Title: Not Her Detective
Fandom: SVU & FOL
Rating: M....to be on the safe side
Summary: Jo meets Alex in a bar--and picks her up.
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em….
A/N: I’ve always loved “The Facts of Life” and come on, what’s not to love about Alex Cabot. It struck me that Jo and Olivia might be close enough in age and Alex and Blair might not be all that different from one another. I don’t know if it works, but this is what happens when I’m monitoring my students doing their End-of-Course testing for the state. If only they knew their teacher was standing at the podium writing about <gasp> lesbians!
The dark haired woman took up residence beside the blonde at the bar. It was evident to any observer that not only were the two strangers—unknown to each other—but they were also from opposite sides of the tracks.
The protrusion at the dark-haired woman’s hip caught the blonde’s attention. “Here on official business or pleasure,” the blonde asked as she onced over the officer beside her, “officer.”
In an accent that had lessened over the years, the dark haired woman responded, “It’s Detective and I guess it depends.”
The blonde smiled coyly and her blue eyes glistened. “Depends on what, Detective?” she corrected her earlier mistake and drew out her pronunciation of the woman’s rank.
The dark detective stepped into the blonde’s space and put her hand on her hip and huskily said, “Depends on whether you let me buy you a drink. If you do, I’m here for pleasure. If not, well, I guess business.”
The blonde, intrigued by the darker woman’s boldness and response further inquired, “How will turning down a drink from you lead to business—especially since your business is that of arresting criminals?”
The detective laughed and leaned in closer to the blonde, “I think there’s evidence—however circumstantial—that you’d enjoy me first buying you a drink and second, uh, possibly dinner.”
“And that’s a crime?” the blonde asked.
“If you don’t accept, it is. Come on, you’re obviously not averse to the possibility of something with a woman or you’d have stated that as much or pulled back to increase the space between us,” the dark haired woman countered.
“Objection. Calls for speculation,” the blonde quipped as if she was sitting in a court room.
Startled, the detective eased back. “A lawyer?”
A smirk and nod confirmed her question.
“Prosecution or defense?”
“Awww,” the blonde said as she sipped on her martini and crossed her legs. “How about we play a little game? Hmm? If you guess correctly I’ll not only let you buy me that drink, but dinner as well.”
The detective almost snorted as she nodded her head. “I’ll accept your challenge.” She slid onto a barstool next to the blonde and caught the bartender’s eye, signaling what she wanted. Until her bottled beer was sat down in front of her, she didn’t take her eyes off of her companion. She took a deep draw from the beer and began the exploration of the ‘evidence’ before her.
“You’re wearing a suit that costs more than my monthly rent and I imagine those shoes would feed a small African village for a year.” She looked away from the blonde and surveyed the other women in the bar before looking back to her, “I went to school with a girl like you. You come from money—old money. Probably a family full of lawyers and judges. I’m guessing you live in a high-rise with a doorman. Of course, there’s a garage that houses a ridiculously overpriced foreign car that you seldom, if ever drive. And then, it’s only to the old family estate…in the Hamptons.”
“Martha’s Vineyard,” the blonde corrected. “But please, do go on.”
The detective took another swig of her domestic, bottled beer and continued.
“All girls prep school. Ivy Leage college. And I’m guessing you didn’t do one of the Seven Sisters,” she eyed her cautiously. “Only child. Daddy’s little girl—and it broke his heart and pissed him off to no end that instead of joining his practice you became a prosecutor. How am I doing so far?”
The blonde nervously fingered the swizzle stick in her drink before cocking her head to the side, “Eerily well. How…how do you know so much?” For her part, the prosecutor didn’t know whether to be spooked that someone she just met could see through her so easily or worried that this gorgeous detective in front of her had accessed information on her.
“Like I said,” she put her now empty beer bottle on the bar, “I knew a girl like you once.”
“And what happened to her?” the blonde asked out of genuine interest.
“She was a daddy’s girl who had no interest in pissing her daddy off. She married the right guy, lives in the right neighborhood, joined the right country clubs, sits on all the right boards.” The detective smiled sadly.
“So you’re here looking for a substitute? An imitation, although quite possibly a better model, of the woman who broke your heart?”
“Nah, Princess. You can’t have a substitute for something you never had to start with. ‘Sides, Blair and I were always biting and sniping at one another. We were best friends, but to most people on the outside looking in, we couldn’t stand each other.”
The blonde reached out and put her hand on the knee of the woman beside her, “I know the name of the woman who was your best friend and the Cliff Note’s version of her life story, but I still don’t know your name, Detective.”
“Ya know, babbling about Blair isn’t the way I typically try to pick up women in bars,” she admitted sheepishly. “My name is Joanna, Detective Joanna Polniaczek.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she cocked her head to the side and smirked, “Joanna.”
The dark detective tilted her head back and laughed, “Jo. My friends call me Jo.”
“Jo. My friends call me Alex, Alex Cabot. Now, about that drink you owe me.”