Sonny
My hands won’t stop shaking. I can hear my own ragged breathing, but can’t seem to hear anything else – it’s all muffled. Hot blood is running down my face, I can feel it masking my vision and can taste it in my mouth. The pungent smell of iron is nauseating. I can’t tell if its mine – I don’t think it is. Or maybe I’m dead. I can’t say for sure. There’s someone crying in the background…the victim. We were here to rescue someone. Everything is blurred and fuzzy, but suddenly things start to focus and I see the Lieutenant ascending the stairs, holstering her weapon. She has that naturally reassuring look on her face and says something like “you’re alright” as she walks passed me. I don’t think I am, but this isn’t about me…
I sink to the ground, my legs failing to hold me up any longer. I’m struggling to take in air; it feels like there is a tight band around my chest keeping me from taking a deep breath. I manage to shove Cole’s gun away, the sight of the weapon making me queasy as I recount that it was just being held to my head. My privilege of living being weighed by a desperate man. I give Lieu a thankful nod, the world finally coming back in to focus. My mind starts to race at everything that happens next – a load of paperwork, that’s for sure. Lieu and I will both need to write extensive reports. I’ll need to go to the hospital for blood work and write the “on the job blood exposure” report. I need to get downstairs and clean up. I just want to change clothes. I just need to go home.
You
You glance wearily at the clock and try to swallow the ache that arises at how much you miss Sonny when he runs late like this. Its part of the job, you understand, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You stare blankly at the dishes in the sink, swirling your hands around in the warm, sudsy water. The house is quiet and the last rays of sunset have disappeared, leaving only the street lights reflecting in the windows. At long last you hear the sound of the garage door running, followed by Sonny’s car pulling in. You smile to yourself, filled with longing to have his arms around you. You quickly finish washing the dish in your hand and begin to dry it. You hear the house door open and the familiar rattle of Sonny tossing his keys on the entryway table. You untie your apron and toss it on the counter, turning around just as Sonny appears in the doorway.
“Hi, baby,” you say happily. You smile dies on your lips as you take in Sonny’s disheveled appearance and the look of exhausted anguish on his face. He forces a small half-smile for you.
“Hey, Doll, how are you?” He asks, tossing his blazer on the kitchen chair.
“Fine…” you reply worriedly.
Sonny shakes his head and waves a hand, dismissing the concern he hears in your voice. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s afraid to start talking about it. He comes to you instead and wraps his arms around you tightly. You bring your arms around his waist and hold him close, resting your head against his chest and inhaling deeply, comforted by the feeling of him near you. He smells like he bathed in hospital antiseptic.
“Are you okay?” You mutter into his shirt. You feel him place a kiss on top of your head.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just got a little blood on me at work,” He struggles to block out the memory, which is much more vivid than he’d like it to be.
You know there must be more to the story, but you also know better than to push Sonny to talk if he isn’t ready. Instead you let him hold you, bringing comfort to you both. You run your hands soothingly up and down his back, keeping your head against his chest and feeling the steady rise and fall of him breathing. You can hear his heart pounding and feel tremors working their way through him as he holds you, and you know this was more than just a “tough case”.
You begin to wonder if Sonny is ever going to let go of you, but you can feel him swaying on his feet with exhaustion. You pull away a little to look up at him, bringing your hands up to gently cup his face. His blue eyes are clouded with unshed tears and emotions that you can’t quite place. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest as you gently stroke your thumbs across his cheeks, his days’ worth of stubble rough against your skin.
“Let’s go to bed, okay?” You whisper at him. All you want is to get him upstairs and hold him for hours and hours. You were already committed to calling in sick for your morning shift. When Sonny needed you, everything else came second.
Sigh
SVU addict 