DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and all characters are property of NBC and Dick Wolf.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was written in response to a soap/badfic challenge on livejournal...so this time I don't have to be ashamed of the corniness.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

By ralst

Olivia flounced her way past Elliot, tears streaming from her perfectly eyeliner'd face as she slumped dramatically into her swivel chair.

"Don't tell me," he said, before turning towards an unseen observer and flashing a minty fresh smile, "Dunkin Donouts has been bought out by Casey's megalomaniac ex-lover in an attempt to woo her back, and until that happens he's refusing to provide the boys in blue with their daily sustenance?"

Plucking a snow white handkerchief from her purse, Olivia dabbed at her eyes before replying. "No."

Eilliot looked round the empty squad room. "I've got it! Munch's second ex-wife has discovered their divorce was never finalised and has taken Fin hostage until John coughs up child support for her phenomenally gifted, five year old, cello playing, nuclear physicist daughter?" He sucked in a lung full of air, smoothing a hand through his perfectly gelled hair in the process. "Is that it?"

"No," Olivia's voice dripped scorn, "everyone knows it's his third ex-wife with the genius daughter, and she's just married Prince Klaus Von Pruitt of New Jersey."

"Did..." his voice broke "did Kathy mention the cottage cream and handcuffs?"

"No." Olivia's hand stopped in mid-air, the telephone call she'd been about to make forgotten. "Cottage cream?"

"Never mind." Standing abruptly, Elliot rushed for the exit, a half-hearted "buck up 'Liv" his only comment before he was broadsided by a tall figure in a trench coat and wrap around shades. "Sorry."

The stranger wrinkled her nose, the faint smell of curdled milk tickling her senses.

Olivia took out her compact, a few artless dabs masking any sign of tears, and enabling her to greet the newcomer with decorum. "May I help you?"

"It's me," hissed the stranger, before whipping off her shades to reveal two bright blue eyes, "Alex."

"Alex?" Olivia looked confused. "Petrovsky's daughter, who ran off with a bongo player in ninety-four and was thought dead in a freak pedalo accident off the coast of Antarctica following the assassination attempt?"

"No," Alex drawled, as she began undoing her trench coat.

"Alex the Parisian monkey trainer?"

"You're not even close." Alex dropped her coat to the floor, revealing the midnight blue power suit of death beneath.

"Alex!" Olivia flung herself at the other woman. "Oh how I've missed you!"

"Oh, darling, it feels like an eternity since I've held you in my arms," Alex's lips descended towards Olivia's, a violin concerto seeping from the very walls around them.


The desperately clinched couple spared the fuming redhead a brief look. "Anyone you know?" Alex asked.

Olivia's brow furrowed. "Her lurch does look kind of familiar."

"Olivia!" Casey stamped her foot. She'd turned down the richest man in Manhattan for a chance with the detective, only to find her in the fevered embrace of another woman. She pulled out a two shot lady's special from her purse. "If I can't have you, no one will!"

The pop the tiny gun made as it went off was followed by a scream of histrionic proportions from Cragan's office. The man himself appearing seconds later with watery eyes, an undone fly and a woman by the name of Crystal DoWhatever. "Casey! I've told you about firing that thing in here."

"Sorry, step-daddy."

Cragan grunted a reply and dragged Crystal back into his office, his trousers falling to half mast before he could close the door.

Pushing herself away from Olivia, Alex reached for her briefcase and extracted her ultimate weapon, the glasses of truth, justice and naughty thoughts. "Leave now or I'll tell the whole department that you slept your way to the top."

Olivia chuckled.

"I...I would never!" Casey gasped.


With a stamp of her foot Casey turned around and marched out of the room.

Having dismissed Casey from her thoughts, Olivia turned her attention and her body towards Alex. "Sweetie," she purred, running her fingers up and down Alex's back, "how can you be here with that scum sucking excuse for excrement Valez still on the loose?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Alex pulled out a polariod of two men sipping cocktails in some exotic location. "I spoke to my father last week and apparently he met Valez at a Spa break in Aspen last Fall and they moved into Caesar's beach house in Key West two weeks later."

"Your dad and Valez?"

"Yes, although Caesar's asked that I call him Papa."

"Cool." Taking Alex in her arms, Olivia decided that her broken nail wouldn't ruin her day after all.

The End

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