A/N: This story is set at the same time as the story "Scarlet Letters", chapter titled "The Affair Begins." If you haven't read that yet, the bootstrap is that Couch, Otten, Fred, and Tammy are SVU detectives (other original characters) Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

SVU Squad Room
8 June

Light streamed through the tall windows and the ancient green walls transcended their institutional color to glow with summer beauty. The sunshine brightened both the room and the spirits of those toiling in it.

It's even making me feel cheerful. When is sunset scheduled today?

Newly arrived from Casey's prep for an upcoming trial, John Munch glanced around the room, looking for something—anything—to distract him from the DD-5s waiting on his computer screen. Cragen's door was shut, the blinds closed. Couch's desk was empty; he was at court on a case left over from Robbery. Fred and Tammy were canvassing and Elliot had the day off to take Liz and Dickie—excuse me, Richard; kid finally decided to outgrow Dickie—to summer camp. Olivia and Fin were with Warner getting the reports on four separate autopsies.

ee cummings should have skipped spring and written about summer….

in unjust-
summer when the world is chock-
a-block with bodies
and eddieandbill are
stiffening in the morgue
and the goat-footed
balloon man gets
hauled in for questioning

That left Otten, who was sitting in Interview Two with an African-American couple in their mid-twenties. Both were dressed casually—jeans, open-collared shirts, a simple gold chain around the female's neck. Otten's back was to Munch, so he couldn't see her expressions, but the other two were intent on whatever they were discussing.

Victim and spouse? Suspects? Witnesses? Hell, given that it's Otten, they could be family—do I really care?

Since the answer was "No", he sat down and attended to his computer screen. The usual bustle of the squad room flowed about him, its familiar motions as unnoticed as the air through which it moved. Relying on memory and his memo book, he filled in the blanks—names, phone numbers, and addresses of witnesses and victim, the crime reported, description of crime scene, synopsis of witness reports—all the import and minutiae required by the NYPD's Complaint Follow-up Report.

After the last bank was filled in, he proofed his work, then clicked on the "Submit" button.

One down, three to go.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched then he spun around, searching for a distraction. Everything looked the same as before—same empty desks, same bustle, same three people in Interview Two, same coffee pot, same refrigerator, same stairway….

A odd flicker of motion at the top of the stairs caught his attention. Something small and gray was moving above the handrail where the sofa was. "Flying dolphin" is what his brain labeled it, but that made so little sense that he dismissed it and kept watching.

Another brief flash of black and white….

That was a flying panda.

…one of brown and white….

Flying St. Bernard….

…then one of purple….

And that's My Little Pegasus.

He took the stairs two at a time, left hand sliding up the rail as he pushed himself faster than his usual pace. Three steps from the top, he craned his neck to see over the railing and the back of the sofa.

A big grin met his gaze.

"Hi. Want to play animals with me?"

She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa. Around her was gathered an assortment of stuffed animals from the Children's Interview Room.

Age, about four-and-a-half. Average height, black hair done in four braids with whatever those elastic-with-beads things are called. Bright pink shirt and shorts, white sneakers with pink socks. She must belong to that couple with Otten; they look the right age to be her parents. Why in hell are they letting her play so far away from them?

He glanced over his shoulder. Yes, they were on the far side of the squad room, but they had line-of-sight and this area was off-limits to everyone except officers, detectives, and staff.

If you can't be safe in a station house, where is safety found?

The girl wasn't frightened, withdrawn, or showing other signs of trauma and hurt, probably the first happy kid that he had seen in weeks. Her bright brown eyes, the big smile, and her hope that he'd join her game loosened something tight inside him.

"Of course." Munch climbed the last three steps. "How do I play?"

Her grin grew bigger. "First, I pick you an animal."

She looked over the toys around her. "Hmmmm…you can be a…a…a giraffe!"

The child plucked a foot-high giraffe from the herd and held it high for him to take. Munch accepted the toy from her.

Very tall, long nose, big ears, beautiful eyes….

He glanced from the plush of the animal to the skin of his hand.

Let's not think about big brown spots….

"Okay, I'm a giraffe. What are you?"

She grabbed a chocolate-colored Teddy bear and waved it at him.

"I'm Cara the Bear—grrrrrrrrr!"

He swallowed a chuckle at the inane stitched smile on the bear's face backed by Cara's fierce growl.

"Okay, Cara the Bear—do you know what a giraffe does when he meet Ursus horribilis, the grizzly bear?"

The girl's bearlike snarl shifted to an expectant smile as she shook her head.

"A proper giraffe approaches the bear and bends over"—Munch matched his words with actions—"and he swings his long neck in a big arc"—he leaned to his right—"and he whacks the bear with his head."

John butted Cara gently on her noggin.

"Then, he swings to the other side and whacks the bear again."

He leaned in and touched heads with her a second time. Cara's smile widened into the biggest grin possible and she giggled until her body shook.

"What does the bear do, Mr. Giraffe?"

John straightened, his smile as large as hers.

"The bear giggles."

She giggled again then she dropped the bear and handed him a stuffed dolphin.

"What does a dolphin do when it meets a bear?"

His smile shifted into a bemused smirk as he sat down on the sofa. He placed the giraffe next to him, took the dolphin from her hand and turned it snout-upward over her head.

"Dolphins smack bears on the head with their tails while they go "Eee-eee-eee-eee-eee".

His Flipper imitation hurt his throat and made Cara shake with laughter.

"Horseys?" She gave him the purple My Little Pony.

"Hold very still."

He balanced the plastic pony on the top of her head.

"The horse stands on top of the bear's head and hopes she won't notice him."

She shook her head; the pony fell into her lap.

"I noticed him, Mr. Giraffe, I noticed him. What does a snail do?"

Munch took the pink snail from her hand and held it behind his back.

"Snails sneak up slowly on bears. They ooze towards the bear, sliding on their slime trail…."

He very slowly swung his arm from behind his back in a wide arc towards her.

"…moving at an extremely sluggish rate until they finally get close…."

Cara's shoulders hunched up and she bounced with excitement as the snail got closer and closer and closer….

"Then the snail jumps up and gives you a big kiss."

He brushed the toy against her face. She grabbed it from him and gave the snail a big wet smack.

"Snail kiss—snail kiss! Tell me what the panda does, Mr. Giraffe!"

She handed the panda to him. Munch balanced it on his knee.

"You tell me why you're up here and I'll tell you what pandas do."

Cara's smile faded.

"My Aunt Anna died. Mommy and Daddy are making rangemints. Daddy asked a bald man where I could stay and he said I could play up here."

Munch pursed his lips at her words.

'Making arrangements'—that's not a bad euphemism; it answers her question and protects her from the sordid horror of what happened to her aunt.

"Those are your parents downstairs?"

She nodded.

Time to get that smile back….

"Pandas," he said, placing his hand on the stuffed animal on his knee, "are not really bears. They're related to the raccoon, which makes them unreliable characters."

He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Pandas are so unreliable that they always walk backwards so no one can tell if they are coming or going."

He turned the panda around, its rump towards Cara, and moved it towards her.

"After the panda backs up to the bear," he whispered, "he turns around and shouts, 'BOO!'"

Cara's eyes went large and she fell back against the arm of the sofa.

"You scared me!"

Munch shook his head. "See how sneaky pandas are—you think I scared you, but it was the panda, not me."

Her smile came back. "Do you like leaves?"

"Huh? Leaves? Oh, yeah—I'm a giraffe. Leaves are all right, if I wash them down with beer."

He heard Fin's voice from the base of the stairs.

"Hey, John—Cragen's got something for us."

Damn it—can't it all go away for a few more minutes?

"I'll be right down," he called back to his partner.

He leaned close to Cara.

"I have to go back to work now."

Cara's smile vanished and she slumped in a pout.

"Awww."

"Tell you what—why don' t you take me home?"

He held out the stuffed giraffe.

"Feed me leaves and beer and I'll be happy."

She took the toy from him and snuggled it to her.

"Mommy won't let me have beer."

"Tea will work. I don't want your mommy mad at us."

"Okay."

She watched him while he go to his feet, her mouth still pursed in its pout.

Oh, what the hell….

He bent over and butted her gently on her noggin.

"Good-bye, Cara the Bear."

He was rewarded with another huge grin.

"Good-bye, Mr. Giraffe."

Fin was waiting by his desk, keys dangling from his fist.

"You're smiling," he said. "It ain't natural—stop it."

John looked up at the landing, when the St. Bernard and the dolphin were performing aerobatics in the sunlight above the railing.

"Tough," he told his partner. "A giraffe's gotta do what a giraffe's gotta do."