Headlines and Deadlines

AN: Okay first off, I know you will all hate me but I am taking a break on Tame… Please put down your pitchforks and torches. I just need a break with the really sexual stories. I really haven't wanted to write this Newspaper one and prove I am not just a porn writer but a serious author. I will return to Tame at some point, I promise.

*Reposting after I caught some spelling errors and tried to make things more clear.

I own this original story and plot, but not the SVU characters that Dick Wolf owns.

Chapter 1

The sound of machinery echoed off the steel and concrete walls of the original Sentinel printing press floor. The original presses were long ago retired, either sold to other companies, in storage, or thrown out. Newer models replaced the old ones as the years went by, but the standard practice of replacement had been discontinued when it was deemed not cost effective by the bureaucrats upstairs. The smell of machine oil, rusting steel, fresh cut paper, and paint inks created a unique aroma that also was slowly becoming a remnant of the past. Soon to be forgotten by the world.

Old arthritic fingers stained black and covered with a multitude of paper cuts set the print face for the next issue. The deadline had passed the point of no return as the last bit of preparation was finished. With a press of the start button, the rollers came to life and the Thursday edition of this week's Sentinel was officially printed.

Donald Cragen had worked all his life for The Sentinel. From paper boy at age eight, to inker in his teens, to print setting and fixing machines through his early adulthood. Then finally, Manager of the printing presses at midlife. Sadly, newspapers had joined the endangered species list and budget cuts had been made. Former friends and colleagues had been laid off and now though still technically 'Head of the Press,' Donald Cragen was back doing past jobs as well as his managerial ones. Sixty years of hard work and experience had taken its toll on this old man and retirement was just a few days away. Maybe for the best. Donald's heart was broken as he saw that like himself, newspapers have had their time and were now considered obsolete. Though technically not obsolete, Cragen felt deep down that is what he was now. Like the presses, he was too old and not cost effective.

"I love that smell." A voice behind Donald admitted.

"Jesus, Joseph, and Mary…" Cragen grabbed his chest and spun around. "Alexandra, how many times have I told you to stop sneaking up behind me?"

"About as many times that I have told you to call me Alex," Alex Cabot teased.

"And that sound…" The young woman continued.

Her blue eyes took in the presses around her before closing them to then enjoy the sound of the machines at work. She took a deep breath, let it out with a sigh and opened her eyes. A sad smile came to her face as her gaze landed on the sweet old man in front of her.

Cragen chortled, "I swear Alexandra my dear you were born in the wrong era. You have an old soul just like me. You are the only other person I know that doesn't own a cell phone and has ink in their blood."

"You mean those cancer causing tracking devices?" The blonde woman walked toward the older man.

"Sounds like you spend too much time around John," Cragen joked.

"Hey he has some valid points. Not about the alien and big foot stuff," Alex murmured under her breath. "But look at all the increased diagnosis of brain tumors, men's sperm production is at an all-time low from the radiation of cell phones when kept in their pockets, and women who for some god forsaken reason keep their cell phones in their bras, end up developing breast cancer. And that's another thing, who uses their bra as a purse alternative?"

"Okay, okay, Munch Junior. No need to go on and on about your conspiracy theories," Don pulled Alex into a hug being careful not to get ink on the young woman's light brown pant suit.

"It's not a theory when there are facts." Alex corrected as she kissed the old man's cheek.

"I swear you went into the wrong profession, you should have been a lawyer with how you argue and always have to be right." Cragen pulled back and smiled at the girl he considered a daughter.

"I don't HAVE to be right, I just always am." The confident blonde smirked.

After an exaggerated mock sigh Don inquired, "So what are you doing down her this late anyway, not that I do not appreciate your company. Ever since the layoffs it gets really lonely here at night."

"I wanted to see you Don," Alex confessed. "I'm worried about you."

"Worried?" Cragen ushered Alex to a pair of chairs near a quieter part of the rusting building. "Alex, I am not running off to a retirement community to romance the old widows in Florida. I am just down the street. I could never leave my family. Just promise me that you'll come keep me company when you find the time between your crusade for justice and truth."

Alex sat on the chair across from Donald and crossed her legs. Ever since her father died this old man had taken her as his own. He was the sweetest, kindest, most honest person she been around. Don was the kind of guy that would put his arm around you and tell you we will get through this together, but would not sugar coat the truth just to protect you from being hurt. He would tell you as it is, but in a kind thoughtful voice. Unlike her boss.

"I am so sorry I have missed our last few dinner dates, it's just…"Alex trailed off in apology. She took his hand into hers.

"Hey, if anyone else understands hard work, it's the old man." Don Cragen pointed with his free hand to himself smiling.

Like the ink marks his hand had left on her small delicate palm, so had the sweet man left his mark on Alex's heart. She knew the pain Donald was going through at being forced into retirement. After his wife's death he would just go to his small home full of memories and little else. Alex was scared to death how Don would handle not working. He rarely, if ever, took a day off and all his old work buddies had moved on or sadly, passed on since their departure from the Sentinel.

"I will always make time for you Poppy," The young woman promised with a tear in her eye.

"Thank you princess," Cragen squeezed her hand.

"You know I hate that nickname," Alex groaned.

"Well, like it or not you will always be my princess," Don reiterated.

Alex blushed but the emotional moment between the two was shattered when the office phone rang.

"Excuse me," Cragen rose with a moan and knees creaking.

The young woman watched the old man enter the office and pick up the phone. She observed as he spoke into the receiver knowing full well who was on the other end of the conversation. Alex looked at her hand covered in the ink finger prints of the printing Manager and smiled to herself. She was drawn from her thoughts and luckily before the tears escaped her blue eyes, when Don sat back in the chair laughing softly.

"Well, that explains why you are down here. Hiding from Liz." Cragen smiled a toothy grin.

Alex rolled her eyes.

"She won't stop bitching and chewing me out about my deadline." She huffed.

"That's her job Alex," Cragen needled.

"I know, but she doesn't have to hound me to death every minute of the day." Alex rose from the old battered chair.

"Going to go face the judge?" Cragen asked referring to Elizabeth Donnelly's nickname.

"I call her the executioner," Alex mumbled before grabbing her satchel and kissing Donald's cheek. "I will call you tonight, k?"

"Looking forward to it." The older man kissed her cheek back.

Alex clicked away on her heeled shoes whistling Frédéric Chopin's funeral march.

'Maybe I should have warned her beforehand that Liz was not just wanting an update on the article, but that Alex is getting a new partner as well.' Cragen laughed to himself as he already imagined what tonight's entertaining phone conversation would be about.

The usually bustling newsroom was eerily quiet. No surprise with it being passed work hours, let alone there only handful of reporters that were left after the 'great purge' in effort to save the paper money. Empty desks outnumbered the occupied. A few lone scattered lights from modems blinked like stars in the vast dark space. At the northeast corner of The Sentinel, the Editor's office glowed bright. It was a beacon of light fighting against the oncoming blackness that threatened to extinguish the dying flame of the Sentinel.

Alex hated the bullpen now. The nickname referenced comradery, action, energy, and even a certain chaotic whirlwind of activity toward a common goal. A beehive with each worker contributing to the betterment of the hive. But now just like neighborhood sandlots and playgrounds across the country, the newsroom floor was unkempt, worn down, and uncared for. Video games and computers replaced scrapped knees and dirt under your fingernails, while cell phones and chat rooms decayed the art of conversation and face to face interactions. Cost overruled experience, and technological advancement exterminated time tested proven methods that now were considered outdated. Alex swore she could walk around bare naked in a room full of people confident that not a one would notice nor even cast a glance at her due to the hypnotic glow of a smart phone or laptop.

Alex looked toward her desk. A desk that was used by her father and grandfather before her. It was an eye sore and a stark contrast to the newer models surrounding it. But the young blonde rebel refused to conform. The wood was chipped and the rain would cause the oak to swell making the drawers stick and refuse to open without a fight. Pen and pencil indentations decorated the tabletop. Alex's favorite activity was to run her finger tips against those imprints. Her dad and grandfather made those etchings in the wood by pressing to hard in their excitement or frustration as they wrote down leads and ideas on to thin of paper. They were a physical reminder of her bloodline and the legacy they left as journalists. They told the story of how the Cabot name became known for integrity, honesty, and devotion to the public it served. No, she would never upgrade to a new cold assembly line desk. Her pencil markings had joined her family legacy and now she was part of the Cabot ancestry. The oaken desk was their family tree. It was the story of the Cabot family and she would die before giving it up.

Alex made her way toward Elizabeth Donnelly's office. The older journalist had devoted her life to the paper her family helped create. Unlike her former partner Alex's father Johnathan, she never married. A family to Elizabeth was an anchor that weighed your career down. The Donnelly family seemed to have politics and ambition running in their blood, while the Cabot family had ink in theirs. They played 'The Game' so to speak, and no one was better than Elizabeth Donnelly.

When Harold Thomas Cabot, Alex's great grandfather first started the Sentinel he needed capital to get it up and running. It was financed largely be the Donnelly's. They along with a few other donors had helped start the newspaper, but now all that was left was the Cabot's and Donnelly's.

Though Harold was the original CEO of The Sentinel, his son Benjamin Franklin Cabot in defiance of his father refused to take over as head of the paper. He preferred to be 'A Seeker of Truth,' then be a business man playing politics. Johnathan Locke Cabot followed his father's footsteps and dedicated his life to become exactly what the newspaper claimed to be, a Sentinel. He risked his family's name, his own life, and even burned numerous political bridges his grandfather had spent years building in the mission to uncover and report the truth with integrity to the people.

The Donnelly family gladly took over the CEO's responsibilities at The Sentinel. Liz's grandfather and father had spent much of their fortune buying the shares from the other investors, until they became the majority owners. Alex's grandfather Benjamin told her as a child that his father was 'rolling in his grave that the Cabot family was outfoxed by those damned Donnelly's.'

Benjamin and his son Johnathan could care less. Unlike the Donnelly's they spread their wealth around in numerous investments and made a comfortable nest egg for their future bloodline to use and help grow. No hard feelings and grudges were ever felt between the sons and daughters of Harold Cabot and Lewis Donnelly. And Liz was very close to Johnathan. Rumors swirled about the two for years, but nothing was ever proven.

Alex looked up to Elizabeth Donnelly. When her mother died of cancer when she was just a child, Liz became the only female figure in her life. Alex suspected as she grew that her father and Liz were more than friends and colleagues, but she didn't let that sour the relationship she had with the older blonde. Alex idolized her father and she greatly admired Elizabeth. Neither pushed Alexandra to pursue the 'family business,' but ink was in her blood.

Alex had the time of her life growing up at The Sentinel. She loved everything about it, and when she started college the young ambitious blonde studied law and journalism. Alex had been inspired by the film All the President's Men and how Woodward and Bernstein helped tell the world the truth of corruption and greed at the highest seat of power. Alex dreamed of accomplishing something similar in her life. Something so grandiose and important that she would be included in the same company when people spoke of the names of the great journalists in history. But then came the day everything change, Johnathan Cabot had been found dead in a seedy motel at the edge of the city.

She buried the loss of her father into the back dark recesses of her mind. It was too painful even to this day to think about her father's death. At the time the local police looked into it but they deemed it a cut and dry meeting gone wrong that led to a homicide. They looked through his notes and talked with the editor at the time, Elizabeth's father, about what story he was working on but nothing came up. It was an exposé on thegrowing popularity of the internet and the risks it presented to the uneducated and the common layman. All leads and sources were checked out and alibis were confirmed. The trouble with decoding her father's notes were that each reporter had their own short hand. A language of their own to save time while writing notes quickly, and for some reason Johnathan used a complex code that no one seemed to be able to crack. Could it contain the identity of his killer he was meeting? Or was it a simple grocery list? Alex had poured over the notes until her mind and heart ached. The young woman developed an addiction that threatened to derail her future. She almost dropped out of college before Elizabeth and Donald both kicked some sense into her. They reminded her that her father would rather she move on with her life and achieve her dreams then drown in the abyss investigating his death or concede to the growing anger and depression. So Johnathan's daughter packed up his notes, and honored his memory by following in her family's business.

The door to Donnelly's office was closed. A placard read 'CEO and Head Editor Elizabeth Donnelly' and another placard underneath it read 'Knock before entering or else… especially Alexandra Cabot.' Alex smiled reading the warning. Without even a pause or second thought the smug journalist barged right in. The frazzled and now annoyed editor look up past the rims of her glasses that rested on the edge of her nose that threatened to slide off onto a loose stack of submitted articles from her staff of remaining reporters.

"You summoned me, your Honor?" Alex dramatically entered and curtsied.

"Your Honor?" A feminine but strong voice interrupted the blonde's attempt of getting under Donnelly's skin.

Alex turned her head toward the questioning woman. She did not recognize the short haired brunette that sat in the chair directly in front of Elizabeth's desk. The striking woman's brow was furrowed with confusion.

"Ignore Miss Cabot, Miss Benson," Liz's tone had a firm tension laced with frustration and annoyance. "It's a stupid nickname the staff gave me."

The now identified woman was still quite perplexed at why Elizabeth Donnelly had earned this nickname. It was a natural curiosity that Olivia Benson had since birth it seemed. It drove her mother nuts. If she took her eye of the adventurous child for even just a moment, the precocious little girl would crawl off to explore the world around her. Olivia had given her mother early grey hairs by disappearing on her, only to be found covered in filth and scraps, and once reeking from the spray of a startled skunk. This curiosity fueled Olivia into being an excellent yet wild student, to a dare devil thrill seeking on scene journalist.

"May I ask why?" Olivia questioned.

"It's because when she's pissed, she bangs her fist against the table like a judge with a gavel. The staff got her one for Christmas one year, but she refuses to use it." Alex smirked. "I on the other hand, got her a cigar cutter shaped like a guillotine."

Olivia had the answer now to the 'Your Honor' nickname, but now the guillotine brought a plethora of new questions to her mind.

"Before you ask. It's because unlike the rest of the staff whom call her Judge Donnelly," Alex put an over the top flare to the end of the sentence. "To me, she is Judge, Jury, and Executioner."

"Now that I will agree with." Liz's lips upturned slightly.

'What the hell did I get myself into?' Olivia thought to herself.

"Alex Cabot, Olivia Benson," The older blonde introduced the young pair. "Olivia Benson, Alex Cabot. I've just hired Olivia to be our newest journalist."

"Call me Liv," Olivia rose from the seat with a smile.

The brunette extended her hand out in greeting, but was promptly ignored as Alex strode past fury in her eyes.

"Are you fucking kidding me? More than half our staff was fired due to budget cuts and now you hire an outsider!" Alex glared her Elizabeth.

'Bitch.' Olivia decided, now miffed from the brush off. 'Those eye's though, they are so intense. I have never seen something so blue before.'

"Alex." Liz warned while returning the glare. "Not now."

The furious young blonde bit her tongue and took a deep breath. She would drop the matter for now.

"You wanted to see me Liz?" Alex ran a hand through her golden hair while gritting her teeth.

Elizabeth chose to ignore the young blonde's snub toward Olivia, and the outburst about hiring her.

"Your article," Liz almost demanded.

Alex rolled her eyes and huffed.

"You have missed your second deadline. Luckily you haven't been scooped by another journalist… yet." The older woman's tone now held a threatening edge to it.

"Do you want a half assed story with enough holes in it to make Swiss cheese jealous, or do you want one that is rock solid and iron clad.?" Alex refused to be intimidated. 'I have my integrity.'

"I want my fucking story!" Donnelly slammed her fist down hard onto her desk.

This action caused both women to jump slightly, but enough to alert Elizabeth that her point had been made.

Olivia let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. 'So that's what Alex meant about the gavel thing.' Usually Olivia was more put together and unfazed by outbursts or stressful situations. But spending over a dozen hours on a plane will put anyone off their game. The brunette had followed soldiers in the original Desert Storm as a war reporter, she interviewed former KGB gun runners from the disbanded USSR and the war lords in Africa they were selling too. And those were easy compared to other events that left scars on her psyche. It also put a steel resolve and and trained the inexperience journalist to have iron nerves. But this was supposed to be a simple job to repair her tarnished image after an article backlashed into a major scandal that required the brunette to retract and apologize her statements. What Olivia didn't expect was a no nonsense editor that would make terrorists run scared with a look and attractive blonde bitch with entrancing cerulean eyes.

Alex was now intimidated after her boss's reaction to the lateness of her article. Especially with an audience in the room.

"I… I will have it to you soon, I promise. I just need a little…" The blonde stuttered trying to regain her confidence before being interrupted by Elizabeth.

"Time?" Liz stood from her chair and walked to the window gazing at the city landscape. "Sorry Alexandra, but I'm taking you off the story and giving it to Olivia."

"Excuse me?" Olivia asked surprised. Her interjection was in stereo with Alex's shriek of anger and stunned hurt.

"You can't do that!" Alex screamed out her protest. Her words were accompanied by the Olivia's surprised exclamation.

"Actually I can. As editor-in-chief if I feel that a reporter is not accomplishing his or her duty and I feel a story is in danger of falling apart or being scooped by our competition, then it's my responsibility to make a decision for the good of The Sentinel." Elizabeth turned toward and explained to the young blonde. "There will be other stories Alex."

"Excuse me?!" Olivia tried to interject louder this time but the result was still the same.

"I have never been taken off a story before and it will take a lot more then you to do that Elizabeth," Alex stood eye to eye with the older blonde. "Don't forget I am not just a journalist, but a major stock holder of this paper."

"And I'm the majority Alexandra. Your family may have started the paper but I and my family's money made it what it is." Elizabeth stated, not backing down.

"Made it what it is?!" Alex was stunned at Elizabeth's bravado. "What made this paper what it is, are the hard working journalists who didn't sell their souls and give up their integrity to become goddamn tabloids mongers , bloggers, opinionated blowhards for thirty pieces of silver! Or worse yet, you want to get our newspaper in bed with all the other whores on the internet!"

"Join the twenty first century Alexandra, business is business. We have a product that isn't selling. Supply and demand. We adapt or die, and the old ways don't cut it anymore. The world wants scandals, dirt, controversy, and those opinionated blowhards to either agree with or bitch about. And don't you fucking accuse me of selling my integrity. I earned it in the field working and breaking stories with your father and by myself. You know me better than that." The older woman seethed. "The internet isn't a fad. It's here to stay and it's the future of our business."

"Hey, can we all just take a breath and calm down please?" Olivia begged.

The brunette got up to get in between the two, as she fully expecting the fists to start flying very soon. Little did the new Sentinel employee know that this was not the first, nor the last time an argument between the two hard headed stubborn blondes turned into a full blown fight.

"I thought I did know you better Liz. But then you started laying off our staff because, in your own words, 'we're in the red and we have to make some big sacrifices.' THEN, you get the bright idea to bring our paper into the Social Media Age. Instead of journalists, you want to have know-it-all bloggers and fucking opinion givers. Let's join the other sellouts in dumbing down society by treating them like children and tell them what and how to think. That bullshit is exactly what is polluting journalism and our society. With laziness, manipulation, and corruption. Our job is to report the facts with integrity and let the people form their own opinion." Alex was almost in tears.

She hoped she was getting through to the woman who held the fate of the paper in her hands. Alex truly believed that going down this path could save the Sentinel, but was it worth losing yourself in the process?

"I am trying to save this fucking newspaper Alexandra! What would you have me do?" Liz's exhaustion and frustration was finally starting to show.

Having to battle tooth and nail to save the Sentinel and make the tough decisions that were required to accomplish that goal, was weighing heavily on her shoulders. She didn't have the strength to fight her staff as well, especially Alex Cabot.

"What would I have you do? Well first, I wouldn't replace our reporters with a celebrity media whore like her." Alex pointed an accusing finger at the now offended brunette.

"HEY!" Olivia yelled.

"Second, be the woman that I admired while working as my dad's partner. You WERE a great journalist, now you turned into a bureaucrat, you're nothing but a cold blooded snake oil salesman." Alex was hurting and she wanted to hurt something back. "Dad would be disgusted with you Elizabeth, especially what you're doing to our paper."

Olivia gasped in shock. Alex was holding her cheek as a deathly tense quiet filled the room. A red handprint marked her face. Liz's body was shaking and her hand stung. The elder blonde had slapped Alex, the closest thing she had to a daughter. Something she had never done before, resorted to violence. But the younger woman had crossed the line. Taking a deep breath Elizabeth decided to end this fight now before irreparable damage could be caused between the two. Hopefully it had not already gotten to that point.

"You have two options Alex. Either Olivia takes over the article, OR you work together. I expect an answer in the morning." Liz turned on her heel and stared back out the window doing her best to hide her glistening eyes.

Alex gritted her teeth and turned toward the door. She also was one to hide her emotions and quickly made her way out of the office into the darkness of the bullpen.

"Don't I get a say in all this?" Olivia was annoyed at being ignored by the two women.

"Yes, take the article if Alex refuses to partner up, or leave. I hired you to write for this paper and though you are an experienced journalist, you are a rookie at this newspaper, and I don't think you have luxury to pick and choose your stories or who you work for anymore." Liz shot the short haired woman a hard glare.

Olivia flushed in embarrassment and she had to bite her tongue to keep her anger from spilling out. She needed this job. This was the only offer she had in months and the shamed journalist was starting to collect a stack of rejection letters from the magazines and newspapers that used to beg her to come work for them. This was her last chance. But for some reason she felt extreme guilt in having to take over a story that another journalist had worked so hard on, especially this journalist. Something unnerved her about this young blonde. Alex had made her feel on edge and her heart started to beat faster when she first saw the young woman. Olivia Benson decided to do something she never thought she would do. She swallowed her pride, and went after Alex to convince the blonde to work as partners.

AN: Okay, I am really nervous about the slap part of this chapter. I feel I need to explain this. Liz is under a lot of pressure, the exhaustion and stress with trying to keep the newspaper from going under, the guilt of having to lay off many friends and employees she spent years with, and then fight with Alex bowled over. Alex also kind of deserved it with her remark. In a professional sense Liz is in the wrong, but the slap was a personal almost mother daughter like relationship. And the consequences of both will be addressed with all three ladies. If too many people feel that it was too far, I will change it.