'Bout Damn Time
It's hard being in love with a cop. Not just a cop, though. A detective of the Special Victims Unit, and a man so very devoted to his job.
As one of New York City's Assistant DA's I know what it is to be devoted, and to work long hours, but I rarely put myself in danger working them. Sure, there's the possibility of a criminal jumping me during court preceedings or escaping from prison and going on a revenge streak. But those are more common in films and on tv than in life and, as I constantly remind John, that is nothing compared to the daily threat of a weapon being brandished at a cop. He then gives me that smile of his and tells me not to worry. Right. I see that happening. Argh.
He's been staying at my place almost every night for about a month, ever since the first time he spent the night. About a week ago we were lying in bed an a hour after making love, just lying there with various snippets of conversation thrown in to hear the sound of the others voice, and I asked him why he preferred my place to his. He made a little joke about my place having better heat and cable. I wasn't expecting much else from the sardonic detective when he suddenly grew unusually serious. Looking from the ceiling to me, he brought his hand to my face and said that he preferred the person not the place. The look in his intense gaze was shattering and unobstructed, his ever-present eyewear thankfully absent. His next words caused my heart to pound and my eyes to grow heavy with sentiment.
"It doesn't matter if you're actually in bed with me or working. I just... I just need to know that you're here." At this point he had gotten a little shy and looked down at my hand to entwine our fingers together. After a moment he glanced back up, locking his rich green eyes with my blue ones. "I just need to be in the same building as you. That's all."
Now, him being who he is- John Munch- meant that he desperately needed a release from the seriousness of the moment, so he attacked my neck with his mouth, moving to my breasts and thereby initiating another bout of hearty sex.
Lovemaking.
Whenever I think of his words and emotions from that instant, so pure and honest, leaving him completely vulnerable within my view... It just makes me go all warm. He's mine and I'm all he needs, near or far.
Well, most of the time. Occasionally he needs me to do more than just be near. He needs comfort during his nightmares, to help him chase away the harsh and cruel images, the images that could rip a weaker soul- me?- in two. He never knows that I do it, because he doesn't wake up. It's like his own personal torture chamber where he's locked inside with the phantoms, the cruel and spiteful ghosts of past his failures and the victims of unsolved and unjust crimes. Of that he cannot get out alone no matter how hard he struggles. And his struggles are so often valiant.
It doesn't matter where I am: I'm in bed or busy in my home office. If I hear him moaning, I rush straight to his side to hold him, running my hands soothingly over his body, pressing my limbs to his in a futile attempt to give him the loving contact he needs. I keep this up until it quiets him: sometimes instantly, others... eventually. He stops moaning, but sometimes he cries a bit, and it still hurts me to see this. I try and kiss away the tears, the pain. And sometimes, mercifully, it works. But other times... Well, other times the nightmares are just too bad.
I found out he suffered from these nighly tribulations the first time he spent the night. I foolishly thought that once we'd begun seeing each other regularly, they would stop. Or at least slow down. But they haven't. I had though self-confidently that I had the power. All he needed was love. I wish.
Mine, on the other hand, have stopped almost completely, and even when they do come they're not as bad as they used to be. All thanks to having someone near. Someone that I... that I love.
I've never had any nightly specters as bad or as frequent as his, but they appear to be normal for him. He never mentions them. They come once, sometimes twice a week; during a particularly rough case though, he tends to have more. I both do and don't understand why he's never taken the time to talk to me about them. I figure that maybe he just needs time, but the nights seem so rough for him. I knew that sex crimes was a tough division, but I had no idea about what it could do to a person, tearing them apart from the inside. When it gets worse than usual I think about waking him or at least mentioning my concern, but I never do. Something inside me says it would just be wrong. How he can continue functioning normally, though, I'll never know. It just proves the man's a rock. My rock.
He seems happier in his daytime life. He comes to my office every now and then on his lunch hour, when we've scheduled mirroring breaks. We usually just talk and eat, but occasionally the couch will have its resolve tested.
I'm at work now and will be for another three hours. No lunch scheduled with him today and yet I can feel his hands on me now, all over me, his mouth the same. I can see the desire and the heat in his eyes, can feel in it in his pants, can feel my own desire as I start pulling him to me-
The phone rings and I start from my daydream.
"Damn, Munch," I mutter with a smile. I pick up the phone and, of course, it's him.
"How are you?"
"Hmmm..." Should I tell him the truth?
"Well," his voice drops to a whisper. "I'm horny as hell." Munch, being as trusting of his partner as he is, was no doubt sitting across from him as he made this confession. I could feel Fin Tutuola's interest in the phone call suddenly increase.
"Same here. Just thinking about you as a matter of fact."
"What was I doing?"
I tell him and he moans. I laugh and ask the question I already know the answer to. "You're not at work are you?"
"Um..."
I shake my head to myself thinking kittens followed rules better than he did. And he's the one that set most of them up. "John! You're not sup-"
"I know, I know. Don't scold me here, kay?" There's a small pause, then: "I miss you."
The bastard knows just how to melt my heart. "Believe me. I know the feeling."
"You miss you, too?"
Ignoring some of his comments had become a second nature by now. "What about Fin?"
His volume lowers and I'm straining to hear him as much as his partner most likely is. "Nosey as usual." His voice raised as he spoke to his partner. "Could you be any more obvious?"
I could hear Fin's reply. "I wouldn't have to be if you'd tell me the secret identity of 'Wonder Woman'."
I heard a knock on the door and my boss entered. "Alex?"
I put one finger up in a signal to wait a moment, then turned back to the phone. "I've got to go. Will I see you later?"
The voice on the phone suddenly falls an octave lower and definitely more gruff. "After what you said the imaginary me was doing? What do you think? I have to defend my honor and yours m'lady." I could hear laughter. "Oh, bite it, Fin."
I look up to my impatient boss. "Gotta go. I love you."
"Love you."
I hang the phone up and stand, grabbing my briefcase and jacket. "We ready?" I ask.
Jack McCoy nods. "We appreciate you doing this."
"No problem."
His dark eyes warm with humor and a smile makes its way to his lips. "New boyfriend, Alex?"
I smile back and nod. "Sort of new."
"'Bout damn time." At that he walks out and waits for me in the hall. As I close and lock my office door behind me I think about just how right he is.
THE END