DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: Trial By Jury and all characters are property of NBC and Dick Wolf.
SERIES/SEQUEL: This is the third story of an ongoing series featuring Serena Southerlyn and Tracey Kibre, following Between Bombay and Manhattan and Monday, Monday. This one is from Tracey's perspective.
FANDOMS/PAIRING: Law and Order: Trial by Jury/Law and Order   Tracey Kibre/Serena Southerlyn
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Friday, I'm in Love
(Part Three)

By Fewthistle


The restaurant was dimly lit. The only illumination came from conical shaped fixtures that lined the walls, their deep cobalt shades casting the room awash in a bluish glow. One wall was covered with clear Plexiglas, down which cascading rivulets of water streamed, captured finally in a wide pool of water through which koi slipped like brilliant flashes of gold and orange. The tables were few, isolated and remote from each other. Expensive. Very expensive.

Tracey felt as if she were sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Any minute now she expected to glance sideways and see school of fish or the enormous bulk of a whale sail by the table. She had never been here before. It wasn't really her sort of place. Too nouveau, and way too pricy. After all, she was a mere public servant. Glancing at the menu, sans prices, she chuckled to herself. "If you have to ask, you can't afford it," she thought.

Sort of like her dinner companion. Tracey suggested on that first night together that the blonde goddess seated across from her was expensive. She just hadn't realized how true her statement was, or what the cost to her personal citadel would be.

It had been two months now, two months that she had been sleeping with Serena Southerlyn. "Sleeping with". Humph. There was no sleeping involved. It was fucking, plain and simple. There was an occasional dinner, as tonight. Even a lunch or two when they thought that no one was paying attention. But mainly, there was just sex.

Tracey hated euphemisms. They reeked of deception, of meandering around the truth, and Tracey held the truth in too high esteem to do it the disservice of verbal subterfuge. She was fucking Serena. Or at least that was how it had begun.

Now, sitting her in the cobalt glow of the lamps, a light that turned Serena's eyes to the deepest of sapphires, Tracey wasn't sure what this was anymore. And that disturbed her more than she was comfortable admitting, even to herself.

"What the hell am I doing here?" Tracey asked herself for what must be the hundredth time since she had first slipped stealthily out of Serena's bed into the indistinct gray murk of dawn. "Bad idea. Very bad idea."

And yet, she kept going back. Back to Serena's apartment, back to Serena's bed. Somehow, somewhere between morning's firm denial and midnight's last surrender, she found herself getting lost again, lost in the scent of Serena's perfume, in the feel of silken skin under her fingers, in the glacial depths of those blue eyes. Lost in the knowledge that this woman, this beautiful construction of skin and bones and eyes and hair, this priceless work of the artisan's hand, was hers to possess.

Tracey would never have gotten to where she was, never risen to head her own division in a world run by men if there wasn't some part of her, a part hidden behind the protestations of women's' rights, and help for those less fortunate, that loved power. Unlike most of her male counterparts, she was aware of it, used it wisely, controlled its baser impulses. With a few glaring exceptions, of course. And Serena was definitely an exception.

There was a power in her complete capitulation, in the breathless need in her voice, begging for release, blonde hair spilled across the pillow, back arched, honey skin glistening with sweat, that Tracey had never before experienced and it was something that she was unwilling, or unable to give up. Feeling Serena's body under hers, hearing her cry out as an orgasm stripped away the last of her self-restraint, was as intoxicating and addicting as a needle full of heroin into her veins.

So here she sat, asking herself again why she was here.

"You didn't have to come, you know? You could have said no," Serena said quietly, her gaze speculative as she watched the obvious struggle going on behind the espresso eyes of her companion.

"Are you kidding? You're paying. I'd never get to eat here on my own. Did you think that I would pass up the chance to dine at one of the best restaurants in the city?" Tracey answered nonchalantly, her eyes roving the menu before glancing up at Serena with a smile.

"Is that the only reason you came?" Serena asked, her need to know apparent, even as she tried to disguise it with a smile and an arched eyebrow.

"Is it important?" Tracey's voice held the same impersonal tone she used on a witness, her eyes merely casually curious.

"Look, Tracey. I know you aren't in love with me. I never expected you to be. Hell, maybe I never even wanted it. And I know that aside from the law, we probably don't have all that much in common. I just thought that it might be nice if we could be friends," Serena stated softly, her eyes dropping to stare at the reflection of the lights in her wine glass.

"Friends with overnight privileges?" Tracey countered lightly.

"Forget it. It's not important," Serena replied dismissively, "What are you going to have?"

"Probably the lamb. Why isn't it important?"

"Obviously it isn't to you, so let's just drop it, okay?" Serena said, slightly sadly.

"Okay," Tracey responded gently. "But just for the record, Counselor, you're right. I'm not in love with you." Despite herself, Tracey couldn't help but feel a little bad as she watched Serena flinch at the matter-of-fact words.

"I don't even know you well enough to be sure that I like you. I do like having sex with you. Really amazing sex, I might add. I like sitting in a staff meeting and watching all those male, junior ADA's look at you out of the corners of their eyes, or stare openly, knowing that they want you and they can't have you. And knowing that I can.

"That I'm the one that gets to feel how soft your lips are. That I am the one that gets to undress you, to touch you anywhere that I want to. That it is my name that you scream as you come. I never thought that it would be like this. I thought that it would be a one time thing, that I would try it and move on, but I haven't. I'm not sure that I want to, at least for right now.

"And for what it's worth, I think that I might like to get to know you, to see if I do like you. Is that enough for you?" Tracey finished slowly, her eyes never leaving Serena's face.

"God, you really don't pull any punches, do you?" Serena asked, her expression a little wounded and more than a little awed.


Serena sat for a moment, clearly contemplating all that Tracey had just said. Behind them, the crystal sound of falling water interwove with the rhythm of her thoughts. Tracey watched the emotions flit across that gorgeous face, realizing that in answering Serena's question, she had answered her own as to why she was here. Maybe she had known all along.

Finally, Serena looked up, her eyes now nearly black in their depths. A slight smile just touched the corners of her mouth, enhancing the tiny dimples at each corner.

"What if, at the end of this getting to know each other experiment, you decide that you don't like me after all? Does that mean that we have to stop the sex part?"

Tracey couldn't help the short bark of laughter that issued forth from her throat. The girl had definite promise.

"Let's just cross that particular bridge when we get to it, shall we?" Tracey laughed.

The End

Sequel Hope Alone

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