DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and all characters are the
property of NBC and Dick Wolf.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic was destined for the recycle bin but ended up on lj instead. From there someone suggested I send it to the O/A list - as it was so darn quiet - and so now I've decided to complete the triumvirate and dump it here... or perhaps my ego's just gone supernova and I hate the thought of losing any words of wisdom. Yeah, right. Herein lies a slight case of potty-mouth.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Several heads turned in my direction, but no-one seemed unduly worried by the outburst. Perps, especially male perps, tend to use that word a lot when talking about me. I suppose I could let it bother me, but considering the source I tend to take it as a compliment.
"Why is it," Alex asked, "that no matter how educated or multi-lingual they all end up using the same word?" She'd forgone her lawyer's tone and the question sounded more whimsical than anything else. "Or perhaps it's just us?"
I was only half listening, my mind still preoccupied with Paulson's confession. "Us?"
"You and I." She chuckled softly, a sound guaranteed to secure my attention. "Or should that be you and me, or perhaps even me and you?"
I was sorry to report that after two years of knowing her there still wasn't enough 'us' to warrant one stab at correct grammar, let alone three. "Either way I still don't follow."
She perched on the edge of my desk, the rise of her skirt tempting to the eye. "Just how many times have you been called a bitch?"
"Precisely, too many to count." The way she said it I was beginning to reconsider my taking it as a compliment philosophy. "The same goes for me. Defendants, lawyers, even the odd detective or two." I tried to look innocent. "They've all used the same word."
I saw Elliot wave a farewell from the other side of the squad room, my oft repeated instruction not to interrupt when I'm talking to Alex finally having paid off. I just wish we were talking about something other than people calling me a bitch. "To be fair, I have been called other things."
A smile traced her lips. "I was once called an albino shrew."
"Inventive," I hesitated a second, "and you are kind of pale."
Alex tugged at the hem of her skirt and as an inch of skin disappeared from my view I felt as if I was being punished. "At least you didn't say I was kind of a shrew." She held up a hand as if forbidding me to say any such thing. "How about you? Anything particularly colourful catch your ear?"
A lot of what I'd been called would require me to use language I just don't feel comfortable expressing in front of Alex. It's prudish, I know, but there's something about the cool blonde that makes me conscious of my Ps and Qs. "Just the usual." She looked disappointed. "Much of it a contradiction in terms."
I really didn't want to have a conversation with Alex where the main points of reference were cock sucker and dyke. "In one breath they're calling me a lesbian and in the next suggesting I spend all my free time performing fellatio on my fellow officers."
"I've been called a dyke cock sucker a time or two myself." I tried not to gawp at her language, although why it surprised me I don't know, it's not as if Alex is some kind of shrinking violet. "Dyke maybe, but I haven't sucked cock since college."
That's it, if she was going to keep on talking this way I'd have to leave. It was just too disturb... Did she just say what I thought she just said? "What?"
"A party my senior year," she shuddered, "I swore I'd never drink vodka again."
This conversation was becoming far too surreal. I checked our surroundings, relieved to discover there was no-one within earshot. "Alex is there something you're trying to tell me?"
"No." She paused. "At least there wasn't but seeing the way the conversation has gone this might be as good a time as any." I leant forward, afraid of missing whatever bombshell she was about to drop. "I'm gay." At my lack of response she leant closer. "A lesbian." I think I nodded but I'm not sure. "A dyke?"
I began straightening up. "And..." I scooted even closer. "I've got," she paused a moment and my heart began thumping, "what I supposed you'd call a crush on you."
"No, that's not right." My heart sank. "A crush sounds so juvenile and what I feel for you is anything but childish." She stood, straightening her skirt and looking about the near empty squad room. "A passion, perhaps, or rather a strong desire to take you home and, well, do unspeakably wicked things with your body."
There are times when there isn't enough oxygen in the world. "Okay."
Her look was quizzical. "Okay?"
"Take me home."
Alex has this smile, a sort of cross between smug satisfaction and truly wicked, and that particular smile stayed on her face the entire time it took to hail a cab and reach her apartment. Once we were there the smugness fell away, but that wicked little grin stayed with me long into the night.
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