my feelings,” she said in a low tone. “I know how this works.”
“You’re an FBI Agent?”
Emily nodded.
“Did you kill him?”
“I don’t remember.”
Alex sat back, crossing her arms, eyeing the woman carefully. She didn’t seem to be lying. And people who had experienced trauma, whether by perpetrating violence or by seeing it, often suffered memory lapses.
Elliot was shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Alex had been waiting for him to jump in with, “he was a loyal fellow officer! How can you not remember? You were the one who stuck a knife in his throat!” But he seemed distracted.
“If you need to use the restroom, Detective Stabler, I can continue this on my own. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Elliot looked at her, his duty and his need to pee clearly warring on his face. “I’ll only be gone a second.”
The door clicked shut behind him and Alex glanced back at her suspect to see her smiling oddly. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said softly. “It’s not protocol.”
“I think I could handle you. Even if you weren’t in restraints.”
“You mean these?” asked Emily bringing her hands around and dropping the open cuffs on the table. Alex stiffened slightly, but tried not to display her anxiety on her face. “I’ve had some experience with those.”
“He’ll be back in a moment.”
Emily gave a half nod and that odd smile again. Then suddenly she was on her feet. Alex jumped up to try and stop her, but she had darted around the table, and her hand closed on Alex’s jacket collar. She shoved her down until her face hit the table. Alex yelped as her glasses dug into her cheek and nose. Her hands were twisted firmly behind her back. There was a clink, and Alex felt the cold metal of handcuffs close around her wrists.
“What are you- don’t! Emily!”
“Haven’t you worked it out yet? I’m not her.” Emily hoisted her up so her hips rested on the table and her head dangled over the other edge. Without her hands Alex could rock as much as she liked, but the sleek fabric of her suit kept her from gaining purchase on the metal table. She was as useless as a turtle on its back. “Not anymore.”
She heard the screech of metal and looked between her feet beneath the table, to see Emily twist the cheap metal of one of the chairs around the handle of the door. She kicked it sharply and the chair bent into the door. No one was getting that open without a struggle.
Emily sauntered back over to her and rubbed her hands up Alex’s thighs, over her skirt, and then smoothed out the wrinkles over her ass. Her skirt and her jacket had both ridden up with her wriggling and Emily bent close to the small exposed strip of skin between the end of the coat and top of her skirt, and breathed. Alex’s skin broke out into goose bumps.
“Once you let the monster out of the box, it’s hard to put her back in.”
Alex gritted her teeth, trying not to show her fear, even at the utterly vulnerable position she was in. She kept seeing the images of the crime scene: the blood spatter, the victim, on the bed in his boxers, his head lolling at a horrible angle from his body.
Suddenly she was being jerked off the table, and deposited on her knees on the cement floor. Emily was looking straight into her face, and Alex wondered through the fog of fear whether she had chosen that color lipstick to match the blood sprinkled across her cheeks like freckles.
“Cute.” Emily plucked the bent glasses from her face and tossed them onto the table. “But I don’t have a meganekko fetish.” She pushed Alex’s loosened hair out of her face, almost tidying her up. She licked the pad of her thumb and rubbed at a mark that must have come from the table. Alex shuddered at the smear of saliva. Emily’s fingers traced down her throat and unbuttoned her collar. Then she bent her head and lapped lightly at Alex’s pulse point.
“You see,” she said, quietly. “I’m not Emily. Emily always wanted beautiful women, but she never took them. I, on the other hand, am perfectly happy just taking what I want.”
Suddenly Alex realized that Emily might not actually be planning on killing her right away. She didn’t know whether or not to be happy about that.
Emily’s hand closed around her throat, her thumb and forefinger pressing into the underside of Alex’s jaw, cutting off her breathing. Alex’s eyes widened and her mouth opened, trying to pull in air. Emily grinned, and then kissed her. Her mouth was wet and possessive and Alex tried to struggle away, knowing with every action that she would need more air. Emily’s fingers traced over her nipples through her shirt and Alex tried to gasp as they hardened, but couldn’t and choked instead. Emily dropped her and she slumped to the ground, sucking in as much air as she could to her burning lungs.
Emily knelt over her and reached into Alex’s pocket, plucking out her nail file. Alex shut her eyes and tried to hide from the short stick of metal, wishing she just used emery boards. But Emily gave her shoulder a sharp shove until she lay flat on her back, her hands uncomfortably crushed beneath her, with her captor straddling her hips. Emily reached down and slid the nail file under Alex’s top button, she pressed her thumb against the front of it, and with a sharp flick of her wrist, popped it off. She dropped it on the floor, and traced the cool metal tip of the file down her exposed chest.
“Emily also desperately needed to be liked. But really,” she tapped Alex’s involuntarily hard nipples with the file. “I’m getting the response I want just from being feared.” She flicked off the next button, and then the next. She pushed the halves of Alex’s shirt apart and enjoyed the sight of her white lacy bra. She bent down and latched her mouth to the top of Alex’s breast and sucked, quickly leaving a speckled red mark on the pale skin.
She sat back to admire her handiwork, ignoring Alex’s struggles as if they were as insignificant as those of a flea.
“I like that,” she said. “I like marking you. You have good skin for that.”
She reached out and fumbled on the table until she found Alex’s blue ballpoint pen. Warming the ink in her palm, she slowly drew a circle around the hickey.
“Stop it,” Alex managed to hiss. “You don’t want to do this.”
“What?” Emily said, laugher in her voice. “Mark you? But it's so pretty.”
She started writing something in large letters on Alex’s lower abdomen. Alex couldn’t bend her head far enough to read it.
“Let me go. Emily! You know this is wrong.”
Emily tilted her head and drew a blue dot on Alex’s nose. “Yeah, she does. But she’s not in control anymore.”
Alex had dealt with Schizophrenics and Alters before. She just had to make Emily’s rational side come out on top again. “Emily,” Alex said harshly. “Think of your work. Do you really want to become the sort of criminal it is your duty to put away?”
Emily’s eyes changed slightly, and Alex sucked in a breath, suddenly hopeful that she had broken through.
“I already have,” was the quiet answer. “And the truth is,” she said, the sound of her voice vibrating into Alex’s body. “I want to fuck you, maybe even more than my alter does, she’s just given me the opportunity.”
Suddenly Emily was up, the blue pen tossed aside, and Alex was being jerked up, her shirt and her coat forced down her arms to bunch around her wrists.
“That’s an Armani jacket!”
Emily leaned in from behind her and kissed the curve where neck met shoulder. “I think you can afford the dry cleaning.”
Then her fingers were unhooking the catch of her bra and her hands came around to cup Alex’s breasts. Her thumbs gently stroked her nipples and Alex tried to restrain herself from arching into the touch.
“I don’t want this,” Alex roughly managed to get out.
“I don’t believe you.” Emily’s hands slid down her stomach and unfastened her skirt. She tugged it down, her hands caressing the curve of Alex’s ass.
“You’re a rapist.”
Emily laughed quietly. “I love the way you said that.” She caught Alex’s bound wrists and twisted them, then lifted, forcing her to her feet. “You didn’t say, ‘this is rape,’ you didn’t say, ‘you’re raping me,’ because that makes it true. As long as it’s just me, as long as I’m just the rapist, you’re not a victim. Is that what’s going to really hurt? Afterwards? When they break in, and find you bound and limp and well and truly fucked on the table. They won’t see you in the same way, will they? They won’t be able to believe in your strength. Their doubt will eat away at your confidence, until you’ve lost everything that makes you Alex Cabot, ADA extraordinaire.”
“Stop it!” Alex tried to lash out with an elbow, with her head, with anything. But her legs were trapped by her lowered skirt and she lost her balance. Emily gave her a slight push and she fell onto the table.
“Perfect.” Emily caught her knees and pushed her up a little more. Then she jerked off the skirt, stepping between her legs. Alex kicked out, but Emily caught her ankles, and plucked off her shoes, dropping them onto the floor. “You know, if you stop fighting you could pretend it was your idea and you just felt like fucking a suspect in the interrogation room. The boys would love you then.”
Alex sneered. “God, I’ve been in this room with every kind of rapist possible, and I get stuck with a Power-Reassurance one taking my skirt off. Do you want me to pretend this is a date? Should I call you my girlfriend?”
Emily shoved the table until it hit the far wall. Alex’s head smacked back into it with the force of the push and her eyes teared up. She gave an involuntary pained sob.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“Oh, shut up. You know as well as I that rapists always play to type. And you just own the type of zero luck with women and finally snapping. Your Alter basically admitted it.”
“You saw his body and you can still say this to me? I killed him, I jerked on his head so his blood would spray on the walls.”
“And what did he do to you? Did he do this to you? Steal your girlfriend? Rape her?”
“Would it make a difference? It was premeditated. I brought the knife. No one’s getting me off on an insanity defense.”
“They should, psycho.”
Emily climbed onto the table, sitting on her again, and caught Alex’s jaw and kissed her. Alex kissed back, if only to defend against Emily’s tongue. “I really, really want to fuck you.”
“You’d better get moving if you’re going to. Elliot’s like a bull, and when he stops wanking in the viewing room, he’ll be through that flimsy chair in no time.”
Emily’s fingers slid over the damp fabric of Alex’s underwear. “Is that a yes?”
“God,” Alex tipped her head back. “You suck as a rapist.”
Two fingers thrust into her, up to the hilt, and Alex arched, dragging at her cuffs, needing to hold onto something as she slid against the wall. Emily’s body hovered over hers, her hair brushing against her chest and face, as her hand kept moving, fucking Alex to gasps and yelps that she hadn’t felt before with her more considerate lovers. Then her hand slid behind Alex’s back and pinned the chain of her cuffs to the table. Finally, resistance, and Alex’s hips started pushing back. Hot lips on her neck, and a thumb rubbing circles around her clit, long fingers buried deep inside of her. Alex rolled her hips to change the angle and Emily adjusted automatically. Fuck, Alex thought to herself, why are all the people who are really good at sex going to prison?
There was a sudden bang against the door. And then came a crash as the chair spit in half and collapsed inwards.
“Get your hands up! Hands up or I’ll shoot!”
“Don’t you dare!” Alex hissed, glaring at Elliot over Emily’s shoulder. “I’m really, really- Oh, fuck!”
Alex came hard, smacking her head against the wall again, and then slid down onto the table with a half-satisfied, half-pained moan. Emily climbed awkwardly off the table and wiped her fingers uncomfortably on her shirt.
“Hi,” she said to Elliot, and put her hands in the air.
* * *
“Elliot’s being put on probation, for leaving Alex alone with a suspect.”
Olivia settled down behind Munch and Fin, gathered around the small black and white CCTV. Munch offered the others his popcorn.
“I’m really uncomfortable about being turned on by this, man,” said Fin, waving away the popcorn.
“We’re trying to decide whether Alex is in any way at fault in this situation,” said Olivia sharply, taking Munch’s popcorn and dropping it into the trash. “We’re not watching it for gratificatory purposes.”
Munch gave her a look. “Please, don’t tell me the thought of our favorite counselor in cuffs doesn’t make you wet.”
Olivia glared at him.
“Oh shit, this is good stuff,” said Fin, gaping at the screen.
* * *
Alex stripped in her bathroom, purposefully avoiding her reflection in the steamy full-length mirror. Finally she turned and caught sight of the blue markings on her stomach. Her finger traced the words written there.
“Don’t Forget,” it read. Alex shivered, and quickly stepped into the hot spray of the shower, ready to wash it all away.
* * *
Emily sat in the dock and watched her team gather one by one in the gallery. There were only pale sickened faces amongst them. Alex walked briskly down the aisle and dropped her briefcase on her desk. Their eyes met for one long still unnerving moment. Then she turned to the judge.
“The State of New York would like to submit a charge of manslaughter in the first degree.”
Emily’s hands clenched the rail. A ripple of shock shot through the courtroom. Emily saw Hotch’s head turn as he stared down at the prosecutor.
“Are you… certain, counselor?” inquired the Judge, just as doubtful. “Should the perpetrator of such a serious crime receive such leniency from the state?”
Alex glanced over to her again, the doubt at what she was doing clear on her face. “There were… extreme circumstances. The defendant has agreed to plead guilty for the full sentence.”
The judge turned to look at Emily who was pale, with sweat slick on her forehead. “Is that your plea?”
Emily nodded, and then tried to find her voice. “Yes, guilty. I thought it was going to be, um, second degree murder though.”
Alex gave her a very clear ‘shut up’ look. “The State also recommends a psychological evaluation and pending the results, incarceration in a mental facility.”
Petrovsky glanced between the prosecutor and the defendant two or three more times. “Counselor,’ she said with a sigh. “Would you be any more forthcoming about your reasoning behind this if I invited you into my chambers?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“I hope your boss signed off on this, Alex.” Petrovsky tapped her gavel. You have evidence to prove that there is a factual basis for accepting this plea?”
“Yes, your honor.”
She turned to the defendant. “And you understand the consequences of entering a guilty plea?”
Emily nodded.
“I will be your trial judge in three weeks time, 9 AM precisely. Miss Prentiss, you are requested to report to my chambers one day prior to that for extended colloquy about your plea, at the same time. And as for bail…”
Alex opened her mouth, and then shut it again.
“You’re not going to request remand?”
“The defendant will be discharged into the custody of her FBI associates. As it is not a capital offence, I have no other reason to deny bail.”
“Bail is set at $50,000. It will be forfeited if you fail to appear for either appointment.”
* * *
“Why are you doing this for me?”
Emily was leaning against the wall of the bathroom and Alex stiffened, feeling trapped, accosted while bent over the sink to wash her hands.
“I believe you,” she said harshly. “I believe in your extenuating circumstances, and in the fact that you could not take me without my permission. Don’t make a fool out of me.”
Emily stepped closer to her, pulled the taller woman’s head down, and kissed her. It was quick and rough, but as she walked out, Alex had to sink against the counter and just breathe. She wasn't certain if it was a response to fear or to relief.
#
Sequel: Recovery