A Path Not Taken Chapter 1, a law and order fanfic

"A Path Not Taken"

Usual disclaimers apply.

LandOrder Timeline: During Season Two, post "Confession".

oOo

Ever wondered what event/s could have helped evolve Liz Olivet and Mike Logan from doctor/patient in Season Two to the relationship where Logan was so obviously torn up by Liz' rape in Season Three and then his comfort in going to Liz after the cop-shooting in Season Five?

Here's one take on the events…

1991

Chapter One

Days off that coincided with Sunday afternoons were few and far between, so Mike Logan was going to make the best of this one by indulging himself and doing nothing but reading the sports section of the paper and drinking a beer…or two. The blonde he'd seen off his doorstep around noon had left him with a satisfied buzz that he wanted to hang onto for as long as possible.

Even the knock at the door didn't put him on the alert. If it was a new case, or even an urgent lead on their current ones, Phil Cerreta would have called him first. He pushed himself off the sofa and went to the door, mildly interested in who his visitor would be, but hoping it was someone with whom he could gripe about how the Yankees weren't getting their act together this season.

When he opened the door, his caller was the last person in the world he expected.

"Liz!...er, Doctor…Olivet…I wasn't—" He hung onto the door, unconsciously barring her entry.

Logan was as guilty as the next person in compartmentalizing people in his life. Phil Cerreta was a good partner, but he was 'the job', and they rarely socialized together, the differences between unattached bachelor and established family man too great to meet on common ground.

Liz Olivet was, he had to admit, a necessary evil for him. Since Max' death, he'd been ordered by the Department to have regular sessions with her to come to terms with his guilt for not being there for his ex-partner — not being there when Max was shot, nor protecting him from the corruption they had been trying to scourge from the city.

And in his compartmentalized world, Logan went to the shrink, not the other way around. He went to her pristine, impersonal office, because he had to. She didn't belong in his crash pad, his haven from his work.

She hovered on his doorstep, her usual assurance replaced by an unsure bottom lip, raised questing brows and apologetic eyes.

He wasn't helping by not inviting her in.

"Liz'll do fine," she finally said. "May I come in?"

"Yeah…sure," he said, stepping back, quickly checking his apartment. It was far from tidy, littered with sections of the Sunday paper and unfolded but, at least, clean laundry. "Sorry 'bout the mess—"

She stepped past him, her steps skittish. "Don't worry. I have brothers. With their own apartments. They never clean up for me."

Logan shoved a newspaper off the sofa, scattering the pages to the floor. He eyed her razor-edge pleated trousers and cashmere roll-neck sweater. Though out of her professional clothes, she still looked polished and somehow at odds with his apartment.

"I'm not sure—" He swept away possible food crumbs from the cushions, thinking furiously for reasons why she needed to be here.

"I'm sorry, Detective...I'm imposing—" she said as she gracefully lowered herself to the sofa.

"Hey! No problem, an' call me, Mike." He swept out a hand. "After all, you know more about me than I know myself, right?" Logan didn't bother to disguise the bitterness that came with the admission. After lawyers, psychiatrists were the next professionals around whom he was wary.

Liz looked up at him in surprise. "Not really. Our sessions together…are more about you discovering things about yourself, Mike."

"Whatever…" Unsure of why she was here, he had no idea what to do next. He wasn't about to sit down opposite her, mirroring their positions as if he was in session with her. He angled away toward his kitchen. "Can I get you anything?"

"Actually…Mike…I'm hoping I can persuade you to come out…for a drink, or a coffee, whatever. I have…a favor I'd like to ask of you."

A favor? So this wasn't about him and his hang-ups. Relaxing a little, he pointed to his T-shirt and sweats. "Sure, but I'm gonna have to change."

"I can wait."

Casting a puzzled look at her, Logan headed for his bedroom.

As he searched for his jeans, he tried to guess why Liz would want a favor from him. If it was police-business, she probably had any number of contacts higher in the Force then he. He knew of nothing he could offer her. Replacing his sweats with jeans he hadn't managed to rumple yet, he peeled his T-shirt over his head and reached for a shirt.

"Detective…ah, Mike…I've changed my mind—"

Logan swung around and Liz was standing at his bedroom doorway, lips parted, her eyes hovering between his chest and waist.

He paused in buttoning his shirt, surprised by her hesitancy. She seemed to freeze in the doorway. Abandoning his shirt, he walked slowly toward her. "I don't get it—"

Her eyes unlocked from his body and skittered away, but not before he saw the anguish in them. "I made a mistake. I have to leave."

She still hadn't moved.

"I…" He put out a tentative hand to touch her arm. "I don't know what you want. If you don't tell me—"

"What I want?!" She looked wildly at him. "I want…to get you out of my system!" She gritted the words out, her face blazing with self-loathing and hapless hunger. Logan recognized the look even while he didn't trust it coming from someone like Elizabeth Olivet.

She spun from the door and bolted across his living room, wrenching the front door open before he managed to move. As the door slammed, Logan finally found his mobility, walking slowly toward its still quivering surface.

"Shit!"

oOo

to be continued…

I'm exploring this relationship as it correlates with my current and present-day story, Resistance, which is about to get a shot in the arm, I hope.