#HopelessRomantic

Leaning forward, you intend to retort, but Cragen’s voice cuts across the room and you’re yanked from the moment. You stand up a little too quickly from the desk, like you had been caught doing something illegal. “You two, the Rob N’ Rut cases can wait. We got a call from Central Park, they found a body stashed in the bushes. I need you to head over there to get the ball rolling.”

“Elliot and Olivia can’t take it?” Your head tilts to the side. “They’re out in Alphabet City already.”

“No go. They had a break in the Maddox case and had to circle back to Queens, and Fin’s helping out an old friend in narcotics. You two got to go.”

You and John close the manilla folders in tandem. “And what, pray tell, makes it fall into our jurisdiction.” John asks somberly.

Cragen’s eyes are sad more often than they’re not, but even now, you see a crack into the depths of true despair that linger there. The chill seeps in. “It’s a kid.”

***

The car ride goes by slowly and too fast all at the same time. John keeps prodding, trying to make light conversation and you respond politely but you’re steeling yourself. The weight of the situation sits on top of you; almost like the roof of the car is starting to buckle underneath it.

You had only made detective recently; hadn’t even been assigned a partner yet, so you filled in spots where you could. You’ve talked to victims before, canvassed crime scenes, seen photos of the deceased, and written pages upon pages of reports.

This was different.

With everything you had endured so far, the youngest body you witnessed on the scene was a seventeen year old who overdosed on heroin.

A teen on the cusp of adulthood passing away by their own choices was leagues away from this. This was the most unnatural thing imaginable. And you were about to dive in, headfirst.

Before you know it, the car’s parked and you two are striding along the paved path. Sounds get distorted. Your vision tunnels and you start to go numb. The greens are too vibrant for a day like today. How can people be flying kites and reading on picnic blankets when somewhere in this recreational labyrinth, there’s a little dead body?

The destination is in sight now. The crime scene tape. Warner and her crew. A white sheet that’s wrapped up too small—

A warm hand wraps around your elbow and you’re shocked back into your own skin, halting your steps. He tugs you to turn and face him. “John?” Your voice comes out meeker than you mean to and you try to fold some bass back into it. Even if it’s only the two of you, you have to maintain. “What is it?”

His gaze was never one to look hesitant, and now is no exception. He’s looking through you like every insecurity is a loud, bleating lamb. “This is your first case where the deceased on scene is a kid, right?”

It’s factually true, so you nod, letting him continue. “It’s a lot, taking that in for the first time. You don’t—“ he cuts himself off, chewing on what he wants to say. He’s still grasped firmly onto you, but his grip slides down so his hand engulfs your wrist. Can he feel your pulse? How can he not, your blood is rushing in your ears.

You’re closer now, and you’re not sure which of you stepped forward. “I’ve seen dead bodies before, John.”

“Not like this. Seeing this in the field changes you and there’s no going back once you rip that bandaid off.” He takes a breath. He’s getting worked up. “Let me describe it to you instead. Take in the crime scene, listen to Warner. There’ll come a day where you have to be the one to see it. Today doesn’t have to be that day.”

His offer silences you. There was no shortage of condescension from your peers as you made your way through the ranks. A female detective garners that kind of response.

This was something else. Something one could call chivalrous.

Your eyes are locked with the intensity of his. He wasn’t being presumptuous, thinking you couldn’t handle the brutal reality of SVU. He wanted to spare you from the heartache of having to handle it at all. At least for now.

An unimaginable horror is sitting a couple of meters behind you, but you feel a ripple of gratitude pulse through you. Grateful to be supported. Grateful to be cared for. Grateful to have someone watching your back.

You twist your wrist to squeeze his hand and you feel sturdier than you did before. “It’s true, I have to face this at some point. But who better to see me through it than you?”

Your response leaves him stunned for a beat now, and for once, the great John Munch has no words. Your hands drop and now you’re back in the saddle. The weight of your job sits true on you rather than suffocating. You’re a detective. You were trained for this. They wouldn’t have promoted you if you weren’t ready.

You saunter up to a police officer, John shadowing you, as you calmly ask in a voice stronger than before “what happened here?”

“Couple of college kids were looking for flowers for some kind of biology paper. They stumbled on the body and called it in— they’ve had a couple of panic attacks since then, but they’re being thorough with the recollection now.”

You glance over and see two girls in the prime of their college years. Their eyes are puffy and red but they’re talking with another officer, giving their statements. Their resolve strengthens your own. You need to be a pillar for young ladies like them. Time to take the plunge.

You turn to the M.E. and ask “what have you got?”

Warner looks up from her clipboard as she kneels on the ground, her voice steady as she begins the recounting. She peels the sheet back. “Time of death was around midnight last night. My best guess is that the cause of death was…”

*****

John opens the car door for you, which still takes some getting used to. You slide into the seat and vocalize the to-do list. “Alright, after we check missing persons, we’ll scope out schools in the area. Oh, and we need to followup with that vendor. The one that the girl, Chloe, mentioned—“

His voice calls out your name and you pause, turning to look at him. His hand raises towards your face and you fight the instinct to wince.

His thumb grazes your cheek and it glints in the sunlight beaming through the windshield. He circles his thumb over his forefinger, showing the moisture he collected. You reach up and dab at the other cheek, surprised to feel the tear tracks falling down there.

Your gazes lock again and you shudder out a breath.

All too knowing, he asks “you want to let it out now or later?”

You swallow, and it shouldn’t be so difficult. Your body doesn’t feel like your own right now.

You remember there’s a family out there and they’re about to get news so vile that it’s going to decimate the lives they once had. You’ll need to be there to support them and their tears.

You buckle your seatbelt, nod to Munch, and whisper out a thankful “Later.”