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| [Beyond the Valley of the SVU IV - by theholyinnocent] |
Olivia awoke to a dream, a beautiful dream: It was Alex—in a nun’s habit, hovering over her, and smiling beatifically. Those lips, as dewy soft as petals falling from freshly cut roses in an overpriced New York restaurant, lingered sensually against her own and she breathed in the sweetness of Alex and Altoids.
Honestly, she thought she was dead. What else could explain this, the return of her sweet baboo? Alex had been so disgusted by the revelation of their relation to one another, so proud about becoming a nun, and yes, so inordinately excited about wearing a habit, that Olivia had firmly believed she would never see Alex again.
But just to test the theory, Olivia murmured aloud, “I must be dead.”
“No, darling, you’re alive.” Alex touched her cheek. “But the hospital bill? That will kill you.”
“Ah, my beloved smart ass!” Olivia cried happily. They made out for several minutes, until Olivia reminded herself that she was swapping spit with a nun, and—setting aside the whole incest thing—that was a tad too kinky, even for her. “I don’t remember being brought here. I just remember getting shot, and Melinda, and Yanni—“
“Yanni?”
“Never mind. And now I’m waking up, and you’re here—“
“I must confess, they brought me here. I’m a suspect in your shooting. Just like the entire Stabler family. And Warner’s husband. And the Olsen Twins’ mother. And—“
“Got the point.”
“Good. Don’t worry, we’ll find the bastard who shot you. I swear it.”
“No sooner said than done,” a voice said from the doorway.
The women gazed upon their colleague and friend, John Munch, who stood in the doorway.
“You arrested a suspect already?” Alex cried.
“Of course. While you bitches—Elliot included—have been fighting and flirting and making out, my partner and I have been actually doing our jobs. And speaking of which, we’re retiring at the end of the month. Odafin and I are going to open a B & B in Vermont after we get married.”
“Who is it?” Olivia blurted.
“Do we get a discount?” Alex added.
“First, he’s right here in the hallway—he just confessed while we were playing canasta and waiting for Olivia to drop dead—and second, it’s 10%.”
Alex’s nostrils flared disdainfully. “Outrageous!”
“Hey, you’ll be getting Fin’s special blueberry pancakes and my homemade knishes, what more do you want?”
“Enough with the B&B! Who shot me?” Olivia barked.
Munch turned around. “Fin! Bring him in.”
Fin came in, propelling in front of him a figure familiar in its gray, gently haggard visage: Jack McCoy.
“McCoy!” Alex gasped. She stood and shot a blue-eyed death glare at him. “You sonofabitch. I should have known. You’ve been jealous of me since the day you first laid eyes on me—always afraid I would take your job, that I would be appointed DA over you. And this, this is your sick and twisted way of getting to me. If you couldn’t hurt me, you’d hurt my sis—I mean, my lover. You’re a sad and pathetic man.”
“Who the hell are you?” McCoy rasped.
For once in her life, Alex was too stunned to say anything. Fin was so impressed that he whipped out his digital camera to document this unusual and historical moment of speechlessness.
Kindly, Munch answered for Alex: “That’s Alex Cabot, the former ADA for SVU.”
“Oh. The one Liz Donnelly was so hot to get in the sack.” McCoy shook his head. “This has nothing to do with you, Cabot, and everything to do with—her.” He cast a sneering look of disgust, usually reserved for defense attorneys, at Olivia. “It’s you, Benson. You sullied the only woman I ever loved, you tempted her in unfaithfulness.”
Tears streamed down Jack’s face. Fin yawned.
“You? Are so going to hell,” Alex murmured sotto voce to Olivia.
“Since when are nuns allowed to pass divine judgment?” Olivia hissed back.
McCoy started keening. “Oh, Claire. Claire. I did it for you.”
Olivia frowned. “Who?”
“Oh God, you animal!” McCoy shouted. “You don’t even remember her? Claire Kincaid! She worked for me! She was the best ADA I ever had.”
Meanwhile, in Washington DC…
The case file fell from her hands, knocking over her coffee cup. Abbie Carmichael’s ears twitched violently. Yes, the high-pitched noise, like a taunting mosquito, was coming from New York. Her dark brows crashed together. Yes, it was Jack, and he was saying—
Abbie leapt up from her desk. “That fucking bastard!” Immediately she opened the closet door in search of her Christmas gift from Grandaddy: a beautiful, gleaming shotgun.
…And Back to New York
“Claire, Claire, Claire…” Olivia was chanting the name, hoping it would jog her memory. She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Blonde?” she asked Jack.
“Brunette,” he growled.
“Big hips?”
“Skinny as a rail.”
“Trigger-happy?”
“That’s Abbie, you moron.” Jack shook his head. “No—do-gooder feminist liberal.”
Recognition lit Olivia’s face. “Oh! Claire!” She clapped a hand over her forehead. “Of course. How could I forget?” She smiled dreamily. “She was my first.”
Alex’s blatantly skeptical look easily represented the reaction of everyone in the room.
Olivia clarified: “My first ADA, that is.”
“If only I’d acted sooner, she would have been your last as well,” Jack lamented.
“Jesus, McCoy, pull it together. We had a good time but she loved you. I broke it off with her because she was driving me nuts, always yapping about you.” Here Olivia’s voice leapt into falsetto: “’Jack, Jack, Jack!’” She cleared her throat and spoke normally again. “Got on my fucking nerves, you know?”
This seemed to placate McCoy. “Yes. She loved me,” he said softly.
“Yeah, and all the boys at Rikers are gonna love you too,” Fin said gruffly. “Let’s go.” He and Munch dragged McCoy away, leaving the women alone.
Excitedly Alex rubbed her hands together. “It’s going to be such fun to prosecute him!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t tell you—I’m coming back. Liz offered me my old job. And by the way, she’s going be thrilled about McCoy being arrested. I’m willing to bet that she probably knows already. She’ll finally get close enough to Branch to be his second-in-command. If fact, I wouldn’t put it past her to…”
Meanwhile, at an Asian fusion restaurant on the Upper West Side...
As Arthur Branch seized his throat and fell to the floor, he realized that the last thing he would see in his tragically misguided life was the black stiletto heel and remarkably well-toned calf of Liz Donnelly.
Liz’s voice floated above him. “Oh dear, Arthur. I forgot about your allergy to ginger root. And me with my cell phone on the fritz.”
And back to…
Alex smiled warmly. “I’ve missed being here. I’ve missed New York, and quite frankly, I’ve missed you, Liv.”
“You—you have?” Olivia stammered hopefully. “Does that mean you want to get back together again?”
“Yes,” Alex replied softly.
“But what about the, you know, the whole ‘sisters’ thing?“
“Well.” Alex stood again and paced, as she was prone to do while working out the details of a case. “The evidence presented to me is very scant, and based on that alone, I don’t think there’s a credible case. Even less so given that the only incriminating piece of evidence—written by a chronic alcoholic, murderer, rapist, and Jerry Lewis fan—was accidentally on purpose flushed down the toilet by my mother during a drunken rage. The potential jury pool has been tainted as well, because this scandalous rumor became public knowledge among certain members of the law enforcement community, and these parties saw fit to so heedlessly and recklessly disseminate this questionable information, thereby whipping themselves into a frenzy—in other words, it’s all mass hysteria. A lynch mob mentality. Non compus mentis.” Alex sighed and sat down on the edge of Olivia’s bed. “Yes, I see no viable case here.”
“I love it when you talk legalese to me,” Olivia moaned breathlessly.
“Get used to it, baby. I’m back.”
They kissed.
“And you’ll leave the Church, just for me?”
“Sure. If you leave Melinda, Kathy, Maureen, Abbie—yes, I know why you go down to Washington all the time—Liz, Serena, the Olsens, and Petrovsky—and can I just say? Petrovsky? What the hell were you thinking?”
“But she asked so nicely. And that old dog still knows some pretty good tricks. You know that thing I do when I hold you down and—”
“Stop!”
And so they lived incestuously ever after.
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