A Very L&O Valentine
by
Cirocco and Leslie Rampey

TO OUR READERS:

Since this is a bit of an unusual fic, we think we owe you a wee bit of explanation of how it all came about. It originated during discussion of a point of view held among some fans and zealously adhered to by Dick Wolf – that is, the characters of Law & Order should have as little of personal lives as possible. Often the phrase we hear is, "I don't want to have to be keeping up with who is sleeping with who."

Well. We'll spare you our elaborate calculations, but we determined that other than assumed sleeping with spouses by past and present married characters (which we don't have to keep up with) and Mike Logan's sleeping around (which we didn't have to keep up with either since we never knew who the women were) there have been only one possible/probable case (Jack and Claire) and one documented case (Rey Curtis and the girl in the Park) of anyone sleeping with anyone in all of 12 ½ years. And even if every one of the unmarried characters suddenly did sleep with someone, that would bring the average of anyone sleeping with anyone to fewer than .5 cases per year – which hardly would tax anyone's ability to "keep up with." So, we decided to have some Valentine's Day fun with that.

Oh, and by the way, this is in the style of Cirocco's "An Open Letter to Fanfic Writers." Meta-fiction is so much fun!

We hope you'll enjoy.

February 13, 2003

"I am not buying her a bunch of pink flowers!!" yelled EADA Jack McCoy. "I hate pink! Besides, I have an opening statement to work on!"

ooo000ooo

"You want me to take her to a techno-music festival?" Detective Lennie Briscoe asked in bewilderment. "What did I ever do to you?"

ooo000ooo

"Hang on, hang on - I'm supposed to spend how much on this woman?" Detective Ed Green protested.

ooo000ooo

"So... I'm supposed to tell Jack I can't help him on the opening statements because my new boyfriend Tony 'Tackle' Torini got a couple of front-row pro-wrestling tickets for us?" ADA Serena Southerlyn asked, her voice actually gaining emotion for a moment. Incredulity, to be precise. Quickly she flat lined emotionally again, "OK, I'll leave him a note."

Finally, thought the author. A character who's willing to cooperate. She paused. Although... oh never mind. If it's just Serena playing, that's worse than nobody at all.

No, come on, she gave herself a mental shake. It's for Valentine's Day. Surely I can tug on their heartstrings for the sake of Valentine's Day. She thought over her characters. Or maybe I'll just strong-arm them – after all, it's not like they really have any choice in the matter.

Across the city, four characters went to bed wondering how they were going to cope with this unexpected turn in their personal lives – namely, the rather bizarre prospect of having personal lives.

ooo000ooo

Wondering how in practical terms they all were going to deal with this latest intrusion by the fanfic writer, as one of the senior characters, Lennie thought he better go downtown tomorrow and touch base with Jack.

February 14, 2003

"It's ludicrous!" Jack bellowed the next morning, to a somewhat, but not overly, sympathetic Lennie. "Where would I even get pink flowers? I don't date women who like that kind of thing! Don't these people know anything?"

"I'd say not," Lennie commented, calmly watching Jack pace up and down his office. "You wouldn't believe where she wants me to take my date. A techno-music festival," he said it gingerly, like someone trying out a foreign language. Jack continued his rant unabated.

"I mean, really! Flowers! Next she'll want me to buy beanie babies and soft plush teddy bears!"

"Or neck in a movie theater," Lennie put in. He sighed, thinking of the last time he'd taken a woman out to a movie. Actually... that hadn't turned out too bad... of course that had been over a decade ago, so he might be misremembering.

"Besides, I don't have time for this romantic garbage! These fanfic writers just don't understand! They really expect us to solve and try cases and have anything left over for romantic activities? Don't they realize how hard we have to work?"

"Can it, Counselor," Lennie told him. "We've got bigger problems. What do you suppose is gonna happen when Dick Wolf finds out we have personal lives?"

Jack blanched. "Oh, my god. Lennie, you're right -- those pink flowers could turn into pink slips!"

"Damn right. Next thing you know he could be telling us we're 'bathetic' or something."

Jack sat down quickly and reflected. "Well, you know, I haven't... I mean, since Claire... you know..."

"What are you complaining about? I've been chaste since I've been in the damn show. You got any idea how old that's getting after almost eleven years?"

"Still, I'm not sure this fanfic writer can make us do this. It must be a Class-Something Felony. Or at least a misdemeanor."

"Aw, c'mon, Jack. Let's think about it. It might be fun, and probably Dick isn't looking. I hear these fanfic people fly well under his radar."

Jack reflected for a bit. "Do you really think we could get away with it? You're the detective."

"Sure. It's worth a shot anyhow. And you gotta be dying to see who Ed and Serena come up with for dates."

"Those losers?" snorted Jack. "Yeah, it'll really be interesting to see who the fanfic writer turns up for them. I sure don't envy her the challenge."

"So, you're in?"

"Do we have any choice?"

"Let's see... stagnate with Wolf, or get to exercise some emotional muscles with the fanfic writer?"

"You might have a point. But she's not going to do any of that slash stuff again, is she?"

"Nah, she's totally in hetero Valentine's Day mode. Besides, she'd have to figure out a way to get Mike back over here from Staten Island for you, and she doesn't have time."

"Thank God. So, Lennie, you're really okay with taking a date to a techno-musical festival?"

"Well, actually, I was going to try to get an audience with Ms. Fanfic about that. I was thinking something more in the way of a musical. I hear the Chicago revival is pretty good."

ooo000ooo

Lt. Anita Van Buren stepped out of her office, looking for one of her detectives. Nope, Hollings wasn't there. She searched for his partner. Nope, no Parnell either. She suddenly took in the relative silence of the squad room - other than a bunch of perps in the holding cell and uniforms anonymously going about their unibusiness, there wasn't a single detective in sight except Lennie and Ed.

"Lennie?" he put down the phone with a satisfied smile and looked up at her.

"I just got tickets to Chicago!" he said happily, before asking, "Yeah?"

"You seen Parnell or Hollings?"

Lennie shook his head. He poked at Ed, who was glumly fiddling with a calculator.

"Ed?"

"Huh?" Ed asked distractedly.

"Parnell or Hollings?"

"Parnell had to go pick up flowers for his date tonight, and Hollings lit outta here like a bat outta hell when his wife called and said his kid's at the hospital with a broken arm." He continued picking at the calculator. Anita frowned.

"Just like that?"

"Family comes first, Lieu," he muttered. Anita's eyebrows went up.

"Since when?" Ed sighed heavily, not looking up. Anita looked at him more closely. "What are you doing?"

"Math," another heavy sigh. Anita looked at Lennie questioningly.

"Can't be that bad, Ed," Lennie said encouragingly.

"Not to you, maybe. But... the way I figure it, it's 100 for a nice restaurant, 15 for flowers, 20 at least for the movie, 10 for coffee afterwards... 10 for night-supplies, the ones I had expired in 1995..."

Anita frowned some more. "Ed? You're planning a date when you're supposed to be working?" Ed seemed unconcerned at her irritation, too upset at his budget to care.

"Come on, it's not that bad. Don't you think it's nice to actually need the pharmaceuticals for once?" Lennie asked. Ed shrugged morosely. Anita pursed her lips in annoyance, but decided to back off.

"Fine. Get back to work soon. In the meantime, if you see Hollings or Parnell, tell them the ME's just called for them." She surveying the precinct, muttering "Where the hell is everybody?" to herself.

"Franco split for the fertility clinic," Lennie supplied helpfully. "His wife's ovulating, so he's gotta get over there and donate while she's warm. Russeau's pretty sure her boyfriend is gonna pop the question tonight so she's gone to get her hair done."

"Huang's kid is doing a dance recital at her school. Joliet is going through counseling with his wife," Ed added.

"March is trying to see if he can ask out that clerk down at Evidence. And Gohaut's coming out to his parents tonight, so he's trying to psych himself up."

"Does he know how much that's gonna cost?" Ed asked.

"Uh... he says they should be OK with it, not like they're gonna disown him or anything-"

"No, I mean cost. Is he taking them to a fancy restaurant or something?"

"Yeah, actually, he's making reservations right now." Ed sighed. "What?"

"No, I just, I thought maybe that would be more economical, and it would still satisfy Ms. Fanfic's need to put me in a personal situation. Never mind though. I guess I'll just have to go traditional." Another heavy sigh, this time joined by Anita as she clued in.

A fanfic. Damn it. That meant anything and everything was fair game, people were gonna act like idiots, and her precinct was going to go to hell in a hand basket in the hands of an amateur. Double Damn.

"Guys... not that this isn't really fascinating or anything..." Anita said, "But... has anybody given a thought to how we're supposed to be getting any work done while all of this touchy-feely stuff is going on? You know, actually deal with crime in the 27th Precinct?"

Lennie and Ed shrugged. "Doesn't seem to be our problem today, Lieu," Lennie reassured her. "Why don't you go back to your office. I'm sure you'll find a message from your husband saying that he's got some kind of hardware emergency or something. Then you can go off and deal with that and crime won't be your problem either," he got up and put on his jacket. "Sorry, I gotta go pick up my tickets," he wandered off, cheerfully whistling "All I Care About Is Love."

ooo000ooo

Well, I'll be hornswoggled, DA Arthur Branch thought as he wandered about Hogan Place. Only 5pm, but not a soul in sight. Except for some cleaning people. Where the hell was Jack? Where the hell was Serena?

Where the hell was everybody?

He spotted a note on Jack's desk. Looked like Serena's writing.

"Jack, sorry, Tony got tickets to pro-wrestling tonight. Here's my notes on the Samms case. Sorry I won't be able to help you work on tomorrow's opening for Gutierrez."

Tony? Pro-wrestling? What could that little lady be doing at a pro-wrestling event?

Branch went to Serena's desk, hoping to get some clues there. What was that? He picked up a note, Jack's writing.

"Serena, sorry, I have a last-minute hearing (scratched out) family emergency (scratched out) date. You'll have to do the opening for Gutierrez on your own, I couldn't get to it because I was busy tracking down flower shops. Do you know of any stores that still sell beanie babies?"

Well I'll be a monkey's uncle, Branch thought to himself. Jack's got a case that has to do with beanie babies. What the hell?

He wandered aimlessly for a while, trying to see if anybody was in. The silence was getting oppressive. Like the silence at the fishin' hollow when he was a kid, in the part of the pond where the bloodsuckers hung out.

Where was everybody?

Branch felt a prickle of apprehension. Something weird was going on. Like that time Molly's sister-cousin had gone off shootin' possums on Old Man Halloran's Farm, and afore y'knew it, there warn't one single possum makin' a peep in those thar woods-

"Hold on," Branch stopped in his tracks, looking up. "Possums and sister-cousins? I'm not that Southern. Nobody is."

Beg pardon?

"Where are you getting this Good Ole Boy garbage? You been watching reruns of Deliverance?"

Uh... no, just watching you. Getting a feel for your character.

"And this is the feel you got?"

Hey, you called yourself a carpetbagger and referred to Jack as 'a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs'. What did you expect?

Branch sighed. "I suppose so," he said, resigning himself to his fate. "Carry on."

He went back to his office. Dang. He hated feeling at loose ends. He was the DA, he supposed he should have plenty to do, but... what was he supposed to be doing, exactly, other than advising his ADAs on their current cases?

Shmoozing. Shmoozing seemed to make up a lot of a DA's job. OK, he could shmooze. He made a bunch of phone calls, trying to contact other DAs, retired judges, councilmen... nothing. Nobody was in.

This here's damn annoyin', he thought to himself, wishing for some tobacco to chew. Realizing that even if he could find some in the Big City, he'd left his spittoon back home in Alabama. Tennessee. South Carolina. Wherever the hell he was from.

"Well, we got ourselves a predicament," he said to the empty room. "We got a DA who's not real sure what to do with free time in the office, a staff that's gone to God knows where... reminds me of the time when all us young'uns went out skeet-shooting, but didn't tell my Aunt Sally, who was supposed to be mindin' us. She just about went out of her mind worryin' about us. Looked for us up and down and all around."

He waited for somebody to ask him where this was leading. Nobody did. Right, cause they warn't there.

"Anyway, the point of the story was that we were fine. Aunt Sally just needed to relax."

The phone rang. Oh good! He snatched it up, encountering an irate voice on the other end.

"Branch! What the hell's going on with your people?"

"Who is this?"

"This is Judge Schrieber! I've got a motion to suppress evidence in the Blackson murder trial here, your people were supposed to send me their response by this afternoon... are they just not going to contest it?"

"Which of my people?"

"McCoy and Southerlyn."

Branch tried to come up with an excuse so that he wouldn't have to admit that he had no idea where they were. "Maybe they don't want to waste your time if it's a legitimate suppression-"

"Legitimate suppression? The guy walked into a precinct, recited his own Miranda rights to the first cops he saw, told them he'd killed his business partner because the guy called him a weenie, handed them the murder weapon, held out his hands and said, I've been a bad boy, you have to put me away now."

"And the defense wants to suppress the confession because of mental instability?"

"No, the weapon! Because the police didn't obtain a search warrant for the guy's hands!"

"You're joking."

"I'm not. I think the defense is on crack. In any case... your people aren't contesting it."

Branch thought for a moment. "You know, when I was a defense lawyer, we had a case where-"

"Branch!! Stay in the here and now!! Find McCoy and Southerlyn and tell them to send me their rebuttal!!" the judge slammed down the phone so hard that Branch winced.

"This is damn peculiar," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "Like a catfish with blue polka dots. You just don't know which way to fry it." He shook his head. That hadn't even made any sense to him.

An audience. He needed an audience. He always thought better when he had people there to bounce ideas off of. He wandered out to the empty floor, finally spotting a couple of cleaning ladies and waving them over. They approached curiously, mop buckets in tow.

"Come in, come in," he ushered them into his office. "Siddown."

Glancing at each other in bewilderment, the cleaning women sat down gingerly.

"Now I got me a problem, ladies," Branch began. "I cain't seem to locate my staff. Normally they're very hard working, very dedicated. But today, it looks like they're AWOL, gone on a date and to pro-wrestling, and dropping the ball on their cases. Now, it's just not like McCoy to not respond to a ridiculous motion to suppress. He lives for that kind of thing, like a pig lives for swill. And Ms. Southerlyn, why she's as cute and perky as they come, looks like she should be crowned Miss Combine Harvester or something, but she's always doin' her best to make sure we know she can play in the big leagues. She's a real bright young lady, always got her mind on the job. And yet they're both gone. You see my predicament?"

The two cleaning women stared at each other in complete befuddlement - especially the one who couldn't actually understand English. Who was this strange man, and why was he telling them all of this? And why hadn't he actually made eye contact with them the whole time he'd been speaking?

"So now I gotta figure out what to do. How to track them down. And it ain't gonna be as easy as trackin' down a nanny goat in a public dump, either."

"Excuse me, Sir?" the English-speaking cleaner spoke up hesitantly. "Is there something we can do about this?"

"Oh, no, no," Branch reassured her, "Just sit there till I'm done. That's what my staff does. They know I just like hearing the sound of my own voice but I feel silly talking in an empty office." He gathered himself for the next section of his monologue, The Plan. The Plan for how he was going to find his troops and bring them back to work. The phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Branch?"

Branch smiled at the voice on the other end of the line. "Lieutenant Van Buren. What can I do for you?"

"I'm having a little difficulty here, and I was wondering if you were too. Have you seen your staff around?"

"No, as a matter of fact I haven't. I seem to be the only one left at Hogan Place today. I was wondering what to do about that."

"Well, hang on, I'm coming over there. I was thinking that maybe we can work together on this."

Oh, goody! Somebody real to listen to him! He smiled and agreed, and quickly dismissed the highly relieved cleaners.

ooo000ooo

"Oh, sweetie-pie, you look sooo cute," Jack told his date that night, and a horrified look grew on his face with each word. She smiled sweetly and rather vacantly, but frowned as he brusquely told her, "Hang on," and looked up at the air. "No. This is beneath my dignity."

Would you rather I contact a certain somebody in Staten Island? a disembodied voice asked.

"Sugarplum, that's just a divine colour on you," Jack told his date hastily, glancing up at the noncorporeal approving sound. He patted his date's arm gently and cleared his throat. "Happy?"

Sure.

"Just one thing. Can we take the saccharine content down a little?"

Hmmm...

"I do have some experience with women, you know," Jack said testily as his date glared at him, increasingly annoyed while he ignored her in favour of some woman she couldn't even see. "Trust me."

Oh, all right.

"And one more thing," he cleared his throat, glanced at his date, and widened his eyes in what he hoped was a reasonable facsimile of amazed surprise. "Oh, sweetheart, it's Brad Pitt!!" he pointed behind her. While she turned around and frantically tried to locate Pitt, Jack quickly spoke sotto voce. "Can you do something about her IQ? For example... raise it? Above room temperature?"

You're so demanding.

Jack waited patiently.

Oh, all right.

The woman turned around, narrowing her eyes at Jack. "Jack, for heaven's sake. Why should I care whether Brad Pitt happens to be in sight? Can we order something? I do have a summation to prepare for tomorrow."

Jack smiled appreciatively and glanced at his menu. He wondered how the rest of the L&O Singles were faring.

ooo000ooo

Lennie approached his date's apartment door with the vague sense that he had been there before. Whatever. He was just relieved that he had been able to talk Little Ms. Fanfic out of that techno-music festival. Sounded like about as bad an idea as Mike and Jack being a couple. Where do you suppose she comes up with this cr-

Watch it, Briscoe! Do I have to remind you that I control who you're going to find behind that door?

"Okay, okay - I'm sorry." Actually, he was getting pretty curious about that. Still, a date was a date - not something that happened every day on this show. Aw, hell - it didn't even happen once a year. He remembered that Mike used to have dates, plenty of them, but hardly anyone had one at all since Mike left. Hoping once more that Dick Wolf would never catch wise to this, he knocked on the door.

He was right. The apartment was familiar and so was the woman who answered the door.

"Er..." he began uncertainly and felt very foolish. Not only was he woefully out of practice, but he had no idea how one approached a date set up by a fanfic writer. This woman, whoever she is, does she even know she's in a fanfic? he wondered.

"Uh, this is sort of hard to explain..."

"You're Detective Lennie Briscoe, right?"

"Yes. Have we met?"

"Valerie Walker. I identified Mary Kostrinski for you. Remember?"

He did. The Duff case. The first one he had worked with Mike. Yes, they had come to this apartment and found Valerie Walker just out of the shower in a white terry robe and a towel around her head. A little brassy, he had thought at the time, but sure not bad-looking.

Drawing him into her apartment, she said, "I've been hoping you would call."

"Hoping I would call for over ten years?"

"Ten years? Doesn't seem that long to me."

"Well, you were only in one episode, so I guess..." Aw, skip it, he thought, I'm not going to waste time figuring out how the mechanics of this fanfic thing work.

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing - it's not important."

"You wanted to call me, didn't you? I could tell. I always can tell."

"Well, you seemed like a fun lady. Didn't you say something about dancing on a table or something?"

"No, I asked you if someone said I had been dancing on a table."

"Oh, yeah. In the bar. That's right."

"Do you want me to dance on a table?" she asked mischievously. "That can be arranged."

"Um, uh - maybe later." Lennie was unaccountably nervous in this situation. "We need to eat dinner, and we don't want to be late for the show. I've got us tickets for Chicago."

"Oh, I just adore musicals! Tell ya what... maybe on the way home we can stop and pick up the CD, and I can dance to it for you. Would you like that?"

Actually, Lennie did find the idea quite appealing. Maybe he was going to get the hang of this after all.

"Sure, that'd be great."

"Okay, let me get my stuff. I'll be right back."

So, what do you think so far, Lennie?

"I have to say, not bad. I do have one question. When we come back here after the show, are we supposed to, um..."

That's the whole point, isn't it?

"But Dick Wolf will blow a gasket."

Like he's going to notice me? I should be so lucky. Don't worry about it.

"If you say so."

I'm the only one with the say-so. Just remember that.

"Geez, are you all so pushy?"

The good ones are.

"And modest, too, I see."

I really wouldn't start up with me if I were you.

"All right, all right."

"Talking to yourself, Lennie?" asked Valerie as she returned to the living room.

"Yup, sure am. Telling myself what a lucky fellow I am tonight."

ooo000ooo

Ed walked into the restaurant warily, looking around at the expensive chandeliers and excessive foliage. Man, they probably charged a fortune here just for the utilities required to keep the plants looking perky. He spotted his date waiting for him at the bar, and they were quickly seated.

Man, this is not good, he thought, looking over the menu. Filet Mignon, Chicken Cordon Bleu, King Crab Extravaganza... he looked at his Rolex, wondering if he'd have to pawn it after tonight.

"So... Ed, is it?" his date asked perkily.

"Yeah."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a cop."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah."

Silence.

"What kind of cop?"

"Homicide."

"Oh, that's interesting."

"I guess so," Ed shrugged.

Ed's date drummed her fingers on the table, trying to think of something else to say.

"Do you have any hobbies?"

"I used to go to Atlantic City a lot."

"Used to go? Why don't you go now?"

"Uh... I just stopped."

"Mhm," Ed's date thought for a moment. "Do you want to know what I do for a living?"

"Uh, sure."

"I'm a legal secretary."

"That's nice."

Suddenly Ed's date looked alarmed. "Uh - suddenly I have to go to the washroom," she said, and nearly ran off.

Ed. What's going on?

"What do you mean?"

Are you aware that you're on a date? Not at a funeral?

"Hey, don't look at me, you're the one who's writing this. Don't you know how to write date scenes?"

Normally I do but... there was a moment of silence while the author thought. You know, I just realized I've been trying to figure out what to do with you since I started this. And I can't come up with any ideas.

"Why not?"

I... I don't really know enough about you.

"What? I've been around for four years!"

Yeah, but... who are you?

"What do you mean, Who am I? What kind of question is that?"

You traveled some when you were a kid, you've been known to go gambling, you don't think men should spend all their money on women, you can be funny, and you're a good detective.

"Yeah..."

You do a mean undercover drug dealer. You've got a bit of a temper and you've been charged with excessive force.

"So..."

And you look yummy in a leather coat.

"Uh... thanks. So what's the problem?"

But what do you do for fun? What do you do when you're not at work?

"Uh..."

Other than gamble? Which I don't know enough to write about?

"Uh..."

Well?

"I don't know. It's just never come up."

You see my problem.

"Well, you're the writer. Make something up!"

Uh... OK, you wanna be a big fan of underwater ballet?

"Oh, for God's sake."

Baking cookies? Needlepoint?

Ed tsk'ed in annoyance. "No, stop it, that's worse than useless." He spotted his date coming back from the washroom. "Just - let me wing it."

ooo000ooo

"Well, here you go, baby, best seats in the house," Tony 'Tackle' Torini said expansively. Serena gazed blankly at the stage – sorry, the ring. "Whaddaya think?"

"They're great, Tony," she droned expressionlessly.

"Cost an arm and a leg, too," Tony said. "Literally. See, this bookie I know owed me real big-" he suddenly cut himself off as he remembered his date's profession. He glanced at her nervously. No reaction. She must not have heard. "I mean, this accountant friend of mine wanted to thank me for, uh, making a generous gift at his daughter's wedding. Yeah, that's it."

"That's great," Serena said brightly, tossing her hair. Tony smiled and put his arm around her.

"You like it, baby?"

"Tony, I don't much appreciate being called 'baby,'" she said seriously, focusing on him. "That's somewhat belittling. I'm a grown woman."

"Right," Tony agreed. He had to remember that she was a little different from the chicks – uh, women – he usually dated. Smart, professional, independent. At least, that's what he'd been told. "Is 'hon' OK?"

"That's fine," she chirped, going curiously blank-eyed. Tony frowned in slight puzzlement, quickly forgotten as the evening's festivities began and the actors – sorry, the wrestlers – began their posturing, grimacing, pre-game rituals.