Chapter Text
All Mike Dodds ever wanted to be was the lead singer in a band. All his father ever wanted Mike to be was Commissioner of the NYPD. So Mike was Mick Jagger in the shower and William Dodds’ son at work. Very, very seldom was he Sergeant Dodds, and even more seldom did he get to be Mike.
That wasn’t going to change anytime soon, because he’d just accepted a position with the Manhattan Special Victims Unit. Why? Because he wanted the job? Oh, hell no. He didn’t want the job. He wanted to be Mick Jagger. And if he had to be a cop, he’d much rather be ESU; something where he could run around with big-ass weapons and play with man toys like he’d done when he was Special Forces. Actually, his time in the Army - although like everything else, that had been his father’s idea – was the time when he’d been the most himself. Because he wasn’t in New York. He wasn’t under his father’s wing, or in his shadow. Nobody at Fort Bragg or any of the places Mike had been stationed knew William Dodds from Adam, and nobody cared. It was as close to happy as he’d ever been.
But.
Mike was on his father’s “five-year plan” to success – success as defined by William, not Mike – and that plan involved Mike taking the job with SVU. But only as a bridge to the next move Mike didn’t want, which was the Joint Terrorism Task Force. So Mike had found himself on an elevator, standing next to his father, who would now also be his Chief, about to meet Lieutenant Benson, his new boss. He would have given anything to be able to walk into the Manhattan SVU squad room without being escorted by his father as though it was his first day of kindergarten, but he wanted a lot of things where his father was concerned. He was very used to not getting them.
As always, his father bragged about Mike’s accomplishments, as Mike tried his best to stop him without making a thing of it. Mike liked Olivia Benson. His father had told Mike she gave him heartburn, which was always a good thing in Mike’s book. And, standing with the two of them, he could see that the heartburn was mutual.
Mike had rarely given his father heartburn. One of the few times was when he’d refused to go into the Police Academy straight from Special Forces. He’d seen and done some things he needed to think about for a while, and after the experience of being just Mike, rather than William Dodds’ son, for the first time, he was not eager to give that up. Besides, he still had his music dreams, and it wasn’t too late. So he’d taken a job at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen and gotten very serious about his guitars. His father, of course, had been livid. He’d even shown up at Lucky’s to berate Mike and try to shame him into submission but, for the first time in his life, Mike had told his father to go to hell. He’d threatened to cut all ties with his father, and he’d meant it.
To his credit, William Dodds loved his son. He truly was as proud of Mike as he claimed to be. In William’s eyes, Mike could do anything he set out to do. Mike was all he had left; Ingrid had left him and taken Matthew, so William had poured all his love and care into raising Mike and making him everything he could be. It simply never occurred to him that what Mike could be wasn’t necessarily what Mike wanted to be. And it never occurred to him to ask what Mike wanted.
So Mike had spent a year as a bartender and wannabe rock star. It had been a good year. He hadn’t made it big, but he’d discovered a lot of things about himself. That included learning that he actually liked a little more structure in his life than bartending provided, and that he actually liked men more than he did women. In the Army, especially Special Forces, he just found it much easier to go along with the macho culture and date only women. His few short, intense affairs with men were on the down-low and of very short duration. But it was easy to be a bisexual bartender in Hell’s Kitchen, and Mike found that when he was free to screw whoever he wanted, he wanted men. He realized that he had been settling for women because it was easier, and he was no longer interested in doing that. He didn’t worry too much about the label; in Mike’s experience, labels were more a matter of convenient shorthand about possibilities than accurate descriptions of something as complex as sexuality. But he decided that “gay” was closer to his truth than “bi”.
He had absolutely no interest in trying to deal with his father on that issue. He could only imagine what that would be like, and he just couldn’t be bothered. He was well over thirty and they lived in a massive metropolis. Mike’s father never met his dates. If and when he ever fell in love, that would be the time to come out to his father. Until then, what was the point? Whenever his father asked about his love life, he played the pronoun game and changed the subject as soon as possible.
His desire for a life with a bit more structure to it, however, he did discuss with his father. Mike was ready to be done with the bohemian life of a guitar-obsessed bartender and pick up the reins of his life. He realized that meant climbing back under William’s wing, but he also realized he was fortunate to have a father who could launch him successfully on a career with the NYPD. He’d been willing to pay the price of putting himself squarely in his father’s shadow. After the Academy, he’d been assigned to Anti-Crime in Crown Heights and had distinguished himself there, working up the career ladder (with no small amount of help from William) to achieve the rank of Sergeant. But that wasn’t good enough for Mike’s father.
Which is why Mike found himself standing in Lieutenant Benson’s office when Detective Rollins came in to let the Lieutenant know they’d caught a rape call at a hotel. Benson made ready to go to the scene, which would have been a graceful way for Chief Dodds to make his own exit and let Mike get on with meeting his squad and settling in. But no. As though arranging for him to go on a field trip, the Chief had “suggested” to Lieutenant Benson that she should take Mike along to the crime scene. Having no choice, she’d agreed.
And that’s where Mike had first seen Sonny Carisi.
Carisi had been in the squad room when Mike had first entered, but his father had propelled Mike into the Lieutenant’s office too fast to notice any of the detectives as he passed them. Which seemed impossible to him now, when Mike couldn’t imagine ever being in a room where Sonny was and not being absolutely, utterly aware of him. But that’s what had happened.
Arriving at the hotel, Mike and Lieutenant Benson had stepped off the elevator into a hallway where several cops were standing, a few speaking quietly with one another, a couple others interviewing witnesses. And at the end of the hall, just before it turned a corner, stood the two members of his squad Mike hadn’t yet met. He was introduced to Fin Tutuola and Sonny Carisi, and probably shook hands and muttered some pro forma words of greeting. But he didn’t know, because of the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears and his complete inability to see anything but Sonny.
Mike had a type. Mike definitely had a type. He was tall with a boxer’s body: hard muscle everywhere, with a small waist, broad chest and thick, muscular arms. He wasn’t looking for a man built like he was. The men who caught Mike’s attention were the ones with long, thin limbs they didn’t seem to know quite what to do with. Men who moved a certain way that just did something to Mike’s insides. He also had a thing for light eyes. He appreciated any guy with pretty eyes, but there were certain men whose eyes captivated him. Sonny Carisi checked both Mike’s major boxes. And then there was everything else.
Where to start? Probably the first thing Mike noticed after Sonny’s eyes were his lips as he briefed Benson and Dodds on what they knew so far. Mike didn’t think he heard one word. He just watched those lips and imagined what they would feel like to touch, to kiss... At one point, Sonny had smiled briefly, and Mike could actually feel his smile. Sonny’s mouth was a weapon. Mike wondered whether he knew that. Actually, Mike was wrong in thinking he hadn’t heard what Sonny said. He must have, because he noticed the accent. Mike had never known a Staten Island accent could be sexy. In fact, he’d have sworn it couldn’t be. He’d been wrong about that, too. Over time, Sonny Carisi would teach Mike Dodds he’d been wrong about a lot of things.
The jury was out on Sonny’s hair. It definitely worked for Sonny, but Mike liked to run his hands through a lover’s hair, and he didn’t want to end up with his hands feeling like they’d been visited by the Exxon Valdez. But if he got Sonny in a shower, he could wash all that stuff out, and then…
Mike tried to keep his head in the game. It was his first crime scene on his first day with SVU. When Benson told Fin and Carisi to get the security footage, Mike remembered that the head of hotel security was a friend of his father’s, so in his eagerness to be helpful and fit in with the team, he’d suggested that they could drop his name. Big mistake. In a handful of syllables, Fin made it abundantly clear that he didn’t appreciate the suggestion. Mike couldn’t even think about looking at Sonny. He didn’t want to see his reaction.
He hadn’t seen this coming. The possibility that he would walk into this new job, a job he hadn’t even wanted, and be hit between the eyes by a man like Sonny Carisi had never crossed his mind. But here he was. And at this moment, he didn’t have time to figure out the implications. He had a job to do. In fact, when they’d returned to the station, Benson had assigned him and Carisi to interrogate the suspect together.
Thank God Dodds was Special Forces and knew how to focus his mind for a mission. Focusing his mind for a mission had never before involved jacking off, but each mission was different. When he was about to spend God knew how long in a small room around a small table with the most beguiling man he’d ever seen, it was mission critical.
As it happened, Mike and Sonny worked well together. During the interrogation, and during the shakedown at a motel that followed, their styles and instincts meshed from the beginning. It felt as though they’d worked together for years. Mike was relieved and found himself looking forward to working with Sonny from a purely professional point of view. He was concerned about Amanda Rollins, who appeared to be a hot mess. But it was obvious that he was meeting her at a particularly bad time, very pregnant and dealing with family issues from hell, so he decided to reserve judgment and even recommended that Lieutenant Benson cut her some slack. Detective Tutuola clearly resented Mike’s presence and completely distrusted him. Mike had expected that. He’d seen it before, even when his father wasn’t the Deputy Chief over Mike’s particular division.
So it shouldn’t have bothered him when he caught a couple of looks between Fin and Sonny that clearly told him Sonny didn’t trust Mike, either. Nor should Sonny’s muttered comment to Amanda about being careful what she said around Mike. But both bothered him quite a bit. Professionally, he got it. Personally, the idea that this beautiful man thought he was a rat punched him in the gut.
Mike was exhausted when he finally made it to his small, utilitarian apartment and collapsed onto his bed still in his suit. Had it really only been the first day? It felt like it had lasted a month. And what the hell was he going to do with Sonny Carisi? Well, the answer to that question was obvious. He wasn’t going to do anything with him. He was Carisi’s direct superior. The real question was what he was going to do about Carisi.
He lay there, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch one of the million thoughts running through his head and follow it. Benson had called him on about a thousand mistakes. That was humiliating, sure, but it was also Day One. And he appreciated a boss who simply gave it to him straight and in the moment. That, he could definitely work with. His dad had been embarrassing as fuck, escorting him in and then coming by at the end of the day for a parent/teacher conference. But that was life on Planet Mike. The case was twisty and interesting, especially the mind fuck of finding out the escort had been Rollins’ sister, and then the sister stabbing her pimp in the junk. Adam’s balls, if this was what every day in SVU was going to be like, Mike was going to need to start taking more vitamins. Maybe he should get some of those vile little energy drinks to keep in his desk, just in case.
Mike tried to ignore the part of him that couldn’t wait to see Carisi the next morning. Like an idiot teenage girl, he found himself on the subway wondering what Sonny was going to wear, for fuck’s sake. He needed to get over this crush, and quickly. Maybe a couple of days, or a week, and he’d be over that body, and those eyes, and that mouth…
Then again, maybe not. The first thing Sonny did when Mike arrived was present him with a cup of coffee from the cart outside the station, and smile at him. At thirty-plus, Mike didn’t often get involuntary wood, but damn, the little creases around Sonny’s eyes when he smiled! And those fucking dimples… Mike wondered whether this was going to be a real problem. He’d had a hundred crushes before, but this was on another level. And the fact that not only was Carisi a good detective but apparently thoughtful of the new guy, too, was disturbing. Very, very disturbing.
Mike’s second day was a bit less of a wild ride than the first had been. He managed to have a real conversation with Detective Tutuola, which was a step in the right direction, although he could tell it was going to take a very long time for that relationship to thaw. He was willing to put in the time. He’d done his homework before beginning at SVU, as he always did, and he knew Tutuola was well worth the investment of building some kind of working rapport. He had a thick file of commendations, and the case records Mike had studied showed he handled undercover frequently and expertly. Besides which, Mike just liked Fin. He appreciated a guy who could think fast enough on his feet to toss off the one-liners he did and, like Olivia, Fin was straight up about what he was thinking.
When Olivia and Amanda had gone to the courthouse where Amanda’s sister was being arraigned, and Carisi was out of the squad room following up on another case, Mike had taken the opportunity to step over to Fin’s desk and sit in the visitor’s chair next to it.
Fin looked over at him, his face giving nothing away.
“Detective Tutuola, I-“
“Fin.”
“Fin. I did my homework before taking this job, and I wanted to let you know, in case you wondered, that I know your record. It’s impressive as hell.”
Fin said nothing, nor did he change expression.
“The other thing I wanted to do is acknowledge the elephant in the room. You don’t know me. But you do know my dad, which is not a good thing. I’m aware that there’s been some tension between him and this unit, and I’ve known my dad for a while now. I can imagine the kind of things that have gone down. So if I’m you, I’m thinking things just went from bad to worse, because now you got my dad in your face 24/7 in the form of his kid. Am I right?”
“You’re right,” Fin said, nodding slightly, in the same tone of voice he’d use to agree with Mike that it was daytime.
“That’s not how it is. My loyalties lie with my unit. Always. I wouldn’t believe me, and I don’t expect you to just take my word. But I’ve got a lot of respect for you. I know you were Rangers, and being ex-Special Forces myself, I got mad respect for that, on top of your police work. You’re a man whose respect I’d like to have, and I intend to earn it. I just thought I’d let you know.”
Fin again nodded slightly. Mike got up and went back to his desk, hoping that at least acknowledging the situation was a start.
It was. Fin thought that Chief Dodds would never have bothered with such a conversation, let alone show his cards like that. He certainly wouldn’t have said he wanted to earn Fin’s respect; he simply demanded it as his due. Maybe Sergeant Dodds wasn’t quite as much of a dick in a starched shirt. But Fin would let the Sergeant’s actions do the talking. He wasn’t in the habit of taking anyone at their word.
The case they caught was an ugly one. Mike and Fin responded to a flat in Chelsea where a woman had been murdered, with definite evidence of sexual assault. Mike had worked any number of murder scenes, and something about the act of murder always pissed him off – his need to find and collar the murderer had always been more about justice for taking a life, rather than getting a win. But this- the vic yesterday had been bad enough. It was difficult and disturbing to hear her statement – no, it’s called a disclosure when it’s a rape, Mike reminded himself – and it had raised in him the same level of anger as a murder, but of a different type. Now, today, the idea that this woman had been sexually brutalized before being killed aroused in Mike a combination of those two reactions that he could feel somewhere in his chest.
“You with me, Sarge?” Fin asked quietly and not without a note of kindness.
“Yeah. This just pisses me off, is all. Murder is one thing. This is a whole other floor of the building.”
“I’d tell you that you get used to it, but I’d be lyin’.”
“Roger that.”
They went to work. Carisi joined them when he could, and together the three worked the scene, supervising the CSU techs, conferring with the Medical Examiner, and interviewing witnesses until the early evening.
When they had finished, they braved the various smells that assailed them on the stairway, Fin in the lead, Dodds next, and Carisi in the rear.
“Sarge, I’m guessin’ the squad car you’re in is signed out to Fin, amirite?” Carisi asked as they descended.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“They always are,” Sonny smiled. “You’ll learn quick enough that no one drives Fin but Fin. You wanna ride back with me?”
Mike felt a swirl of tingles in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
As Carisi pulled out of his parking space, Mike noticed that his legs were so long that his knees actually bracketed the bottom of the steering wheel. Mike was actually taller by a couple inches, but apparently Carisi didn’t like the seat back far enough to stretch out the way Mike did. That should not have been sexy. The way his hands looked on the steering wheel, however, was just objectively, scientifically sexy and Mike didn’t question it. He did look away, however, because he could feel himself responding to just the sight of those hands, and he had to clamp down when his mind naturally went screaming to thoughts of how they would feel on him.
“Was there a particular reason you wanted me to ride with you, Carisi?” He asked, hoping like hell Sonny would distract him with a question or some advice or something.
Sonny shrugged. “Not really. I guess I just wanted to get a chance to get to know each other a little is all. This unit’s pretty small, and we all gotta have each other’s backs. So, you know, we need to know each other, know how each other thinks. That’s all.”
“Yeah, I got you. So what do you want to know?”
Sonny grinned and shot Mike a look that had Mike repositioning himself in the seat. “I dunno. I didn’t prepare a questionnaire or anything.”
“I did have a conversation with Fin earlier that maybe I should have with you, too. I told him that my loyalties lie with the unit, with SVU. I get what you all must think, me being the Chief’s son and all. And I get that it’s gonna take some time to be able to trust me. But you can. I’m not my father’s spy at SVU.”
“Nobody’s saying you are,” Sonny said.
“Oh, brother,” Mike gave a short laugh. “I don’t know how you’ve done as well as you have undercover, if you can’t lie any better than that.”
Mike wished he’d been looking somewhere else when Sonny laughed at that. That crinkly-eyed, dimpled smile was going to be the death of him. He changed the subject.
“So you got any words of wisdom for the new guy? My father says the smartest thing you can do in a new assignment is learn all you can from the people who’ve been there a while.”
Sonny hesitated. His open face clearly showed that he did have something he wanted to say.
“What?” Mike prompted.
“It’s just… No offense, but you oughtta take the phrase ‘my father says’ outta your vocabulary, at least around SVU.” Sonny glanced briefly over to see how Mike took that.
Mike nodded, looking out the passenger window. “You’re not the first person to say that,” he admitted.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knockin’ your dad.”
“I didn’t take it that way.”
“And I look up to my dad a lot, so I get that, too. It’s just… this situation…”
“Right. Got it. And thanks. I appreciate your candor.”
They talked about SVU, the other detectives, and Lieutenant Benson for the rest of the drive back to the station.
Later, alone in his dingy little apartment sipping a beer and staring at something on ESPN without really seeing it, Mike thought about that conversation. About his relationship with his father. At bottom, Mike loved his dad. He respected him. He understood who his dad was and, for the most part, he liked the man. But he knew his father was abrasive in a way that was part stereotypical New Yorker, part uniquely William Dodds. He knew that his father was an ambitious, political animal who thought strategically at all times and in all situations. But he was just as ambitious for Mike as he was for himself, and Mike knew in his soul that that was about Mike, not himself. Mike had certainly known parents whose ambitions for their children, and pride in their accomplishments, existed only for the greater glory of the parents. That wasn’t William Dodds. William Dodds was simply a man who loved his son by pushing him, driving him toward ever-greater successes. That was his way of showing love. Mike got it, and he loved his dad for it.
He also hated the hell out of him for it.
When his phone vibrated on the coffee table at his feet, Mike knew without looking that it was his father.
“Hey, Dad,” he answered.
“So? How’d your second day go?”
“Caught a rape and murder in Chelsea. Wasn’t pretty.”
“I heard. And I heard you were pretty on top of things at the scene.”
“Shit, Dad, are we gonna have this conversation again? I cannot succeed in the NYPD if my father’s constantly coming in behind me demanding praise for the job I’m doing.” Mike had long ago stopped noting that it also bugged the fuck out of him. William Dodds didn’t even hear him say that. But he did hear anything that might be a hindrance to Mike’s career.
“That’s not how it was, Son. I just happened to run into Maury Kaplan from Homicide, and he mentioned he’d seen you there. He offered the praise, I didn’t ask for it.”
“OK, Dad. I appreciate it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with pointing out the job you’re doing. That’s how you get noticed. A shrinking violet doesn’t make Lieutenant, Son.”
“Yeah, I get that. But I don’t need a publicist. People resent that, Dad.”
“Aw, they’re just jealous because you’re a rising star.”
“Look, we’ve been through this a million times, let’s not rehash it. But you told me to sink or swim at SVU. Just… don’t tie a rock around my neck, huh?”
“All right, Mike. All right. I just wanted to check in, see how your second day went.”
They discussed the day for a few minutes, and eventually said good night.
At the end of the week, the team went to Steve’s Place, a cop bar that was between the station house and Mike’s apartment. Mike had been there many times. It was very convenient because it was walking distance from home, and just enough of a walk that it cleared his head a little on the way on those rare occasions when he overindulged.
The conversation was light and friendly. Mike was pleasantly surprised that Rollins came with them, having expected that she’d be exhausted after a day at work, as pregnant as she was. It was a nice chance to get to know the squad as people, and let them see who he was, as well. He made a point not to mention his father even once. He figured it was a good thing that the squad even wanted to have a drink with him, given that they all thought he was more or less a mole. He wanted to use the opportunity to make a little progress with them.
They all stood outside Steve’s and said their goodbyes, then Mike put his hands in his pockets and headed up the street toward his apartment. As he passed the empty storefront next door to the bar, Sonny stepped up to walk beside him.
“You live around here, Sarge?”
“Yeah, about eight blocks uptown. You?”
“Yeah, I’m just off of 2nd and 12th.”
“Shit, Carisi, that’s about three blocks from me. Guess we’re neighbors.”
“Guess we’re government employees who can’t afford a better neighborhood.”
“I heard that.”
Mike wasn’t particularly bothered by this new information. New Yorkers who lived on the same block could go a lifetime without meeting. In fact, it could be convenient that the two of them lived near one another if the squad had to pick both of them up to go to a scene sometime.
He noticed the way Carisi walked, essentially throwing one leg out in front of the other. Their strides matched pretty well, and they ate up the blocks quickly, making small talk and occasionally finding something to laugh about. A couple of times, their hands touched as they walked, each time sending a jolt of electricity up Mike’s arm and to his guts. He wasn’t drunk by any stretch, but Mike reminded himself not to say or do anything that might betray his interest in Sonny as a man. He thought they could become good friends if he could just shake off this ridiculous crush. He no longer expected it to go away in a week, but he hoped it would eventually wear off. Not only because he couldn’t do anything about it, but because he was on his way to really appreciating Sonny as a cop, and liking him as a person.
It occurred to Mike to wonder whether Sonny might be straight. That would make things easy. He’d certainly made it clear that he had no issues where sexual orientation was concerned, but Sonny might still be one of those men who gave off gay vibes while being entirely straight. Mike hoped so.
They reached the corner where Mike had to turn off. They stopped briefly on the corner, standing finishing the conversation they were having about Rollins’s family problems. Standing there in the nighttime glow of the city, Sonny looked beautiful. Mike purposely took a step back to make sure he wouldn’t get too close and do something catastrophic.
And Sonny closed the distance again.
Mike wondered whether he’d done it intentionally. He could imagine that Sonny was making a bit more eye contact than a normal, casual conversation between coworkers would warrant, but then Mike wanted to imagine that. He also didn’t want to, but that wasn’t in his control. He was a man with a bad crush, and Sonny was a fucking snack to look at. Not to mention a good cop and a guy Mike could be friends with.
Mike couldn’t help it. He’d had just enough beer to make a slightly risky decision. He stood his ground, just waiting to see what Sonny would do as they talked. He’d played this game a million times; it was one of the ways Mike could determine whether a guy was interested. If they stood just a bit too close, if they touched him in a supposedly casual way…
Sonny did both of those things.
Fuck. Mike Dodds might just have found himself in serious trouble. He ended the conversation as quickly as he could and strode home as fast as his legs would take him.