Invictus
Disclaimer Number 1: All rights and ownership go to Dick Wolf and NBC (lucky bastards).This is not written for fiscal gain. So no sue, k? :
Disclaimer Number 2: This is totally femslash, so beware (because that's how I roll. 3)
A/N: I really can't explain in what style I wrote this (it's nothing like what I normally write), but it is supposed to be somewhat conversational…more like a monologue, I guess you could say. Therefore, most instances of incorrect grammar are intended. I wrote this as it came to me and I actually kind of like the disrupted syntax.
Sometimes, things are truly inevitable. Aging, for instance. Combat it all you want, but toxins and silicone can only take you so far before nature struggles to victory. One day we all become haggard, shriveled shells of our former selves. Death, as well, falls into this category. But there's no need to remind you of that, is there?
In some way I think loving her was unavoidable too. No matter how hard I might have tried to deny or dodge it, somehow I would end up in that same awkward limbo between uncertainty and adulation. Truth be told, she's just as much a part of me as my heart or liver. That I could never deny.
It didn't seem this way at first—oh no, she walked into my life a minor annoyance: that cold, unfeeling ADA. There was no "love at first sight," no sudden attraction. What transpired between Alex Cabot and I is closer to a slow burn than an exceptional explosion. Initially, we were mere acquaintances, forced together through our mutual profession of breaking down criminals and putting them away. We didn't socialize outside of work. I only ever saw her in the precinct or the courthouse.
My admiration for the magnificent woman began at this point, all from the courtroom. Watching her in her natural settings is one of the most wonderful experiences you are likely to have. Her poise, her calm demeanor, her voice—everything about her exuding self-confidence and elegance. Her words are well-chosen and her presence is undeniable, all seeming to fall into place around her. It doesn't hurt that she is painfully sexy in a skirt and blazer.
By the time we became friends, I had managed to quell the uncomfortable stirrings of attraction I felt. I found a way to shut off all my senses from her, to protect myself. Her appearance became blurred, her voice hollow and mechanic, her scent nonexistent, at least to me. It allowed for us to be close. I could sit and listen to her for hours, my desire only a faint buzzing sound. The barriers fell from around us, and I happily welcomed our new-found camaraderie.
It lasted a year or so. But all good things must come to an end, right?
My defense tactic gave way without warning, leaving me open for the kill. It was as though I had fallen asleep warm in my own bed, only to wake up naked on some cold forest floor—entirely bewildering, utterly terrifying.
I'm sure my destruction came from those damned glasses. Alex was always the most beautiful with the black rims perched on her nose, blue eyes smoldering from beneath. It was harder to ignore my longing when she put those things on.
This is how it happened, this is how she—and the glasses—ended all hopes of a platonic friendship: picture the two of us sitting idly on the couch. Both cross-legged we mirror each other. Where she is holding a file in her right hand, I am holding one in my left. Occasionally she asks a probing question, gearing up for my testimony the next day. She's wearing dark blue jeans and a soft grey sweater, blonde hair loose around her face, half hiding her features as she chews on the end of a chopstick. Fried rice is placed precariously in her lap—crappy takeout, of course—but she seems to ignore it as she reads. She makes a small noise, resembling a "hmmm" and I look up in time to see those glasses being slipped on, whether from habit or necessity I do not know. I watch her for a moment, curious, and she looks up at me from under them, from under her thick eyelashes, biting down slightly on her lower lip. All my resolve slips away, replaced with a burning surge of passion we call love.
Nothing could be the same from then on. I could hardly bear to hear her name and the sight of Alex Cabot's beautiful self was just too much for this poor old detective. So, naturally, I avoided her--as though the Anti-Christ would pop out from the ground if I so much as laid eyes on her.
It proved more difficult than I expected, but I often managed to scrounge up an excuse to steer clear of her. Elliot was my savior then. Although he didn't understand the reason, he happily got our warrants and kept her updated. In those few months, I often imagined him in shining silver armor, ushering the dazzling Princess Alex away from the snarling, dangerous OliviaDragon.
However, Alex could not see what was being done for her own good. If she were really a princess, the three blind mice could have found a way to kill her. But she missed me, and she hated that I had all but phased her from my life. She decided if I wouldn't talk to her, she'd have to force me.
So she did. Let me tell you, there are few things more horrifying than coming home to your empty, dark apartment only to be tackled to the ground by a blonde flash. She pinned me down until I ruefully agreed to speak with her. Alex turned on the light and the attacks started. The normally eloquent attorney was flustered and angry, and with amusement I watched her pace back and forth in front of my front door (blocking my escape route, she later explained). Having been Alex deprived for so long, all I could focus on was how particularly adorable that shade of pink was across her cheeks.
I did not hide my thoughts well (it must have been the goofy smile I had plastered on my face) because she erupted, "What in the hell are you staring at?"
"You," I sighed. My months of self-sacrifice and torture had obviously made my mind weak.
"God, you're irritating," she responded with a grin. Shockwaves went rolling down my spine and my stomach did a gymnastic routine worthy of the gold.
She took a step forward, and my world crumbled away, she pressed her perfect red lips to mine and I swear my headn exploded off of my body. I sighed contentedly into her mouth, my eyes fluttered shut.
I was sold. From that point on she couldn't have scared me off if she pointed a shotgun to my temple.
The best part of all was that she had no desire to….scare me off, I mean. All she wanted from me was all I wanted from her: this inevitable love finally fulfilled.
Now, I would tell you about the rest of that sensational night, I'd even get down to the nitty gritty details, but unfortunately for you, I hear a certain blonde ADA calling my name.