h3 align=centerBeing Ben Stonebr
by Major Houlihan/h3
font size=2iAll Law and Order characters represented herein are the property of Wolf Films, NBC and MCA/Universal. This is a parody of the film Being John Malkovich by Spike Jonze./i/fontp
iTap tap tap tap tap... /ip
Detective Eddie Green looked up from a mountain of paperwork on the verge of avalanche, spanning his desk and that of his partner's. He gritted his teeth with every obnoxious keystroke as said partner, Detective Lennie Briscoe, finished the latest in a series of reports that, due to neglect, had literally papered the entire 27th precinct. p
"Here, Lennie." Eddie reached into his top drawer and extracted a colorful brochure, which he slapped down on a bare patch of woodgrain desktop. "Amazing thing, this technology. Did you know that we now have icomputers/i and isoftware/i to enable us to do paperwork more efficiently? Not to mention more quietly?" p
Lennie cast a suspicious glance at the bold photograph of the neon green computer and smirked. He was used to cracks about his archaic style of word processing, but he defied anyone in the precinct to spot an error on any report submitted by him in the last twenty-five years. He liked computers the way he liked his ex-wives, from a vast distance. To those who insisted he step into the current century, he would say no, thank you, the manual is fine. Lennie knew for a fact that it was Y2K compliant. p
"Nah," he said, turning back to his typewriter. "I'm convinced those things are the work of the devil, and Bill Gates is the Dark Lord's servant on Earth." p
Eddie's eyes widened in disbelief. "Lennie, it's an iiMac/i." p
"I'd rather have a Big Mac." p
He chuckled as Eddie groaned, then pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter carriage with an audible izip/i. He spied a small envelope bearing a theater logo on the younger man's desk. "Big date tonight?" p
Eddie nodded. "Taking Tonya to iRent/i. Waited six months for this show. Nobody better be getting killed in the next four hours." p
"Never say never, pal. Have fun." Lennie stood, clutching the report in one fist. "I've got a date with the copier." p
Eddie arched an eyebrow. "I see. So, copy machines aren't products of the underworld, then?" p
"Only when they jam." p
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iTap tap tap tap tap.../ip
The copy room was quiet, save for the rapid-fire drumming of Lennie fingers on a worktable as the precinct's only copy machine worked at duplicating his documents at a painfully slow pace. Everyone else in the building, he noticed, appeared to be moving at similar speed, or rather lack thereof, he decided. The inactivity could only promise an evening of near serenity in their little corner of Manhattan, and Lennie shook his head, disappointed that his shift had not been so calm, yet hoping for the beginning of a new, crimeless trend in the city. p
Fat chance, he thought. This is New York City. The state bird was a jailbird. p
"Come on, you stupid bucket of bolts. Today!" he urged the machine, watching as the bright bar of light crawled slowly across a facedown sheet of paper. He fingered a curved divot on the machine reserved for loose paper clips and cursed as he dropped the only one left. With an odd bounce the tiny wire disappeared from his sight. p
"Damn!" He needed only that one clip to secure one last stack of reports, and he knew the supply closet was locked and that the secretary with the only key was most likely stuck in the Holland Tunnel with the rest of New York City. p
He leaned over the copier, shielding his eyes from the bright white shooting from the cover, and peered down the dark crack between it and the wall. Occasionally he had been fortunate to find lone thumbtacks and straight pins in dark crevices; being one with much spare time for ridiculous thoughts, Lennie guessed that such objects took it upon themselves to disappear and aggravate humans to no end, much like single socks in the washing machine. He himself still had six argyles of different patterns missing mates. p
It was the miniscule glint of silver that caught his attention immediately. Too large for a paper clip, Lennie thought at first that a stapler, gone missing from the copy room three days prior, had somehow fallen and wedged itself in the space. p
He smiled wryly. "Green," he muttered, thinking perhaps, in his haste, the younger detective lifted the copier lid with the stapler still on it, thereby sending it sliding into office supply oblivion. It seemed like the sort of thing Eddie Green would do, if only to irritate Lennie. p
Lennie waited for the last duplicate paper to be spit out from the machine before pushing it aside. He expected to hear a loud iclunk/i as the elusive stapler became dislodged from whatever ledge was pinning it to the wall, and he gasped in mild surprise as his efforts revealed something completely different. The silver glint he had seen earlier was that of the small doorknob protruding from the wall. p
"What the--" p
He studied the door before him -- it was painted the same color as the wall and was not lined with molding, therefore it could not have been likely distinguished from the rest of the wall had anyone checked behind the copier as Lennie had. Lennie judged the door to be almost three feet high and wide enough to fit two average-sized people through simultaneously. It resembled a door leading to attic crawl space, but Lennie knew of no secret closets in the precinct building, nor had any of his colleagues volunteered such information. p
Cautiously he stepped back to the copy room threshhold, poking his head outside for a glimpse of Lieutenant Anita Van Buren, wondering if she knew about the mystery door. Not likely, Lennie thought suddenly, remembering that he had been stationed at the 2-7 longer than she had. Captain Don Cragen, her predecessor, had said nothing of such a door either. p
Everybody else in the office appeared to be busy with other tasks, and Lennie saw no reason to raise alarm. The door probably led to an abandoned water heater or a nesting villa for rats, he decided, though his detective's instinct nettled at him furiously. He knew he could not relax unless he saw for himself what was inside. p
What was inside, to his puzzlement, was a dank passageway lined with cobwebs and dirt and no end in sight. Lennie was reminded immediately of a dark cave, or some kind of secret tunnel found in one of those role-playing games his nephews played religiously. Here's a spot the cleaning lady missed, Lennie thought as his gaze circled the squat entrance. p
A cool wind blew from deep within, and Lennie blinked, certain he had seen something flicker in the distance. He looked down at his pants and jacket and knew for certain they would attract the century's worth of dust, but again that detective's curiosity got the better of him and he knelt down for a better look inside. This time, he was not so worried about getting dirty, but about whether or not he would be able to stand up again once he backed out of the hole. p
iHead toward the light/i...the whiny voice of the spooky midget woman from iPoltergeist/i pounded in Lennie's ears as he inched into the dark, the dirt cold and grainy between his fingers. Gazing down momentarily, he could barely see his own hands pawing the ground as he moved forward -- what light filtering from the copy room seemed useless here -- which both annoyed and worried him. How was supposed to stay alert for spiders and other creeping things? p
He sniffed the air -- it was odorless. Odd, Lennie thought, expecting at the very least a faint whiff of mold to irritate his sinuses. He contemplated a few more possible stenches one might find in such a place when another gust of wind, this one from behind, washed over him. p
"Huh?" p
Lennie struggled to turn his body around, but suddenly the enclosure seemed narrower and his breathing more shallow. The flicker of greyish light in the distance ahead of him extinguished, and the wind grew in strength. p
Then, by no power of his own, he began to move, as if being sucked into a black hole. p
iOh, God!/i "Hey!" he called behind him to the sealed door. "Anyone there in the copy room? A little help here?!" His voice cracked with fear as he grasped the dirt beneath him for support, to no avail. The force of the suction was too great, and as his joints buckled he felt himself being pulled rapidly down a mysterious, slick chute. p
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Five seconds later, Lennie felt brave enough to open his eyes again. When he did, he discovered he was staring at the back of a limousine driver's head. p
iWhat the hell/i, he cried aloud, wincing at the harsh echo reverberating around him. He noticed that the driver did not turn around.p
iWhere am I? What happened? Hey, buddy./i Lennie tried to raise a hand to attract the driver's attention, but he felt powerless to move. The sensation of riding in the limousine, however, could be felt, and Lennie wondered for a moment if he had been knocked unconscious in the tunnel and was being driven to the hospital. p
That possibility, however, was dismissed from his mind. Certainly the guys at the 2-7 would have called for an ambulance if he had been hurt. If they ever found him, too, he realized suddenly. Nobody saw him enter the mysterious chasm. p
iGreat. Trapped forever in a hole at the bottom of the precinct. My afterlife fantasy come true/i, Lennie grumbled, but not without a tremor in his voice. Was he dead, he now wanted to know, or swept up into an out-of-body experience? Not that he believed in such New Age mumbo-jumbo, but if that were the case, Lennie thought, perhaps he could use the opportunity to send for help. p
His line of vision remained with the driver's greasy black hair. Soft saxophone music wafted up from the car radio, and Lennie heard also a distinct, closer sniffing sound, almost as if it he were the one sniffling. He tried to move his head but failed; it seemed he was trapped in another body, his faculties at the mercy of another person's movements and decisions. p
He felt the car grind to a halt on a busy street. Where exactly it stopped Lennie could not discern, as the line of vision panned slowly to the empty bench seat in front of the body he occupied. iCome on, guy,/i Lennie urged his host -- hoping in the same breath that he really was inside a man and not a woman -- iat least look out the damn window so I'll know where we are./i p
A cold sensation tingled at his right side, and it took another three seconds for Lennie to realize that he could feel the host body curl his fingers around the car door handle. Lennie wanted to scream -- he did not feel detatched from his own body, yet slowly he was being melded into somebody else, experiencing his sensations and actions, but no thoughts other than his own. Too weird, he thought. Am I becoming someone else, or maybe the old Lennie Briscoe did die to be reincarnated. p
Lennie pondered the possibility, then scoffed. Ridiculous. p
Apparently whomever Lennie was occupying was rather impatient -- the host did not wait for the limousine driver to race completely around the vehicle to open the door. The body was already out and walking, and Lennie sensed his own feet taking steps as well. His own head became dizzy, taking in the host's jerky head movements as he saw people bustling to and from him on a crowded sidewalk. The limousine driver's voice buzzed in his ear ("Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Stone. Just have the valet page me when you're done."), and Lennie gasped audibly as the line of vision craned upward to a familiar canopy. p
iThe Russian Tea Room! That's just terrific. I'm dying in some hole in the wall, and you're going to eat a twenty-dollar hamburger! /ip
Lennie stopped involuntarily with the body just inside the restaurant as a waiter glided into view and beckoned. "Your party has already been seated, Mr. Stone. If you'll follow me..." p
They were off again, just as Lennie had finally managed to get turned toward a mirror in the foyer. iNo, dammit, don't start walking/i, he nearly shouted. iAt least let me know what you look like, Stone... /ip
Then it hit him. Lennie blinked, ignoring the casual glances of other Tea Room patrons as he let himself be led to a table. Stone...not Ben Stone, Lennie thought. How could that be, that I'm inside Ben Stone? p
Once directed to his host's table, Lennie's suspicions were, to his amazement, confirmed, when he recognized the brunette woman in the black velvet scoop-necked dress seated against a pristine white tablecloth. p
iLiz Olivet?/i p
All Lennie could do at that point was stare. Any movements made by Ben Stone -- sitting in his chair, fumbling with silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin, grasping the dewy water glass at his side -- were numb to Lennie, all superceded by Liz Olivet's radiant smile as her eyes locked with his. p
iWow./i p
Lennie had never seen the former police staff psychologist so, so...what was the word, Lennie thought to himself as he gaped at her some more. Of course...she looked hot! He had never really paid that much attention to Liz in the past while working with her over psych cases. Lennie often found it hard to find romantic notions when discussing the more gruesome cases on his plate. p
Then again, Liz Olivet had never looked at him with such obvious adoration. Or was she looking at Ben? At that moment all worries of being trapped under the precinct building were slowly disappearing. p
iDr Olivet! Liz!/i he cried to her. iIt's Lennie Briscoe in here, can you hear me?/i p
He heard Ben say to her, "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." p
iGee, how original Stone/i, Lennie griped. iTell her how great she looks./ip
Liz shook her head lightly. "I haven't been here long myself. I hope you don't mind, though, that I ordered a glass of wine for myself." p
Uh oh, thought Lennie, suddenly worried about how he, a recovering alcoholic, would be effected if Ben Stone had something to drink. iBen!/i he nearly shouted. iNo booze, for God's sake. I don't think you want me off the wagon when I'm inside of you here. /ip
A waiter approached and Ben ordered a cocktail, then, to Lennie's relief, changed his mind and asked for club soda. p
Liz frowned. "Feeling alright, Ben?" p
"I'm fine," he answered pleasantly. "I guess I just don't feel like a drink right now." p
Liz sipped her wine. "The night is still young," she said with a wink. p
Lennie smiled. Double wow. p
A nervous sensation washed over Lennie, one he attributed to his clearly becoming smitten with Liz and entranced by her eyes. So entranced was he that he did not realize that the queasy feeling inside himself actually meant something entirely different. p
He felt himself being pulled away. iWhat?/i p
He looked back at Liz, who appeared to be shrinking in front of him. She was, however, fading from his view as Lennie felt himself being pulled further and further back, away from the dinner table and away from Ben Stone. p
He tried to breathe but felt as if he were being suffocated. Have I been found, he wondered. Or have I died? What the hell's happening to me? Where am I going now? p
His last question was answered within seconds, as the sensation altered dramatically to one of freefalling as Lennie Briscoe materialized from the sky and dropped into a muddy ditch. He lay there on his back for a few seconds until he was confident that no bones had been broken, and he lifted his head slowly to discover that he had landed on the New Jersey side of the Turnpike. p
Lennie blinked, then gratefully inhaled a gust of air. It smelled like New Jersey, he thought, now certain that he was not dead. He assumed the afterlife did not have a smell. p
Another minute passed as Lennie struggled to stand and patted his pockets for his badge. He had to flag down a car and get back to the precinct. He had to crawl back into that hole and get back to Liz. p
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Almost two hours later, no thanks to a confused private citizen from Massachusetts who had never before been to Manhattan and who acted unable to accelerate his Toyota past thirty miles an hour, Lennie reached the precinct and tore straight through to his division's copy room. He ignored the shocked faces of his colleagues who hollered inquiries about his shoddy appearance and how he had managed to leave the building without anyone's knowledge. p
The copier was still pulled away from the wall, the magic door untouched. Lennie frantically locked the copy room from the inside and eased himself down to his knees behind the machine. "I sure hope this train goes to the same station," he muttered. p
Seconds passed and familiar gust of mysterious wind pulled him back into Ben Stone, only Ben Stone was no longer at the Russian Tea Room. He was home, handing a filled wineglass to Liz Olivet as she sat on Ben's sofa, shoes off and her feet tucked underneath her. She looked up from a thick stack of papers -- a manuscript of some sort, Lennie guessed -- to accept the proffered drink with a gracious smile. p
iSo this isn't a first date, is it, Liz?/i Lennie asked aloud, noticing how well at ease Liz seemed in this environment. Briefly he was able to spy her coat and purse slung casually over a chair in the far corner, a pair of low-heeled black pumps leaning against one leg. An unseen stereo piped in soft jazz music. p
Lennie heard Ben clear his throat and felt him taking a seat opposite Liz. "Liz," he chided, "must you drag that thing out of my desk every time you come here? If you wanted to spend the rest of our date reading, I can recommend better." p
Lennie had to smile. As clueless as he was about Ben Stone's private life and prospects as a romantic partner, the thought of a woman bringing along a paperback to a date with him was just too amusing. I suppose we all can't lead as dynamic a sex life as the likes of old Mikey Logan, he thought to himself sarcastically. p
Liz gave Ben a smug look. "Well, I'm sorry that I find your writing so fascinating, Ben. I can't believe that you won't let my friend Carla look at it." p
A hand reached out into Lennie's line of vision for the bound manuscript. Lennie felt Ben grasping the ream of paper and tossing it on the sofa table behind them. p
"Please," said Ben wearily. "I've told you once, I'm nowhere near the agent stage." p
"Carla specializes in legal thrillers and suspense," Liz argued. "She can also put you in touch with a good editor if you're concerned about that..." p
Lennie caught the title page of the manuscript. It was a novel, he realized. Look out, John Grisham. p
Ben sighed. "It's not that, Liz. I can edit it myself. I just don't think it's quite ready for human consumption." p
"Ben." Liz set down her glass and inched closer, offering both Ben and Lennie and eagle's view of her cleavage as she leaned forward. Lennie felt his heart leap and swore to himself that he could even detect her perfume. White Shoulders. He loved that scent. p
"The book is fine the way it is, I don't think you should change a thing," she said. "Is it possible that maybe there's another reason why you keep it locked away in your desk?" p
The line of vision darted sharply away from Liz and to the left, and Lennie was granted a view of the rest of Ben's small living room, the sliding doors leading to the balcony and the counter that abutted a tiny kitchen. Liz's insistent voice tickled his right ear. "Ben? Look at me." p
iLook at her, Ben. Come on/i, Lennie prodded, hoping that the earlier incident with ordering the drink was not a fluke. Perhaps now Ben could understand him, Lennie thought, or at least sense his presence, like he was some kind of conscience aroused from a long sleep. p
Slowly Ben's head turned back to Liz. iGood/i, Lennie said, happy to be able to gaze into Liz's gentle eyes again. iNow apologize. I don't have a reason why, I just know that women like it when you do. /ip
"I'm sorry," Ben said quietly. Lennie was shocked. p
"Don't apologize, Ben." Liz brushed her hand against Ben's. A prickly sensation washed over Lennie and he struggled mentally to manipulate Ben's hand to hold hers but failed. "I'm just wondering if perhaps you're feeling any trepidation toward sending your book out, or if you fear rejection." p
Ben chuckled. "Hey now, are you my date or my psychiatrist?" p
She laughed, then let out a light, drawn-out sigh. Her lips were lined in a dark wine color, and when they pursed together in a teasing pout, all Lennie wanted to do was tear himself away from his choir-boy host and kiss her. p
iBen, damn you, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?/i Lennie could hear his own blood pounding in his ears as he shouted into the dark. iReach over and kiss her! If you don't, I'll find a way to do it./i p
"Liz." Ben hesitated as Lennie waited, wishing he could view the situation from another vantage point. Then again, he decided, he wanted much more to be a participant than a voyeur. Watching Liz's face fall into a more serious expression only further ignited his desires. p
Then it happened. Whether it was Lennie's own will breaking into Ben Stone's consciousness or Ben's own desires kicking into gear, Lennie was just esctatic to be able to feel Liz Olivet's arms encircling him as Ben drew her into a gentle yet urgent kiss. As he braced himself for this new sensation Lennie felt himself being smothered by the pressure of soft flesh and he kept perfectly still, ceding himself to Ben as he let himself be guided into the moment. p
iOh, God. Liz.../i A thousand words filled Lennie's mind; he wanted to tell Liz how beautiful she was, that he was actually experiencing her closeness -- he could feel her touching him! He felt her hands gripping his shoulders and snaking upward the back of his neck, mussing his hair and pressing him closer to her face. Through Ben he was able to trace a finger down her spine, scraping against the thin black zipper that kept her clothed. p
iOkay, buddy,/i he commanded of his host. iYou know what comes next./ip
With aching satisfaction, he felt his hand guide Ben's back up toward the clasp and grab hold of it. A soft feminine giggle tickled his ears as the plastic zipper teeth slowly parted with one graceful movement. p
Lennie caught his breath. There was that sensation in his stomach again. It still was not a sign of arousal. p
iNo, no! Not now, for God's sake! /ip
Liz suddenly appeared to dissolve as he was thrust backward by an unseen force. The scent of White Shoulders stayed with him, even after he plummeted into the ditch by the turnpike, a perfect picture of Liz Olivet burning in his memory. p
When he opened his eyes after landing, he was greeted by another familiar, and all too real, face. p
District Attorney Adam Schiff smiled down on him. "Evening, detective," he said. "Enjoy the ride?" p
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"Drink it down, Briscoe. You'd be surprised how much better you'll feel." p
Lennie fidgeted in a wingback chair in Adam's study, ignoring the glass of carrot juice set aside for him by the older man, his mind on Liz. Ben probably had her in bed now, he surmised, and he would be having none of it, none of Liz. Lennie's eyes shifted nervously around the room, eyeing the iron tools by the fireplace, plotting an escape. p
DA or no DA, thought Lennie, he was going back to that portal. If Adam Schiff wanted to risk a poker upside the head trying to stop him, so be it. p
First, he decided, he would try a more polite tack. "I appreciate the hospitality, Schiff, but I really need to get back to the station. Er, I got a heavy work load tonight." p
Adam stared into the lit fireplace. "I know what you're thinking, Briscoe. Don't worry about it." The detective caught the twinkle in the older man's eyes as reflected from the flames. "If I know Ben he'll have Dr. Olivet buttoned up and in a cab back to her apartment by midnight. So she won't turn into a pumpkin, I suspect." p
Lennie tried to look puzzled but figured his involuntary expression of shock already betrayed his secrets. "I-I don't know what you're talking about." p
"I'm talking about the Stone portal, the one you discovered in your precinct building," Schiff said pointedly, rising slowly from his chair. "The one I found nearly a century ago when I was walking a beat down Broadway as Richard Clancy." p
"Clancy?" Lennie blurted out. "I heard of him. He died in the line of duty before I even entered the academy!" p
Adam smiled. "That's what I wanted everyone to think. I'm Clancy, Lennie," he added with an impassioned tone. "I found that portal when it still led to a young law student named Adam Schiff. I won't go into particulars here, but it's through Adam I was able to live on well past my own expectancy." p
He paced slowly around Lennie's chair, causing the dectective to fidget more and wonder if he was about to be struck by a fireplace tool himself. p
"Once firmly imbedded in Adam Schiff," the old man continued, "I discovered a new vessel, or body, was open to the portal." p
"You mean Ben," Lennie stated the obvious. p
Adam nodded. "His vessel ripens in two days, and I will be able to enter for the final time in this body and become Ben Stone, completely melding with his senses and emotions, not unlike a bodysnatcher you see in those B-grade movies." He noticed a sharp look protest on Lennie's face and quickly rejoined with, "Let me finish, Lennie. I had no idea that the portal would ever be discovered." p
"You've obviously never been in a copy room with someone tearing the walls out looking for a paper clip," Lennie retorted. p
"Come with me, Lennie." p
"Come again?" p
"Lennie." Adam crossed the room again to face Lennie. "I saw the look on your face when you landed. You liked what you saw, didn't you?" p
Lennie nodded. p
"Liz Olivet, leaning comfortable against you, like it's always been like that. You know fifteen minutes at a time is not enough to fulfill you." p
"Oh, yeah," Lennie groaned. In two days it would be Adam wrapped around the lovely psychiatrist. Shrink wrap. p
Adam smiled. "I've figured out a way to take people with me. There's a group of us that made final arrangements so we can do this. You too can live in Ben Stone if you like, live his life. Granted, he's not that much younger than you, but at the very least you'll gain five or ten years before the next vessel ripens." p
Lennie shook his head, disbelieving the dialogue in which he was engaged, certain that something in his head was not right. Everything he had experienced that night -- seeing the world from another man's eyes, controlling another man's actions, falling in love -- how was it possible? How did he know this was not some sort of wild hallucination and that he really was not stuck underneath a tunnel in the precinct building? p
He thought of Liz again, her intoxicating scent and hypnotic. His lips still tingled from her kiss, though he had not kissed her directly. It felt so real, and here he had the opportunity to make it real, but inside another man! p
"If I do this," Lennie said finally, "I won't be able to leave. I'll be stuck inside Ben Stone with you forever?" p
"Not forever," Adam shrugged. "Just until the portal is reset to another vessel. Then, when that one is ripe, we'll enter another body." p
"What if it's a woman, next time?" p
"Then we buy pantyhouse. You in or you out, Briscoe?" p
His gut instinct screamed at him to accept, to be with Liz. Yet, Lennie was surprised with himself for actually weighing other options. What waited for him back home, anyway? Sure, he liked his job, but had he the choice he would preferred continuing a partnership with either Rey Curtis or Mike Logan. His personal life fared worse. p
"I do this," Lennie began for clarification, "and essentially Lennie Briscoe is dead to the world." p
Adam nodded. "Same with Adam Schiff. McCoy's dream of becoming DA will finally come true," he added with a chuckle. p
"Which," Lennie continued, ignoring Adam, "means no more alimony payments and warmed-over TV dinners at night." p
"Yeah. We're lucky Ben's first wife remarried." Adam, realizing finally that Lennie was not going to drink his juice, took the glass and downed half of the liquid. p
"I tell ya, it's tempting," Lennie admitted. "To have a second chance, not to screw things up like I did when I was younger." He looked up sharply at Adam. "I'm an alcoholic. We can't drink anymore if I go with you." p
"Not a problem." Adam preferred the nutritional benefits of the carrot juice, anyway. Lennie would have to learn to like it. p
"And we're staying with Liz?" p
"My friend," Adam slapped Lennie on the shoulder, "whom do you think got them together in the first place?" p
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iNine months later /ip
"Morning, sunshine." p
Her consciousness still clouded with sleep, Liz Stone rolled over and greeted her husband with a generous kiss. She still had not adjusted to having Ben wake up next to her after years of living and sleeping alone, and she tried her best not to appear surprised to see him. p
"Unh," she groaned, wincing at the morning light brightening their bedroom. She clutched a hand to her stomach, experiencing another sensation to which she needed to adjust. p
"Need to throw up?" Ben asked. p
Liz shook her head. "I'll be fine." She patted the growing bulge in her belly. "I'll wait 'til I get to Dr. Hudson's office and throw up there. That way I don't have to clean it up." p
Ben laughed, then eased himself out of bed. "I'll take that to mean I can use the bathroom first," he said, and before Liz could protest, he quick-stepped to the door and closed it softly behind him. p
At breakfast, which in the Stone household consisted only of coffee and danish with apple juice for the baby-to-be, Ben and Liz discussed the coming day. p
"You're going to see Carla today?" Liz asked. p
Ben nodded. He was to pick up the galleys of his novel for one final perusal before it went to press. "I'll be home before lunch if you want to go somewhere." p
Liz, who had significantly cut her work schedule to prepare for the baby, agreed to a lunch date. "We can pick up the wedding pictures while we're out. Steve finally got them done."p
"Good. I was just thinking how nice it would be to show them off before the baby graduates from college." p
Liz chuckled at the remark, then suddenly her face fell into melancholy. p
"You okay, hon?" Ben was more than aware of his wife's pregnancy mood swings.p
Liz drummed her fingers on the kitchen counter. "Just thinking about those pictures, and the wedding. I would have liked to have seen Lennie there." p
Ben nodded. Lennie Briscoe's sudden disappearance nine months ago had been the source of much speculation and gossip, not to mention sadness when his daughter eventually had him declared dead a few weeks ago. The large attendance at the memorial service held by the 27th precinct surprised Ben, who was in no way prepared for the outpouring of grief. He watched old friends and former partners dissolve into tears, and quietly he wondered if he had done the right thing, leaving like that. p
One look at Liz's radiant face, however, and the life growing inside her, and he reassured himself. p
"I know," he said at last. "And Adam, too. I don't think anybody was expecting him to die. In his office, of all places." p
"I always heard that he would have to be carried from DA's office in a box," Liz countered lightly, stifling a few tears of her own. "If only they had more time, just a few more months..." p
Ben reached over and drew his wife into his arms, nuzzling her shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about them, sweetheart. I believe they're both a lot closer than you think." p
hrWritten 2000 Major Houlihan
by Major Houlihan/h3
font size=2iAll Law and Order characters represented herein are the property of Wolf Films, NBC and MCA/Universal. This is a parody of the film Being John Malkovich by Spike Jonze./i/fontp
iTap tap tap tap tap... /ip
Detective Eddie Green looked up from a mountain of paperwork on the verge of avalanche, spanning his desk and that of his partner's. He gritted his teeth with every obnoxious keystroke as said partner, Detective Lennie Briscoe, finished the latest in a series of reports that, due to neglect, had literally papered the entire 27th precinct. p
"Here, Lennie." Eddie reached into his top drawer and extracted a colorful brochure, which he slapped down on a bare patch of woodgrain desktop. "Amazing thing, this technology. Did you know that we now have icomputers/i and isoftware/i to enable us to do paperwork more efficiently? Not to mention more quietly?" p
Lennie cast a suspicious glance at the bold photograph of the neon green computer and smirked. He was used to cracks about his archaic style of word processing, but he defied anyone in the precinct to spot an error on any report submitted by him in the last twenty-five years. He liked computers the way he liked his ex-wives, from a vast distance. To those who insisted he step into the current century, he would say no, thank you, the manual is fine. Lennie knew for a fact that it was Y2K compliant. p
"Nah," he said, turning back to his typewriter. "I'm convinced those things are the work of the devil, and Bill Gates is the Dark Lord's servant on Earth." p
Eddie's eyes widened in disbelief. "Lennie, it's an iiMac/i." p
"I'd rather have a Big Mac." p
He chuckled as Eddie groaned, then pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter carriage with an audible izip/i. He spied a small envelope bearing a theater logo on the younger man's desk. "Big date tonight?" p
Eddie nodded. "Taking Tonya to iRent/i. Waited six months for this show. Nobody better be getting killed in the next four hours." p
"Never say never, pal. Have fun." Lennie stood, clutching the report in one fist. "I've got a date with the copier." p
Eddie arched an eyebrow. "I see. So, copy machines aren't products of the underworld, then?" p
"Only when they jam." p
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iTap tap tap tap tap.../ip
The copy room was quiet, save for the rapid-fire drumming of Lennie fingers on a worktable as the precinct's only copy machine worked at duplicating his documents at a painfully slow pace. Everyone else in the building, he noticed, appeared to be moving at similar speed, or rather lack thereof, he decided. The inactivity could only promise an evening of near serenity in their little corner of Manhattan, and Lennie shook his head, disappointed that his shift had not been so calm, yet hoping for the beginning of a new, crimeless trend in the city. p
Fat chance, he thought. This is New York City. The state bird was a jailbird. p
"Come on, you stupid bucket of bolts. Today!" he urged the machine, watching as the bright bar of light crawled slowly across a facedown sheet of paper. He fingered a curved divot on the machine reserved for loose paper clips and cursed as he dropped the only one left. With an odd bounce the tiny wire disappeared from his sight. p
"Damn!" He needed only that one clip to secure one last stack of reports, and he knew the supply closet was locked and that the secretary with the only key was most likely stuck in the Holland Tunnel with the rest of New York City. p
He leaned over the copier, shielding his eyes from the bright white shooting from the cover, and peered down the dark crack between it and the wall. Occasionally he had been fortunate to find lone thumbtacks and straight pins in dark crevices; being one with much spare time for ridiculous thoughts, Lennie guessed that such objects took it upon themselves to disappear and aggravate humans to no end, much like single socks in the washing machine. He himself still had six argyles of different patterns missing mates. p
It was the miniscule glint of silver that caught his attention immediately. Too large for a paper clip, Lennie thought at first that a stapler, gone missing from the copy room three days prior, had somehow fallen and wedged itself in the space. p
He smiled wryly. "Green," he muttered, thinking perhaps, in his haste, the younger detective lifted the copier lid with the stapler still on it, thereby sending it sliding into office supply oblivion. It seemed like the sort of thing Eddie Green would do, if only to irritate Lennie. p
Lennie waited for the last duplicate paper to be spit out from the machine before pushing it aside. He expected to hear a loud iclunk/i as the elusive stapler became dislodged from whatever ledge was pinning it to the wall, and he gasped in mild surprise as his efforts revealed something completely different. The silver glint he had seen earlier was that of the small doorknob protruding from the wall. p
"What the--" p
He studied the door before him -- it was painted the same color as the wall and was not lined with molding, therefore it could not have been likely distinguished from the rest of the wall had anyone checked behind the copier as Lennie had. Lennie judged the door to be almost three feet high and wide enough to fit two average-sized people through simultaneously. It resembled a door leading to attic crawl space, but Lennie knew of no secret closets in the precinct building, nor had any of his colleagues volunteered such information. p
Cautiously he stepped back to the copy room threshhold, poking his head outside for a glimpse of Lieutenant Anita Van Buren, wondering if she knew about the mystery door. Not likely, Lennie thought suddenly, remembering that he had been stationed at the 2-7 longer than she had. Captain Don Cragen, her predecessor, had said nothing of such a door either. p
Everybody else in the office appeared to be busy with other tasks, and Lennie saw no reason to raise alarm. The door probably led to an abandoned water heater or a nesting villa for rats, he decided, though his detective's instinct nettled at him furiously. He knew he could not relax unless he saw for himself what was inside. p
What was inside, to his puzzlement, was a dank passageway lined with cobwebs and dirt and no end in sight. Lennie was reminded immediately of a dark cave, or some kind of secret tunnel found in one of those role-playing games his nephews played religiously. Here's a spot the cleaning lady missed, Lennie thought as his gaze circled the squat entrance. p
A cool wind blew from deep within, and Lennie blinked, certain he had seen something flicker in the distance. He looked down at his pants and jacket and knew for certain they would attract the century's worth of dust, but again that detective's curiosity got the better of him and he knelt down for a better look inside. This time, he was not so worried about getting dirty, but about whether or not he would be able to stand up again once he backed out of the hole. p
iHead toward the light/i...the whiny voice of the spooky midget woman from iPoltergeist/i pounded in Lennie's ears as he inched into the dark, the dirt cold and grainy between his fingers. Gazing down momentarily, he could barely see his own hands pawing the ground as he moved forward -- what light filtering from the copy room seemed useless here -- which both annoyed and worried him. How was supposed to stay alert for spiders and other creeping things? p
He sniffed the air -- it was odorless. Odd, Lennie thought, expecting at the very least a faint whiff of mold to irritate his sinuses. He contemplated a few more possible stenches one might find in such a place when another gust of wind, this one from behind, washed over him. p
"Huh?" p
Lennie struggled to turn his body around, but suddenly the enclosure seemed narrower and his breathing more shallow. The flicker of greyish light in the distance ahead of him extinguished, and the wind grew in strength. p
Then, by no power of his own, he began to move, as if being sucked into a black hole. p
iOh, God!/i "Hey!" he called behind him to the sealed door. "Anyone there in the copy room? A little help here?!" His voice cracked with fear as he grasped the dirt beneath him for support, to no avail. The force of the suction was too great, and as his joints buckled he felt himself being pulled rapidly down a mysterious, slick chute. p
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Five seconds later, Lennie felt brave enough to open his eyes again. When he did, he discovered he was staring at the back of a limousine driver's head. p
iWhat the hell/i, he cried aloud, wincing at the harsh echo reverberating around him. He noticed that the driver did not turn around.p
iWhere am I? What happened? Hey, buddy./i Lennie tried to raise a hand to attract the driver's attention, but he felt powerless to move. The sensation of riding in the limousine, however, could be felt, and Lennie wondered for a moment if he had been knocked unconscious in the tunnel and was being driven to the hospital. p
That possibility, however, was dismissed from his mind. Certainly the guys at the 2-7 would have called for an ambulance if he had been hurt. If they ever found him, too, he realized suddenly. Nobody saw him enter the mysterious chasm. p
iGreat. Trapped forever in a hole at the bottom of the precinct. My afterlife fantasy come true/i, Lennie grumbled, but not without a tremor in his voice. Was he dead, he now wanted to know, or swept up into an out-of-body experience? Not that he believed in such New Age mumbo-jumbo, but if that were the case, Lennie thought, perhaps he could use the opportunity to send for help. p
His line of vision remained with the driver's greasy black hair. Soft saxophone music wafted up from the car radio, and Lennie heard also a distinct, closer sniffing sound, almost as if it he were the one sniffling. He tried to move his head but failed; it seemed he was trapped in another body, his faculties at the mercy of another person's movements and decisions. p
He felt the car grind to a halt on a busy street. Where exactly it stopped Lennie could not discern, as the line of vision panned slowly to the empty bench seat in front of the body he occupied. iCome on, guy,/i Lennie urged his host -- hoping in the same breath that he really was inside a man and not a woman -- iat least look out the damn window so I'll know where we are./i p
A cold sensation tingled at his right side, and it took another three seconds for Lennie to realize that he could feel the host body curl his fingers around the car door handle. Lennie wanted to scream -- he did not feel detatched from his own body, yet slowly he was being melded into somebody else, experiencing his sensations and actions, but no thoughts other than his own. Too weird, he thought. Am I becoming someone else, or maybe the old Lennie Briscoe did die to be reincarnated. p
Lennie pondered the possibility, then scoffed. Ridiculous. p
Apparently whomever Lennie was occupying was rather impatient -- the host did not wait for the limousine driver to race completely around the vehicle to open the door. The body was already out and walking, and Lennie sensed his own feet taking steps as well. His own head became dizzy, taking in the host's jerky head movements as he saw people bustling to and from him on a crowded sidewalk. The limousine driver's voice buzzed in his ear ("Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Stone. Just have the valet page me when you're done."), and Lennie gasped audibly as the line of vision craned upward to a familiar canopy. p
iThe Russian Tea Room! That's just terrific. I'm dying in some hole in the wall, and you're going to eat a twenty-dollar hamburger! /ip
Lennie stopped involuntarily with the body just inside the restaurant as a waiter glided into view and beckoned. "Your party has already been seated, Mr. Stone. If you'll follow me..." p
They were off again, just as Lennie had finally managed to get turned toward a mirror in the foyer. iNo, dammit, don't start walking/i, he nearly shouted. iAt least let me know what you look like, Stone... /ip
Then it hit him. Lennie blinked, ignoring the casual glances of other Tea Room patrons as he let himself be led to a table. Stone...not Ben Stone, Lennie thought. How could that be, that I'm inside Ben Stone? p
Once directed to his host's table, Lennie's suspicions were, to his amazement, confirmed, when he recognized the brunette woman in the black velvet scoop-necked dress seated against a pristine white tablecloth. p
iLiz Olivet?/i p
All Lennie could do at that point was stare. Any movements made by Ben Stone -- sitting in his chair, fumbling with silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin, grasping the dewy water glass at his side -- were numb to Lennie, all superceded by Liz Olivet's radiant smile as her eyes locked with his. p
iWow./i p
Lennie had never seen the former police staff psychologist so, so...what was the word, Lennie thought to himself as he gaped at her some more. Of course...she looked hot! He had never really paid that much attention to Liz in the past while working with her over psych cases. Lennie often found it hard to find romantic notions when discussing the more gruesome cases on his plate. p
Then again, Liz Olivet had never looked at him with such obvious adoration. Or was she looking at Ben? At that moment all worries of being trapped under the precinct building were slowly disappearing. p
iDr Olivet! Liz!/i he cried to her. iIt's Lennie Briscoe in here, can you hear me?/i p
He heard Ben say to her, "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." p
iGee, how original Stone/i, Lennie griped. iTell her how great she looks./ip
Liz shook her head lightly. "I haven't been here long myself. I hope you don't mind, though, that I ordered a glass of wine for myself." p
Uh oh, thought Lennie, suddenly worried about how he, a recovering alcoholic, would be effected if Ben Stone had something to drink. iBen!/i he nearly shouted. iNo booze, for God's sake. I don't think you want me off the wagon when I'm inside of you here. /ip
A waiter approached and Ben ordered a cocktail, then, to Lennie's relief, changed his mind and asked for club soda. p
Liz frowned. "Feeling alright, Ben?" p
"I'm fine," he answered pleasantly. "I guess I just don't feel like a drink right now." p
Liz sipped her wine. "The night is still young," she said with a wink. p
Lennie smiled. Double wow. p
A nervous sensation washed over Lennie, one he attributed to his clearly becoming smitten with Liz and entranced by her eyes. So entranced was he that he did not realize that the queasy feeling inside himself actually meant something entirely different. p
He felt himself being pulled away. iWhat?/i p
He looked back at Liz, who appeared to be shrinking in front of him. She was, however, fading from his view as Lennie felt himself being pulled further and further back, away from the dinner table and away from Ben Stone. p
He tried to breathe but felt as if he were being suffocated. Have I been found, he wondered. Or have I died? What the hell's happening to me? Where am I going now? p
His last question was answered within seconds, as the sensation altered dramatically to one of freefalling as Lennie Briscoe materialized from the sky and dropped into a muddy ditch. He lay there on his back for a few seconds until he was confident that no bones had been broken, and he lifted his head slowly to discover that he had landed on the New Jersey side of the Turnpike. p
Lennie blinked, then gratefully inhaled a gust of air. It smelled like New Jersey, he thought, now certain that he was not dead. He assumed the afterlife did not have a smell. p
Another minute passed as Lennie struggled to stand and patted his pockets for his badge. He had to flag down a car and get back to the precinct. He had to crawl back into that hole and get back to Liz. p
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Almost two hours later, no thanks to a confused private citizen from Massachusetts who had never before been to Manhattan and who acted unable to accelerate his Toyota past thirty miles an hour, Lennie reached the precinct and tore straight through to his division's copy room. He ignored the shocked faces of his colleagues who hollered inquiries about his shoddy appearance and how he had managed to leave the building without anyone's knowledge. p
The copier was still pulled away from the wall, the magic door untouched. Lennie frantically locked the copy room from the inside and eased himself down to his knees behind the machine. "I sure hope this train goes to the same station," he muttered. p
Seconds passed and familiar gust of mysterious wind pulled him back into Ben Stone, only Ben Stone was no longer at the Russian Tea Room. He was home, handing a filled wineglass to Liz Olivet as she sat on Ben's sofa, shoes off and her feet tucked underneath her. She looked up from a thick stack of papers -- a manuscript of some sort, Lennie guessed -- to accept the proffered drink with a gracious smile. p
iSo this isn't a first date, is it, Liz?/i Lennie asked aloud, noticing how well at ease Liz seemed in this environment. Briefly he was able to spy her coat and purse slung casually over a chair in the far corner, a pair of low-heeled black pumps leaning against one leg. An unseen stereo piped in soft jazz music. p
Lennie heard Ben clear his throat and felt him taking a seat opposite Liz. "Liz," he chided, "must you drag that thing out of my desk every time you come here? If you wanted to spend the rest of our date reading, I can recommend better." p
Lennie had to smile. As clueless as he was about Ben Stone's private life and prospects as a romantic partner, the thought of a woman bringing along a paperback to a date with him was just too amusing. I suppose we all can't lead as dynamic a sex life as the likes of old Mikey Logan, he thought to himself sarcastically. p
Liz gave Ben a smug look. "Well, I'm sorry that I find your writing so fascinating, Ben. I can't believe that you won't let my friend Carla look at it." p
A hand reached out into Lennie's line of vision for the bound manuscript. Lennie felt Ben grasping the ream of paper and tossing it on the sofa table behind them. p
"Please," said Ben wearily. "I've told you once, I'm nowhere near the agent stage." p
"Carla specializes in legal thrillers and suspense," Liz argued. "She can also put you in touch with a good editor if you're concerned about that..." p
Lennie caught the title page of the manuscript. It was a novel, he realized. Look out, John Grisham. p
Ben sighed. "It's not that, Liz. I can edit it myself. I just don't think it's quite ready for human consumption." p
"Ben." Liz set down her glass and inched closer, offering both Ben and Lennie and eagle's view of her cleavage as she leaned forward. Lennie felt his heart leap and swore to himself that he could even detect her perfume. White Shoulders. He loved that scent. p
"The book is fine the way it is, I don't think you should change a thing," she said. "Is it possible that maybe there's another reason why you keep it locked away in your desk?" p
The line of vision darted sharply away from Liz and to the left, and Lennie was granted a view of the rest of Ben's small living room, the sliding doors leading to the balcony and the counter that abutted a tiny kitchen. Liz's insistent voice tickled his right ear. "Ben? Look at me." p
iLook at her, Ben. Come on/i, Lennie prodded, hoping that the earlier incident with ordering the drink was not a fluke. Perhaps now Ben could understand him, Lennie thought, or at least sense his presence, like he was some kind of conscience aroused from a long sleep. p
Slowly Ben's head turned back to Liz. iGood/i, Lennie said, happy to be able to gaze into Liz's gentle eyes again. iNow apologize. I don't have a reason why, I just know that women like it when you do. /ip
"I'm sorry," Ben said quietly. Lennie was shocked. p
"Don't apologize, Ben." Liz brushed her hand against Ben's. A prickly sensation washed over Lennie and he struggled mentally to manipulate Ben's hand to hold hers but failed. "I'm just wondering if perhaps you're feeling any trepidation toward sending your book out, or if you fear rejection." p
Ben chuckled. "Hey now, are you my date or my psychiatrist?" p
She laughed, then let out a light, drawn-out sigh. Her lips were lined in a dark wine color, and when they pursed together in a teasing pout, all Lennie wanted to do was tear himself away from his choir-boy host and kiss her. p
iBen, damn you, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?/i Lennie could hear his own blood pounding in his ears as he shouted into the dark. iReach over and kiss her! If you don't, I'll find a way to do it./i p
"Liz." Ben hesitated as Lennie waited, wishing he could view the situation from another vantage point. Then again, he decided, he wanted much more to be a participant than a voyeur. Watching Liz's face fall into a more serious expression only further ignited his desires. p
Then it happened. Whether it was Lennie's own will breaking into Ben Stone's consciousness or Ben's own desires kicking into gear, Lennie was just esctatic to be able to feel Liz Olivet's arms encircling him as Ben drew her into a gentle yet urgent kiss. As he braced himself for this new sensation Lennie felt himself being smothered by the pressure of soft flesh and he kept perfectly still, ceding himself to Ben as he let himself be guided into the moment. p
iOh, God. Liz.../i A thousand words filled Lennie's mind; he wanted to tell Liz how beautiful she was, that he was actually experiencing her closeness -- he could feel her touching him! He felt her hands gripping his shoulders and snaking upward the back of his neck, mussing his hair and pressing him closer to her face. Through Ben he was able to trace a finger down her spine, scraping against the thin black zipper that kept her clothed. p
iOkay, buddy,/i he commanded of his host. iYou know what comes next./ip
With aching satisfaction, he felt his hand guide Ben's back up toward the clasp and grab hold of it. A soft feminine giggle tickled his ears as the plastic zipper teeth slowly parted with one graceful movement. p
Lennie caught his breath. There was that sensation in his stomach again. It still was not a sign of arousal. p
iNo, no! Not now, for God's sake! /ip
Liz suddenly appeared to dissolve as he was thrust backward by an unseen force. The scent of White Shoulders stayed with him, even after he plummeted into the ditch by the turnpike, a perfect picture of Liz Olivet burning in his memory. p
When he opened his eyes after landing, he was greeted by another familiar, and all too real, face. p
District Attorney Adam Schiff smiled down on him. "Evening, detective," he said. "Enjoy the ride?" p
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"Drink it down, Briscoe. You'd be surprised how much better you'll feel." p
Lennie fidgeted in a wingback chair in Adam's study, ignoring the glass of carrot juice set aside for him by the older man, his mind on Liz. Ben probably had her in bed now, he surmised, and he would be having none of it, none of Liz. Lennie's eyes shifted nervously around the room, eyeing the iron tools by the fireplace, plotting an escape. p
DA or no DA, thought Lennie, he was going back to that portal. If Adam Schiff wanted to risk a poker upside the head trying to stop him, so be it. p
First, he decided, he would try a more polite tack. "I appreciate the hospitality, Schiff, but I really need to get back to the station. Er, I got a heavy work load tonight." p
Adam stared into the lit fireplace. "I know what you're thinking, Briscoe. Don't worry about it." The detective caught the twinkle in the older man's eyes as reflected from the flames. "If I know Ben he'll have Dr. Olivet buttoned up and in a cab back to her apartment by midnight. So she won't turn into a pumpkin, I suspect." p
Lennie tried to look puzzled but figured his involuntary expression of shock already betrayed his secrets. "I-I don't know what you're talking about." p
"I'm talking about the Stone portal, the one you discovered in your precinct building," Schiff said pointedly, rising slowly from his chair. "The one I found nearly a century ago when I was walking a beat down Broadway as Richard Clancy." p
"Clancy?" Lennie blurted out. "I heard of him. He died in the line of duty before I even entered the academy!" p
Adam smiled. "That's what I wanted everyone to think. I'm Clancy, Lennie," he added with an impassioned tone. "I found that portal when it still led to a young law student named Adam Schiff. I won't go into particulars here, but it's through Adam I was able to live on well past my own expectancy." p
He paced slowly around Lennie's chair, causing the dectective to fidget more and wonder if he was about to be struck by a fireplace tool himself. p
"Once firmly imbedded in Adam Schiff," the old man continued, "I discovered a new vessel, or body, was open to the portal." p
"You mean Ben," Lennie stated the obvious. p
Adam nodded. "His vessel ripens in two days, and I will be able to enter for the final time in this body and become Ben Stone, completely melding with his senses and emotions, not unlike a bodysnatcher you see in those B-grade movies." He noticed a sharp look protest on Lennie's face and quickly rejoined with, "Let me finish, Lennie. I had no idea that the portal would ever be discovered." p
"You've obviously never been in a copy room with someone tearing the walls out looking for a paper clip," Lennie retorted. p
"Come with me, Lennie." p
"Come again?" p
"Lennie." Adam crossed the room again to face Lennie. "I saw the look on your face when you landed. You liked what you saw, didn't you?" p
Lennie nodded. p
"Liz Olivet, leaning comfortable against you, like it's always been like that. You know fifteen minutes at a time is not enough to fulfill you." p
"Oh, yeah," Lennie groaned. In two days it would be Adam wrapped around the lovely psychiatrist. Shrink wrap. p
Adam smiled. "I've figured out a way to take people with me. There's a group of us that made final arrangements so we can do this. You too can live in Ben Stone if you like, live his life. Granted, he's not that much younger than you, but at the very least you'll gain five or ten years before the next vessel ripens." p
Lennie shook his head, disbelieving the dialogue in which he was engaged, certain that something in his head was not right. Everything he had experienced that night -- seeing the world from another man's eyes, controlling another man's actions, falling in love -- how was it possible? How did he know this was not some sort of wild hallucination and that he really was not stuck underneath a tunnel in the precinct building? p
He thought of Liz again, her intoxicating scent and hypnotic. His lips still tingled from her kiss, though he had not kissed her directly. It felt so real, and here he had the opportunity to make it real, but inside another man! p
"If I do this," Lennie said finally, "I won't be able to leave. I'll be stuck inside Ben Stone with you forever?" p
"Not forever," Adam shrugged. "Just until the portal is reset to another vessel. Then, when that one is ripe, we'll enter another body." p
"What if it's a woman, next time?" p
"Then we buy pantyhouse. You in or you out, Briscoe?" p
His gut instinct screamed at him to accept, to be with Liz. Yet, Lennie was surprised with himself for actually weighing other options. What waited for him back home, anyway? Sure, he liked his job, but had he the choice he would preferred continuing a partnership with either Rey Curtis or Mike Logan. His personal life fared worse. p
"I do this," Lennie began for clarification, "and essentially Lennie Briscoe is dead to the world." p
Adam nodded. "Same with Adam Schiff. McCoy's dream of becoming DA will finally come true," he added with a chuckle. p
"Which," Lennie continued, ignoring Adam, "means no more alimony payments and warmed-over TV dinners at night." p
"Yeah. We're lucky Ben's first wife remarried." Adam, realizing finally that Lennie was not going to drink his juice, took the glass and downed half of the liquid. p
"I tell ya, it's tempting," Lennie admitted. "To have a second chance, not to screw things up like I did when I was younger." He looked up sharply at Adam. "I'm an alcoholic. We can't drink anymore if I go with you." p
"Not a problem." Adam preferred the nutritional benefits of the carrot juice, anyway. Lennie would have to learn to like it. p
"And we're staying with Liz?" p
"My friend," Adam slapped Lennie on the shoulder, "whom do you think got them together in the first place?" p
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iNine months later /ip
"Morning, sunshine." p
Her consciousness still clouded with sleep, Liz Stone rolled over and greeted her husband with a generous kiss. She still had not adjusted to having Ben wake up next to her after years of living and sleeping alone, and she tried her best not to appear surprised to see him. p
"Unh," she groaned, wincing at the morning light brightening their bedroom. She clutched a hand to her stomach, experiencing another sensation to which she needed to adjust. p
"Need to throw up?" Ben asked. p
Liz shook her head. "I'll be fine." She patted the growing bulge in her belly. "I'll wait 'til I get to Dr. Hudson's office and throw up there. That way I don't have to clean it up." p
Ben laughed, then eased himself out of bed. "I'll take that to mean I can use the bathroom first," he said, and before Liz could protest, he quick-stepped to the door and closed it softly behind him. p
At breakfast, which in the Stone household consisted only of coffee and danish with apple juice for the baby-to-be, Ben and Liz discussed the coming day. p
"You're going to see Carla today?" Liz asked. p
Ben nodded. He was to pick up the galleys of his novel for one final perusal before it went to press. "I'll be home before lunch if you want to go somewhere." p
Liz, who had significantly cut her work schedule to prepare for the baby, agreed to a lunch date. "We can pick up the wedding pictures while we're out. Steve finally got them done."p
"Good. I was just thinking how nice it would be to show them off before the baby graduates from college." p
Liz chuckled at the remark, then suddenly her face fell into melancholy. p
"You okay, hon?" Ben was more than aware of his wife's pregnancy mood swings.p
Liz drummed her fingers on the kitchen counter. "Just thinking about those pictures, and the wedding. I would have liked to have seen Lennie there." p
Ben nodded. Lennie Briscoe's sudden disappearance nine months ago had been the source of much speculation and gossip, not to mention sadness when his daughter eventually had him declared dead a few weeks ago. The large attendance at the memorial service held by the 27th precinct surprised Ben, who was in no way prepared for the outpouring of grief. He watched old friends and former partners dissolve into tears, and quietly he wondered if he had done the right thing, leaving like that. p
One look at Liz's radiant face, however, and the life growing inside her, and he reassured himself. p
"I know," he said at last. "And Adam, too. I don't think anybody was expecting him to die. In his office, of all places." p
"I always heard that he would have to be carried from DA's office in a box," Liz countered lightly, stifling a few tears of her own. "If only they had more time, just a few more months..." p
Ben reached over and drew his wife into his arms, nuzzling her shoulder. "I wouldn't worry about them, sweetheart. I believe they're both a lot closer than you think." p
hrWritten 2000 Major Houlihan