Author's Note - Once again, thanks to all who reviewed. Now, on to questions and comments that I have to comment on.
TriStateCopFan - You really see Elliot as a homophobe? I must have searched the net for an hour and couldn't find much evidence to corroborate your statement. He has been a little insensitive a few times when it comes to gender/sexual identity, but I wouldn't think a guy could get as physical as he does with other guys if he was homophobic. Just my observation and thinking, and a little explanation into this next chapter.
TrinityWildcat - A resolution? You mean I have to end this? Nooo! Need ... Bobby ... gasp ... pant ... drool ... Anyway, I see this as at least twenty more chapters, maybe thirty, but I hope not. It's Law & Order, not War and Peace.
ShadowSage - Hmmm, I'll try to be more careful. It made sense to me. Of course, considering the plot, that's not saying much. Casey? I love Casey (end sarcasm). Eh, most of the time Novak drives me up the wall. Now Bishop, on the other hand ... I have big plans for her (Cackles evilly). The pickin's are pretty slim, aren't they? I thought about using a smaller cast (probably should have, as keeping all these people in character is a nightmare), but after the hours I spent working out the dynamics for this ritual (charts, diagrams, lists, herbage), I wasn't about to change it. I miss Cabot, too.
Lina-Baggins/Gemstar - Thanks. I read your fic! It was really good. I keep meaning to leave a real review, but I have one of those stupid ISPs that only give you a certain number of hours a month, so I do most of my reading offline, and when I get back on, I forget to review. I will though! I'm hoping to leave at least one review for ever person who's reviewed mine ... one of these days ...
KendraC - Ten parts might have been a bit optimistic. It looks to be more like thirty. Once I get into a story, I've noticed that I tend to run on a bit, describing practically every moment. Maybe I should try to be more brief. The next time the incubus has to be sated, for example, could go something like this: 'Alex followed Bobby to his cell. Twenty minutes later, they returned to the squad room, tired, sweaty, aching in all the right places, and finally at peace.' What do you think? That would cut out, oh, two or three chapters, at least.
'One major point that needs correcting: one of the victims commited suicide. They only have one other vic to talk with.'
Maybe warlocks really do prefer to be called witches, but I know I got this one right. You're forgetting about the sketches. We have the vic that killed herself, the neighbor, and the two vics that came up with near identical sketches of Bobby when they worked with the sketch artists. It's in chapter two, I think. (Keep trying. Knowing that someone is just waiting for me to screw up will keep me on my toes.)
brynnamorgan - You're welcome. I'll look forward to reading it.
"It was an accident," Sledge said. "I wasn't watching, I came out of the break room, right into him. I - I'm not a homosexual. I'm not." He was barely speaking above a whisper. Alex glanced at each of the others, reading nothing but empathy on their faces; the only person Sledge needed to convince was himself.
"Of course you're not," Alex said, brushing a couple of stray hairs off his shoulder. "We already suspected the incubus wasn't very picky." She gave a forced laugh. "Bobby used that very threat to keep Stabler from giving him another black eye."
"As if," Elliot muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. Dr. Huang stepped forward, sliding between Deakins and Carver, to offer his professional opinion.
"The incubus promises sexual gratification," he said, sounding every inch the head-shrinker. "Being aroused by that, no matter what the source, should not make you question your sexuality. From what I understand, it is a very powerful, sometimes irresistible, physical sensation, and a physical reaction is completely normal."
"But are you sure?" Sledge asked. "This - this happened to one of you?" His blue eyes were almost black as they darted from one man's face to the next and found no solace. "It is just me." A jumble of emotions played across Elliot's scowl as he took one step forward, then another, a kind of thoughtful swagger. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing a tattoo on his right forearm, and tucked his tie into the gap between the second and third buttons on his shirt.
"You owe me one," he said, thumping Sledge on the shoulder before stepping past Alex and heading down the hall. Fin, Huang, and Logan peered after him. He glanced back and mouthed the words, How bad can it be?
"He's not going to ..." Logan said, a frown creasing his heavy brow.
"Yeah, he is," Olivia said, turning away and wandering over to her desk. The others soon followed her lead, perching themselves in chairs and on the edges of desks, watching the red second hand race around the face of the clock. Nearly three minutes passed before Elliot appeared at the far end of the corridor, his swagger replaced by a stiffer walk. The results of his 'experiment' were evident.
"It's not just you," he said to Sledge. "That thing inside Goren could give a dead man a hard on." He shuddered and made his way over near Olivia and leaned on the desk beside her, his palms flat against the faux wood surface as he hung his head.
"What happened?" Alex heard Olivia ask. Elliot was silent for a moment.
"Nothing I want to talk about." Olivia started to reach out and put her hand on his shoulder, but he sidestepped before she could. "Don't," he said, his mercurial gaze shifting from the floor to her shins and back again, "you'll only make it worse." At first, Olivia seemed torn between hurt and flattered, then she smiled and slid down off the desk.
"Come on," she said, stepping past her partner, "let's go see if we can't do something about that substantial problem of yours." Elliot inhaled sharply. "I'm sure there's some ice in the freezer," she added with a smirk. He gave a low, pained chuckle.
"You're cruel, Liv," he said, but followed her down the hall and into the break room, closing the door behind them. Smiling, Alex turned back to Sledge, her grin fading as she raised her eyes to his.
"I'll do it," he said, "I'll help with the spell." She covered his hand with hers and gave a gentle squeeze.
"You don't have to, Sledge, really - "
"Yes, Eames, I do." He took a deep breath, hunting for those elusive words again. "I don't know you real well, but from what I've heard, and what I've seen, you do take good care of your partner - of Goren, and you will continue to take care of him, every night, for as long as this continues." He swallowed hard. "That was the most horrible feeling, that helplessness, and I couldn't live with myself if I had even the smallest part in making you suffer through that one second longer than necessary." She just stared at him a moment, now searching for her own words. Plenty were coming to her, but not any that she felt comfortable speaking aloud.
"Thank you ... Edward," she said at last, and turned away. What she couldn't tell him, what she didn't even want to hear herself say, was that she didn't think of it as some horrific ordeal to be suffered again and again. She wasn't exactly looking forward to having sex with him, but now that the awkward first time was out of the way, she didn't foresee any major hang-ups. After all, humans had been having sex for forever.
Taking a cleansing breath, she squared her shoulders and made her way across the room, to where Munch had gathered Novak, Bishop, Carver, Deakins and Logan.
" - can't guarantee their safety," Munch was saying, "but we need two more guys for this to work."
"One," Alex corrected. "Sledge changed his mind." Munch arched an eyebrow.
"How'd you manage that?"
"Empathy is a great motivator." He nodded thoughtfully.
"Maybe I should try that on the kid who delivers my paper. I swear he just chucks them from the elevator." He chuckled and shook his head. "Anyway, we need one guy who can handle this, preferably a cop, but anyone we can trust -" He eyed Novak, a point which was not lost on her. "- would work."
"I know a guy over at the three six," Logan said, drawing a hand back and forth across the side of his jaw. "Kind of a wacko, but that might not be a bad thing, considering."
"How well do you know him?" Alex asked. Logan shrugged.
"We've had a few beers, shot some pool, so ... well enough, I guess." Munch nodded.
"It'll have to do; we need to wrap this up by four a.m. - for the sake of our pensions," he added in response to Novak's thinly arched eyebrow. To Logan, he said, "Call the guy."
"Don't bother," Elliot said, strolling back into the room, Olivia a few steps behind him. He stepped up into their little group, between Carver and Munch, and stood with his hands in his pockets, his 'problem' apparently taken care of. He wasn't wearing the look of a man who'd just had ice in his drawers, though. That small, lazy smile, of which he probably wasn't even aware, spoke volumes toward another conclusion.
Alex glanced at Olivia, who had taken a seat at her desk. The dark-haired woman lounged in her chair, one arm draped over the back as she laughed at something Fin was saying to her. Whatever Elliot was smiling about, she felt no guilt about it. Shrugging it off as none of her business, yet filing it away just in case, she turned back to Elliot.
"Okay, I'll bite," she said. "Why do we not need to bother?"
"I might have overreacted before," he said. "Your little spell doesn't sound like anything a few hundred Hail Mary's won't fix." He gave a crooked, self-depreciating grin. "I'm hardly the Pope, after all."
"All right," Alex said, "that's everybody." She turned to Munch. "Let's hear how this is going to work."
"I'm sorry, can you explain it to me?" Alex and Fin both groaned aloud, Munch rolled his eyes and Elliot slammed his fist down on the desk, making Novak jump. "I'm sorry," she snapped, "but I don't understand. Which one am I supposed to choose?"
"It doesn't matter," Munch said again, "just pick one." Huffily, she snatched up the black rock with the white star on it. "Now, was that so hard?" he said with an exaggerated sigh. She made as if she were going to throw it at him. He just turned to Olivia. "Your turn." Her eyes swept over the remaining implements: the goblet and the stick. Bishop had already taken the dull black and silver dagger. Alex watched from the side, a little peeved that she was going to be stuck with whatever Olivia didn't pick, but Munch was running the show; she'd do as he said. Olivia hesitated over the twisty stick-thing, then took the battered silver cup.
"Gee, just what I always wanted," Alex said, picking up the stick. The wood was pale and smooth, some kind of willow or ash, maybe. His eyes hooded, Munch smiled patiently.
"Sometimes, the best match is not one we choose, but one that refuses all others until only we are left." She blinked at him.
"You read that on a fortune cookie or somethin'?" Fin asked, bringing a slight scowl to Munch's thin face.
"Did you have to say that?" he said, peering over his glasses at his partner.
"'Scuse me, Confucius," Fin said with a good-natured sneer. "I didn't mean to spoil the mood, but us guys are about bored to tears over here. When do we get somethin' to play with?"
"I think I got a live power line around here somewhere," Munch said, spreading another handful of assorted leaves on the desk.
"That's enough you two," Cragen said from his office doorway. "You're wasting time." He cast a meaningful glance toward the clock. It was almost three in the morning. Alex groaned and rubbed her face.
"Sorry, Captain," Munch said, but behind his smoky glasses, his eyes were unrepentant. As Cragen returned to his office, Munch turned to Fin. "Since you're so eager to help out, why don't you pick first this time?"
"Pick what?" Fin asked, standing up and frowning at the dried foliage on the desk. "You know, when most people kill a house plant, they throw it out and buy a new one."
"Ha, ha, ha, you're killing me here," Munch said, deadpan. "Just pick one, will you?" Fin made a face as he looked the plants over, then grabbed one, muttering something about grass clippings and Martha Stewart. "Elliot, if you would." Elliot picked up a dark green stem with oval leaves and withered yellow flowers. Munch raised his eyebrows. "Interesting," he said, making everyone in the room peer curiously at the plant.
"Oh, no you don't," Elliot said, now holding his plant at arm's length. "You don't just go 'Hmmm, interesting' and expect that to be it. What's interesting?"
"Relax, Elliot, that yellow evening primrose is not going to bite you," he said, fighting a smirk. "It's just that every one of these plants has a meaning, an energy, a magick power, if you will. That one happens to be hunting, which makes sense, considering your line of work. I figured you pick a different one, is all; I guess it's a good thing the choice is yours." Still frowning, Elliot sat down, delicately laying the primrose on the desk before him. "Liv?" He gestured toward the desk. Olivia bit her lip.
"What does this one mean?" she asked, pointing at the holly branch. Munch shook his head.
"That's not the way it works," he said. "If you want to know, I'll tell you after you've chosen." He sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. "In a real coven, everyone knows what these plants do, and they choose accordingly. We don't have time for even a crash course in herbology, so we're just going to wing it. Trust me, in this business, luck is far more powerful than planning." Olivia shook her head and selected a plant with a thick, heavy stalk, hairy-looking leaves and white flowers tipped with pink. "That's masterwort; funny name, but it is drawn to and promotes courage. Quite fitting, if you ask me. Dr. Huang?"
"My great-grandmother knew a bit of ancient Chinese medicine," he said, eyeing the desk. "She could stop a nose bleed with one kind of leaf, cure a headache with another." He shrugged. "Who would have thought." He took a green-gold cedar branch, running it across his fingers almost reverently.
"Big surprise," Munch said quietly. "Cedar's power is healing." The room was silent for a moment. "Okay, Alex, you're next."
"Gee, I thought I was going to be last again," she said, stepping forward. The damn butterflies were back. Now why would picking a hunk of dead vegetation off a desk make her nervous? Because it revealed something about her, maybe something she didn't want revealed. The last three had been dead on; hunting, courage, healing - "What does Fin's plant mean?" Munch hadn't said, she realized suddenly. Maybe it wouldn't help, but she had to know.
"That's a sweet pea," Munch said with a smirk. "It means friendship."
"That explains why I don't feel the need to kick your bony ass into the street for letting me pick somethin' called a sweet pea. Why didn't you just hand me a T-shirt that says John's Bitch to go with it?"
"Good idea," Munch said. "I'll get one too that says Fin's Witch." He glanced in the Captain's direction. Cragen was still in his office, on the phone, but was watching his detectives with a scowl on his face. "Anyway, it's still your turn, Alex."
"Oh, to hell with it," she muttered under her breath, grabbing the holly branch. Holly leaves are nasty enough when green and soft, but once dry, they become downright vicious. One of the needle sharp points stabbed into Alex's hand. "Son of a bitch!" she cursed, dropping the branch on the floor. "I guess that was the wrong choice," she said, sticking her bleeding finger in her mouth.
"On the contrary," their resident warlock said. He sounded almost in awe. "Holly has a strong protective spirit, which awakened at your touch. You could make a pretty good witch, with training."
"Thanks," Alex said, carefully retrieving her plant from the floor. She winced as her rib gave a twinge of pain, "but I've had enough schooling for one lifetime." She regarded the holly for a moment. "So, it's power is protection, huh?" That wasn't so bad. They were supposed to 'Serve and protect', after all.
"A minor quality," Munch corrected, stepping around the end of the desk and beckoning to her, "shared by many plants: dogwood, honeysuckle, rosemary, oak, marigold, juniper ... the list is as long as my arm." She stopped in front of him, one eyebrow raised as he reached for her. "May I?" he asked. After a moment's hesitation she nodded and he slipped one hand inside her jacket, finding her hip and then sliding up under her shirt. She almost hit him with the business end of her holly branch, but then he pressed against her side and she hissed in pain. Nodding to himself, he closed his eyes and began to mumble again, his brow furrowed in concentration. Alex held her breath as she realized what he was doing. After a moment he removed his hand from her shirt and smiled. "Was that good for you?" he asked.
"Sorry, but I didn't feel anything," Alex replied, taking a slow deep breath, then another, not so tentatively. She leaned sideways, but there wasn't so much as a twinge. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," he said with a wave of his hand. "I needed the practice." Before she could inquire as to what that meant, he went on like nothing had happened. "Holly's distinctive power is balance, and you either have it, or need it." She gave a small snort and a lopsided smile.
"I think I am it," she said, taking a seat beside Edward. Balance. It described her relationship with Bobby better than any word she'd used so far. She balanced him. She was the light in his darkness, the ying to his yang.
"Detective Bishop, would you care to go next?" Alex looked up with interest as the willowy detective approached the desk. She scanned the choices, then took a bundle of wide-bladed grass bound with a bread-tie. "That's sweetgrass," Munch said, his eyes following Bishop back across the room to where she'd been sitting. "It's used to call spirits."
"You don't say," Bishop replied, sounding like she couldn't be less interested. Munch regarded her a moment longer, then turned to Deakins.
"Captain Deakins?" Alex watched her boss try to reign in his exuberant grin as he stood, like a boy in a candy shop, trying to decide. He finally picked up a stiff green reed with broad, grass-like leaves and a knobby, pale orange root.
"This -" He brought the root up to his nose and smelled it. "- this is ginger, isn't it?"
"Yes, that's right. Ginger embodies power itself." Deakins nodded absently and sat down, his eyes closing as he smelled it again. Munch glanced over a Novak. "Well, Casey, do you think you can handle this? I know it's a little tricky - "
"Go to hell," she snapped, stalking over and snatching up a small bouquet of ragged blue wildflowers. Several pale, paper-thin petals fluttered to the ground.
"Easy there," Munch cautioned. "Wild chicory is rather delicate, but it has the power to overcome obstacles."
"Does that include scumbag defense attorneys?" Fin asked. Novak shot him a cold, venomous look. "Just a joke, girl, lighten up. We're supposed to be friends, remember?" he said, holding his piece of sweet pea up between them. Just about everyone chuckled, that kind of tense laugh you get from tired, on-edge people who just need a little relief.
"Detective Sledge, it's your turn." Edward stood up like he'd been poked with a pin and walked stiffly over to the desk. The pickings were getting rather slim; all that remained was the faded iris, some kind of evergreen branch with red berries, and two kinds of white flowers. One had clusters of small blossoms and thin, dark green oval leaves, and the other had star-like flowers on thin stalks.
"I've never understood why people like flowers so much," he said, taking the tree branch. "So, uh, what does this mean?" Munch glanced from the branch to him and back again.
"That's you," he said. Edward frowned, as did Alex and about half of the others. "Y-E-W," Munch clarified. "Irish yew, I believe. They grow in just about every graveyard in Ireland. The poisonous berries kept farmer from grazing their livestock on consecrated ground." Alex raised her eyebrows. It seemed Bobby wasn't the only one who collected useless trivia like baseball cards. "It's power is ... communication."
"That's not right." Everyone turned to look at Bishop, seated primly in her chair. "After all, Edward, you aren't exactly known for your conversation skills."
"Like I said with Alex," Munch said, glancing at her over the edge of his glasses, "you either have it, or need it." She shrugged and looked away. Edward didn't say anything, but sat rigidly beside Alex once again. "Okay, Detective Logan?"
"What, my turn already?" He looked down at his choices. "Looks like closing time on Valentine's Day at my local florist. You'd think the guy would know by now to save me something." He picked up the cluster of little flowers, an apprehensive look on his face as he waited for Munch's verdict.
"That's white alyssum. It helps moderate anger."
"Let me guess; that's the one you wanted to give me," Elliot said, toying with his primrose as he reclined in his chair.
"Are you saying I have an anger problem?" Logan asked, a frown on his face. Munch gave him a blank look.
"Remind us again why you were sent to Staten Island?" He turned to Elliot. "And you're about one perp slam away from joining Mr. Congeniality here." Elliot scowled.
"That would have to be a Congressman slam," Logan said after a moment, completely killing the tension that had been building.
"I think I like this guy," Elliot said with an abrasive laugh.
"Great, maybe after this is all over, the two of you can get together and violate a suspect's civil rights. Mr. Carver, I believe you're next." With an air of perfect solemnity, ADA Carver approached the desk, selected the faded purple iris, and returned to his seat. "The iris is associated with wisdom," Munch said, mostly for the group's benefit. Carver still looked out of it, like he was expecting to wake up safe and sound in his own bed any minute now. "Okay, that just leaves me and the edelweiss." He picked up the last bunch of flowers. "Now, I'm going to need some time - "
"Hang on," Alex said, "what does the edelweiss do?" Several others looked at him expectantly.
"Bulletproofing," he said shortly. "Now, I - "
"Wait, you tellin' me I didn't have to get shot last November?" Fin asked. "What else have you been keeping from us, Glenda?" Munch leaned forward onto the desk, his shoulders tight.
"You tell me how it would have looked had I come in one day and handed you all flowers." He fixed his partner with a heavy stare. "Do you think I haven't thought about that? Do you think a single day has passed that I haven't asked the Powers That Be to keep you all safe? I've tried, okay. You know those keychains I gave you three, four years ago for your birthdays? I begged my coven to work a protection charm on each one. I did my best. Two hundred years ago, people like me were tied up and set on fire; in some countries they still are. It's not a great confidence booster."
"But John," Fin said, sounding shocked, "surely you knew that none of us'd ever hurt you?"
"Not at first," Munch confessed. "You can't just walk up to someone and ask what their position on witchcraft is. It didn't take long, though, and then I knew, but I just got so used to hiding it ..." The room was silent for a moment, a dull, leaden silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Munch said, "It's done now, so - let's get on with this. I need some time to work out proper positioning in the circle - Who stands next to whom."
"Is that important?" Novak asked, glancing at the guys on either side of her; Carver and Dr. Huang.
"Only if we want Detective Goren to come out of this in one piece."
Disclaimer - Law and Order: CI and SVU, and the characters protrayed therin, are the property of Dick Wolf and Assoc., but Detective Sledge is all mine, Mwa ha ha ha! Er, ahem ... please don't sue.