Author's note. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story so far. You made my week. Oh, and as you can see, I managed to make this update somewhat faster than the last one.
Jean-Marie Thibodeaux scratched the salt and pepper stubble on the side of his face, and down underneath his chin. He didn't really blame Benson. Truth be told, he probably could have been a titch more hospitable. He leaned back in his desk chair, sighed, and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he sighed again, then blew air out between loose lips so that they flapped together.
His partner glared at him over her fashion magazine, then dramatically wiped the spittle from glossy face of the super-thin, super-vacant supermodel who adorned the cover of this month's issue.
J.M. licked his lips, then smacked them loudly, his full attention focused for that moment on a spot on the wall just above his salmon-sweater-set-wearing partner's left shoulder. He tried hard not to let the corners of his mouth twitch. Janet, his partner, had a thing about saliva.
There was a thermos of tepid green tea in his middle desk drawer. Even though it wasn't really hot anymore, when he got it out, he spent a good five minutes blowing loudly over the top of his tea, slopping it over the sides of his mug. He extracted a suspicious looking handkerchief from somewhere about his person, spit on it with great gusto, and rubbed vigorously at the puddles of tea on his desk. He put an expression of mild frustration on his face and cleared his throat, smiling benignly at his partner.
Jan, hon, get me a moist towelette from the bathroom?
He adjusted his expression to one of hopeful expectation, and continued to beam at his partner with a lobotomized gleam in his eyes.
Janet rolled her eyes and muttered an obscenity under her breath just loudly enough for her antagonist to hear, but got a with a great show of reluctance and clickety-clacked on her impractical shoes to the ladies' room with her magazine tucked under her arm.
Thanks, sugar. And remember, guard your delicate ears against gossip on the way!
J.M. allowed himself a brief smirk at the back of his partner before rummaging through his rolodex. He flipped quickly to the S's.
Slowly, he picked up the phone. Leaning away from the phone, as though it might be infectious, he wiped his hand over his face. Then, squinting at the index card, he gently punched in the number. Damn, this was unethical! Well, damn ethics. He'd find out sooner or later, anyway, and it was better sooner than later.
He wasn't really surprised by the speed with which his call was answered. Deciding on a neutral tone, he responded to the voice on the other end of the phone.
Hey, Stabler! It's Thibodeaux....yeah, J.M. I met your partner earlier today. Nice woman....yeah, I'll say. Listen, she was with your daughter.....Nah, man, I can't say any more.....I understand, and I wish I could tell you....I'm sorry...Well, pretty beat up, but okay....I'm sorry, man....Oh, and Stabler? I never called.
He replaced the handset in its cradle with an unnecessary amount of force. When Janet returned , she dropped a bottle of Mr. Clean on his desk, settled down in her chair, and went back to her reading.
Olivia turned her key in the lock, pushed the door open, and quickly flipped on the light, and was pleasantly surprised to find her apartment more than minimally presentable. She stepped back from the door to usher Maureen into the apartment.
Forcing a smile to her face, Olivia motioned Maureen to the couch. Maureen sat, leaned back, letting one hand fall over her stomach, and the other diagonally across her lap. She lolled her head back and closed her eyes. Her hair fanned out, golden and delicate against the dark fabric in which Olivia had had her couch upholstered. Her throat fluttered in time with her eyelashes.
One dead bolt thunked into place, and then another. Olivia slid the chain into its track, and jiggled it to make sure it was secure. Metal rasped against metal.
Olivia shrugged to herself, then asked Are you hungry?
Maureen didn't open her eyes; didn't move.
Would you like something to eat?
Something to drink?
Well, I'm hungry. I'm going to make spaghetti. Would you like tomato sauce from the can, or pesto, from the little plastic container?
Maureen smiled wryly.
Twenty minutes later, Olivia brought Maureen her meal. They both ignored the ringing of the phone, until Maureen walked over to it, and, with a nervous glance at Olivia, unplugged it.
Olivia set her cellphone on the coffee table, where they were eating, but turned the volume down.
She glanced at the phone every now and then, and saw calls from a familiar number piling up.
He's worried about you, you know.
I know.
I don't want you to feel pressured, but it would be good if you called him. He loves you, Maureen.
Maureen nodded her head, and looked down at her food. She twirled some more spaghetti onto her fork, then slipped it into her mouth. Tomato sauce caught on the corner of her mouth, and she wiped it away with a paper napkin, which she crumpled in her hand. She didn't say anything.
Eliot slammed the phone down, saw the crack in the plastic, and didn't care. He'd tried all her numbers as many times as he was willing to try them.
Kathy looked at him and raised her eyebrows, stretching the dark circles under her eyes up at the corners. She ran her hand over her hair, pulling limp blonde strands momentarily upwards.
Kathy suddenly looked her husband dead in the eyes. Damn her, she pronounced, slowly, calmly.
said Eliot. He didn't ask her who she meant.
Olivia nodded, Down the hall to the left. I'll get you a clean towel.
She emerged over half an hour later, her wet hair hanging in stringy clumps around her face, and Olivia's sweatpants rolled up around her ankles. Her feet left wet footprints on the hardwood floor. She sat down on the sofa, looked at Olivia, who was sitting on the floor next to the coffee table with her legs crossed, flipping through a case file.
I can sleep on the couch, right?
Maureen looked away before the detective continued, You can sleep in the bed. I made it up for you. Of course, if you don't want to sleep there, I'd be more than willing to take you home.
Maureen sighed, and smiled with the lower half of her face. I just.....can't. Not right now. Maybe in a little while.
Olivia reached up slowly to put her hand on her partner's daughter's I understand. She squeezed lightly. Would you like to talk?
Maureen looked away.
Would you like to watch some TV? She handed her the remote control, and pushed herself up to sit on the couch.
My Fair Lady was on, and they lost themselves in the saccharine cheerfulness for a while.
They woke up an hour later to the sound of pounding on the door.