Crossover Fic: The Mask and the Bell Part I of III
Title: The Mask and the Bell: Part I of III
Fandoms: Law and Order SVU, Ugly Betty, Nurse Jackie
Pairing(s): Liz Donnelly/Claire Meade past, Liz Donnelly/Casey Novak past. Casey Novak/Eleanor O’Hara implied
Potential Pairings: Liz Donnelly/Eleanor O’Hara, Claire Meade/Casey Novak
Rating: PG for Part I (NC-17 for the entire piece)
Word Count: 1,713
Summary: Claire Meade’s masquerade is the social event of the season year after year. While Liz intends to escape for the evening, she cannot avoid reminders, both pleasant and otherwise, of her past.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them.
Author's Note(s): My intent was to write a fic for akte’s prompt—SVU, Liz/Casey, masquerade—for femslash_today’s kink meme. While the prompt and original intent certainly pervades the piece, it has become clear to me that this will be longer than a ficlet or vignette. So, I’ll be posting it in parts.

The soft, ripe light of dusk filled the room, tinted deep blush by the gossamer that hung in careful folds from the ceiling. The effect was enough that no one spoke above a murmur, and the partitions of fabric and the huge, ornate pillows strewn about the carpeted floor only dampened the sounds. Braziers filled with rose and grapevine trimmings burned, and Liz breathed the sweet smell from where she lounged at a low table.

It was easy to believe that she was sitting in the tent of a sheik rather than the decorated courtyard of a Manhattan hotel. She wore the desert uniform of an English officer of the 1920s, as well as a thin, gold mask to cover her eyes. Liz had been coming to Claire Meade’s masquerades for quite some time, but she had never been quite as pleased by the theme. From her pillows she could see sultans in jewel-clasped turbans, adventurers, and couture slave girls.

She watched a sheik in a ruby studded mast approach. Liz did not need to see the woman behind it to know that it was Claire. She could tell by the swing of her hips, by the practiced and unwavering steps. Perhaps it was the atmosphere or maybe the spiced wine that made Liz’s legs feel heavy as she got to her feet. She smiled nonetheless as she bent in a low bow.

“Your highness,” Liz said upon straightening.

“Colonel...” Claire smirked. “Really, Liz, I would have thought you were more of a General.”

Liz laughed lightly while she watched Claire take a glass of champagne from a shirtless waiter passing with a tray. “I try to stay away from unnecessary responsibilities.” She nodded towards her pillows and joined Claire in taking a seat, readjusting herself in order to see both Claire and the entrance to the tent. It was getting dark now, and the firelight was beginning to make the tent glow and dance.

“Of course you do, dear; we all do at our age.” Claire took a long sip and closed her eyes. “Bradford and I went to Beirut once...when we were younger, of course. I like to pretend it was like this.” She flourished her glass, and Liz wondered if it was her first. Claire’s alcoholism was no secret, but how she managed it was another story.

“What was it really like?” she asked, leaning forward enough to feel Claire’s warmth.

“Bradford managed to meet Fey, and I found a nice young man with which to smoke some lovely...tobacco from a hookah.”

Liz raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure the two of you only smoked...”

“Don’t be silly, Elizabeth. I wasn’t interested in him; I was after his wife.”

An easy silence fell between them as Liz's chuckle dissipated into the air. She took another sip of wine, letting it warm her throat. It had been a long time since Smith, but in moments like this, Liz found it easy to imagine that they were back there. Claire had been in her orientation group and always better dressed—that part hadn’t change even though a lot had.

She and Claire had been infamous for switching places—posing as each other for anything from Claire’s sorority functions to Liz’s dates with men and sometimes even lectures. Now their spheres only intersected for select social functions. It was comfortable—neither had time for the peculiar intimacy of those formative years. Looking at Claire was no longer like staring at her rich, identical, fantasy twin, but perhaps that was because Liz had become too familiar with her own reflection.

In that moment, their gazes were turned in the same direction. Liz watched Alexis Meade dance with a man she could only assume was an advertiser—something about the cut of his suit—and who was comically shorter than Alexis. But she somehow managed to make it all seem graceful. It was remarkable how much she looked like a younger Claire, and Liz couldn’t imagine what Claire was thinking watching, if it was her daughter she was watching in the first place.

She remembered baby Alex in a murky way, but she knew it was quite different for Claire. Motherhood never seemed like it was for either of them, but then again, they had drifted to their comfortable distances after Alex was born.

And Claire had shown up at her door when Alex became Alexis. It wasn’t that her son was now a daughter that led Claire to Liz’s bed...it was shock, relief, and the memory of grief never quite healed. She wondered, as her eyes drifted down Alexis’s legs and back up again, whether Claire would mind if Liz found a way into her daughter’s bed.

“You’re not properly equipped Elizabeth.”

Liz smiled, eyes still on Alexis. “I seem to remember Alex being quite enamored of women.”

“Alex wasn’t really Alexis.” Claire turned to Liz, and Liz recognized the protective edge in her voice. “You’d have to be enamored of women to go through what it took to become on that stunning.”

“Point taken.” Liz took another sip of wine, noting that Claire’s champagne had been untouched since the first sip. She shifted her gaze toward the entrance of the tent. Claire’s problem wasn’t a problem when they were young. Liz wondered. She finished the wine and wondered if she had stayed in her marriage...

Claire interrupted her thoughts, though, with the rustling of her clothes as she sat up straighter. “Who is that with Eleanor O’Hara?” She put down her glass and stretched her neck to get a better look. Liz wondered briefly if her own skin looked as soft.

She hadn’t noticed the couple enter, even though she had been watching. Such was the nature of those kinds of thoughts. But now she focused on the couple. Eleanor O’Hara, she guessed, was the woman in the bright blue satin sari. She was stunning, even standing out as she did in her designer sari and Channel pumps.

But standing next to her in deep blue robes was Casey Novak. Her hair fell down her back in big, soft curls, held back with a gold band. And gold bands circled her biceps, with delicate gold chain attached to golden snakes circling her wrists.

“That was the ADA for Special Victims,” she said, sitting up a little straighter. “Casey Novak.”

“You’ll have to introduce me,” Claire said, her eyes still on Casey.

Liz pursed her lips. Had it been so long? A year...over a year a, really. And of course Claire didn’t know. Liz couldn’t blame the distance between them for that. She and Casey had been careful; they had kept to themselves. And when it was all said and done, there was nothing left but the space between dreams and memory.

Jealousy rose in her throat, tightening it. Liz lifted the wineglass to her lips only to rediscover that it was dry. It had ended as abruptly but much more quietly than it began. By the time she got home that day, Casey’s things were gone, but she had expected that, had stayed at her office longer than necessary to facilitate the inevitable.

“Who did you say that was?” She ignored Claire’s raised eyebrows and the questioning look that accompanied them. “I don’t think I’ve seen her before.”

*****

Eleanor sauntered around the desk, resisting the urge to sit. Instead she leaned over, resting on her elbows, perfectly aware that the perfect view of her cleavage was going completely unnoticed. And anyway, even if she did notice it, Tanner would have been completely unappreciative.

“Do they have a happy marriage?”

She picked up a heavy wooden frame, lifting it up until there was no glare on the glass. “How the hell should I know?”

There were seven happy, well almost happy, faces—Tanner and her husband, the softball, football whatever coach or something, along with three grown men, a teenager who was most certainly too pretty to be a boy, and a girl who...

“How does that make you feel?”

Eleanor didn’t look up. “Is this your daughter? I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“Eleanor, please focus.”

“Bugger feelings,” she murmured, squinting at the smiling readhead’s face. “She’s rather attractive Tanner...looks rather nothing like you.”

*****

Dr. O’Hara was smirking in the most delicious way, and it was difficult to ignore. Beside her Casey looked well enough. Liz resisted the urge to shake her head. Casey looked tired...tired and beautiful.

“...All Saints Hospital. Alex was dating her at one point.”

“Mm. Was it serious?”

Claire chuckled. “The only thing Eleanor O’Hara is serious about is taking people apart and putting them back together again.”

Liz closed her eyes tightly, but she could still see Casey there. She could see Casey that day, her stricken face, her tears. But there had been a wall between what she knew she had to do and her personal feelings for Casey. And the small part of Liz that somehow thought Casey would understand had disappeared along with Casey’s clothes in her closet. But Liz had also convinced herself that she was past that. There had been other women since, just as there had been before Casey.

From where they were now standing, it appeared that Eleanor and Casey could not clearly see Liz and Claire, and Liz was grateful for that. She sighed at her empty glass before sitting it on the low table. Claire turned from the party.

“Have mine.”

Liz took the proffered glass and drank. The effervescence left in the warm champagne burned her throat. Claire wouldn’t ask. There were things they knew about each other—intimate details of each other’s lives. There were old secrets that only they knew. But Claire and Liz took only what was offered from each other. They had been both close and very distant friends.

“You should get back to your party.”

Claire chuckled as she took a sweeping glance around the room. “Afraid we might start rumors, Elizabeth?”

Liz chuckled before tipping her glass to her lips, tasting the sticky champagne again. “Never.”

“But you’re probably right. I’d hate to be labeled as a bad hostess after all these years.” She stood and smirked down on Liz. “You should meet Eleanor. If things haven’t changed that much, she’s just you’re type.”