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Christmas Cheer

Great. Another Christmas ball, another year of going alone. Why do I even go to these things? I'm not even Christian, I'm Jewish! They call Christmas trees "holiday trees"(which is stupid, really), why can't they call it the holiday ball, so I don't feel like a total outcast?! Aw forget it, maybe I should stop complaining and consider my options.

Option one: go without a date... Again.

No, not very appealing. With all the others, (yes, even Cragen) having dates, I would have no one to talk to. Next!

Option two: stay home.

Okay, even for a Jewish man, staying home alone on Christmas eve would still be pathetic. I think I still have one more option though,: actually finding a date.

Hmm...lets see...no woman outside the squad would even think about going anywhere with a detective in his late fifties so it looks like I'm stuck with someone I know. Casey, believe it or not, is going with Elliot. I thought he was going to take Olivia. I'm glad he didn't though, because-... you know what, I don't even know why I'm glad. It's just a relief.

My thoughts have strayed to far already, and this ball-thing is in less than a two hours, so I should stop rambling now. Let's see here...

Finn is taking that new girl, a uniform from the Bronx. I think her names Sherry...or maybe it's Carrie?... Cherry?

So that leaves...no one. Wait, let me clarify that, no one who would want to go out with me, because poor Liv is left out, and I really like her, I really do...but I don't think she feels the same way. Why would such a smart, gorgeous, compassionate woman want to go to the stupid Christmas ball with a sarcastic, insane old man like me? Exactly. She wouldn't.

But still...

Aw screw this.

I tear my self away from my insane inner conflicts and stalk into my bedroom, grabbing the phone sitting be my bedside table. I dial Olivia's number (yes, I have it memorized, you got a problem with that?) And take a deep breath. The third ring reaches my ears when she finally picks up.

"Benson." She states, and I decide to break the ice by teasing her.

"Jeez, Liv! You even answer your home phone like a cop!"

"Munch?" She asks.

"No, Elvis." I respond.

"Elvis is dead." She joins in on my game without missing a beat.

"How can you be so sure?" I ask in what Fin likes to call my "Suspicious Conspiracy Nut" voice.

"Don't even start Munch." She says in what I like to call her "Oh My God Not This Again" voice. Yeah, so it doesn't roll of the tongue as easily as Finn's does. Shut up.

"I'm hurt, Liv." I say in a pseudo-offended voice.

"Look Munch, is there a reason you called? I have to start getting ready for the ball tonight."

My stomach sinks, and I gulp. " You have a date?"

She laughs humorlessly, "No, but I've got no where better to be."

This is it, I can do this. I cover the receiver momentarily while I clear my throat and then ask in what I'd like to think was a casual voice, " Do you want to come with me?"

There is no answer for a second, and I'm about ready to apologize, or backtrack, or something, when she says happily, "Sure. I thought you'd never ask."

Her comment surprises me, (hell, her answer does, ) but I don't comment. Instead, I grin from ear to ear, and ask, "I'll pick yo up in a half hour?"

"Sure, I'll be ready." She hangs up the phone with a small click.

Looking up at the ceiling I put down the receiver carelessly and close my eyes. Maybe this Christmas party (or ball, whatever, ) wouldn't be so bad after all.

THE END