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Job Security
By Del

I hate my job.

Olivia reviewed the witness statement again, deciding whether to insert a note into the timetable that she'd spent the last hour painstakingly reconstructing. 1:42 a.m.--neighbor hears noise. Maybe. Sort of. It might have come from across the street. Or, come to think of it, it might have been the TV.

When the phone on her desk rang, Olivia was still puzzling over the interview notes and didn't think to wonder why someone would be calling her at that time of night. "Benson."

"Detective Benson!" SVU's new ADA sounded surprised or relieved, or a little of both. "I'm glad you're there."

That makes one of us. "What's up?" Olivia asked tiredly.

"Oh . . . well . . . Are you working on something?"

No. I stayed when everyone else went home because this chair's so comfortable. "What's up?" she repeated, dodging the question.

"Well, actually . . . ." Come on, Cabot, spit it out. "I feel rather foolish now."

That was a switch. Ms. Arrogance admitting to human frailty?

"The reason being . . . ?" Olivia prompted.

"Well . . ." Just as Olivia thought she would have to prod her again, Cabot laughed self-consciously. "I'm over here working on the Hammond motion, and I saw a couple of men on the floor that I don't recognize."

There was more to it than that, Olivia could tell. Cabot had seen a couple of men that she didn't recognize and, more importantly, that didn't seem to belong there. "Did you call security?" she asked.

"No answer."

Olivia glanced at her watch. 12:06 p.m. Of course there was no answer. Security officer Fred Lambert was, at this very moment, approximately one block down the street at Lili's cafe, seated on the third stool from the right enjoying his caffeine fix. Correction -- his cup of Joe, as he still insisted on calling it. That's where the man had spent the midnight hour, six nights a week, for the past dozen or so years, and budget cuts had put an end to rumblings a few years ago about adding a second guard to the graveyard shift. No one worked that late on a regular basis, the reasoning went. That was before Alexandra Cabot.

"Any chance they're with the cleaning crew?"

"They left almost three hours ago," Cabot replied.

"Anyone in trial tomorrow?"

"All the offices are dark. I'm the only attorney here."

God, we're pathetic, the only detective in SVU's squadroom thought fleetingly. "Are they still there?"

"Hold on." A vague shuffling came across the line, and then silence. Olivia became increasingly restless as thirty seconds passed, and then a minute, until Alex suddenly came back on. "I went down there," she said. "I can still hear them."

"You went down there?" Olivia practically shouted.

"You asked if they're still here," Cabot replied defensively. "They are."

Don't yell at the ADA. Don't yell at the ADA. "Stay where you are and don't do anything to attract attention," Olivia instructed. "I'm coming. Does your office have a lock?"

"You don't have to come down here," Cabot said. "I just wondered what you thought I should do. This is more your area of expertise."

"I think you should stay put and wait for me." Keeping the receiver to her ear, Olivia managed to reach behind her with the other hand for her purse.

The attorney sounded a little embarrassed. "I'm sure I'm just being paranoid," she said.

Probably, but what was an hour out of her day to score some points with the new ADA? Olivia wasn't really worried. How would unauthorized personnel even get in? The security code was changed every two weeks. Then again, was it a coincidence that they were there between midnight and 1:00 o'clock?

"Stay put," she said.

Her watch said it had been just over ten minutes when Detective Benson typed in the last of the six-digit security code. Hearing a quiet click, she pulled open the side door, stopping to unsnap the holster on her gun. Just in case.

She skipped the elevator -- the telltale "ping" when it reached Alex's floor might as well be a bullhorn -- and took the east stairs two at a time. At the third floor, she tapped on the keypad again and opened the door a few inches.

Nothing. From there, though, she couldn't see Alex's office. Olivia eased out of the stairwell, holding the door carefully as it slid shut. Even with Cabot less than a month into the job, Olivia knew the path well: down the short hallway, round the corner, first door on the left. Sometimes it felt as though she spent as much time in Cabot's office as in her own squad room. She had to admit, though, that sometimes it was nice to talk to another woman. Cabot was actually kind of interesting, when they weren't arguing. Kind of . . . exotic. Beautiful.

Chiding herself for wasting time, Olivia stealthily made her way to the attorney's office and rapped against the glass with a fingernail.

The door instantly swung open, and Olivia knew that she'd made the right decision. The woman who until this moment Olivia had believed to be unflappable was uncomfortable. Nervous. There would be no teasing of the ADA when this turned out to be a false alarm, Olivia decided.

"Where are they?" she whispered.

"The last I saw, they were in the main copy room."

"The what?"

"The main copy room," Cabot repeated, studying Olivia's face for signs of recognition. "By the break room." She stepped into the hallway. "I'll show you."

Olivia held out a hand. "I'll find it."

"Don't be ridiculous," Cabot hissed. "You'll get lost."

The third floor of the District Attorney's office building was hardly a labyrinth, Olivia started to say, but to her surprise, the blonde reached a hand out to her shoulder. Now she saw what Cabot was doing: taking off her high-heeled shoes, all the better to sneak up on phantom intruders.

Padding down the hall in stocking feet, Cabot gestured to her to follow. "This way."

With only a slight amount of force, Olivia had assumed the lead by the time the pair eased around the first corner and turned right. This area must be for internal use only, she surmised; not that the other halls would make the cover of House Beautiful, but at least they were kept up somewhat.

From behind, she could feel Cabot pressing against her, and she turned slightly to press an index finger across her lips.

Cabot nodded, but a moment later, Olivia felt the blonde's hand come to rest on her forearm.

And slowly began to stroke it.

Wha--? Focus, Benson. The attorney was obviously frightened. No big surprise there, considering that the biggest risk she normally faced was that Petrovksy might launch a sarcastic quip at her.

"This is exciting," Cabot whispered into her ear. Her fingers trailed up and down Olivia's arm.

No question about that. She watched as long, delicate fingers brushed--oh, hell. "Stay here," Olivia directed.

Before she could take a step, though, an arm curled around her waist, and then -- was she imagining things? -- Alex moved impossibly closer. "Be careful," she said. She pressed herself against Olivia's back.

After that memorable sendoff, Olivia almost hoped she would find an intruder. She was suddenly feeling a little wired herself.

A quick peek into the break room revealed nothing, and she turned to give Alex a reassuring signal. Next up was the copy room.

The first thing she noticed was half a dozen stacks of rolled coins and a pile of currency on the counter. The next was two men in dark clothing, grunting in frustration as they tried to pry open a petty cash box.

Holy Shit! Olivia drew her gun. "Hold it right there!" she shouted.

A stapler bounced off her forehead.

"Ow!" she said. "You fuckers!"

OK, so they weren't intimidated by the gun, and she wasn't going to shoot someone for a little B & E. Time to work off a little excess energy . . . .

She lifted one eyelid on the asswipe lying sprawled across the copier. Down for the count, apparently. Still, wouldn't hurt to check. Pressing his face down on the glass, she jabbed at the green square that activated the mechanism. Nope, no flinch. A sheet of paper popped out onto the tray, and she reached for it. This thing made pretty good copies.

She let him slump to the ground and walked over to the recycle bin, peering down into it. Asswipe number two, handcuffs snugly encasing his wrists, was also out of commission.

Too bad she only had the one pair of cuffs. What she needed now was--


She whirled around. Just Cabot, she realized, willing herself to calm down. Olivia was impressed, actually; it took some guts for the attorney to venture down here.

"Oh, thank God," Cabot said. "I heard . . . ." She seemed to lose her train of thought as her attention was drawn to two still forms.

"Don't suppose you've got any cuffs," Olivia asked. She wasn't surprised when Alex shook her head. "Rope?" Another negative. No problem; she was in a creative mood, anyway. Ah -- that fax machine had an awfully long cord . . . .

"I called 911," Alex said while Olivia busied herself with the first suspect. "When the noise started." She stepped closer. "Although you obviously didn't need any help."

Warmed by the attorney's newfound confidence in her, Olivia got to her feet.

"It was pretty remarkable," Cabot said. She raked her eyes over Olivia's body, a move so blatant that it could not be misinterpreted. "You're pretty remarkable." And then she was there, standing directly in front of Olivia, a hand on her waist. "Very remarkable."

Whoa . . . .

No sound passed from the stunned brunette's lips. No motion was generated by her limbs. No resistance was offered when Alex pressed her mouth against hers, pressed her breasts against hers, pressed a thigh between hers . . . .

Olivia could hear nothing but Alex's breath in her ear and moaning that grew louder and more urgent along with the ADA's motions. Instinctively, Olivia flexed her thigh and pressed a hand against Alex's hips.

"Oh, God!" Alex groaned. "Oh, God . . . ahhh. . . " She slammed her face into Olivia's neck, clinging to her as she slowly came back down to earth.

After a long moment, Alex leaned back, fastening clear blue eyes on Olivia's. Whatever she was going to say, though, would have to wait. The cavalry was here, their arrival punctuated by panicked shouts and footsteps. She should probably yell out their location, Olivia knew, but she'd take those extra few seconds with the woman in her arms instead.

"I owe you one," Alex said softly.

Yes, she did, and Olivia had been mere seconds away from collecting on it when the boys in blue rushed in to save the day, damn it.

"Just doing my job, ma'am," she replied with a smirk.

"Well, now that I've seen you in action, I feel I have a much better understanding of your job."

God, that tone . . . . "I'll bet you do," Olivia said. She reluctantly broke their embrace. "Rather . . . stimulating, isn't it?"


Hmm . . . . "Have I ever told you about the time we got into a firefight with drug dealers out in the Bronx?"

Alex's eyes lit up. "No," she murmured, curling an arm through Olivia's as they stepped out of the room. "I'd love to hear about that . . . ."

I love my job.

The End

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