Author's Note: Back again. With this chapter, I am test driving (piloting?) an idea I had for a story that's a little different in style again from the last few. It takes us all the way back to 2012 and behind the scenes of the Season 13 finale/Season 14 premiere, and possibly further. However, continuing it would require rewatching a lot and establishing a timeline for pretty complex episodes, so we'll see how that works out. Regarding timeline, this first chapter takes place before they actually go after Delia and all hell breaks loose with Cragen, so we are part way through "Rhodium Nights". I'll let you figure out the rest. Let me know what you think! Is it worth continuing, or not so much? I won't bite unless I'm very hungry!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, the Law and Order franchise obviously isn't mine, and I am not deriving any profit from this.

Bad Timing

Olivia had always resented the annoying buzzing of her phone, the little ping that usually indicated she was needed somewhere, because when did she ever get messages that weren't about that? Texts, to her, were bad news. Yes, Elliot and her had done their fair share of off-duty texting about random, stupid things, but that had been before he had gone off and changed everything on her. Since then, there had been an awkward radio silence between them, interrupted only by stilted "happy new years" and "happy birthdays". Maybe it was better this way. Everything else would only make it that much harder, especially when she was finally starting to get…not exactly comfortable, but used to his absence.

So when this started, this thing, she knew instantly that it wasn't a good idea. She should have learned as much from Elliot or, at the very least, from David. The mixture of work and pleasure inevitably led to someone getting hurt, to someone caring more and someone going off, leaving her with just work, and her life could never be about "just work" again. Work was work, and her life was her life, filled with other things like lunches with lawyers, watching sports and going to the gym. She had worked hard to get where she was today. But this thing was a tremendously bad idea for a multitude of other reasons as well. She could already picture being forced to read her text messages out loud in court, the questions they would elicit, making her out to be compromised. She couldn't do this during an ongoing investigation, although he wasn't a suspect. She couldn't possibly. She did.

[Meant what I said. You look good.]

She stared at the display and the unknown number it flashed for a moment. It took her a second to realise that it could only be one person, that this wasn't a "wrong number" sort of situation. [Why thank you. No signature? I can only assume this is Juan from the coffee shop.] What the hell was she doing?

[Don Juan. You know, the stunningly handsome guy with the great ass.] She felt a warmth filling her cheeks, a smile spread on her face. That careless idiot texted in full sentences, even using punctuation, unlike what he had used to do in the early days of text messages. She nestled down into the corner of the sofa, tucking her feet under her body.

[Great? Pretty bony I'd say.]

[Knew you looked. ;) How could you resist]

[P.S.: Time has been kind to you too.]

[Stop, you'll make me blush like a girl.]

It occurred to her that, apart from being mildly unprofessional, this was possibly dangerous if Ganzel kept tabs on his phone. If he got caught at this, he would have to spin some story about playing her. For all she knew, he was, although he wouldn't get very far with that. [Should you be texting me?]

[…she asks on the 4th reply.]

[Cassidy, stop. Is this safe?]

[Relax. Been doing this for a while.]

[Late night texting random women?] She switched the tone back to light-hearted, because what the hell. He had to know what he was doing. It was her own fault for giving him her number for emergencies in the first place, and texting "you're supposed to be undercover, remember?" was clearly the more dangerous option. It didn't hurt to try and get him to cooperate with their investigation.

[It's what I do in this millennium. You an early nighter now?] She could picture his cocky grin, imagine his voice as he posed the question. That didn't help. Since when was crudeness sexy?

[I wish. You still out?]

[Nope. Hoe.]

[Hoe?]

[*Home, damn you autocorrect]

[It's pretty sad that your phone autocorrects to hoe.]

[That's my life.]

[No kidding...] She was instantly reminded of the fact that he had just spent a night in prison. More importantly, he lived in a world where women were disposable goods whose market value determined their existence. It was impossible to reconcile this, the tough act and the "hookers", with the young detective who had once had to step outside a crime scene to throw up.

[What are you up to?]

[This and that, saving the world, baking waffles. The usual. You?]

[The same, what a coincidence! Kind of wish you were here though.]

That had been the start of The Thing, which would continue over the next few nights. She never let the ongoing investigation become their subject of conversation –that much didn't need to be said- and she never allowed the flirting to become explicit to the point where it would embarrass her too bad, couching it in references to past events. They never talked about their lives, not the hard day to day stuff. It was all inside jokes, casual teasing and "what the hell is Rihanna thinking?!".

It was harmless fun, for that brief time. And yet she always ended it with a "stay safe" or something of the sort.

Nick was not a fan of Cassidy. She couldn't blame him, but he was overdoing it in his wrathful judgement, too quick to believe anything the pretty blonde with the big eyes and the vulnerable look told him. "You said it yourself, Ganzel's the up and coming guy in this…business."

"And Cassidy told us as much." She had followed Nick up to the roof, where he had stormed off to after claiming to "need some air" following the case conference they had had. She was watching him pace with her arms crossed. She wanted to talk about this professionally, but she wasn't going to play therapist to his wounded soul. Whatever had been going on with him lately, he hadn't confided in her, and she wasn't about to start questioning the reasons behind his anger now, in the middle of a discussion about witnesses.

"What if Ganzel planted the girl there to pin it on Delia, to take her out once and for all and make room for him?"

"It's possible, but risky. Ganzel's already taking over the market; he had nothing to gain by drawing police attention to himself. Delia, on the other hand-"

"We got no evidence against Delia."

"Cassidy reckons it was her sending a message to Ganzel, and it makes sense, Nick" she emphasized as he turned away from her, shaking his head and leaning against the railing. "It fits the picture of a master manipulator who gets away with it over and over again." The woman had given her the creeps with her bullshit farmer act, her kids, her feeding of orphaned goats. Ganzel was a disgusting pig, but she – what was she? She was intransparent. She was guilty as hell, but unfortunately, a mere gut feeling couldn't be taken as evidence. Actual evidence had a convenient habit of vanishing in her case. "Nobody, and I mean nobody, knows how deep her hooks go." She vividly recalled Cassidy's face at the dead serious warning. For a moment there, he had looked scared. That part had been real.

"Well, he would say that, wouldn't he? It conveniently fits his agenda of being undisturbed in his investigation. If that is even his agenda. He's doing his job, protecting Ganzel."

"He's risking exposure by talking to us."

"What about Carissa? What would she know about the girl's death if Delia were behind it? She's not Delia's girl anymore."

"But that's the question: What does she know? Has she given you anything concrete whatsoever?"

His jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth together, turning around to face her again. "She's scared, with good reason."

They were turning in circles here. This was getting to be a nearly exact repeat of the conversation they had had inside. "Nick" she tried a different, softer approach, "I know you want to help her. But if she's Ganzel's fiancé, don't you think it's much more likely that she is doing exactly what he tells her to?"

"I know that" he snapped, visibly offended. "The question is why bother with me, with all of this, if Ganzel isn't involved."

"Even if he didn't order the murder, it doesn't exactly make him innocent. We need to be careful here. And you have to be careful with her, trust me." She came to lean against the railing beside him, facing the edge of the building. The smell of the rush hour smog hit her nostrils as the traffic underneath had thickened to a clump.

"Trust…have you ever considered that maybe you should be more careful with Cassidy? I know guys like him, Liv, undercover for too long, blurring the lines, losing perspective…at some point, being the guy becomes easier than playing a role."

"You don't know him."

"You don't know him, either! What, you knew him a million years ago so that means you can read his mind now? People change. Being UC for too long changes people. He's not the guy you think you know."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He squared his shoulders, standing up a little taller. "I don't know the story here, Liv, but I think you're inclined to agree with his him because- I think you're not being objective."

"Oh that's rich, coming from you." Screw him, his opinion had "projecting" written all over it. For Nick to accuse her like that was him throwing stones where he really, really had no business doing it. "Are you objective about Carissa?"

"That's not my point!" he shouted, exasperated. "You gotta see that him prioritizing his investigation to a murder case is weird."

"A case he's been working on for three years." She did not want to discuss this with her partner, because she felt like she had lead that discussion in her own head many times. There was nothing new he could add to it. "He's a good cop."

"Maybe he used to be a good cop. Right now, he's a pimp working for Ganzel, possibly working with Ganzel, so just remember that." He gave her a firm look, which she held completely, until he was the first to break eye contact and walk away.

He was right in one respect, as much as she hated to admit it: She didn't know Cassidy. Not this Cassidy. The years had clearly changed him, made him wearier, rougher around the edges, harder in his views. She was inclined to write it off as an act, a shell that protected him in his boyish charm, but that might or might not be true. He could be using that. She didn't want to believe it, but it was a possibility. Just how much did she really see him when she looked at him, when she saw him scouting poledancers at a strip club, assessing their aptitude for an escort service as men leered at them? He was one of these men. He had to be. But then again, hadn't the years changed her, too? Wasn't it to be expected that he had grown more jaded, given the environment he worked in? That didn't necessarily mean he was playing them. He could simply be trying to survive in his environment. Whoever he was, whatever he had done, his sensible worry about his cover being blown was real. She could see that.

It was Munch who staunched the discussion by opening the metal door on them. "Hey, not to interrupt you guys and your personal feud, but we have a case to work here. So if you don't mind, Detectives…"