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theniwokesoftly- Rebecca
Page Summary
- (Anonymous) : (no subject) [+0]
- theniwokesoftly : medicminx's addition [+0]
- (Anonymous) : Alex's Laundry Day, part three [+0]
- (Anonymous) : Part Three, Continued [+1]
- sravenk : Part five, with props to medicminx for "Even when I win I lose" [+3]
- sravenk : Meanwhile... [+2]
Comments
take it away, shallow viewers! feel free to copy and paste, add, change, etc!
again; after talking to the victim and escorting her through the arduous
process: rape kit, paperwork, the usual, she was trying to finish up her work in
time to catch a few more well deserved hours of sleep. She checked her watch,
her eyes suddenly filling with tears. In her haste to dress, she'd thrown on a
pair of jeans under the shirt she'd been sleeping in. The sleeve had caught her
attention as she looked at the time. It was the shirt that her poor, sweet Alex
had ruined about a year ago. She'd wanted to surprise Olivia by doing her
laundry, but Alex was well-known for her domestic cluelessness. A fat teardrop
ran down her cheek, landing on her jeans... the jeans Alex had shrunk the same
day she'd bleached the shirt. It was too much. She blew her nose and composed
herself.
"I'm going home," she announced to Detective Stabler, her long time partner in
the SVU. He looked concerned.
"You OK, Liv?"
"Just tired, that's all. I'll see you in the morning, Elliot." She threw on her
jacket and walked down the hall.
Elliot regarded her thoughtfully. She was a fine looking woman, but he'd known
her for too long to think of her as anything but a friend. Besides, she was in
love with someone else: Alexandra Cabot, the former ADA who'd gone into the
witness protection program after a run-in with a powerful drug lord. Stabler
didn't realize that Olivia was looking back at him through the glass door,
wishing she could confide in him and knowing that he had too much on his own
plate; to burden him further would have been cruel. His wife had moved out,
taking their children and it was obvious that Elliot was miserable. Women were
always throwing themselves at him; he was a sexy man, but Olivia wasn't the
least bit interested in him. She did hope he'd find love again some day, just as
she hoped that one day, Alex could leave Altoona and come back to the cozy
apartment she and Olivia had shared together.
Olivia finally arrived home, kicking off her shoes amd shedding her jeans. She
climbed back under the blankets in her creamsicle colored shirt, but she knew
from previous experience that once the floodgates of memory had been opened, it
was damn near impossible to shut them down without tremendous willpower. She
reached for the photo of Alex that she kept hidden under her mattress and held
it up.
"I miss you so much... you can bleach and shrink everything I own, if only I
could know when you'll be back here in my arms."
And miles away, in Altoona, Alex Cabot was having her own difficulties sleeping.
*********************
CLICK! Infomercial.
CLICK! An old movie, one she had no interest in watching.
CLICK! The Food Network; a rerun of some guy grilling meat and yammering away about marinades and rubs. He smiled for the camera and Alex supposed some women would find him attractive. He seemed a bit too smug, too pleased with himself. He looked like the kind of defense attorney that she used to deal with on a regular basis. The kind of man who'd never actually respect any woman. She didn't even like the sight of what he was slicing so proudly, cocking his head boyishly.
"Asshat," she murmured. "We're done here."
CLICK!
Alex turned off the TV and got up to make some breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, she was at the kichen table, staring at a charred slab of pastry. "I did it again. I burned the goddamn toaster strudel."
She wished, not for the first time, that Olivia could be there, to joke about her kitchen mishaps, to make her feel whole. Alex sipped her tea, staring down at the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup and wondered what her future held. She was quite positive it didn't include any more toaster strudel.
Alex dressed quickly, in jeans and a sweater: how different this was from her life as an ADA in Special Victims! She'd owned a closet full of suits; they had long since been donated to Goodwill. These days, she kept a low profile, secluded in Altoona: the official story was that she was a young, wealthy widow who pretty much kept to herself. Nobody asked any questions, since Alex could be remarkably reticent and eventually, the few neighbors she had lost interest in speculation about her life, prior to her arrival in Pennsylvania.
It was a chilly morning; the sky was just beginning to grow light, but dawn was one of Alex's favorite times of the day. Not far from her home was a twenty-four hour supermarket and early morning was the perfect time to go grocery shopping. Just another of the things she'd never really had any experience with before-- well, before her disappearance. Only a handful of people knew she was still alive. She was safer that way.
Alex pulled into the store parking lot, instinctively checking for anything even mildly suspicious. She pulled a cart from the rack and entered the store, squinting at the glaring flourescent lights. As usual, she hadn't written a list. Her habit was to walk down each
aisle, choosing items randomly.
Produce; that would be a good place to start, since she didn't always feel like putting together a meal and fruit was fast, easy and healthful. Into her cart went some plums, a bag of green grapes, a few decent looking pears and...
Alex found herself in front of a display, perfectly stacked in a neat pyramid, strategically located so that she could not help but pass by it.
The neatly printed sign read, TANGERINES: Four for a dollar.
Alex bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. The day was ruined before it even began. She managed to get through the checkout and back into her car before all her pent-up feelings came pouring out.
There was a certain shirt that Olivia had loved, a shirt that Alex love to see Olivia wear. It was a long sleeved cotton shirt. And its' color? Tangerine. "Well, it was tangerine for a while, anyway," thought Alex, as she pulled back into her driveway, a wry smile on her face. It was a funny story, if only she had someone to tell...
TO BE CONTINUED
"Yes, hi. I was wondering... I know it's awfully close to the weekend, but I'd like to rent a car. I'm planning a surprise visit to an old friend in Pennsylvania." Olivia looked up in time to see Elliot Stabler walk in, looking about as exhausted as she felt. She quickly concluded her call.
"Sure, I can drive a stick shift. No, I'll only be needing it until Monday morning. Thanks."
Elliot sighed, sipping from a Styrofoam cup. He grabbed a tissue from Olivia's desk and spat the coffee into it. "Why do we let Munch make coffee? This tastes like donkey piss. Along with my kids, I miss Kathy's coffee. Not Kathy so much, but her coffee? Oh, yeah."
"C'mon, Elliot, it can't be worse than that time Casey offered to make it."
For the first time, Elliot smiled. "You're right. Good thing she spilled it after tripping over those case files. I'll never figure out how it got to be that weird color."
His demeanor became serious. "What exactly are you up to, Olivia? And don't tell me 'nothing'-- I know you well enough to see when you're contemplating something."
"I'm taking a ride into the country. See the sights; get out of NY for a while. No big deal."
"You're a lousy liar, Detective Benson. C'mon, we're due in court."
“Detective!” Casey called after her.
Olivia briefly considered pretending like she hadn’t heard, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Casey was like a lost puppy: sort of sweet, kinda dumb, and very much in need of paper-training. And always following Olivia around. She turned to face her pursuer.
“Novak. What’s up?” Olivia forced a tight smile.
“You know that creamsicle tie-dyed shirt you have?” the ADA asked.
Olivia nearly choked on the sharp breath she took in. Casey couldn’t have known about that. Had she read her mind? Because, for a mind reader, Casey Novak made an especially terrible attorney. Olivia shook her head and smirked inwardly at the thought.
Casey continued, “I saw you wearing it a couple of weeks ago. You know, when you were investigating that murder and you had to explain to me what ‘botched circumcision’ meant?”
Olivia remembered, now. She had gotten the call early in the morning, still middle of the night, really, and had just grabbed whatever was around to wear that day. It was almost an hour into her day before she had realized she was wearing the shirt that Alex had turned into what looked like a DeadHead relic.
***
Olivia remembered having walked into the laundry room to find a proud-looking Alex waiting there for her. “What are you doing in here?” Olivia had asked.
“I’m doing your laundry, of course. I bet you didn’t think I even knew how,” her lover had replied.
Olivia had grinned at her, admitting that she didn’t. At that moment, the dryer clicked off. Alex had opened the door, pulling out her once-tangerine shirt. It was bleached in stripes, and had shrunk to two-thirds its normal size. Alex’s face had crumpled. “Even when I win, I lose.”
Olivia had just laughed and pulled Alex into her arms. “Don’t worry, baby. I kind of like creamsicle tie-dye.”
***
“So, I was wondering, can I borrow it?” Casey’s voice broke into Olivia’s reverie.
“Wha? Sorry?”
“The shirt. I think it would look good under my lime green blazer and my purple skirt, and it matches my hair. I have a big case tomorrow. I want to look professional. I think that tie-dyed shirt would be perfect!” Casey spouted enthusiastically.
Olivia just stared incredulously for a moment, and then she said, “Um, well, I would be happy to help you, but the shirt is um, at the dry cleaners. Yeah, and it won’t be back until next week. Sorry. Maybe you should try wearing a matching suit, you know, in a less, um, radiant color. Like Black. Or something.”
"Wait, matching? Black suit? Can you explain it to me?"
"Another time, Casey. I have to go." Olivia turned and headed down the courthouse steps.
Casey swiftly lurched across the crowded street, knocking over a woman pushing a baby stroller, who narrowly missed being hit by an oncoming taxi. "WAIT!"
Olivia had no choice. She waited on the street corner as Casey negotiated the traffic with all the grace of an armadillo crossed with a penguin.
"What is it, Casey? You know, some of the better stores have something called a 'personal shopper'; maybe that would help you out of your wardrobe dilemma."
"But they always want me to wear such muted colors! How can I make an impression on the jury of I'm dressed like a nun? But that's not what I wanted to talk about, really. I heard you mention to Elliot that you were getting out of town for the weekend and..." Casey batted her eyelashes, making her mascara blurred and runny, something like a younger version of Tammy Fae Baker. She took a deep breath.
"I was wondering if we could make it a real 'girls only' weekend? You know, we could give each other manicures and make popcorn, rent some chick flicks, have some drinks..." Her voice became softly seductive, like a bad imitation of Alex Cabot.
Olivia felt simultaneously stunned and nauseous. Casey laid a tentative hand on her shoulder; Olivia quickly brushed it off.
"I don't think so, Casey. I really need some time alone. You know how crazy it's been here lately."
"But we could stock up on jalapeno poppers and mozzarella sticks! Maybe even play 'Twister'..." Her adoring-puppy look was too much for Olivia. She opened her mouth to speak, to try in the nicest possible way to fend off Casey's advances, when she got lucky and her cell phone started ringing, shrill and insistent.
"Casey? I've got to go. Maybe some other time, huh?"
Crestfallen, Casey lurched off in search of something as pretty as Olivia's creamsicle shirt.
Flipping the phone open, she was relieved to hear Elliot's voice.
"I thought I'd do you a favor and get you out of that conference with Casey. I'm right across the street, see?"
"Oh my God, Elliot. Thanks so much."
"I did have another reason for calling, though."
"What's that?"
"I've talked to a private investigator and he thinks Kathy's seeing the falafel guy over near the library. Want to come along while I try to catch her in the act?"
Olivia sighed. "I guess I owe you one, huh? OK, I'm coming."
As she made her way back to the other side of the street, her only thoughts were, 'hurry, weekend'... and 'what falafel guy?"
To be continued*****
"Want to get some orange juice and we can talk about this?" she asked.
"No, I just want to see if it's true. How could she do this? She just took the kids and fucking left, y' know?"
Olivia sensed she'd better back off. "Look, I'll go over there with you, but I can't stay, OK? I really have to get out of the city before the weekend traffic gets out of hand."
Elliot nodded and they remained comfortably silent until they reached the corner where Kathy's alleged lover was doing a brisk business. Elliot's eyes narrowed to slits. "I've seen that guy before, I swear."
Olivia gave the falafel guy the once-over. "I don't recognize him."
"Yeah, well, I do... y'know what, Liv? Go home and pack for your big weekend. I can take it from here."
"Are you sure? You look... weird." She was torn between concern for her partner and her desire to get to Altoona as quickly as possible.
"I'm good. Go, get moving."
"OK, then..."
Elliot smiled. "Give Alex my love, huh?"
Olivia's jaw dropped. "How did you? When? How long?"
"I know you. And I know Alex. Have fun." He briskly walked over to the falafel cart. For a brief moment, Olivia thought he was doing his tie-tuck; it turned out he was simply straightening the knot. Relieved, she began to walk off... and briefly turned back when she heard Elliot say, "It's me, Beecher. Now, show me how much you've missed me." They embraced, winding up in a liplock that attracted most of the passers-by, including one lucky tourist with a camcorder.
"This is turning into a really weird day," Olivia murmured to herself. Luckily, she didn't notice George Huang burst from the crowd, loudly ordering the crowd to disperse.
***
Olivia made it back to her apartment, quickly packed and picked up her rental car. As she headed out of Manhattan, her spirits lifted and she turned on the radio, hoping there wouldn't be any serious traffic tie-ups. She was busy switching stations; too busy to notice that Casey was staggering up Columbus Ave. under the enormous weight of a hat designed to look like a fruitbasket.
She couldn't find a creamsicle shirt, but she'd found a hat that would ensure the attention of the jury on Monday. Casey attempted a casual cha-cha step, stumbled and adjusted her chapeau, ignoring the small child who burst into tears as she saw Casey lurch into view.
***
Several hours later, Olivia stopped for coffee and a look at her road map. When she realized she was mere minutes from her destination, her heart skipped a beat. Sighing happily, she got back behind the wheel. Not long after, as she passed the sign reading 'Altoona City Limits', a radiant smile crossed her face. It was a certain smile that no one but Alex Cabot had ever seen. And it was a smile that Alex hadn't seen in a very long time.
To be continued*************************
Stabler stamped his loafers, shifting back and forth as he waited the lunch rush. There was a tie tuck with Falafel Man's name written all over it.
If only Benson would show up, so they could open an extra-large can of ass-whup on the dude. Olivia ought to be in the mood, too. She'd been unaccountably cranky of late, like a mama bear with PMS. Or was she great with cub?
Stabler assumed that sperm he'd donated was for somebody in Altoona, but what if there was a Baby Benson on the way? Would the squadroom resound with the pitter-patter of baby lurches? It was enough to make Elliot want to take his handcuffs down to the Village for some back-alley interrogations.
Olivia's private sorrow was an open secret to everyone. Except clueless Casey, of course. Many was the time Stabler had caught her trying to give Benson an eyeshag. Poor Casey, all she ever succeeded in doing was dislodging her contact lenses, forcing her to borrow Fin's eyedrops. Tutuola absorbed these impositions with his typical melancholy, never saying more than "That girl's messed up."
Stabler thought he saw Falafel Man and his shiny pushcart. Stabler hated falafel. He'd never had it. He didn't even know what it was. Elliot instinctively hated things he didn't know or understand. They made him think and he blamed excessive thought for his receding hairline.
And now F.M. was playing Hide the Challa Bread with Kathy. Surely Kathy couldn't be that clueless? His Kathy, as easy as Casey after a softball victory? No! It was more than any obsessive, overworked, sexually confused, perp-violating NYPD detective should have to handle.
"Semper fi, my ass, Elliot!" Kathy had hit the roof when she found the receipt from the sperm-donor clinic. Then she hit Elliot. Then she hit the road, taking their four kids to her mom's one-bedroom walkup on Staten Island.
Elliot had the four-bedroom, three-bath rambler in Queens all to himself. Meanwhile, Kathy was sharing a bed with Elliot's mother in law, while the kids were sacked out in the living room, the kitchen and on the porch. When Fin heard about this he shook his head and sighed, "That's not right."
Falafel Man had wheeled up to his usual spot, and was starting to dispense steaming foreign goo to harried Manhattan professionals, the way he'd dispensed hot, steaming … no, better not go there, Stabler thought. Was it karma that Elliot was being cuckolded by a pushcart vendor?
Benson always said he was a cheap date. "You tell me we're going out to dinner," she once fumed, "and it's always either a half-cold pretzel or a hot dog drowning in sauerkraut. That stuff reminds me of Cassidy. He always smelled like sauerkraut, especially in bed." Of course, that before Alex and before Olivia kicked in the triple-bolted door of the willowy ADA's heart.
Using a bus kiosk for cover, Stabler edged closer to F.M.'s wagon, the mounting clamor of the traffic helping to stoke his icy rage. He began to smile that smug, mirthless, serpentine smile that any perp worth his salt knew meant he could kiss his butt goodbye. But his smile froze in mid-rictus. It wasn't the cold; there was something about that rough, unsavory face of F.M.'s … something familiar.
Before Stabler could pursue this troubling thought any farther, he felt someone invading his personal space. "Hey, stranger," said the husky voice that brought men and women alike to their knees, often literally. "Where's his guy you wanna violate?" Stabler didn't even need to do a rack-check. Benson was here. Finally. If Falafel Man didn't know the meaning of "rough sex" he was about to a crash course.
The blank face of the oven before her stared back at her impassively.
Alex picked up the box which had contained her now ruined frozen dinner, narrowing her eyes to read the instructions. “Lightly browned, it says. Twenty minutes until lightly browned. This—” she held up the charred remains of the baking dish, “Is completely black. Even that asshat on TV could do better. There’s nothing I can do here.”
The oven remained indifferent to her rant.
“Well, there might be one thing. But it’s a long shot.” Alex opened up a drawer, pulling out a butter knife, and began to chip away at the burnt layer encrusting the top of her dinner. When she reached an area of the dish vaguely resembling edible food, she stuck a fork in and began to eat. It was terrible. She groaned. “Even when I win, I lose.” Alex tossed the baking dish into the trash can.
She looked around the kitchen. There was one tomato sitting on the counter top. She picked it up and ate it like an apple. “I’m so hungry.”
Wheeling her cart into the parking lot, Olivia shivered with anticipation, as well as from the drop in temperature. It had gotten colder: the radio weather report was forecasting snow. She shuddered at the thought of her blueblooded darling attempting to operate a snowblower.
Olivia reached Alex's street: it was quiet and small, neat houses lining the road. She'd been to Altoona once, when Alex 'died' but she remembered every detail of Ironbone Lane.
Alex lived at number 17, a white house with dark green trim. The shades were drawn, but a light burned in the kitchen. Olivia ran lightly up the steps, hesitating. Should she ring the doorbell? She knocked instead. Light appeared in the front hall. Olivia couldn't see through the windowpane in the door; all she could make out was a blur of blonde hair.
"Yes? Who's there?" Alex sounded cold.
"Me."
The door opened; Alex swept Olivia inside.
"What... are you doing here?"
Olivia shut and locked the door. "I missed you. I got up today and knew I had to come." She put down her groceries and her overnight bag. "C'mere, you..."
Alex smiled tremulously, flicking the hall light off. "Let's not scandalize the neighbors."
Olivia repled, "Yes, let's..." but her answer was stopped by Alex's lips on her own. She was overcome by Alex's hands on her body; the scent of Alex's skin. All their months of yearning were forgotten, as they came together in a long embrace.
Olivia's cell phone rang. Alex did a stunned bunny-hop backward, her eyes frightened, like a deer caught in headlights.
"I can't believe I forgot to turn this off," Olivia said, abruptly answering.
"Benson. What's up?" Casey was sniffling; something about being arrested.
"What?"
"It's true,I've been arrested for obstructing traffic, but it was my haaaaat!" Fresh wailing emanated from the phone. "And Petrovsky was walking by and... help me!"
"That's not possible, Casey. Call Cragen. Call Munch. Call Elliot."
"Nobody's answering!"
"You'll be fine. Call Branch. We've got that trial Monday. I'm going to hang up now, Casey. Don't call me again." Olivia shut off the phone. She noticed an odd smell coming from the kitchen.
Alex stood by her smoking toaster, hands covering her face. "I wanted to make you a snack, the bagel got stuck and... I tried to make a TV dinner and..."
"It's OK, stay with me, sweetie. Alex? Hey-- I brought plenty. Here, look at this!" Underneath her sweater Olivia wore the tangerine shirt. "See? I still have it. Come here, you..."
There were only two people who existed in the world: Alex and Olivia. They started in the kitchen, went into the bedroom and finally, they lay together on the living room rug.
Alex sighed. "It's been too long, detective."
Olivia looked up; Alex's hands were still in her hair, shudders from her recent orgasm still sending powerful aftershocks through her body that Olivia could feel.
"It certainly has, counselor. And may I be the first to say your smokin' bod hasn't changed a bit. Let's make a fire."
Alex leaned over to kiss her. "I'll do it." She stood, long legs gleaming in the dim light. She picked up Olivia's shirt, swiftly pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. "How do I look?"
"Good enough to eat," replied Olivia. "Again."
Alex blushed. "I'll just go get the firewood."
***
And after a few minor burns in the carpet, they lay curled before the fire, one blonde, the other relatively brunette, the intensity of their passion growing. It would be hard for Olivia to leave... and harder still for Alex to stay, but they had this perfect night-- and all they needed was each other.
Snow began to gently fall. It fell on the rooftops of Altoona, it fell on Elliot's house, where he slept with a casual arm around Beecher's shoulders...
and it fell in NYC, covering a trash can containing Casey's fruitbasket hat.
Coming soon: 'Ain't No Cure for The Summertime Lurch'
or 'Alex Throws a Dinner Party'