Chapter Text
But they say you are bad
Or perhaps you are mad
Or at least you should stay undercover
Your mind must be bare
If you would dare
To think you can love more than one lover
. . .
If someone had asked Sherman twenty five years ago what she thought of spending Thanksgiving with her husband, his lover, his lover's husband, and all of their kids... she probably would have laughed and winked and said it sounded like her kind of party.
Traditionalism and monogamy were never high on her list of priorities and old hippie habits tend to die hard. They had both had their dalliances, together and apart, over the years but if she's being honest with herself she wasn't fully prepared for the intensity and longevity of Chris and Mariska's connection.
She knew he was smitten that very first day when he came home from his screen test for Detective Elliot Stabler and all he could talk about was the gorgeous, funny, talented brunette he was paired with. She thought it was adorable; a school boy crush, puppy dog eyes and the rush of serotonin that comes with someone new. She remembers patting his cheek and telling him to go have fun but not to scare the poor girl.
She blinked and things were changing faster than she could predict. Mariska was living with them, they were fucking her together in a bed and breakfast, she was the godmother to their daughter, she was marrying someone else and Chris' eyes the day of that wedding told her everything she needed to know.
She held him that night, telling him that she knew and that it was okay and even while a part of her heart ached with the knowledge that he was irrevocably in love with someone that wasn't her, his heart was breaking harder and faster. It took a little while to figure out that the strength of his devotion to Mariska didn't detract from his loyalty and enthusiasm for their own marriage. In fact it made it even better.
Fast forward two decades and here they all were, somehow still standing, stronger than before, dedicated to each other and this unconventional family they had created.
She was curled under a blanket out back watching the boys play football, laughing and chasing each other across the sprawling yard behind the Hamptons house where dinner was being held this year. Mariska was next to her, thigh occasionally rubbing against hers, her own blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon to shield her from the bite of November.
It was easier nowadays. They'd come to a mutual understanding years ago, liquor and tears lubricating the difficult conversation. But on the other side of it they had found the reassurances each of them needed. No one was taking anyone away. No one was leaving. And there was enough love and attention and respect that no one was left out.
Sherm licks her lips against a gust of cold and thinks she can still taste a hint of Mariska's lipstick from their kiss hello earlier. It's been several years since they've done anything more than the occasional kiss but those earlier memories still bubble up from time to time, flashes of honeyed skin and trusting brown eyes and liquid velvet heat. It doesn't help when the woman beside her reaches across the bench they share to grab her phone, affording an all too brief view down her cleavage. She swears they've gotten fuller every year.
She's shaken from her increasingly inappropriate thoughts by a peal of laughter from their right, Sophia chasing a giggling Amaya around the side yard. Their girls.
Without looking she knows her wide smile matches Mariska's as they watch their daughters play together. She feels as fiercely protective over the three younger children as she does her older two. They've all grown up together, never knowing any different than the fact that they were all family. Birthdays and vacations and holidays like today. She wouldn't trade this for the world.
So when Chris swoops in while they're distracted and presses a quick kiss to Sherman's cheek then turns and buries his cold nose in Mariska's neck until she squeals and they both laugh around a chaste kiss, it doesn't hurt like it might have in the past. There's a certain fascination in watching them together, the gravitational pull that draws them inexorably like magnets, a binary star system that feeds off of one another.
Sherman is perfectly happy sitting across the room from Chris and enjoying his company most days, but Mariska and him seem to suffer if they aren't physically touching. It's a palpable thing, a heaviness in the air, a nearly visible frisson arcing from one to another.
She watches him stride back out onto the field, grabbing another beer from the cooler and offering it to Peter who's currently playing referee, a peace offering served with a grin. He tousles Andrew's hair playfully as he passes, Dante and August thick as thieves, football beneath an arm as they strategize their next play. Their boys.
"Look! Sophia helped me draw a picture of us!"
Amaya is climbing up in both their laps, confidently displaying her newest creation. There's a rainbow of colors etched across the page, a yellow sun swirling into blue gray clouds. A tall brown tree springing from green grass. And their family proudly standing in the middle: Four adults, five kids, three dogs, all smiles.
"Oh sweet girl, it's all of us. You and Sophia did such a great job! It's so beautiful." Mariska has tears in her voice but her eyes are clear and full of awe. Their family.
It's perfectly imperfect but more importantly, it's theirs.