Perspectives 3: Fin

Fuckin' asswipe.

Pardon my language, but you see, I ain't as clean as John or Elliot or Don. I am what I am, and I don't make no excuses for myself. I'm proud of who I am.

She understood that.

When I first joined up with the SVU, I sat back and took a look around at the people who were going to be my squadmates. I saw, at first glance, the usual bunch of typical upscale white people. It wasn't till I got a little deeper, under the skin, that I recognized that who they looked like on the outside wasn't who they were on the inside.

Take Elliot, for instance. Clean-cut white boy, good looks, married, four kids. Lived in Queens. People from Queens look at us Bronx folks like we ain't even s'posed to be on the same earth as them. Like their shit don't stink. I got news for you, buddy, you smell just like the rest of us. Then I looked closer. Marine tattoo, and he's as fiercely devoted to his squad mates as any Bronx boy is devoted to his hood. I respect that. He passed inspection.

John…now there was a lot more to respect at first sight. Baltimore's a tough city. Crime rate sky high, lotsa drugs and shit down there. I respected John for puttin' in all them years down there and then comin' up here and spreadin' 'round his expertise. Even if his damn paranoid ass makes me want to kick him at least once a day. He passed too.

It was a little while before I got a chance to work with Liv, and I gotta admit I was even more wrong 'bout her than I was 'bout El and John. She looked like your typical Upper West Side white girl, the kind I used to go to school with, the kind of girl who never gave me the time a' day, much less a second look. Man, was I wrong. She took a stand against me on the case, and then dug in her heels. She was stubborn. She didn't back down. I admired her balls even while I was pissed at 'em. We fought. Her instincts were pointin' her in one direction, mine was pointin' me down another, and guess who the hell was wrong that time? Yours truly. It rankled.

I went off to my favorite hangout that day after work; I still don't know how she found me. Maybe she followed me? Maybe she found out from John where I hung out? He and I were already pretty tight. Either way, I heard the noise level in the bar drop to nothin' that night, and when I looked up she was makin' her way 'round the tables straight to me. White girl, well-dressed, black bar, south Bronx? She was lookin' to get her little lily-white rich ass busted, and I saw a coupla drunks just droolin' when she passed. One of 'em made an abortive move to touch her. I didn't say a word; I thought maybe this would teach her to come bargin' in where she wasn't wanted. Teach her not to come rub my nose in my wrongs.

She musta seen the guy who tried to touch her. She didn't make any moves then, but at the next table, guy 1 nodded to a second guy who was sittin' in Liv's path. He nodded and then pushed his chair out in her path, foldin' his arms with his knees open. It was a blatant hood invitation to sex; I didn't expect Liv to understand. I expected she was going to blush, maybe look down with a hurried glance before she moved around him.

Nope.

She stopped, put her hands on her hips, and smiled. It wasn't a nice one, either. "This for me or you friend back there?" She jerked her head back toward guy 1. "I don't think he's sober enough to do it."

"This's for you, baby," he leered at her.

"Baby." Her voice dropped into a soft, sexy (if I do say so myself) purr. "Oh, baby. Where have you been all my life?" She stepped toward him, straddled his thighs, lowered herself onto his lap. I was openly starin', then; I ain't never seen an uptown girl act like that. Was Liv actually…

The sound of her gun's safety clicking off was loud in the silent room. The guy she was straddling suddenly went real still and started sweatin'.

"Obviously in someone else's bed, since you're wearing a ring." I stared, startled; I hadn't noticed, but sure enough, there was a narrow gold band around one finger. Her voice had lost its seductive purr and was instead low, flat, and dangerous. "Now get your hand the fuck off my thigh." I'd never heard Liv cuss.

"No harm done." He raised his hands in the air, a gesture of surrender.

"Think your shooter's big?" She pulled her piece away from his equipment and trailed the muzzle down the side of his face before pressin' it firmly into his chest. "Mine's bigger." He was sweatin' and shakin' as she placed the gun to the side of his head. "So you gonna leave me alone? Or do I have to tell your wife you were trying to make out with another woman?"

He shook his head, and she pushed herself off his lap, one move, and when she was back to full vertical her gun was gone. I hadn't even seen her re-holster the thing. Damn. She was smooth. She stepped around him without another look, in a completely silent bar, and made her way across the room to where I was sitting, grabbed the stool beside me, and ordered a Miller. Behind her, the guy she'd just intimidated got up and staggered for the door. He didn't come back in, and after a moment conversation in the room went back to normal, if somewhat subdued in volume.

We sat in silence through two of her beers. She was waiting for me to start; I couldn't think of what to say. Finally she got up and paid her tab, headed for the door.

"I'll take you home," I told her.

The ride to her place was silent except for the directions she gave me, but words didn't need to be said. Somewhere along the way the silence went from uncomfortable to comfortable; neither one of us felt like we had to say anything. When she got out of my car, she stopped long enough to say, "Thanks, Fin."

"I'm gonna like workin' with ya, Liv," I said. And I meant it.

We don't work together often; she's usually teamed up with Elliot. But every time we do pair up, I learn somethin' from her. And she learns somethin' from me. And I don't mean just at work. Don would have a litter a' kittens if he ever saw her hangin' with me and my homies, shootin' ball with us on the hood's courts, playin' pool, workin' out. I still keep in touch with some o' my ol' buddies from Narcs, and she's seen me with 'em a coupla times. She actually went out with one of my friends, once; he was the one who broke it off, no hard feelin's, he said, 'cause she was too much woman for him.

Hell, she's too much woman for me too. Not that that's a bad thing, but there ain't no way I could date Liv. She and I would fight all the time. She's strictly Elliot's girl; that much was evident the minute I walked in the first day. I just wish it were evident to them; they sure took a damn long time gettin' 'round to tellin' each other how they felt. There's been a bettin' pool among the uniforms as to how long it's gonna take Liv and El to admit what they feel for each other ain't quite partnerly. He acts like she's his main squeeze, and bristles up protectively whenever someone moves a hair wrong around her.

They got such a connection that I knew he was physically hurtin' when we got there an' we saw her in so much pain. I ain't a stranger to seein' friends hurt; I ain't a stranger to seein' women get hurt, But for some reason, seein' Liv in so much pain made me wanna hurt the bastard who'd done this to her. There's a standin' rule; if a perp takes a swing at a fellow officer, you get a free shot. I've done it before; usually on the ride back to the precinct, and twice it was for Liv. John's done it a few times too; nothing obvious, a little bobble of the hand gettin' into the back of the sedan, a head that hits the edge of the car roof. Nothin' serious. Most of the time it's satisfactory, but this time I wish the son of a bitch hadn't died. I'd rough him up cheerfully for what he done to my homegirl.

John was in shock. He just stood there lookin' after the ambulance as it pulled away, and I wanted to follow it too. We drove to the hospital in silence; I was wondering how bad it was; I hoped desperately that she wasn't gonna be crippled. She didn't deserve that, though the way she looked was so bad that I half-expected her to. John headed for the sedan mechanically; I stopped to give the ME, Melinda, some instructions, and she just waved me on. "I know how to do my job, Detective Tutuola," she said, and I just nodded and went. I got respect for any woman who can look at dead bodies all day and still stay sane; if she wasn't married I'd'a hit on her a while ago. But there was an anxious look in her eyes, and I'd seen her hesitate when she got to the scene; she'd wanted to follow us onto that roof and take care of Liv.

So after I saw Liv at the hospital and made sure she was okay, I went back to the station. Don went home; John went home. I was the only one there, and I was surprised when some of the uniforms came up to me while I was writin' up my report and asked me whether she was gonna be okay. The news had spread like wildfire; I wondered if there was anyone in the squad room who wasn't worried about her.

There was one more person who needed to know what happened before I went home and got myself smashed, and that was Melinda. I finished my report and made a copy, then headed for the ME's office.

She hadn't gone home yet; and the look on her face when I walked in told me she'd been worried 'bout Liv too. I looked at her, and everything I'd been feeling threatened to come to the fore. Normally I'd'a gone to talk to Liv when somethin' was buggin' me, or I'd invite her to shoot some hoops with me, and I'd take my frustrations for the case out on the game. Most of the time, with Liv, I didn't need to say nothin'; she knew what I felt without askin'. I think Melinda knew I needed to talk too, 'cause she didn't take the folder right away and instead asked me directly what happened. Maybe I mighta felt better if I'd pulled up a chair an' talked to her 'bout Liv, but the hurt was too fresh, the pain too real, and I was still shaken from the thought of losin' my girl. All I wanted to do was go home, get toasted, try to forget I'd seen Liv writhing in pain, forget I'd heard my proud little homegirl screaming in agony on that wet rooftop.

I just handed her the folder and headed for the elevator. I couldn't talk about it. Not with her. I wanted to be selfish, keep my memories of Liv to myself, because the good memories were gonna help me get toasted that night so I could try and forget, at least temporarily, the bad ones. Melinda ran after me, caught me in the hall. "Is she going to be all right?"

"Yeah, she's gonna be okay. She's a tough cookie." I nod and give her a faint smile, it felt more like a grimace to me, but she accepted it, and I went home. The apartment felt empty, but in my mind's eye I saw her the day after I'd been shot. She came to pick me up from the hospital, and took me home, went around getting me comfortable, and took a day off to take care of me. I knew she felt guilty that she didn't have my back when that little bodega got shot up, but she didn't have to be. I'd faintly heard her calling my name as she tried to stop the bleedin', heard her pleadin' with me to stay with her. She'd called me 'baby'; I treasured that even though I knew she didn't mean it the way most girls would. She'd simply been concerned for me; her baby was Elliot. Not that I blamed her for it; the back street guys never get the uptown girls, except in movies. But there was a lot she could learn from me, and I was glad that she would be okay in a week and she'd have the chance to learn everything I could teach her.

She and Elliot came in around midmorning, and I knew something between the two of them had changed when she didn't snap at him for carefully taking her coat from her, like she was breakable. She'd learned that she was mortal, and so had he; she seemed to appreciate the care he took, and he suddenly seemed to appreciate her. "Doing okay, homegirl?" I asked her, and she tried to smile, but I could tell the painkillers were blurring her perceptions just a little, and I didn't say anymore. It was enough that she was alive. I like this unit, but if she died I wouldn't stay. I'd go back to Narcotics because there were just too damn many memories of her in this joint.

She and Elliot disappeared into Cragen's office, and sure enough, out came John with those shot glasses. "You punk," I said, and took one, and leaned it against the door with my ear stuck to the other end. I think some of the uniforms saw what we were doing; the noise level in the room dropped to the point where we could hear.

Cragen was going to break them up so they could be together. It was a solution I hadn't considered before, but it made sense. I'd heard from John 'bout Brian Cassidy; though I'd seen the kid in narcotics, he was every inch a nice white boy, and Liv had too much dirt on her soul to ever be comfortable with him. And she musta known that the minute she got in bed with him. She needed someone dirtier. I don't think at the time she'd thought it might be Elliot, but Liv has some odd blind spots sometimes, and El's one of 'em.

We barely got back into our seats desperately trying not to look like we had been eavesdropping when they came back out. Elliot nodded to us, grabbed Liv's coat, and they left, talking to each other in low voices. John watched 'em go; I watched him as he sat there for a long while and then pulled out two blank partner request forms. We'd need to have one on file before Dad could assign them to us. I handed John one and said, "It's gonna be you." I tried to keep the envy out of my voice.

"What's gonna be me?" John had been off somewhere else.

"Liv. Cragen's gonna put her with you. I'm gonna get Elliot." I don't want Elliot. I want Liv. John's a great guy, but he's too old to move fast if something happens. I can save Olivia if something goes south.

Besides, I owe her. I owe her for her friendship, her silent companionship, all the times she whupped my ass on the b-ball court in front of my buddies. I owe her for the drinks she buys me when we go out because I need some company but I don't feel comfortable asking one of the guys. I owe her for the cookies she bakes every holiday for me. I owe her for gettin' in touch with my son and encouragin' me to start over with him. She brought Ken and me back together, got me over the hang-ups about my son's sexual orientation, and my son thinks she's the coolest white woman he knows. A moment later my brain processes what John said, and I stare at him incredulously. "You'd rather work with Elliot?" John and Elliot?

"Yeah."

Cragen's plainly surprised when I tell him I'll work with Liv and John will work with Elliot. I figure he expected that we were gonna request new partners, but I don't think he was expectin' to put El with John. "Any particular reason?" he asks us.

"I know how to handle grown-up kids. My current squeeze has two of her own, and they're ambivalent about me. And Liv's such a straight shooter it'll be fun to drag her through the gritty neighborhoods and teach her a little about the other side." And my son thinks she's cool and wonders why I don't work with her more, but I don't say that. I also don't mention how much I care. I'm from the Bronx; I don't wanna ruin my rep with anyone thinkin' I fell for an uptown girl. I don't think of her that way; she's so intense she'd drive me crazy in a week. Better that I just be her friend. John can play her big brother. Don can play her dad. But she needs a friend.

And I am going to have fun dragging her through some of my rougher dives.

Don thinks about it, and agrees with me, and after I close Cragen's door behind me, I look at John and tell him, "This is gonna be interestin'."