Alex Cabot stood outside of Olivia's door, holding a white plastic bag full of takeout and A Gone With the Wind DVD, trying to think of an excuse as to why she was even there at all. So far, her usually collected mind was coming up with nothing other than a lame 'because I wanted to see you'. The ADA sighed softly to herself as she rang the bell again. It was a crisp, sharp sound that conveyed her impatience.

"Who is it?" Said a voice from the other side of the door. Alex rolled her eyes.

"Olivia, it's me. Alex."

There was a silence so loud Alex could have sworn she heard it roaring in her ears. She heard someone shuffle on the other side of the door before Olivia spoke again.

"You can't be here…" Olivia's voice was deeper than usual – rougher, and the 'r' rolled as though her tongue was… elongated. Alex blinked and took a step back, feeling unexpectedly hurt and disappointed. "This isn't a good time."

Alex pulled herself together, "Oh. Right. I, ah, bought you some dinner." Olivia had never outright refused her before – not without a reason, and that was usually due to work.

"Thanks, Alex. I'm… not very well. Just um… leave it outside the door." Olivia's voice faltered, "I don't want you to get my um… flu."

"Flu?" The ADA's eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Olivia, don't you want me to help you out?" She took a step closer to the door, pressing a hand against it as though she could somehow transport herself through the solid wood.

"No, it's alright. Don't want you getting this." Olivia laughed roughly. "Seriously, Alex, go home. I'll see you on Monday after I get over this flu."

There was something in Olivia's tone that brokered no negotiation. Alex sighed to herself and nodded, placing the plastic bag outside the door before stepping back again. "I'll see you on Monday, Olivia. I hope you get better soon."

With that, Alex turned and headed back down the corridor, her mind occupied on the woman in the apartment behind her. She and Olivia had had little get-togethers before – nothing fancy: a dinner here, a trip to the movies there. Friendship get-togethers. They were enjoyable, all be it a little passive. Alex couldn't deny that she wanted more, lots more, from the detective. So far however, Olivia had proven resilient to Alex's subtle advances. Alex was indeed subtle – she would wear a slightly higher skirt when she was to meet Olivia that day, and sometimes she'd even unbutton her shirts lower than she normally would. But Olivia Benson was notoriously stubborn.

Alex headed out of the apartment block and out onto the street as a cloud passed out of the way of the full moon. She peered up, its soothing light caressing her pale skin. She'd made sure she had been prepared for a dinner and movie night with Olivia. She'd even fed, just so she wasn't overwhelmed with the temptation to taste the warm, thick tang of blood. The woozy bartender she'd managed to coerce into being dinner would feel better in the morning. She remembered the shocked horror in his eyes as she walked towards her car, parked on the kerb. She always felt so… guilty after feeding. Being a vampire had its downsides.

Alex had been born into an ancient family of vampires – when her great, great grandfather (going back to the 1700s), John Cabot, had moved from his birthplace in the Channel Islands to Salem, Massachusetts, he had fell afoul of a witch, who had cursed him and his family to everlasting life, with a thirst for blood. Of course, the curse had been diluted as the years had passed, and Alex's vampirism has pale in comparison to the original curse. She could walk free in the sunlight, for example, and her bite was not likely to pass on the disease. She was also unlikely to live forever – she'd last perhaps one hundred and fifty years at most.

She turned her mind to the vampire-fever that had plagued the youth of the age as she got into her Mercedes and started it up. She had always thought vampires in the stories and films were extremely overrated. Alex was a normal person, with normal senses and a not so secret weakness for old movies. Rather than being frozen in time, she aged only very slowly. Perhaps the only difference between herself and the average human on the street was that she was eighty years old. Oh, and she also had to drink at least a pint of blood once a week.

The traffic was slow as Alex snailed her way through the city. She was suddenly desperate to get home. Tomorrow was Saturday and she had no cases to prosecute, nothing to do but laze around all day and relax. She smiled to herself as she stopped at yet another red light. Maybe she'd order pizza and watch North by Northwest. Besides being a lover of old movies, she had a soft spot for Hitchcock. She often pondered if it was because she had been alive when they'd all first hit the theatres. She supposed it was lucky Olivia was also a Hitchcock lover…

Alex shook her head as her thoughts turned to Olivia Benson once again. The detective was so alluring. In all her life, she'd never met someone quite like the woman. She was brave, and wise and kind. Her sheer determination to do what was right endeared Alex to her. After seeing eighty years of harsh reality, which included the Great Wall Street Crash and the Second World War, Alex had come to realise such righteous resolve and utter devotion to victims of misfortune was rare. It was partly due to this, and her ability to look completely irresistible in a leather jacket, that Alex was attracted to her. She'd first met Olivia almost two years ago, back in 2000, on October the 20th.

At first Alex had been taken aback by Olivia's hostility – she supposed the detective had had every right to be disgruntled with her. It wasn't so much her, she had reasoned, but what she represented: upper class snobs who'd had everything given to them on a silver platter. And, back then, she had been. But the two years she'd spent working with the Special Victims Unit had changed the victims from faceless future voters to people who she felt rather protective of.

Gradually, Olivia had warmed up to her and, despite their rather heated arguments, they'd managed to have a good rapport outside of work.

And so, after many dinner dates and movie nights, Alex Cabot had found she was steadily falling for the beautiful detective with her deep, bottomless brown eyes and the stubborn little clench of her jaw when she got angry, or the way her hair was always dreadfully ruffled after spending a long night in the crib. In all of her eighty years, she'd never met a woman quite like Olivia Benson.