Other Choices, a law and order: ci fanfic

"Other Choices"

Usual disclaimers apply.

LOCI Timeline: During Season Seven.

MY LOCI Timeline: Post "Conversations".

A/N: For Podie, 'cos she asked real nice and provided a 'little idea'. I know it's a little early for St Patrick's Day, but …

oOo

Murphy's Lament was an atypical tavern found in the older streets of New York City, where the element was still good and the Irish Whiskey better. St Patrick's Day was the day for which it annually survived, when it's normally drab wooden and glass surroundings basked in a fresh coat of paint and rampant green balloons and streamers hung from any available fitting. The staff wore blatantly obvious Irish costumes and the patrons found yet another excuse to mix, mingle and imbibe.

Mike Logan checked his watch and shrugged at his companions as they leaned against the bar with him. "Don't understand it. Carolyn's never late. Or she always calls—"

As if triggered by thought or expectation, his cell vibrated in his coat pocket and he had it open even before the Pink Floyd music rips began.

"You quick-draw like that with your gun, Logan," Alex Eames laughed, "the perps'd be mad to take you on."

Ignoring his colleague, Logan blew a sharp breath of relief into the phone. "You're late, Carolyn. I was startin' to worry—"

"Sorry, hon, but Ken wants me to stay back and finish this report with him. He's got a meeting with the Mayor tomorrow and he wants all his ducks in a row before he gets there. Can't do anything—" There was a silence across their connection as if she was processing a thought. "What were you worried about?"

Logan cringed. He'd been caught out being over-protective. It wasn't a crime caring for your woman, but when that woman was as capable of looking after herself as his Carolyn and who frequently reminded him of the fact, it was dicey territory. "I thought you were on your way. Ya know, these streets…at night…"

"And I'm so helpless, right?"

He heard the defensive steel and hurried to placate. "I had a brain blitz, that's all," he said. "I'm good for those—"

"Yeah, you are. Lucky for you, you're good at a lot of other things too," she purred, her meaning clear.

Damn! Logan grinned. She was getting good at the double enténdrés.

"Yeah, well, there'll be none of that if you don't get here—"

"I don't see how I can, Mike. You stay with Alex and Bobby though, and have a drink for me. Is Alex there? Can you put her on?"

Logan's shoulders slumped. He knew what was coming. Handing Eames the cell phone, he picked up his scotch and downed a mouthful, his eyes meeting Goren's across its rim. Goren's lips twitched as if he too, knew what was going down.

Eames was nodding, her mouth pulling across a badly-disguised grin. "Yeah, Carolyn. I'll make sure he behaves. I'll poke out his eyes so he can't see the other women in the bar… Too drastic? I'll see if I can rustle up a napkin then… blindfold him. Yeah, and if any women try to pick him up…? I'm to poke out their eyes. And break their kneecaps. Got it." Her face flourished a show of surprised shock at Logan. "Don't worry. He's in good hands."

Eames tipped a shoulder and grimaced at him as she handed back his phone.

"Carolyn…" he moaned into the cell. "You gotta trust—"

"I do… trust you," she breezed into his ear, then hung up on him.

"Yeah, sure. Right." He snapped his phone shut and held up his glass to the bartender. "I'm really gettin' that impression."

oOo

Sidestepping a rowdy group at the entrance of the bar, she shrugged out of her coat while scoping the room. It was crowded with groups of revelers, couples and singles, celebrating St Patrick's Day and life in general. Avoiding a harried waitress, she pressed herself back against the wall and her view was blocked by a compact guy built like a boxer concentrating on not upsetting his balance with four drinks in his hands. She watched him weave his way past a group of men, raising beer mugs to their mouths when they weren't laughing at someone's bawdy joke. Unattached and seemingly uninterested in pairing off, they were enjoying the camaraderie of having a night out with the guys.

Scanning the tables around her, her interest piqued by the diverse nature of the clientele in the room, she decided to play a little game. If she weren't involved with her current man, whom would she go for? Or could she find, in this crowded, boisterously celebrating establishment, better than what she already had?

The tables were mainly paired couples, women hanging from men's arms and liking what they had and showing it. More clutches of men without partners were stationed at various gaps against the walls of the bar, searching the room for unattached possibilities. She shifted against her own wall, finding the shadows there, slipping out of their sights.

The single women were lined down the length of the bar, looking left and right, avoiding unwelcome attention while hoping for better. Her scrutiny was halted at the far end of the bar by a threesome; a big man with close-cropped gun-metal hair, attentively bent over a petite blonde who was smiling at a tall dark-haired man animatedly recounting some anecdote that had the big man shaking his head with disbelief. In this teeming tank of revelers, these three somehow stood out, the men so tall, framing the woman and shielding her from the ribaldry around her.

Pressed into the shadows, she watched them, observing their dynamics, deciding she'd found the most interesting possibilities in the room.

The big man had a thoughtful face that was desperately in need of a shave, but was leant vulnerability by his little-boy nose and occasional soft and sweet smile. He was powerfully built, shoulders stretching his suit coat, the cut of which was impeccable. The material hugged his frame advertising the latent strength beneath it, his bulk hovering over the blonde, his invisible armor encasing her gently but implacably, a force field generated, not from possessiveness, but from love.

She wondered if the blonde knew how much she was loved.

Sliding her attention to the tall man on the blonde's left, she saw a marked contrast. His frame was leaner, his suit not so well-fitting, but he wore it with a casualness that didn't care for such distinctions. It was part of his attractiveness — take me as you see me — dark hair graying at the temples, darker brows framing lively eyes above a nose that, if it were smaller, could have been called patrician. His smooth jaw was his best feature, chiseled from living stone, angling into a snapping smile.

His attention was centered on both his companions, intent upon entertaining them with a story that amused him. There was a comfortable rapport there, an accepting partnership; he was one of them but not with them. Apart but not separate. She felt a life-long friendship could blossom between these people, given time and the right nurturing.

A woman approached him, glass in hand, her smile plastered on a hopeful face. She was a hovering moon looking to latch onto a man's orbit. The man broke from his story to listen to her heavily-suggestive comment, then shook his head, speaking briefly, his smile gentle but dismissive. The woman's pout changed to a disappointed pucker as she flicked a speculative glance at the big man before moving on.

From her shadows, she wondered what he'd said. I'm waiting for someone…? I'm not interested… I'm gay? She smiled at the thought. If he were gay, it would be a terrible waste for womankind.

She watched as he resumed his story, eliciting a chuckle and a quick retort from the big man whose eyes, catching the glow from the hanging lights above him, turned to liquid gold. His mouth, stretching into a perfect bow, framed small even teeth.

Unbidden, she felt an urge to discover what it would be like to kiss that mouth. Her heart quickened at the illicit thought. He so obviously belonged to another and so did she, but the temptation bloomed as she watched his lips form another smile before descending to place a soft kiss upon the blonde's hair. Her response was minimal but intimate, a pressing of her body against his with a desire-laden drop of her eyes.

Her scrutiny hidden from the group by the room's width, she slid her glance to the tall man's mouth and imagined hers pressed to his. Would she be able to arrest it from its task of story-telling, mid-sentence? Capture his words and coax a response that sent the rest of the story from his head?

Emboldened by the cheerful ambience of the room, the non-judgmental enjoyment of the bar's patrons, she left her shadows and walked toward the threesome.

She approached the big man first, going eye to eye with him, before tentatively grasping his forearm and pulling herself up on tiptoe to place her lips on his. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes was the honeyed surprise of his and then she let discovery overtake awkwardness as she experimented with the softness of his lips, sampled the sweet taste of orange remnant from his drink, and brushed against the rasp of his days-old beard. It was a moment out of time, an exploration of 'might be's and 'what if's, and her body tingled with the possibilities. The strangled gasp from his woman, understandably shocked and protective of her property, pierced her enjoyment.

"What the fuck!?" was torn from the tall man's mouth, but she was pulling away, a little regretfully, from the big man to turn her attention to the other.

Her unapologetic gaze skipping over the blonde, she leaned into the tall man to tip her mouth onto his. His was open in shock, and she took advantage of it, allowing her tongue to explore before offering itself to a mate. The man recovered quickly, accepting her bold invitation and capitalizing upon it, taking what she offered with greed and demand.

Molten fire exploded behind her eyes and raced through her veins seeking gravity and grounding as the floor rushed up to meet her fried senses. Her body swayed into his, was caught and held, and her kiss returned with a sure confidence that would have been bruising if it hadn't been tempered by such natural and genuine passion.

Her head reeling, she let him hold her contented weight, as she lay her cheek against his shoulder, in peace from the surety that she was where she should be.

"Happy Saint Paddy's Day, hon," she whispered.

"I thought you had to work," he growled.

"I couldn't…can't… stay away," Carolyn sighed in defeat.

oOo