Disclaimer: All folks herein are property of Dick Wolf, et al. I just borrowed them to play a bit. Do I hafta give them back?
A/N: So, I'm driving my car and ruminating on the many similarities between Olivia and I. And why I love every man in the 1-6. And it occurred to me that, perhaps, Olivia feels the same way I do about the big lugs. So, since we're so similar (except for that whole pesky "she's fictional" thing) I've used my artistic license to give Olivia my very-real proclivity towards drunken confessional writing. Neither of us talk this way in "real life", but I do write this way when inebriated, so now Olivia does too. That aside, it is quite canon but fairly shippy. Oh, and don't blame me for the long-ass title. That was Liv's doing. What can I say? She was drunk when she wrote it!
A/N, part deux: Shame on me! Unbeta'ed! hanging head in shame Tsk, tsk.
A/N, 33 1/3: My husband called me as I was posting this to let me know of Jerry Orbach's passing. very very sad face So long and good voyage, Lennie, old pal. We hardly knew ye...
A/N, the final: This fic was originally published under my other penname, Rorybick, on the svufiction-dot-com site on December 29, 2004.
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Musings on the Nature of Sexual Attraction and Matters of the Heart From a Perpetual Singleton's Perspective
(AKA When I'm Drunk, Freshman Psychology Rears Its Ugly Head Once Again)
I am not the "My Dearest Diary" type, but I find myself compelled to spill my guts and spew purple prose onto paper after a few too many pints after work. After closing a real bitch of an abuse case this afternoon and spending several hours at McNamara's Pub trying to forget the details, I am well lubricated and ready to ramble.
My name is Olivia Benson. I am comfortably far into my thirties but feel as secure about my body as any woman can be. I have established myself in a career that suits me - I am good at it, and I simultaneously love and hate it. As a detective in the NYPD's Special Victim's Unit, I often see the very worst of humanity and I sometimes get to see the very best. I distrust people, yet can be terribly naive. I am confident and assertive, yet suffer bouts of severe self-doubt. I yearn for home-hearth-heart, yet grew up in dysfunction central and know no other way of living except through vicarious means. Finally, and most important to this particular drunken ramble, I am in love with four men - all of whom love me in return - yet I am all alone.
Any shrink worth his salt would have a field day with me.
Archetypical Love #1 - The Father
He has the kindest eyes. It's really one of the first things you notice about him. Even in the middle of a good rant, rattling the walls with his anger, you can still see the kindness in his soulful eyes. In every crease and wrinkle, his basset hound face reflects a life full of love and caring and passion and laughter. Aged like a fine wine, his attractiveness grows daily, year after year. He is by no means conventionally "hot" but Cragen's appeal is nonetheless addictive to me. I am in love with him.
I know, I know. Freud's Electra Complex. It's a "daddy" thing. See, I never knew my real father. I really never wanted to, after what he did to my mother, yet there is some deep-down drive, a curiosity, a need... Well, Don is the closest thing to a father that I've ever known. As Captain, he's "Dad" to everyone in the unit - the authority figure, the paternal presence who guides us, commands us, educates us and reprimands us. He loves each of us in his own way, but I can tell he has a special love for me. And I love him. I love the secure feeling of being in his arms, those few times he's embraced me. I love the sacrifices he makes for us - taking the heat from the brass at PP1 for our fuck-ups or suffering the constant temptation of an open bottle in his office day after day in his recovery, just so we can have the option of a stiff drink in the worst of times. I love the fact that he can push me to my personal best every day - not with words or commands or fear of a good dressing-down, but with that look of disappointment at my failings that shows up in his eyes and breaks my heart. I love his voice, gruff yet soothing. I love the way he answers his phone - "What?" - and the way he puts away those Twizzlers in lieu of drinking or blowing his brains out from the day-in, day-out diet of horrors force-fed to us by this job. Above all, I love his continued devotion to the love of his life, Marge, though she's been gone for years - a devotion I long for in my own life. He is my Captain, my Father, my Ideal Man. I am in love with Donald Cragen.
Archetypical Love #2 - The Bad Boy
There's just something about a man in black leather. Mmmmm-hmmmm. The way it molds to the skin, the way it reveals rippling muscle and sinewy flesh. There's no other way to describe it than "hot." When he wears his black leather, I melt a little inside from the heat. Of course, that heat could be from the depths of his smoldering dark eyes as much as from the leather. Really hot. Oh, my. Oh, yeah. Odafin. I am in love with him.
Fact: Chicks dig the bad boys. Old-school like Brando and Dean. Modern bad-asses and gangstas. Whatever flavor they come in, the bad boys just shoot chills down our spines and thrill us with their attitudes, their rebellion, their je ne sais quoi. Of course it helps that they all look smokin' fine in their tight jeans or leather or whatever they are wearing in your particular era. I remember high school - "The Outsiders." Did ANYONE cheer for the Socs and their preppy madras pants? No way, man, it was all about the Greasers, their tudes and that tight, worn denim. Mmmmm. So, yeah. Bad boys, and I have one of my own - Fin Tutuola. Even the name is hot - strong, distinctive, determined - just like the man. I don't know if he's purely the product of his environment, growing up in the hood, or if he is a testament to the acting skills learned through years of undercover narc work, but Fin lives and breathes gangsta attitude. He puts up with nothing, he fears nothing, he is disrespected by no one. I love his icy, badass demeanor on the streets and in the interrogation room. Of course, he also has a soft side. A part of him that loves his son and accepts full responsibility for his parenting mistakes and their estrangement. A part of him that puts up with a pain-in-the-ass partner with affection, amusement and caring annoyance. A part of him that tears his heart out on case after horrible case and drives him that much harder to put the bad guys away. I know he loves me when he shares that soft side with me, when he shares his humor with me and when he shares his infrequent smiles with me. He is my Coworker, my Bad Boy, my Rebellious Dream Man. I am in love with Odafin Tutuola.
Archetypical Love #3 - The Professor
Verbal foreplay at work is an evil thing. The innuendo-laden banter and back-and-forth thrusting of knowledge makes me squirm. He's the master of it - enough to stimulate my brain and draw me to the edge of full-blown arousal, not enough to give my excitement full rein - and the evil twinkle behind his glasses proves that he's aware of what he's doing. Munch taunts me every day with his intellectual superiority and smug, tight grin of predatory sexuality. I am in love with him.
The human brain is the most powerful sex organ. While there is something to be said for mindless fucking with a dim-but-hunky pickup from a bar, it can never compete with the mind-blowing fulfillment of an intellectual seduction. An older, educated man is the best of all, combining mental stimulation with an experience and knowledge of the pleasurable arts and an unselfish desire to please his woman. On a case once, I confessed to my partner that I lost my virginity at 17 to a man nearly twenty years older than me. No hunk, he seduced my mind and body, treated me as an equal and challenged me to rise to his level intellectually. In almost every way, John reminds me of my first lover. He, too, does not fit society's mold of a sexy man, but his intelligence, his biting wit and his aura of confidence outshine his physical appearance to many women. Look at his history: Three (or was it four?) hot young wives and countless interested parties. Remember that gorgeous, young TV reporter? Ladies like her line up for the chance to bask in his intellect and trade snarky barbs with him. And they stay - most likely for his skilled lovemaking. Hey, a cop isn't rolling in the big bucks, so it can't be a sugar-daddy thing. The man must have mad kama sutra skills. And I'm his favorite partner for the verbal foreplay, so I squirm and keep my mind nimble and strive to meet him on the plateau of passionate intellectualism. He is my Mentor, my Professor, my Seducer of Mind AND Body. I am in love with John Munch.
Archetypical Love #4 - The Hero
"Once upon a time" bullshit doesn't cut it in real-life. Not in this day and age. I'm a strong, powerful woman who can defend herself and the victims I help. I resent the hell out of anyone who thinks otherwise... unless that "anyone" has a firm, muscular body and turbulent blue eyes determined to protect his women at all costs. Stabler pisses me off daily with this macho-protective crap, but part of me thrills with every heroic impulse. I am in love with him.
Don't tell the feminists - I might lose my grrl-power card - but I want to be saved by Elliot. When he goes caveman on me, a shot of electricity spirals down into my innards and my body tenses with sexual response. I can damn well take care of myself, but oh, how I'd love to be taken care of by him. Partners have an interesting relationship, particularly male-female partners. We're best friends without the socializing, lovers without the sex, soulmates without the exclusivity of emotion. In Elliot's case, his heart and soul belonged to his wife for over 20 years. Now his devotion remains with his children. The depth of his loyalty to those that are "his" makes him all the more heroic - and all the more attractive to me. I love that he counts me among "his women" to protect - even as I resent it. I love that we're closer than he and his wife ever were - even as I regret any small possibility that I played a part in the breakup of his marriage. I love that I can be guarded by him and sheltered in his strong arms in the line of duty - even as I rue the nights of frustration and longing those casual touches ignite within me. He is my Partner, my Hero, my Forbidden Soulmate. I am in love with Elliot Stabler.
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
So. Yeah. Five adults who work together and share horrors that most people can't fathom in their worst nightmares. None of us able to sustain a lasting relationship outside of work. Most of us unwilling to even try. For myself, every man I attempt to date ends up falling far short of my expectations and dreams. One-night-stands and short-term casual sex is the most he can hope for. I mean, how can he succeed in anything long-term when measured up daily against my ideal men and found lacking?
So life rolls onward in the 1-6. Romance versus Responsibilities. Passion versus Professionalism. Devotion versus Duty. Day by day, they battle for dominance in our lives and we continue this strange ménage à cinq - ever orbiting one another and never quite making a connection. I am in love with four men - all of whom love me in return - yet I remain perpetually all alone.
-- -- -- The End -- -- --