Chapter Seven:

The cold, twilight gray of morning hung over New York City just as it had yesterday, the day before, and the day before that. Carl Romano tossed his Styrofoam cup of coffee into a nearby trashcan, ignoring the bulky black bags that littered the sides of the streets. Contrary to popular belief, New York did not have many alleys like, say, Chicago or Detroit – although the latter was really feeling the pinch these days. It was mostly a grid, and the various establishments of the Big Apple usually had to dump their trash out front on the curb until the garbage trucks came to haul it away.

"Piss poor excuse for coffee," he rasped out, turning to his partner, Gregory Florentine.

Gregory shrugged. He didn't feel like talking about coffee, or anything else, but Romano was his partner and so he felt obligated. Besides, they had a job to do, just like everyone else in New York. Well, everyone but the A Listers, who didn't seem to do anything but waste air and grace a few tabloid covers. "So, what about Benson?"

What about Benson? That was a good question. "You think Aiken's on the level about her?" Romano asked, adding a question of his own.

The high walls of the city closed in around them, shielding the scurrying crowd of ants that were rushing to catch the early morning subway. Except for Central Park, New York had very little green space. There was, however, a lot of wind, and it whipped Florentine's coat open at the lapels until he pulled it closed around his throat. "Don't know. From the looks of her jacket, she's a good cop. I don't want to see her mixed up in this shit." He dropped the cherry of his cigarette onto the pale gray sidewalk, which would soon be dark and slick with rain if yesterday's weather repeated itself, and ground out the glowing red tip with the sole of his shoe.

Romano rolled his eyes. "Then why'd you join the rat squad, Florentine?"

"Young and naïve." Florentine's figure was a tall, lanky contrast to Romano's short, stocky build. The only thing they had in common was the dark clothing they wore. Florentine might be able to pass as handsome and fit, if it weren't for his slightly yellow teeth and his smoking habit. Romano had a large nose that resembled a tomato and smallish, round eyes.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Romano asked, abruptly changing the subject. He did not need to clarify the question. Florentine had been his partner for years now and could practically read his mind.

"For permission from the higher-ups to bug Stabler's phone? Couplea hours. We all know he's filling her in on everything he can."

"Think they're fucking? I heard rumors."

Florentine shrugged. "Nah. I've seen Stabler's type before. Besides the job, family and religion's all they got."

"If he's such an upstanding citizen, why is he helping Benson on the hospital angle?"

"She's family. He's protecting her. Or maybe she didn't do it."

Another gust of wind created by the tall lanes of skyscrapers blew the smoke from Florentine's cigarette into Romano's face. "Maybe she didn't do it. Or maybe she did."

"Aiken says she did. Says she's in on his boss's evidence tampering scheme and gets a big payoff."

That was when his partner's cell phone buzzed. He flipped it open and settled the speaker casually against his ear. "Romano." Florentine watched curiously as his partner answered in clipped monosyllables. "Yeah? ... Right. Right... Okay. We can – Right. Yeah... Now, got it."

"That the Captain?"

"Yep. We got the go-ahead to tap Stabler's phone."

"What carrier does he use?"

"AT&T. That company's takin' over the world, I tell ya."

Florentine stared up into the clouds. "Think it'll stand up in court?"

"Judge issued the order, didn't he? Worrying about warrants is our Law Degree's job. Besides, you know how the DA feels about crooked cops. He'll let us ram a flashlight up their asses if it keeps a scandal from breaking, and this has scandal written all over it."

The taller man sighed. "Yeah. Call the switchboards and tell them to start gathering up his call history and record all incoming and outgoing calls. You know it takes them ages to get anything done over there." He paused. "I still hope she didn't do it."

"What did the Academy drill into your skull, Florentine?" The shorter man reminded his younger partner.

"Never trust a criminal."

"And what did IAB drill into your skull?"

Florentine tossed the remainder of his cigarette into the trashcan beside Romano's coffee. The first drops of rain began to spatter on the sidewalk and he adjusted his long coat. "Never trust a cop."

. . .

Olivia cracked the vertebrae in her neck, stretching muscles that were stiff from lack of use and groaning in pain and relief. The sound made Alex, who was standing in the doorway, gasp in surprise, and Olivia looked up sharply. She had not noticed the attorney enter the room, and now Alex looked decidedly uncomfortable, as if she was intruding. Her fingers roamed nervously over the pearl brooch pinned to her shirt and her face was bright red.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"You're fine," Olivia reassured her. "Come in – not that I need to invite you, you're the host. May I ask a question?"

"Of course." Alex walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. Olivia felt her heart speed up for a moment and sat up, leaning back against the headboard. When her hand reached out to touch the fabric next to Alex's brooch, the attorney's light blue eyes darkened to the color of a gentle sea.

"Why are you wearing a pearl brooch with a tee shirt?"

Alex smiled softly. "You like my bling?" she teased, trying to hide the unsteadiness behind her words. "I know it doesn't go with the casual tee shirt and sweatpants look, but my mother gave it to me." The warm pressure of Olivia's hand seared her skin through the fabric of her shirt, and she felt her body responding, the sensitive tips of her breasts hardening. Deciding that crossing her arms would only make the situation more embarrassing, she decided to just ignore it and hope for the best. It was autumn. She could claim that it was cold.

"What time is it?" she asked. The smooth honey of her voice was coarse and unsettled, and Olivia noticed the change. She did not remove her hand.

"Noon," she said. The digital clock was in plain view. Alex could easily see it as well with a small tilt of her head, but her eyes were locked on the painted walls behind the bed, gazing directly over Olivia's head.

She wasn't a detective for nothing. She had an idea what was going on. What she didn't understand was why – why here, why now? She had noticed this connection, this something that lingered between them before. Sometimes present, sometimes disappearing into the cracks while they worked through endless painful cases. She had thought about it, even remarked on it casually to Elliot – "I think our ADA has a hard-on for me this week..." or "Damn, El, Alex chewed me up and spit me out again good this time. She must like the taste..." – but there was always the possibility that it only existed in her imagination.

That was no longer a possibility.

Alex's breath was unnaturally quick. Wide, shimmering blue eyes stared resolutely into nothingness, seeking any focus point that wasn't Olivia. The hand stayed above her breast, feeling the pounding, uneven rhythm of her heartbeat. Both her palm and Alex's skin burned.

She had thought, but never really believed it. There were too many complications. Alex was probably straight. Alex was her colleague. Alex was too focused on work to bother with relationships, especially with nobodies like her. Alex was so far out of her league it wasn't even funny.

But.

Alex's body was overflowing with a coiling, vibrating tension. She was frozen like a frightened rabbit, entranced and paralyzed with fear as it watched the fox closing in.

"Alex, why did you bring me here?"

"God help me, I have no idea." It was the first thing that the blonde could think to say.

"Why won't you look at me?"

The ADA swallowed to ease the dryness at the back of her mouth. She resisted the temptation to lick her lips even though they were also dry – that would be the wrong signal to send. Her brain was misfiring and she did not trust any of her reactions. "I'm frightened," she admitted.

"Why haven't you moved my hand?"

"Because I don't want to."

And then the curious fingers that traced the outline of her brooch halted, moving down, the palm of her hand forming a curve as it shaped itself to the swell of Alex's breast. Neither of the two women had any idea what they were doing. The experience was surreal, too hazy and dreamlike to exist in the real world. Alex froze – and then, slowly, felt her body press into Olivia's hand, seeking firmer contact even though she had not chosen to do so.

Olivia was overwhelmed. One touch had her body singing – a touch that had, before this moment, seemed impossible. The pulse point in Alex's throat throbbed in a rapid, visible jump of blood pumping beneath skin. She hardly breathed, and when she did, it was in short, shallow gasps, as though she had forgotten how. The ADA looked as though she was drowning.

Cautiously, not wanting to startle her, Olivia moved her other hand to stroke the attorney's stomach, fingers raising the hem of her shirt, seeking bare skin. "This must be another dream," Alex whispered to herself, desperately wanting to close her eyes, but afraid of what she might miss. There was no way that this was really happening.

"What do you dream about?" she asked, rubbing soothing circles over the lower half of Alex's stomach, her other hand still cupped possessively over the attorney's excited breast. She wanted to feel all of Alex without barriers, a thought that surprised and enthralled her as it crossed her mind, but was afraid of breaking the fragile moment suspended between them.

The touch was a sensory and emotional overload. "You."

"You dream about me?"

The answer was a kiss. Neither of them could be sure who started it, whose mouth made contact first. It started slowly, just a subtle brushing of lips, a silent question. That question was answered when they opened to each other, sharing warm breath. The hand that stroked her stomach lifted to caress her cheek, fingers weaving through fair hair, and the other squeezed, an insistent, nonverbal plea for a reaction... but not the one Alex gave.

A soft cry broke in Alex's throat and she pitched backwards, the bottom of her stomach dropping as she stumbled off of the bed, wrapping one arm protectively around her stomach as the other pushed forward to open the door. She couldn't do this. This wasn't one of her dreams. It was hard enough to go back to her lonely, isolated existence after experiencing one of her fantasies, but if she let Olivia actually touch her, she would break – she wouldn't be able to put it behind her.

She ran, not worrying how it might look. They had already crossed a boundary that never should have been breached. Thankful that she had her things in a separate room, she did not bother to close the door as she crawled onto the bed and hid her face in a pillow, shutting out all light and searching for a quiet, dark place that would allow her to think.

And without Olivia touching her, the only star shining in her dark, sunless sky, Alex felt the shuddering waves crashing over her in a weeping tide. Despite the fear, despite her roiling emotions, despite everything, she was still painfully aware of her body's reaction to Olivia's touch. Face still buried in the pillowcase, she cupped a hand between her legs and squeezed her knees tight, curling into a ball and silently pleading for the feelings to disappear.

It was the same wish she made most nights before she fell asleep. Please, just this one time... make it go away. But if her arousal was uncomfortable, bordering on painful, her emotional agony was excruciating. The attraction by itself, she could probably handle, but the feelings that were attached to it overwhelmed her completely.

She did not notice the woman standing just beyond the doorway, watching her with concerned brown eyes.