Title: Risks, Chapter 1

Author: Sorsha711
Fandom/Pairing: JM/OFC

Rating: M, adult content
Disclaimer: The Munchkin isn't mine, except in my dreams! Sigh! DW owns him and the others.
Summary: A New Year's sequel to my Halloween fantasy, Whispers. Everything of worth has risks; what would you risk to find true love? JM/OFC & OE

Please R&R

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Risks, Chapter 1

A sense of déjà vu settled in John's spirit as he shrugged off his coat and hung it in the closet by the front door. He paused next to his favorite chair as images from his dream the night before began to replay in his thoughts. Stifling a groan, he mused/Sad commentary on my life that the best sex I've ever had was in my dreams. Hell, the only sex I've had in… damn! It can't have been that long!/

Unwilling to obsess over a dream, John wondered into the kitchen in search of something to eat. Pouring himself a bowl of cold cereal, he leaned back against the counter to eat. Nominally occupied with his uninspired meal, the face of a beautiful raven-haired woman drifted into his thoughts.

It took him a moment to realize the woman was the one he had seen at the bar earlier in the evening rather than his dream lover from the night before… from countless dreams he had had since his youth. He was struck again by the uncanny resemblance she had to his fantasy woman. The provocative wink she had given him before disappearing into the bar had aroused more than just his curiosity.

To the amusement of his companions, he had followed her into the bar with the promise of buying the first round. His self-confidence bolstered by the wink, John had made no attempt to hide the fact he was searching the large, crowded room for his mystery lady. This had made him an easy target. Fin and Elliot had hassled him soundly about his chances to actually get anywhere with her. Elliot had gone as far as to say that she might let him buy her a few drinks, but that was as far as he would ever get with such a beauty.

Their comments had stung, echoing as they did his private doubts about himself. The hopeful attitude he had felt upon entering the bar had disappeared as quickly as it had come. His eyes had dropped back to the table and he had given up without trying to find her, though only Olivia seemed to notice. Some days he suspected she was the only one that took the time to notice him at all anymore.

In recent years, John had grown increasingly unwilling to take risks… venture out and try to meet someone for fear of exposing himself emotionally again. He had stopped trying not long after moving to New York. If asked, he knew the exact moment he had, for all intents and purposes, given up.

He and his partner had been at the ME's Office looking for a report on a vic. John had again approached the cold and indifferent Elizabeth Rogers for a date, asking if there was any circumstance where she would agree to have dinner with him. Rogers' reply had cut to the quick… "Not while I can still feed myself."

The fact that Rogers had an 'on and off' relationship with his friend and unspoken rival, Lennie Briscoe, had added insult to injury. It had been a blow to his pride to learn that Briscoe had had an affair with Gwen, his first wife. That knowledge had reopened an old wound left from the failure of his first marriage. After years of coming up short in matters of love, Rogers' rejection had been the final blow that drove him into hiding.

Ever since, John had spent most of his nights alone in his apartment with only the TV and the internet for company. A few one-night stands, fueled by alcohol not genuine desire, did not count by his reckoning. John was alone and lonely. His colleagues had… without deliberate intent he hoped, struck his emotional Achilles Heel with their teasing.

John had been rescued from being pushed to make a move that might have proved them right when Cragen's cell phone had rung. He and his fellow detectives had been called to a crime scene across town. Downing a few quick swallows of their beers, the group had risen and left in mass… except for him. He had paused briefly at the bar to pay for the virtually untouched pitcher and Don's soda, grumbling at the waste of both the beer and money. He had refused to turn his head to scan the room for his mystery woman, a mix of disappointment and relief warring in his heart.

SVU had spent the rest of the evening dealing with a rape victim, one that seemed to feel more at ease with him than Olivia. Sue Tanner had grabbed his arm the moment he had arrived at the hospital and had not let it go until her mother arrived several hours later. It was particularly draining for the unit if it one of them became the emotional anchor for their vic. For John, it made it impossible to maintain his facade of jaded indifference.

His meal finished, John ran a little water over the bowl and left it in the sink to wash in the morning. Trudging more than walking, John entered his bedroom and pulled off his jacket. Standing before his dresser, he began to empty his pockets, the accumulation of items from his day ending up in a small bowl he kept for this purpose. Slipping his hand inside the left front flap, he pulled out a slip of paper. The name Esmerelda and a phone number were written in emerald-green ink in a neat, old-fashioned script.

Stunned, his eyes lifted involuntarily to stare into the cloudy depths of his mother's mirror. "How…?" A faint glow seemed to shimmer in the heart of the mirror… otherwise, the surface remained still.

Dropping down onto the edge of his bed, John spent the next hour alternating his focus between the mirror and the slip of paper in his hand. Realizing how late it had become, he reluctantly rose to complete his nightly ablutions. Once in bed, he tossed and turned for some time before falling into a deep sleep... one shared with an exotically beautiful woman.

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"What's that?"

Startled, John looked up to find Olivia watching him. "What's… what?"

A teasing grin preceded, "I asked first. What's that in your hand? You've been staring at it for an hour."

A faint blush stole over his cheeks as he reached into his pocket for his wallet. Tucking the slip of paper carefully away in a secure place, he attempted to change the topic of conversation. "Nothing. Have we gotten the report on the rape kit from last night yet?"

"It's right in front of you, John," she replied, pointing to the requested document. In a gentle voice, she added, "I put it there over ten minutes ago… you even thanked me when I did."

Grabbing up the requested document, John sought to hide once again in his work. "Sorry… I guess I'm just tired. They didn't get a match to the semen sample from the kit."

Shaking her head, Olivia noted, "Hummm… I think I said that… ten minutes ago."

"Some things need to be repeated," John muttered, a bite to his voice hinting at his discomfort at their conversation. "I think we need to re-interview Sue Tanner and see if she's remembered anything now that she's had time to calm down a little. She was too emotional last night to give us much."

Sighing, Olivia relented for the moment. "Fine. I'll drive."

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Olivia pulled their sedan into the late morning traffic following a fruitless visit to see their victim. Sue Tanner had been unable to give them any more information about the attack or to give them a description of her rapist. Once again, the woman had clung to John and her partner had left the Tanner apartment exhausted from the effort to be supportive.

They drove in silence for several miles. John was lost in his own thoughts, a nagging feeling that he was missing something had him sorting through the information they had thus far uncovered in hopes of identifying what was bothering him. A frown darkened his features and he momentarily forgot he was not alone.

Glancing to her right, Olivia noted that John was staring out the window, deep in thought. She had, as he had suspected, seen the effect their partners' none-too gentle teasing had had on him. It had depressed to her watch him sink back into himself rather than risk striking up a conversation with the woman that had flirted with him at the bar's entrance. Olivia had read Elliot the riot act on the drive to the crime scene, but she had little hope it had made any difference in her partner's view of John. /Hell, Elliot's point of view on a lot of things isn't what I want. If only…/

Refusing to let her mind go down that path yet again, she glanced again at John. She had long ago come to the conclusion that she was the only one to realize how lonely and depressed he was becoming. She knew their work consumed him as much as it did the rest of them, but he had lost the ability to detach himself from their cases… not that any of them were very good at doing that. He had no one to share his life and he spent most of his time off alone. She was unable to remember the last time he had said anything that even hinted that he had been on a date… or gone to any social event other than their infrequent after work drinks.

As for their work, it was easy for the rest of their squad to ignore how often John was the one that got stuck with the less pleasant aspects of their investigations. Given their work, the nature of those 'aspects' made her shudder. John was the one that slogged through videos of abuse and the stacks of the twisted pornography… including materials involving children. Olivia suspected he did it to protect his partners from the mental damage prolonged exposure to that type of depravity caused, but there was no one protecting him.

John was the one that dug through old records and pursued leads that required hours of tedious digging. His contributions to their cases were always critical, but they were often overlooked by the time the perp arrived in the interrogation room. She and Elliot were the ones given the credit most of the time. John, and to a lesser extent, Fin often labored in the background on many of their cases, largely unrecognized.

She had said as much to Elliot, but he had been quick to take offense to her observations. His 'that's what he's good at,' had infuriated her as had his comment 'that stuff doesn't get to him like it does most people.' A heated argument had followed, as Olivia had demanded Elliot accept responsibility for his attitude and he had taken offense to her comments.

In her heart, she knew that the argument had been triggered as much by all the issues they were ignoring as by what she said. Since returning from her stint with the FBI… since seeing him with Dani Beck, any ease they might once have had in each other's company was strained at best. She was at a loss for how to reconcile their problems… how to let him know she had no desire to return to their old partnership. She wanted… needed more.

The tension between them had not dissipated overnight and Elliot had asked Fin to partner him when he left to track a suspected perp on another open case. She knew Elliot understood her too well to think she had finished having her say and he was hoping to avoid her until she became distracted by a case. Truth be told, she suspected he knew she was right, but it was easier to stick to his surface impression of John rather than admit he saw what was happening to the other man. His own life was still in turmoil since the end of his marriage to Kathy and he wasn't ready to add someone else's problems to the mix.

If she was willing to give Elliot a few breaks for now, she did not feel so generous with the others. Fin and Don had been as bad as Elliot, but they had less excuse. Both had taken the time to get to know John beyond his oft-times annoying facade. They had been single for a long time too and should be more understanding in her estimation. It bothered her that they did not seem to respect the sacrifices John made for the good of the unit. Teasing was one thing, but hitting a man where he was vulnerable was another.

/Damn it! They should have been encouraging him to make a move, not give up without trying! MEN!!!/

She had seen the way the other woman had looked at John and Olivia had no doubts the woman's interest had been genuine. Liv had long-ago realized John's bluster was just that, talk to hide his insecurities. She doubted he truly understood how attractive he could be when he was just himself, his sarcastic facade set aside for the moment.

"You shouldn't let them get to you, John. That lady was interested," she offered, hoping to engage him in a conversation. "You should have at least said hello to her before we left."

Turning his head, John silently studied her. "What makes you think they weren't right about my chances?"

"I saw how she was looking at you. She thought you were attractive," Olivia began. "I could feel it. And, why wouldn't she be? You're a very compelling man, John."

An off-center smile… one that tugged at her heart, failed to brighten his face. "That's sweet, Liv, but…"

"But nothing, John," she interjected, motivated by a sudden fierce desire to try to get through to him. "She was flirting with you. I wish you could have seen yourself before we went inside. You were laughing and relaxed… you looked handsome, sophisticated and very intelligent. That's a very attractive package to any woman. There were three other men there and she chose to flirt with you for a reason, my friend."

Hesitating for a moment, he admitted, "I really appreciate the pep talk, Liv, but I can't pretend I think I'm any of those things anymore."

"I somehow doubt you ever really believed it, John," Olivia asserted. "That's sad, because you should; you're all of those things. You have a lot to offer a lady."

Shaking his head, he tried to divert the direction of their conversation by teasing, "If I didn't know you were nuts about Elliot, I might think I had a chance."

Grinning, she admitted, "If you had made a move a few years ago, you might have!"

Chuckling, he replied, "A day late and a dollar short… story of my life! Why couldn't we have had this conversation in time for it to do me some good, beautiful?"

Stopping for a red light, Olivia turned to fix him with a challenging stare. "I'm hoping it still might, John. Stop selling yourself short and be open to taking a few risks. It hurts to see you giving up. You deserve so much better. I could slug Elliot and Fin for being such asses last night!"

"Thanks, but…"

"But nothing! That lady was interested!" she exclaimed. "What do you want… an engraved invitation??"

The image of the finely scripted note in his wallet popped instantly to mind. /An engraved invitation? Is that what it was?/ Before he could respond further to her challenge, the answer to the nagging feeling that had been plaguing him came to him.

"Sue Tanner knows who raped her," John blurted out. "She's scared and is refusing to let herself admit she knows him. Remember what she said about…"

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John arrived home a little after 8 that evening, the day ending on a high note. A return visit to Sue Tanner had confirmed his hunch. The woman had been gently encouraged to face the truth and had tearfully told them what she suspected. They had arrested the perp… her widowed mother's boyfriend, less than two hours later. He had confessed as they were taking a DNA swab to compare to the semen sample left by the rapist.

Shedding his coat and jacket, John turned on his computer, planning to spend a few hours surfing the net before bed. The Yahoo homepage shimmered into place on the screen, but he hesitated several seconds before typing in a search query… Esmerelda Kirpachi, the name of his dream lover from the night before. It took only a few nano-seconds for a list of possible matches to appear.

One match in particular called to him. Hitting the link for a SoHo artist of that name, he felt a shiver of arousal rock through his body. The picture of the artist in question dominated one side of the page's layout. The woman was, without doubt, the lady he had seen in the doorway of the bar.

Never taking his eyes off of her screen image, he reached into his pocket for his wallet. Carefully pulling out the slip of paper with her name and phone number on it, he spread it out on the table next to his laptop. Her home page had a short greeting that she had 'signed' in virtual green ink. He saw no obvious difference between her signature on the screen and the beautifully scripted name on his slip of paper. The virtual ink and the real ink also appeared to be the same shade of green.

Trembling slightly, John began to flip through the website, pausing to carefully read her bio. /She's Romanian… her maternal grandfather was a Roma Gypsy! He came from the Carpathian Mountains like my grandmother. Her parents fled the Nazis… immigrated to the States after the war./

Near the bottom of one page, he found it… a quote in Romany he had subconsciously been hoping to find. "Si khohaimo may pachivalo sar o chachimo." After it, she had added in English, "So often, the things we need the most are found not with logic and reason, but in ways that have no rational explanation. When we avoid risks, the truth can elude us and all we have left are empty, convenient lies. Love, passion… excitement require us to be open… to dare… to hope." (Romany for 'There are lies more believable than truth.')

John did not remember reaching for his phone or dialing her number. A soft, silky voice caressed his ear, strangely familiar and full of promise. Taking a deep breath, he took a risk. "Is this Esmerelda?"

"Yes. Who..." A brief hesitation preceded a soft, "Hi. I was hoping you would call."

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