…fast forward to – "First Fight"
(you know the one, where someone actually slams out of the house)
Point of view: Lucy Jones, first person.


"Damn it Lucy." Bobby's voice was that loud raspy kind of yell that I knew meant he was very, very upset.

"Bobby…" I tried to say something in my defense, but I realized I didn't really have anything to say. He had a right to be mad.

"I am the police. I… am… the… police…" He shouted at me and reached into his pocket, yanking out his badge, shoving it toward my face. "Don't." He said, "Don't look at me like that with that yes-and-no look. I am the police, so if you called the police, if you involved the police, then somehow, I think, that you might have called me." He was still kind of waving his badge at me. Did I mention, he was very, very upset?

"I, um…" I stammered, turning away for a moment, trying to get some inner balance. Earlier in the day, I had walked out of my office building and had almost physically walked into a suspect in an active case within SVU. He knew me, he called me by name, it was clear to me that he was not outside of my building by accident. But, he hadn't touched me, and I actually didn't think he was interested in physically harming me. However, he was interested in intimidating me from staying away from counseling his wife.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it." Bobby slammed his detective's shield onto the table.

"I called Detective Benson. She responded right away. Detective Stabler knows as well." I offered, turning back around to look at Bobby. He didn't look any less stressed, any less upset. "They are handling this." I said, looking at him.

"'Handling this… this?" He used my words back at me. "A minute ago you said this was probably nothing, and now it is a this?" He ran his hand across his head, scratching his fingers through his hair. He was breathing heavily.

"I think it is nothing." I kept my voice soft.

"Make up your mind." He snapped at me.

"Bobby." I stepped toward him, but he was so angry that he stepped away, holding his hands out toward me.

"I don't know what you think I'm supposed to do." He said. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" He asked, and I couldn't decide if it was rhetorical.

"I know what I don't want you to do…" I said, and he looked at me.

"I know what you don't want me to do." He said, after a long moment of processing my words.

"I don't want you to jump into this without thinking this through." I offered.

"You don't want me to go over and pound my fist into that guy's face." He offered, at the same time as me.

"That too." I allowed, trying to suppress a smile. Bobby clearly was not in a smiling mood.

"You should've called me. You could've called me. That's my job." He held his hands out at me, in the hyper flexed way he had when he was trying to emphasize what he was saying.

"You're job as what?" I asked, and he looked at me. I knew that he knew what I meant; I knew that he knew that I was asking if it was his job as an NYPD officer or if it was his job because he loved me. He had started the argument by reminding me he was a police officer, and I wondered if that was the real reason he was so upset.

"It's my job because I love you, God damn it." He surprised me by the quickness of his response.

"I love you too." I said, watching him snatch up his badge and shove it back into his pocket. "Where are you going?" I realized he was turning toward the door.

"To pound my fist into that guy's face." He said, and I thought he was kidding, well half way.

"Bobby…" I said, taking a step toward him.

"I have that thing with Logan." He said, over his shoulder.

"But that doesn't necessarily mean you're not doing the other thing as well."

"I have that thing with Logan." He reiterated, his voice still raspy but not as loud. "You should've called me." He said.

"I should've called you." I agreed with him, and I watched him slam out the front door.