Title: A Day in the Life
Author: Sorsha711
Fandom/Pairing: Munch/OFC
Rating: R, adult situations implied
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. Sigh!
Summary: Sometimes it's about the little things that make a day special… a sequel to Making a Connection, a Munch/Arwen story.
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John paused in the doorway of their bedroom. The moonlight that slipped through the part in the drapes cast just enough illumination for him to see her face, her fair hair shimmering softly in the silvery light. For a moment he had a flash of foresight, a vision of what Arwen would look like in the years to come when time had turned her golden hair white. The vision made his heart skip a beat as the absolute certainty he would still find her as beautiful then as he did now… would love her just as passionately settled around him.
The clock on the mantle chimed, reminding him of the lateness of the hour. It had been another long day at SVU, but the latest monster to harm someone on their watch was safely behind bars. Bitter experience reminded him there were many others left to find, but, for the rest of the night at least, the one in custody would have to be enough. He and Fin were exhausted and needed time to recover before they returned to the fight.
Debating whether or not to raid the frig for a late night snack, John let his eyes drift back to the woman sleeping in the moonlit bed. They had been together for just over a year. In many ways, he knew it had been the best year of his life.
He had told Arwen that when he had taken her for morning coffee and a special anniversary danish… well, an ordinary danish his 'co-conspirators' at the shop where they had met had decorated with a candle shaped into a number one. She had smiled at him in that tender, 'I want to protect you from the rest of the world and make you whole again' sort of way that always stole his breath.
That candle had acquired pride of place on her desk at work… a reminder of him when she was having a Monday on a Wednesday. His now sported the picture a lady at a nearby table had taken as he set the danish before her… candid and telling of emotions behind what was otherwise such a simple moment. Olivia had joked that the picture must be special since he had moved his photo of JFK to one side to make room for it on the cluttered surface.
The thought of the danish made him turn toward the kitchen. He was hungry and needed to eat something before he crawled into bed. He hadn't eaten since he had snagged the last of the day-old Krispy Cremes from a box in the ME's break room that morning… actually, yesterday morning since it was after 2 a.m.
Spotting a note bearing his name stuck to the front of the refrigerator with a bright orange tiger paw magnet, he paused to open it first. A tired grin softened the craggy lines of his face.
I decided to call it a night after you called and I knew you were OK. If you're hungry, there's stew in the frig… warm it in the microwave for 3 or 4 minutes. Or there's turkey from the deli if you'd rather have a sandwich. There's a loaf of fresh bread in the box… fixings in the frig. Dare I mention I baked a chocolate cake? It's your fault… I got bored without you around to keep me on my toes! Grab a piece if you're in the mood to be bad… that or you can wake me up and we can be bad together!!!!
Love ya!
A
It took him a minute to decipher her messy scrawl. For a woman that was otherwise so polished and meticulous, her handwriting was a disaster. Try as she might, it was always looked like this.
It amused him to watch her try to write a handwritten note or letter, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she focused on the task. Invariably, she would get a few lines into the message, then she would sigh in frustration and ball the paper up to start again. After four or five attempts, she would start growling at the paper as if it was the pen's fault her words were all but illegible. He now suspected she made a special effort to find reasons to leave him notes… the messier the better. /I guess I laughed one too many times!/
Grinning, he set the note aside and pulled open the door to the refrigerator. /Let's see… if I read the note right, I have a choice between slew in the brig and turnkey from the heli. Damn, that cake looks good… OK, a little stew and a huge slab of cake…/
Waiting for his meal to finish heating, the thought that a year ago he would have come home to cold cereal and a few beers… quite a few beers if he was sure he was in for the rest of the night, underscored just how much his life had changed. Then, he had felt driven to drink to relax… to forget the gory details of their latest case… to ignore the empty bed in the next room. Sure, the cases still got to him, but he now found messy hand-written notes and homemade chocolate cake a better distraction than the bottom of an empty beer bottle.
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John let the hot spray from the shower pound against his neck and shoulders. Reaching up to massage the tight muscles, he took several deep breaths and let them out slowly. As the third breath slipped from his lips, as rueful grin brightened his face. Without conscious thought, he had begun the relaxation exercises Arwen encouraged him to use when he came home late from a particularly draining day. He firmly believed the techniques helped, but they seemed to help more when Arwen joined him in the shower to guide him through the process.
Maybe it was just the feel of her soft, wet curves pressing against his back… the gentle kisses she rained across his skin… the sight of her slipping to her knees as he leaned weakly against the shower wall while she coaxed him to shuddering release… the sense of awe she inspired that she cared enough to bother. Whatever it was, it seemed to work better when she was there to 'help'.
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John checked the front door one last time before turning off the lamp she had left burning for him in the living room. Moving as quietly as he could, he slipped into their room and padded across to the bed. He had used the guest bathroom off of the 'boys' bedroom so that his shower wouldn't disturb her sleep. Since Arwen's sons were away at college, he had made that his destination for his late night showers soon after he had officially moved into her place.
When she had realized what he was doing… and, no doubt, why, she hadn't said anything. She had simply dropped a kiss on the top of his head as she walked past his chair on her way to drop the damp towel he had left to dry over the top of the shower curtain into the load of laundry she had been doing. 'That smile' had graced her features.
He didn't like sleeping in the nude… it left him feeling exposed and oddly vulnerable, but he equally hated pajamas… only wore them on the rare occasions he visited his brother's family. On nights when then made love before going to sleep, he usually put his boxers back on when he made the inevitable trip to the bathroom sometime during the night. It was rare indeed that he spent the entire night sans his security briefs as one of his ex's called them.
Those first few times he had showered in the guest bath he had been forced to forgo them… after all, it seemed to defeat the purpose of not waking her with his shower, only to do so as he searched for a clean pair in the dark. He had never discussed his preferred sleeping attire with Arwen, but she noticed anyway. A clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt began to appear on the guest bath's counter on the nights he worked late and she had gone to bed ahead of him.
Most people might consider their wordless communication unremarkable and barely worth the notice. John wasn't most people. It was one more thing that set his relationship with Arwen apart from any other he had previously had. She cared enough to do the small things, understood that life sometimes came down to the little things that made the difference between good and great… an affair and a permanent relationship.
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It was like the herbal tea she liked from a small shop near his stationhouse. She had looked other places, but that was the only shop they had found that stocked that particular blend. John had noticed and made a point of picking her up a stash whenever he saw her supply was running low.
Was a new box of tea the make or break factor in their life together? No, but it made her smile that smile whenever she found a box waiting for her on the kitchen counter… and that smile was something he looked for ways to earn. With his track record, any little advantage mattered.
He had let the shop owner slip a box of a new blend she was selling in with his latest purchase. Fin had rolled his eyes… tossed out a few comments that included the term 'whipped' as he grudgingly stopped on the way back to the station earlier that day… his partner's 'we got time to buy tea but not lunch' had been repeated several times for effect. The bag had been carefully positioned on the kitchen counter so Arwen would see it when she made coffee in the morning. A smiling Arwen always made getting out of bed bearable… though, if he was lucky, she would see if before he woke up and getting out of bed might be delayed.
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Easing back the covers, John noticed that Arwen had shifted in her sleep and was now curled around his pillow. That had become another routine… rescuing his pillow from her clutches without waking her. She could be surprisingly tenacious in her hold… had been known to whisper his name and reach out to grab it just as he was sure he had it free.
Secretly, he was beginning to wonder if she was awake and playing with him… but he knew her too well to think she would choose to play games when he was exhausted. His ex-wives were the type. Arwen wasn't.
He had once asked her what the fascination was with his pillow. Her answer had been startling… not to mention arousing. She has said she was addicted to his scent and his pillow was the best she could do when he wasn't there.
When he had eventually let her leave the bed, he had waited until she was out of sight before he had rolled over and buried his face in her pillow. He had still been grinning when he rose to follow her into the kitchen for breakfast. Apparently, he was addicted to her scent too.
-----
Moving as quickly as he dared, he eased his body into the void left by his pillow. Satisfied he had managed to get into bed without waking her, John stuffed his pillow into place behind his head and settled Arwen more comfortably into his arms. He knew she would eventually move away as the night progressed, but she would hold onto him until her subconscious mind relaxed with the knowledge he was home.
It had taken him a while to get used to the fact that Arwen was a cuddler. Like most men, he wasn't… or he hadn't been before they met. Now, he knew he was as guilty of invading her side of the bed to spoon into the curves of her body as she was in moving to his side in hopes of being able to sprawl across his chest.
/I hope she never tells anyone I'm a snuggler. I'd never hear the end of it… especially from Stabler!/
An unexpected caress against the side of his face drew his gaze to the soft, sleep-glazed eyes tilted up to meet his. Snuggling against his throat, Arwen murmured, "Everything OK?"
Smiling slightly, he bent to catch her lips in a gentle kiss. "Fine. Go back to sleep. It's late."
Stretching up to renew the contact with a second, deeper kiss, she whispered, "Tastes like you found the cake."
"Hummm… but that is all the bad I have in me at the moment," he admitted. "I'm beat."
A third kiss proceeded, "I guess I'll have to try again later today. Get some sleep."
Tightening his hold for a moment, he softly promised, "I love you, Wen… always will."
A sleepy "Love you too," ghosted across his neck as she settled back to sleep.
-----
A faint rustling penetrated the deepest layers of sleep. John was dimly aware of the hand that was caressing his hair as he lay sleeping, his head pillowed against the soft material of the old cotton t-shirt covering her thigh. The combination of the scent of coffee and newsprint was enough for him to conclude Arwen was reading the Sunday papers in bed. Satisfied with the state of affairs, he fell back asleep.
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Something batted at his nose. Reaching up to stop whatever it was from doing it again, his hand encountered a small ball of fur. Cracking open one eye the bare minimum, he located his attacker… Lúthien, the tiny black and white kitten they had rescued from under a bush in the park across from their building. It still amazed him that the scrawny bit of fluff had gotten over her terror with them so quickly. She now acted as if they were her loyal serfs, their life's purpose to serve her every need. [A/N --- Lúthien is another name from Tolkien. She was a princess, the most beautiful of all of the Children of the Ilúvatar. That name seemed to fit my mental image of their kitten. LOL
To his left, Arwen whispered, "Leave Dad alone, your highness," as she lifted the kitten from his chest. Settling the impudent bundle in her lap, she continued. "Let him sleep and I'll get you a can of 'good stuff' when we have our breakfast. Deal?"
"You need to stop accusing me of being the one to spoil her," John murmured, his words gravely with sleep.
Hearing his voice, the two ladies that shared his life turned bright, contented eyes in his direction. "It's still early, babe," Arwen observed. "It's only 9:30. Sleep a little longer if you can."
Lúthien, all too aware that a sleeping serf didn't give as many pets as a waking one, pounced. Landing on his chest, the kitten began to 'fluff' the tender skin before curling into a self-satisfied lump. While he refused to admit it on principle, he was glad he had given only token objections to Arwen's decree that the kitten be declawed when she was spayed. Being fluffed by a fully clawed cat wasn't nearly as cute.
Once settled, Lúthien fixed him with an unblinking stare. When he failed to immediately respond as expected… cooed words praising her beauty accompanied by gentle scratching of the spot behind her left ear that was his responsibility, she extended her paw and bopped his nose. A questioning "merrow," demanded he explain this oversight.
"Lúthien… behave."
Indignant green eyes fixed her 'mom' with a glare. Still more asleep than awake, John watched the battle of wills between his ladies as he fell back asleep.
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The rumbling sound of a purring cat didn't quite mask the sound of the clock in the living room chiming 11. He had finally gotten into bed around 3, so he had managed almost 8 hours of sleep. He had always had a hard time sleeping for more than a few hours at a time. Since Arwen came into his life, he slept more deeply and for longer stretches than he had before.
Fin liked to tease him that he was calmer, less intense since he was 'getting laid' regularly. John was pretty sure sleeping through the night on a regular basis had as much to do with his state of being… though their sex-life was an amazing bonus. With Arwen, he was able to truly relax, secure in the certainty he had found his place in life at long last.
A small, mischievous grin quirked his lips, something that would have alerted anyone watching him he was now awake. Maybe Fin was right… not that he planned to tell him. While his sex drive had decreased over the years as it did with most men, he still had a very healthy libido. Maybe he was sleeping better now that he was finally satisfied with his partner. He'd have to think about that possibility more later.
Sighing, he gave into the inevitable and opened his eyes; he was alone… well, alone except for Lúthien. Normally, the kitten slavishly followed Arwen around the apartment. She was sometime consent to sit in his lap rather than her 'favorite's' but that was a rare honor. He jokingly referred to himself as the 'spare'… though his standing seemed to be on the rise of late.
Seeing his eyes open… apparently she had been watching for signs he was awake, the kitten rose from her perch near his ear and stretched languidly. Fixing him with a 'take no prisoners stare', she began to paw the cover of his pillow demanding attention. Stopping for a moment, she studied her 'spare' for signs he had understood her instructions.
John was sure, that if a cat could sigh, Lúthien would be sighing loudly. A second round of pawing of the pillowcase began in earnest. Struggling not to start laughing at the look of insulted dignity his inaction produced, John finally gave in and lifted his hand to attend the offered ear.
A soft chuckle drew his gaze to the doorway. "Yeah, I'm the one that spoils her."
Picking up the purring kitten, John pushed himself into a seated position against the headboard. Cuddling Lúthien to his chest, he ignored the teasing. "And how are you, my beauty? Did you sleep well… visions of mice and bits of string dancing in your twisted little feline brain?"
"She's been waiting for you to wake up and play with her all morning," Arwen observed. Moving over to the bed, she extended a mug in his direction. "I've had to restrain her several times. I'm beginning to believe you're taken my place as her favorite."
Secretly pleased at the prospect, John accepted the coffee. After taking a bracing sip, he sighed with pleasure as his blood began to sluggishly circulate again in response to the required infusion of caffeine. "Well, I do have a reputation with the ladies to uphold."
If cats could roll their eyes, John had no doubt Lúthien's would be rolling madly. Arwen made no attempt to hide hers. John merely smirked in response to their skepticism.
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Arwen left him to finish his coffee and cat conversations to start brunch. Draining the mug, John reluctantly crawled out of bed and ventured into the bathroom. Several minutes later, he emerged wearing a battered pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that had seen better days, the kitten riding on his shoulder.
Man and cat followed the smell of frying bacon to the kitchen. Sighing, he noted it was turkey bacon again, not the real thing. Arwen refused to feed him pork bacon… both because she tried to keep them on a healthy diet and because she said it made her feel guilty. He had tried to argue he was a Reform Jew, but she countered that he was still a work in progress as far as any reform went. In Arwen-speak, that translated to 'I love you, but its turkey bacon or nothing.'
Moving to the coffeepot, he refilled his mug and took a sip. Reinforced for the moment by another shot of caffeine, he reached into the cabinet for a can of cat food… the smelliest, fishiest one they had. That was Lúthien's favorite. Popping the top, he settled the kitten, now shivering with pleasure, beside her bowl. Her dry food and water bowl were also refilled before he returned to his mug of coffee.
Looking up, he caught Arwen watching from her position next to the stove. "What?"
"Not a thing, love… not a thing," she replied, a grin firmly in place on her lips. "Grab the juice and jam from the frig. I'll have the eggs ready in a sec." The kitten may have wrapped him around her little paw, but she knew better than to point that out.
"Thanks for picking up the tea. I used the last of what I had last night," she added, 'the smile' directed over her shoulder in his direction. "I'll brew us a pot of the new blend later today. It sounds great."
Congratulating himself for remembering, John opened the frig and pondered the choice of jams. A carton of the 'fresh-squeezed', organic o.j. Arwen bought at the natural foods store near her office joined a jar of strawberry jam from the same market on the table. He then raided the basket of homemade biscuits and blueberry muffins already waiting, slathering a biscuit with way too much butter and jam. Lúthien wasn't the only one in danger of becoming spoiled he silently admitted as he began to pile his plate with eggs and the ersatz bacon.
Arwen looked up in time to catch the self-satisfied smirk on his face, but also knew better than to ask… some things were better left alone. A smirking John at the breakfast table was one of them. It was still too early in the day to get him started… at least until after she had time to drink another cup of coffee.
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John reached for the Arts section of the New York Times as Arwen's cell phone rang. Seeing the smile that lit her face as she recognized the number on the display, he asked, "Dan or Rob?"
"Dan."
"Ask him if he's going with us to the Duke-Clemson game?" John instructed. "Rob wants to know how many tickets to round up."
Nodding, Arwen answered the phone and fell into a conversation with her oldest son… the oldest of her twins by less than an hour. It had been a relief to all of them at how well they got along with John. Having had their mother all to themselves for most of their lives, John had worried the arrival of another man into her life might cause friction.
The twins, however, had been relieved to see her in a committed relationship. They had been worrying about their mom being alone once they completely moved out on their own after college. The fact that John was an off-beat personality with a passion for various causes they also championed had bridged the gap during those awkward first visits. Now, John was part of their family… though, they were starting to drop hints that it was time for him to make an honest woman of their mom.
Nodding in response to her answer to his question, he returned to reading the paper. John agreed. It was time. He was simply waiting for the perfect moment to ask.
His survival instincts warned him he had better find that right moment sometime before their families descended on them for the Thanksgiving bash Arwen was planning. Her older brother and mother-in-law had been less than approving that they were 'living in sin' the year before. An engagement ring was tucked in his drawer of the desk they shared. It had better be securely on her finger by then or he would be fair game for all of their guests… Fin and Elliot would enjoy that WAY too much.
---
Arwen shifted to stretch out lengthwise on the couch and placed her bare feet in his lap as she flipped the page of the book she was reading. Startled, John jumped in reaction to their unheralded arrival, the last of his coffee sloshing in the mug. Setting the mug aside, he frowned as he wiped at the small blotch that had landed on the crossword puzzle he was working.
Blotting the running ink, John acknowledged that it was hardly a surprise to have her put her feet in his lap… she did it every time they read together on the couch. The problem was she loved to wander around the apartment barefooted. Well, that wasn't the problem… her resulting cold feet were. The sensation of her frigid tootsies in his lap was something akin to having a slab of ice nestling against his groin.
Over the course of their year together, John had bought her two pairs of bedroom slippers, a package of heavy athletic socks, and a pair… or five of those footie hybrids in hopes she would 'catch a clue'. So far, she hadn't. It seemed she preferred warming said cold appendages in his lap to encasing them in warm clothe. Her choked back laugh did nothing to mollify the glare he sent in her direction.
Still frowning, he reached into the basket Arwen kept next to the far end of the couch to store magazines and cat toys. Emerging triumphantly with a pair of the footies… booties… glorified socks, John slipped them onto her feet before going back to the crossword. He still felt the cold radiating from her feet, but it was now buffered.
In the greater scheme of things he reasoned, 'cold feet in the lap' was a pretty low-priority complaint. And, it was one of the few things she did that truly annoyed him. Knowing the list of his own idiosyncrasies was far longer and far more annoying, leaving a pair of socks in the basket seemed like a better solution than arguing.
/Maybe I can convince her to turn the other way around and put her head in my lap,/ he mused. /I might actually get a kiss for my services as pillow.../
Life and relationships were all about compromise and accepting your partner for all they were, both the good and the bad, he reminded himself. Arwen was a wonderful, intelligent, caring woman… with blocks of ice for feet. He was an insecure, conspiracy nut that carried around a mountain of baggage and had a job that was emotionally draining to them both. Even if she was unwilling to turn around, he knew he had very little to complain about.
And then there was the fact that the pair of booties he had selected had little pompoms on their heels… pompoms that Lúthien loved to attack. In his estimation, that gave his solution a certain elegance. It resolved the problem without an argument while having the added benefit of future entertainment once the kitten noticed what 'Mom' was now wearing. It was a masterstroke of logic and accommodation as far as he could see.
Giving the kitten a little nudge to wake her, John sat back to pretend to work on his puzzle while he watched her eye the offending items with interest… a fact Arwen hadn't yet noticed. /…3… 2… 1…/
Pounce.
"Lúth!!! John!!!"
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Cooking dinner that evening, John considered the distribution of duties they had devised soon after he moved in. They both agreed John was not a natural in the kitchen… at least not a natural cook. He liked to remind Arwen that he had demonstrated commendable skill for certain activities in this very kitchen on more than one occasion… their first time together being the most obvious.
But, beyond that talent, John cheerfully admitted he had perfected his mother's recipe for burned water. He would laugh when she insisted the latter was hardly something to brag about, while announcing his other skills to the rest of the world was crass. A smirk was his usual response to her comment.
Keeping his talents in mind, Arwen was selective in what tasks she asked him to tackle with then they spent a rare afternoon cooking together. John usually managed to peel potatoes without cutting himself, made a great salad, and set the table in an acceptable fashion. Arwen did the rest. This distribution of labor suited them both. Arwen loved to cook and John loved to watch her cook.
Arwen had insisted on only one other rule… John had to help clean-up after the meal. They had both agreed the only deviation from this rule was when John was unexpectedly called back to work… or when he felt inclined to demonstrate his other skills. The dishes could wait until morning in the case of the latter.
John had insisted on a second rule… they had to find a rug for the floor. Cold tile, he complained, played hell on his back. Arwen had been more than willing to compromise on that point and they had ended up buying three… no need in taking chances she observed. Cold tile wasn't that pleasant on her back either.
The dishes that night were left until Monday morning. Monday mornings, they both agreed, had very little to recommend them anyway, so what were a few dirty dishes into the mix. Sunday nights were to be enjoyed… savored, so the dishes could wait until morning.
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John paused in the doorway of their bedroom to study his ladies. Arwen had pulled her 'husband', a large tatty blue pillow with arms, from the closet and plumped it behind her so she could read while she waited for him to finish checking doors and turning off lights… man of the house things he joked. Lúthien had claimed his pillow and was curled up in the middle napping. It was a scene that had repeated itself many times in the past year… familiar, yet precious.
The light from the bedside lamp gave the room a golden glow. Arwen's pale blonde hair seemed all the brighter in the soft light… reminding him how much he loved the woman she was at this very moment. With astonishing detail, he remembered a moment they had shared in the park a year ago.
---
"Answer me two questions with complete honesty and we can resolve this once and for all," she proposed.
"Two questions? And an honest answer to both resolves this completely?" John demanded.
"Yes."
John stared into her eyes for several minutes as he tried to figure out where she was leading him. Seeing no artifice in her gaze, he finally nodded. "OK, ask."
"One… do you love me and want to be with me because it's what's best for you… what you truly want?" she whispered, her heart in her eyes. "Notice I didn't ask what you think is best for me or what you think I deserve."
The corner of his mouth lifted in loving exasperation. "I love you, Arwen… and I want to be with you more than I can say… for me."
Sagging slightly in relief, she took a steadying breath before she continued. "Two… if that should ever change, being with me no longer makes you happy, will you be honest with me and tell me… give me a chance to make things right again? If you are honest with me, I can face anything."
John stared at her in shock. Whatever he had been expecting her to ask, that was not it. "Arwen…"
"Please…"
Slowly, John nodded. "I can't imagine not wanting to be with you, but I promise to be honest if that ever happens… to give us both the chance to make it right again."
Reaching up to caress his face again, she whispered, "Ask me, John."
Tilting his head to fit into the curve of her palm, he murmured, "One… do you love me and want to be with me because it's what's best for you… what you truly want? Notice I didn't ask what you think is best for me or what you think I deserve."
Smiling slightly that he had included the last part, she stretched up to gently kiss him. Against his lips she vowed, "I love you, John. I want to be with you."
Taking a shuddering breath, John asked, "Two… if that should ever change, being with me no longer makes you happy, will you be honest with me and tell me, give me a chance to make things right again?"
"I promise, John."
The kiss that sealed their vows seemed more real and binding than the kisses that had sealed any of his marriages. Leaning his forehead against hers, he whispered, "I don't know what I did to deserve this, but I love you Arwen."
---
Returning to the moment, he found himself kneeling by the bed, her face cradled between his hands. "Nothing's changed, Arwen. I still don't know what I did to deserve you, but I love you even more now than I did that day in the park a year ago. I know in my heart I'll be telling you that each and every day we're together for the rest of my life."
Understanding flashed in her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek as she leaned forward to meet his kiss. Against his lips, she whispered, "It hasn't changed for me either. I love you so much, John!"
Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers. The moment was as right as he could imagine. "Good… then make an honest man out of me and marry me."
-----
Arwen talked him into doing the dishes from the night before while she made breakfast the next morning. John had found it impossible to resist the beaming smile she kept sending his way. Grinning, she teased, "I don't want my hands to be chapped and red when I'm flashing my ring around the office this morning."
Chuckling, he nodded. A smiling Arwen wasn't just one of those little things that made his days special… she was his everything.
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