"Heads up!"
You duck just in time to miss the flying wad of paper as it soars over your shoulder and onto the floor. You glance down at the sad pile of missed shots around the trashcan then back at the culprit.
"I guess two out of ten isn't bad, Cassidy," you jab.
"Yeah, maybe if your fat head wasn't blocking my shot," he immediately wads up another sheet to chuck your way. Just as he releases his ammo, Captain Cragen swoops in from behind, intercepting the ball with one hand. He gives the same appraising glance at the growing pile and raises an eyebrow at Cassidy.
"Okay, Annie Oakley, I hate to interrupt target practice-"
"Clearly he needs it," Munch chimes in without looking up from his file folder.
"-but I'm going to need you guys to get it together. It's starting to look like a frat house in here."
"Not nearly enough booze for that," Cassidy remarks, but he gets up anyway and begins picking up the evidence of his terrible aim.
"You especially," he emphasizes, gesturing a hand to the clutter on Cassidy's desk, "Tidy up a little, will ya? And Elliot-"
You lean back in your chair. "Yeah, Cap?"
"I need you to clear out your extra belongings from this desk," he taps on the wooden surface across from you, the one that has been unoccupied for months, "No more using it as a storage unit. The new detective is starting today and she's going to need the space."
At this, Cassidy perks up.
"She?"
You roll your eyes.
"Down, boy," Cragen warns, "Yes, she. I thought it was about time we tipped the scales in this place."
"Hallelujah, amen," Jeffries comments as she returns with a fresh cup of coffee, perching on the edge of Munch's desk, "A little solidarity might make it easier to get through the day with you buffoons."
"I'm with the captain," Munch says, "I think we could use more of a woman's touch around here. Something to counteract the smell of testosterone and cheap cologne," He peeks pointedly over his glasses at his partner, who chucks another paper wad his way.
"Chief of Ds thinks it willl be good to bring in another woman's perspective for our - as he called it - extra sensitive caseload," Cragen continues, "And for once, I don't disagree."
"Wait - are we switching up partners?" Munch lays down his file, "Because my therapist said that any more divorces in my life might be detrimental to my mental health."
Cassidy grins from across the desk.
"Aw, ya hear that guys? He loves me. He really loves me."
"Alright, alright," the captain raises his hands, looking a bit like the disgruntled parent of rowdy teenagers. You crack a smile. "For now, there will be no switches. Detective Benson is going to partner up with Elliot during her probationary period. But I trust that you'll all step up in showing her the ropes. You know firsthand how difficult this unit can be."
Your eyebrows shoot up.
"But-" you sit up straighter, but Cragen stop you before you can argue further.
"This arrangement is not up for discussion," he tells you pointedly, "You've had your solo ride long enough, Elliot. It's time for a new partner."
Sensing the authoritative inflection in his voice, you release a defeated sigh. And without further argument, you stalk off to find an empty evidence box to clean out your new partner's desk.
It's nothing against this new detective, whoever she may be. And it's not the fact that she will be your first female partner in all your years on the job. Really, it's not.
It's just that ever since Alfonse shipped off to Florida to enjoy retirement with his grandkids a few months ago, you've had the luxury of flying solo. Some cops hate working the beat on their own, but you couldn't be happier with the arrangement. No partner meant no one to keep up mindless conversation with during long stakeouts, no one to babysit - or to babysit you. You had a good rapport with Al, but it took a good long time to build. The idea of starting fresh with a new partner is one you're not so keen on. You hardly consider yourself an open book, and a partnership in this line of work is a serious commitment. Some compare it to a marriage. It demands a level of trust and respect that isn't easily earned in your book. After the traumatic way your previous partnership ended, Alfonse was lucky to have made his way into your good graces. With the steep tower of your general pessimism stacked against her, you're not so sure this next woman will be so lucky.
You're almost finished packing up the miscellaneous knickknacks that have made their way across the desk over the past few months when Munch stands up to address someone entering the squad room in your peripheral vision.
"Can I help you?" He approaches the woman softly.
"Hi," the nervous voice responds, "Actually, I'm looking for Captain Cragen's office? I'm -"
"Detective Benson," Cragen interjects, crossing to her. At this, you look up, and perhaps it would have been better if you had continued sulking, keeping your head buried in the box where no one could see you and you couldn't see her. Because now that you have, the effect is irreversible. The woman in the entryway stuns you to silence.
She's drowning in a beige suit that's far too big for her slender frame, and the way she clutches her box of belongings so tightly to her chest betrays the nerves she's trying hard to conceal, but something about the image is incredibly endearing. When she pushes a curtain of short hair behind her ear, she reveals a pair of dark eyes similar in hue that make you desperate to know their story. And you can't help but notice, against the scream of every married, Catholic, guilt-ridden bone in your body, that she is the most beautiful person you've ever laid eyes on. You know it then:
You're screwed.
"Close your mouth, you'll catch flies," Monique jabs quietly from beside you. Instantly your face flushes red. Thinking you've been caught, you whip your head in her direction, but when you do you find her annoyance directed at a slack-jawed Cassidy, who is eyeballing is new coworker in a very un-coworkerly manner. A slow burn of something you can't put a name to builds deep in your gut at the idea, and if you didn't know any better, you might call it jealousy.
"Everyone," Cragen announces, "This is Detective 3rd Grade Olivia Benson. Olivia, this is everyone."
Much to your irritation, Brian is the first to step forward, all too eager to shake her hand.
"Detective Cassidy," he flashes her a boyish smile, holding onto her grip for a little too long, "You can call me Brian."
"But he'll answer to anything, just so long as you call him," Munch steps between them, "John Munch. Three time divorcee and government conspiracy extraordinaire. Oh, and Detective. It's a pleasure."
She raises an eyebrow at the oddity of the introduction, maintaining an uneasy smile when Jeffries steps in to save her.
"Ignore them. You'll find it to be a very useful survival skill here," she winks back at the guys before extending her hand, "Hi, I'm Monique Jeffries. The only other female in the unit, and coincidentally, the only one with a functioning IQ."
"Nice to meet you," Benson returns the gesture, flashing a wide smile that nearly knocks you over. They chat for a moment, but you can barely hear their smalltalk over the pulsing of blood in your ears. Absently, you reach for the band on your left ring finger, twisting it back and forth. A silent reminder.
"And you must be Elliot Stabler," your name on her tongue catches you off guard when she turns to you, and she must sense your confusion because there's that smile again, thin and sly this time and it makes your heart race, "I did my homework."
"It seems you did," you recover smoothly, squaring your shoulders to shake her hand, "It's nice to meet you."
When her palm slips into yours, you feel a jolt in your veins. Her grip is firmer than you expected. Strong and self-assured.
"So," she's the first to break the hold, and you ignore the pang of emptiness as her skin leaves yours, "Where do we begin?"
"Well, you can take the day to sit back and observe if you'd like," Cragen suggests, "Or if you'd rather-"
"I'd like to start right away," she pipes up immediately, then adds, "If that's okay with you."
"Okay," you watch a glimmer of fascination pass through your captain's eyes, "Elliot here can get you into the swing of things. Your desk will be right here across from his."
She sets her box down and sinks into her chair just as you do yours, and you catch a glimpse of what the next however-many-months will be. Suddenly, you're rather content with the prospect of sinking down across the desk from someone every day.
Once she has settled her belongings - only a few modest items, including a black and white photograph of an older woman - you reach over and hand her a file. She takes it curiously, looking up at you with those paralyzing eyes.
"What's this?" She asks.
"Open case of a kidnapping. Nine year old female Luisa Cruz was reported missing from her Washington Heights apartment three days ago. Little to no leads, and…"
"And after 24 hours, missing children are presumed…" She continues your thought, trailing off somberly. You bite your bottom lip and nod in understanding.
"Welcome to SVU," you say. After a moment of silence, she takes a deep breath and swings back with ambition.
"Okay, so what can I do?" she asks, eyes alight with passion. Your heart drums inside your chest.
"Uh, well right now? Not much," you admit, "Go ahead and read through the file. Fresh eyes can't hurt. Other than that, the tip line has been ringing off the hook. Feel free to field those calls as they come in."
She nods once and immediately goes to work. A few minutes pass by as you alternate between skimming pages of old leads and warding off Cassidy's puppy dog stare from across the way. You can't blame the guy, but that logic doesn't stop you from wanting to hurl his entire stock of paper wads back at his head. When the phone rings for the first time, Benson startles from her rabbit hole and looks at the phone, then at you. You nod your encouragement and she takes a cleansing breath before answering.
"Manhattan Special Victims Unit, Detective Benson speaking."
And just when you thought she couldn't be any more perfect, she pauses for a moment, then replies into the phone in a foreign tongue and chills erupt all over your skin. Beautiful sounds and syllables dance from her lips as she twists the spiraled cord between her fingers, absently, mindlessly, and you hope she doesn't catch you staring. Her voice is like the wind, and it carries you away. Less than an hour in, and this woman is the death of you. You wonder how you'll manage to survive the estimated two years in this unit by her side, but you're not at all sad about the opportunity to find out.