How Can I Remember?

Olivia Benson walked into her small, dismal apartment and dropped her keys on the counter, looking around with the same feeling of utter depression she got every time she came home. As if in a trance she quickly took a shower, ate some leftovers and sat on her couch, TV on more for the company than actual content. She spread files from work out over the coffee table, and ran her fingers through her wet hair. It had become somewhat bothersome lately, and she was thinking of getting it cut.

She stared at the files, and the words seems to form globs of unintelligible goo. Her eyes traveled to the TV. If anything was unintelligible... She forced herself to look back to the files. Then caught herself drifting back to the TV. After a minute of this pattern she sighed and leaned back into the overstuffed couch. Maybe 19 hours of work had fried her brain, but she was still restless. Even while watching the television, her attention wasn't focused to the program. She couldn't concentrate on anything, and she knew why. It was John Munch.

Argh.

She hadn't been able to get the fellow detective out of her mind for the last two weeks, even though she had tried. She had been on a date, rented a couple videos, and started several new novels, all frivolous wastes of time. The date went nowhere interesting, the films all put her to sleep, and the novels would merely fall to her chest as her mind went slinking back to Munch. Back to Munch and the things she'd imagine doing to him... And him to her.

She lied back onto the couch, closing her eyes and sighed happily as a picture of his warm and handsome face entered her mind, always seeming so glad to see her. He was the only person that ever did seem genuinely happy to see her if just to say hello.

She didn't care right now that it was improper for her to have feelings about him. I'll care later, she thought, eyes growing heavy as she allowed herself to be pulled into the dangerous world of dreams and desires one knows they will never have.

----

She opened her eyes to find herself in a bed she had come to know well lately. At least in her dreams. The clock from the dresser across the room glowed, the numbers 2:53 seeming to float in mid-air in the darkened room. So it was early morning.

She could feel her backside curving into his warm front, fitting him, just an extension of his body. He shifted against her, into her, and she breathed deeply, his unique smell permeating the air. She pushed herself back a little trying to get as close as she could, then snuggled into the warm, plush pillow. She moved her right hand behind her and up, lightly grazing his weathered face with her fingertips, wanting to feel it, to memorize it before... Before she awoke alone.

Part of her knew this was a dream.

"Olivia?" came a hesitant whisper. It was so close, and she could feel his breath.

Part of her thought this might be for real. Wanted it to be real.

"Are you awake?" His voice was hopeful and low, so close to her that it was causing vibrations that traveled through him to her.

She shivered, loving this. "Maybe."

His nose began tickling her neck and ear made her laugh. "I can tell you are."

He propped himself up on his elbow and pulled her onto her back. She saw he was wearing a white tee-shirt and was without his glasses. This touched her as it always did, in life or in dreams. She felt he only showed his eyes to those he trusted. Maybe, if she tried, she could get a glimpse at his heart and soul through those eyes.

His right hand began to roam over her flat stomach, leaving a tingling trail of need in its wake. "I couldn't get to sleep. I'd doze off, then wake up with... ideas."

Hmmm. "What kind of ideas?" she asked. She had the impression she was going to like whatever they were.

He looked into her eyes and her heart leapt into her throat. There was that glimpse.

This isn't real, she tried to tell herself hoping that this time she wouldn't wake up heartbroken. It's just a dream. A very good dream, but still a dream.

He bent down and kissed her, pushing her mouth open with his tongue. Her breath instantly merged with his and she pushed her hands through his hair. He kissed her with such passion, such bruising force that she felt like she'd just melt right into him.

So real...

He pulled away. "You want to know what kind of ideas?"

She nodded slowly, saying nothing.

A low growl emitted from his throat as he looked her body over. His eyes never left hers as his hand traveled up to her breasts, momentarily massaging one, then moving to cup the other. He began to tease her nipple sweetly through the silk nightie, moving in circles until the buds hardened. He began to rub one lightly between his forefinger and thumb, then, eyes still locked to hers, he moved down to take it with his lips. She felt his hot tongue on the sensitive area and gasped, pushing up into his mouth. After a moment of teasing, he pulled away and blew on a light stream of air to the now vacant spot. Olivia gasped again, this time from the cold air, magnified by the presence of the wet material, now covering her breast.

She grabbed his shoulder trying to pull him from his perch on his elbow. He smiled and slid on top of her, careful with his weight from every part of his body with one exception: his groin. They both moaned as he pushed his hardened erection to her, and she could feel her own body beginning to heat up even more, readying itself for him.

She watched him as he started to pull her nightie off, kissing her stomach in inches as the material was lifted away, and then throwing to the side. Next came the panties, and there she was, naked, and bare. Slightly shy in front of the man she wanted to please more than anything.

NO! Don't say it! her consciousness screamed.

She smiled up to him as his fingers skimmed softly over her trembling body, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

Please, don't say it.

But she did. "I love you, John," she said, and instantly regretted it.

He looked down, for a moment unable to meet her gaze. Then his eyes came back up, sad. No, not sad. Full of pity. And suddenly empty in the sort of glazed over dead look that had become the trademark of many rape victims Olivia had interviewed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and started to dissolve. She cried his name out loud, and reached up for him, but he just slipped through her fingers and disappeared. The world became darkness, nothing but black. She was suddenly naked, alone, and very cold. She could see nothing, but she could still hear the echo of his last words. "I'm sorry."

"John!" she screamed.

----

Her own scream woke her, and she realized that, yet again, she was weeping. She always tried to stop herself from believing the dream, from wanting everything so much, too much. And most importantly from saying those stupid words. Those idiotically trusting and eternally disappointing words. Because he never said them back. Never. So she always tried to stop herself, but it never worked.

She sighed, wiping the tears away. She got up to stretch then walked towards her room leaving the files on the coffee table. They were scattered and looked as if she actually got some work done. It was comfortable to have them there for some reason.

She changed into clothes, seeming to move in a somewhat catatonic state, and got into bed. No sooner had she put her head to her pillow than the entity that had begun her misery, started next door. Olivia sighed deeply and punched her pillow, weaker than she would have liked to. Sending the feathers of the goose-down flying would have made her perfectly happy.

It was that song, "How Can I Remember?". AGAIN. It was there, all the time, and she knew exactly where it was coming from. The damn teenager next door and her stupid fantasies about love and fate.

About two weeks ago Olivia had been home reading and it had come on, quite loudly from the speakers next door. She heard it, thought it was romantic, if a little sappy, but all together something that a fourteen year old would most definitely adore. She didn't give it another thought. Until she had heard it four times that night.

Now, many days later, it was taking everything she had to keep herself from pounding the door down and threatening to arrest the girl if she ever played the stupid thing again. Olivia knew that the craze for it would fade and another song would pop up, just as temporarily incessant. She looked forward to a new song to hate, not just because she was sick of this one, but, well... The lyrics were really starting to get to her, starting to...

They just hit way too close to home.

She beat her head against the headboard, and fought the urge to pay her neighbor a visit. She knew after the third or fourth time the girl played it one of her parents would rush in to stop it for the night, sending the girl to brush her teeth and go to bed. So she tried to fight the images and thoughts that flooded her, but when she heard the song start over, she just opened her mind to them, too tired and exhausted from a full day to even care. Maybe she'd get to sleep before the pictures came in.

Right. If she believed that she was even more delusional than she thought.

As the music started to swell, she could see her and John in bed again, and this time everything seemed to be in clearer and more precise detail.

She could see, could hear, could feel them making love, so close to that rare moment of ecstasy where two momentarily become one in the same instant.

Oh, but they have, she thought. Just never in the romantic sense. That's what makes this so hard. I've felt him before.

He was panting now, and he brought his mouth to hers. They kissed, then both cried out into each others mouths. They were so close, almost there, almost there together. Riding each other, struggling to meet the grueling pace that would eventually bring them home.

I wish that I couldn't. They came together, calling out each others names. His head fell to her shoulder as his body continued to spasm, emptying himself into her, and tears leaked through her shut eyelids.

And remember well. Munch knew her better than anyone, even her partner. He knew it all, the good, the bad... The stuff with her mother. And he had always been there for her, whenever she needed it. Calls, hugs, contacts with friends to help her find her father. So why were these stupid thoughts coming now? Why not before, or, even better, never?

Tell me about it.

No truer words, in Olivia's mind had ever been sung.

Dare I hope?

Damn teenager, that's why.

Argh...

She braced herself, for the worst was coming. The part that resonated through her heart, mind, and soul. The thing she wish she felt and knew she had in her at the same time.

Could she dare hope she'd have the same felicitous ending, the same perfect life that her future held tauntingly in front of her? Would she ever reach that finish line?

As the song ended, she could hear the knock on the door. She smiled weakly in relief and mendacious triumph. She stretched out a little more under the sheets, turning to lie on her stomach, all the while trying hard to ignore the need she felt in her core, the heat that burned, vexatious in its obstinacy.

She thought about the song. Only twice this time. Maybe the girl's parents would burn or smash the CD.

As she lie in bed, she tried to stop her mind flowing with images of lips meeting hers with hushed words of love and commitment. Why didn't those come in the dreams?

Because John's a friend, not a lover, she told herself. She shouldn't be thinking this way about him, if for her own sanity alone.

The song had been causing her dreams. Sweet dreams, erotic dreams, comforting dreams that told her she was not alone. That maybe John was there. Until she told him what she felt. She knew she'd never have the nerve to actually do it, and it might be partly because of the dreams. Half a seventh heaven of imagination and hopes, and half pure hell and agony, pain causing her stomach to twist inside.

Olivia fell asleep with the song's question in mind. Just how she could remember what his heated breath felt like against her neck, what his large and rough hands felt like against her face. What his heart felt like beating desperately inside, pressed to her own pounding breast. She knew what his embrace felt like, but knowing a kiss that she would never experience... That was pain. And she knew she'd always remember it.

FIN