Broken Wings

Letting out the breath that she hadn’t known she was holding, Benson collapsed in her chair. She watched as Fin closed the window shades, shutting the rest of the squad room outside. Concern creased her brow as she stared blankly at the open case file before her. It wasn’t everyday that they came close to losing a member of their family, but when it did happen a few drinks after shift usually washed away the fear for time being.

Of all the people she had known, Munch had always been the practical one. The one that, beneath the fathomless theories of conspiracy, he was always the level-headed one of their squad. They could always count on the older detective to steer them away from the cliff’s edge as they tittered on the thin lines. But the events of the day had shattered her illusion of the man of steel she had always seen him as.

A shaky sob escaped her lips at the thought of losing the man that had become a surrogate brother. They had been together so long, longer then any other department she had worked with and she could feel the twang of the bond between them grow taunt. The words on the file sheet blurred into a swirl of letters as tears streamed down her face and reality crashed down upon her. Benson wondered when this bond had formed and what would happen if something were to happen to Munch. She felt as though she had no control of things in the area of her life which concentrated around her friends in the squad.

Benson knew that she wouldn’t hesitate to take her partner’s place, taking the proverbial bullet for him whenever the opportunity decreed to present itself. Only she never really thought that she would trade places so eagerly or willingly with any other member of the squad. The unspoken agreement between the personnel was common knowledge and saying the words was completely different from both meaning them and following through with one’s own actions. That thought alone scared her beyond any experience she had previously known.

Through hooded eyes she watched her partner stroll absently towards their desks. Puzzled, Benson concentrated on the beating of her own heart as he approached. Benson stubbornly racked her brains for an honest answer to her riddle. The riddle being: why wasn’t her heart racing as fast as before when ever Stabler drew near? Normally, the slightest thought of her partner was enough to satisfy the most primal desires as she lay awake and alone in her bed at night. She could never quite figure out which was worse; seeing the man she loved and working at his side throughout the day, unable to touch or being alone and without him at the night as she wrestled for sleep.

But now as he sat across from her, Benson’s mind was filled with another man. Though the thoughts were not of desire, but rather of fear. Munch’s close call with the Grim Reaper had awaken fears she thought that were long forgotten and best buried. If the man she saw as indestructible brushed with his own mortality, then they were all as vulnerable.

The thought of losing Stabler or anyone else crushed her heart. After all, good was suppose to triumph and the cowboy always rode away into the sunset. Reality wasn’t the movies however and Benson desperately wanted to crawl back into the foggy world of make-believe, to forget everything. She sighed, returning her attention back to the file waiting before her and missed the concerned look in the familiar blue eyes across from her.

Stabler watched his partner for a moment, concern flashing in his eyes. With the separation from Cathy and the kids, the detectives’ relationship had changed. On the surface they were still the same solid gung-ho team that skewered the city streets for their suspects, but beneath was a different tale. It seemed to Stabler that his partner was slowly drifting away from him as though she should share in the blame with the troubles he was having at home. True they had fought vigorously and Cathy had mentioned Benson’s name more then a few times, but he knew that his partner wasn’t at fault.

With Munch’s close call, Stabler slowly began to realize just how easily any of them could wind up on the ME’s slab. Sitting across from one of the most important women in his life, he was unable to voice his concern about her well-being without sounding like he was hitting on her. He chuckled to himself remembering that at one point he thought that he was invincible and was immune to the woes faced by the rest of the world. Stabler knew that if he didn’t say something or he said the wrong thing, he would lose. Whether it was losing his partner or his wife, the answer still remained beyond his reach. The only thing clear to the ex-soldier was that he was afraid of the answer.

The detective team sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and both unaware that the same subject weighed heavily on the other’s mind. Both were afraid of what might happen if they were to take a chance and go out on an untested limb for the other. Each had felt the addictive adrenaline rush pulsing just beneath their skins as Cragen delivered the disturbing news about their brother detective and each sought comfort in the cold papers cluttered before them, afraid to give a voice to their fears.

The sound of Cragen’s voice penetrated the office walls, ringing clearly in their ears. Short pauses randomly occurred when the older officer was listening to the delinquent detective’s response. Two sets of ears strained to catch his soft timbre before it was swallowed by the confines of the four walls around him. Their eyes cast worriedly in the direction of the office door at counter intervals, unaware the other was unable to focus on the case at hand while one of their own was in the captain’s crossfire.

Both detectives winced as their captain’s booming voice escalated, dominating the normal noise level of the bustling squad room. “Poor John.”

“Yeah. Sure sounds like the Captain’s really tearing him a new on in there.”

“Elliot, have you heard anything about the accident that John was just in?”

He shook his head, “no. Fin and Cragen are really tight lipped about it. Maybe when they’re done, we can finagle it out of John.” Stabler said as he rested his elbows on the file in front of him.

“I don’t know, Elliot. You know how anti-social he gets this time of year and this morning wasn’t exactly exceptional on the Munch-meter.” Benson shook her head.

Stabler sighed and echoed a thought he had from but a few moments before. “You never know until you give it a try.”

“Well, if you’re so keen on knowing why, why don’t you give it a try?”

“I thought that you had volunteered, Liv.” He smiled sweetly at his partner, amusement dancing in his eyes. Stabler couldn’t remember a time that he had enjoyed baiting his partner more then that moment as he watched her eyes narrow and her lips purse.

Before Benson could reply, Cragen’s office door opened. They watched in morbid silence as Fin held the door as his deflated partner sullenly filed past. She decided against approaching the elder detective when she noticed the defeated expression written in Munch’s eyes. Stabler shrugged at her questioning glance, his eyes fixed on the suddenly fragile looking detective shuffling past them. Sighing, she crushed the last embers of burning curiosity inside her as she turned her attention back to the Finnie case file before her.

Fin trailed behind his somber partner, missing the exchange of glances between the seated detective team. His thoughts remained centered on the slumped figure of his partner droning on ahead of him. He had kept his own counsel while Cragen interrogated Munch, not willing to risk angering either of them with his own thoughts. Yet seeing the defeat in Munch’s eyes spawned a new breed of remorse. He desperately wished to crawl into his partner’s head and discover the source of his melancholy.

He wished for one moment that his partner would let his careworn mask slip and conduct himself as a normal person; displaying emotion. Fin was used to the daily exposure of his partner’s imitation of a living statue. After he had been assigned to the Special Victims Unit, he had learned everything that he could about his new colleagues. The only one that remained an enigma was the man that he had been assigned as partner to. It shouldn’t really surprised him, Fin mused to himself, especially since Munch was still a mystery to the rest of the squadron.

Catching up with Munch at the elevator, Fin was torn. He had two options available to him and he liked neither one; push the button for his disabled partner or watch in silent agony as he struggled to do it himself while incurring the least amount of pain. The elevator chimed moments before its metal doors slid sand he followed Munch inside without a word, pretending he didn’t notice the lines of pain leaking through the other man’s mask. As brave as he was on the outside, Fin more often then not discovered a streak of cowardice inside of him at the most inopportune times and hid behind a mask of his own construction. The pair of detectives rode the elevator down to the building’s lobby in silence, each wrapped alone in his thoughts.

An eternity later the elevator chimed again, announcing their arrival at their destination before its doors slipped slowly open. They walked in a deafening silence through the living labyrinth of flesh as they made their way to the doors. Fin held the door ajar for his partner and ground his teeth together when Munch stubbornly ignored his presence and smacked both of his bandaged hands against the bar. Clenching his fists, he followed the stubborn man out into the parking lot.

Humoring the man, he pretending to not notice Munch’s quiet struggle with his burned, bandaged hands and the car door. He ignored the spikes of pain lines shooting across the detective’s face and slipped behind the sedan’s wheel. It pained him to be forced to stand idly by and witness his partner suffer as a result of his own stubborn nature. Fin turned the ignition over as Munch slipped between the narrow gap of the passenger side door and bit his lip as he pulled the door closed. From the corner of his eye, he noticed beads of sweat lining his partner’s brow. Fin watched as Munch struggled with the seatbelt, fighting the urge to forcibly taking over for him. Instead, he shook his head and entered the busy New York street as his partner continued to fumble with the seatbelt.

Munch leaned back against the seat with a heavy sigh, trying to ignore the burning sensation sting his hands. For a moment he contemplated calling his doctor and asking for a more potent pain medication, but his pride won out. He wanted all his facets unclogged and clear for the trials that still lay ahead of him. Instead, he decided to use the pain to reinforced his cracking mask. Munch sullenly watched the storm clouds as Fin maneuvered the sedan through the afternoon traffic.

Unnerved by the void that had grown between them, Fin attempted to break the ice. “It’s not like Cragen’s kicked your skinny ass off the force or anything you know.” Glancing at his mute partner, he cautiously continued. “Besides as far as head shrinks go, Huang’s not that bad and it’s not like he’s a stranger.” Fin said glancing at his partner again, “he’s part of our little family.”

Munch grunted and sighed. Talking with Huang was one thing but being dissected by a psychiatrist was a different story all together. He had dealt with numerous head shrinks during his tenure as a law enforcement officer and dreaded each encounter outside the professional circuit. While Munch had adjusted his attitude to tolerate their presence during a case consultation, he was ready to express his personal disdain when faced with being the subject of interrogation. Munch knew enough to conceal the truth with sugar coated, empty words and distracting jokes. Had he not elected to enter his current profession, Munch knew that je would have found his way into theater.

The sedan came to a stop outside a tall granite building and Fin turned off the idling ignition. “I’ll walk you up,” he said unbuckling himself.

“That’s not necessary, I’m quite sure I can manage on my own.” Munch said closing the car door with his hip.

Resigned, Fin followed his partner across the small courtyard. “Damn it, John! What’s crawled up your boney ass? A psych work up’s not the end of the world, shit like this happens. You know how the game is played.”

“Uh-huh,” Munch mumbled as he let the door close behind him and in front of his partner’s face.

Fin tried to keep a lid on his flaring temper as he hurried after his pouting partner. “I know that thus is a hard time for you, but you need to realize.......”

“You know nothing!” Munch shouted as he stomped towards the staircase.

“But you meed to realize that you’re not alone.” Fin continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “there’s people who care about you and their only a phone call away.”

“Go to hell.”

“John, you don’t need to be pushing us all away.”

Munch rolled his eyes as he stalked up the winding staircase. He hoped his sentimental partner would take the hint after a good old fashion dose of the silent treatment. His mind screamed at him, demanding to know when the head busting Odafin Tutuola became the nurturing one of the pair. He shook off the nagging questions and started taking the stairs two at a time. It wasn’t that Munch didn’t enjoy the other man’s company or engaging Fin a verbal sparring match. It was the subject matter that his persistent partner insisted upon pursing that drove him harder to seek solitude. As they reached Munch’s landing, he heard Fin call over his shoulder. “Do you want some company? I’m sure the others’ wouldn’t miss me at the house and I don’t mind either.”

“Damn it, Fin, I’m not suicidal!”

“Hell John, you’ve managed to fool us with that idiotic stunt you pulled this morning. Just what was going through the melon of your’s?”

“Nothing, Fin. Now if you mind, I’d like to be alone.”

“That’s part of the problem, John. Everyone’s left you alone and it’s done you wonders of good for you already!” Fin shouted as they stood outside of Munch’s apartment door.

“Do us both a favor, Fin and put in for a transfer!” The keys in his jacket pocket jingled as he wrestled them out of the fabric. Munch stalwartly glared at them as he fumbled for his apartment key and refused to look at his partner.

Fin felt his anger vanish as Munch’s words punched him in the gut. His tongue fumbled to form words as his partner’s keys slipped between his fingers and crashed to the floor. “I’m sorry about this, John. But I have to stick with the Captain on this one. Just get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.” Fin said as he watched his partner unlock the apartment door. The detective’s heart twisted as he watched the older man walk inside of his apartment and close the door without saying a single word or indicating that he had heard Fin speak to him. Fin shook his head as he slowly walked back down the long L-shaped hallway.

As the door to his apartment clicked softly behind him, Munch collapsed against the wall. He bit his lip, not wanting to cry out loud for fear his partner was still within ear shot or one of his nosey neighbors would come to investigate. As the tears splashed on his hot face, Munch’s body slid down the length of the wall. His muffled sobs echoed throughout the quiet apartment as he wrapped his arms around himself and Munch buried his head in the folds of his arms. The world around him seemed to shrink and collapse upon itself as it bore down upon his shoulders.

The meeting with Captain Cragen had surprised him as he thought back on it with a small sense of relief. While the captain had spent several minutes lecturing him on following proper procedure and respect for other departments, Munch had been relieved as he had prepared himself for the worst. Cragen must have noticed this as his next order of business in regards to disciplining him had been to inform Munch that he was suspended with pay until a clean bill of health had been issued from Huang. He would have protested, but Fin had seemed to agree with the captain which left Munch stuck between a rock and his captain. For all the qualities that Munch admired in his partner, Fin’s resolve was high on his list. But at times when he wished for a chink in his partner’s armor to form, Munch hated it.

Munch had been reluctant to agree to under go a psychiatric examination and to report to the good doctor the following day. As he looked back over the transpiring events, Munch realized that he had no choice in the matter. It wasn’t so much the badge that attracted him to his profession, but rather the potential that the flimsy piece of metal offered. For Munch, it had and probably always would be the closest comparison in reality to the Sirens’ Song of Homer’s Odyessy. Not many people saw it the same way as he did, but mostly they were the ones that sought the power that the badge represented.

At one time, Munch had felt uncomfortable wearing the shiny trinket. He had felt like a child playing dress up or wearing a costume and he always wondered when his fellow officers would discover it. Time passed and he grew more comfortable with the added adornment on his dark blue issued shirt. Looking back, Munch found it ironic that Fate had twisted her threads in the Tapestry of Life and had placed him in the profession that he had once loathed. With the way that he had lived before, Munch knew that if his younger self were given the chance he would loath himself. Perhaps his younger self would endeavor to do something as drastic as ending his life. The problem with internal debates of “what if...” and “if I could...” and contained the popular subject of “time travel” was that they were impossible. Munch knew that however his younger self might react to discovering his future in the one profession that he loathed almost as much as the federal government, that it would never happen.

His distrust of the federal government was common knowledge and the FBI had complied a file of his days as a protestor during his college years. Munch knew that despite the fact that it was only one page and labeled him as a non-threat to national interest, that the federal government was not to be trusted. Munch felt an instant distrust of institutions that were eager to sell sand disguised as water to a thirsty man. What no one that he had ever known knew was that he didn’t trust the police. Thus no one would understand the irony of his situation. Munch may have grown older, but his distrust was still as strong as ever. With age and experience, he had learned to hide many things and his distrust for the police had been one of them.

He was three quarters of the way through his sophomore year in college when he joined in on his first protest. Like many to follow, the protest rally was anti-war and anti-Vietnam in particular. But December would once again alter him, forever changing how he viewed the world around him. Despite the reason that had brought him to Washington, December had a certain glow about in when it made its presence seen. With all the natural wonders he had seen, none compared to the Washington Monument blanketed in snow.

For three days and nights they marched around the national capitol, each bearing the name of a soldier who had died needlessly in what had been decreed a police action. Sitting on the cold floor of his apartment, Munch couldn’t recall the soldier’s name he carried on his sign. But his body remembered the cold winter wind penetrating his torn trench coat and smacking his face with his shoulder length hair. He shivered as memories of the third night assaulted him, beating down his carefully constructed defenses. On the third night, the gates of Hades was opened.

One minute they were peacefully marching past the Lincoln Memorial and the next the night air was cut to ribbons by the thunder of gun shots. The screaming of frightened people overwhelmed him as everywhere Munch looked he saw blood flowing over the pavement of the street. Bodies were strewn haphazardly, lying where they had fallen. Panicked protesters where trampling each other as they dodged flying bullets and the police where no where to be seen. Not that Munch ever expected them to be around when they were needed.

He never knew for certain how he had managed to escape or how he had managed to find his way back to the hotel. But Munch could remember the icy shiver that ran down his spine when he first spied the innocent looking manila envelope laid across his pillow. It was the same feeling that he got when one of them turned up for years afterwards. It was always the same hand writing, the same accusations every time. The letters always started with, “dear murderer......”

Munch rocked himself back and forth, hugging his knees to his chest. He knew there was no truth to the accusations, but it was hard to believe his own memories. It wasn’t his fault, he was just a kid when it had happened. How he hated December, it only reminded him of what was best left buried. So many scars were accumulated during the jovial month, too many to count before he was fifteen. But that was only a few reasons why the month haunted him so, reminding him of past failures.

The yuletide season was also a bitter anniversary, anniversaries that he could never forget. Each December day was a re-opening of horrific scars on his soul. When Jessica Myers had been discovered in the waterfront warehouse, his personal demon inquisitor had reappeared. The manila envelopes arrived to mark the anniversaries once again before falling silent when he had moved to New York. The change of scenery had done his battered soul good until recently.

Munch stared at the manila envelope laying propped up against the computer screen. Without seeing the contents, he knew what lay inside and hung his head in defeat. After all, he was always the one that was Superman strong; at least on the job. He was only thankful no one in the squad had discovered his kryptonite, perhaps he would be able to keep Huang from finding it as well if he was lucky.


A/N


Sorry it took so long to get this one out, but I hope that you’ve enjoyed it. Chapters six through eight have been written and I just need to find the time to type and post. I don’t know when the next update will be, but I’m still plugging along with it.