Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, John would not be asking the questions he was asking and would be in the episodes.
"What would you do if I died?"
"What?"
"What would you do if I died?" he repeats.
"You aren't, so I don't know." He's thrown off by his partner's question.
"But what if I did?"
"Man, quit sayin' that. You ain't gonna die."
"So you think I'm immortal?"
He sighs, impatient. "You ain't gonna die in the near future, satisfied with that? Jeez."
"But what if I do?"
"Shut up, Munch! You. Aren't. Going. To. Die. So quit saying it."
He finally falls silent, staring at the space between their desks. They're moving out in a couple hours on a big search warrant and there's this horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. He starts to rock a bit in his chair, hands folded and resting in his lap. Fin continues to write up a DD5 from an arrest they made a couple days ago. Munch should be working on his, but he can't concentrate. "What if I do?" he whispers to himself. "What if I don't come back?" It's quiet, but Fin looks up, pen in hand. He just looks at his partner, but he doesn't really notice. He's too busy trying to guess how far apart the desks are.
"You arright, John?"
"Yeah, sure," he replies absentmindedly, still staring at the desks. He looks at Fin suddenly. "I'm hungry. You?"
"Uh... sure." He's thrown off again and it shows.
"Let's go get something to eat." Munch gets up before Fin says anything else and walks over to the coat rack, snatching his coat and sliding it on.
"Where we goin'?" he asks as he stands up as well, walking over to where Munch is waiting.
"Wherever the car takes us."
"I don't like the sound of that."
He grins absurdly and sticks out his hand. "Keys."
Fin tosses them and Munch catches them neatly, surprised at himself.
"Let's go, partner."
"What would you do if I died?"
"What is it with you and that question? Stop it, man." He's annoyed now and Munch doesn't really want him to be.
"I just want to know."
He's quite and Munch starts to play with his napkin, folding it over and over again before unfolding it and doing it again. Fin watches him do this before finally saying, "You're scared, aren't you?" It's quiet and Munch barely hears him over the noise in the diner.
He continues to fold his napkin, taking some asinine pleasure in the stupid patterns he's making. "I've never been so goddamned scared over a search warrant. Not even the first time. Never." Munch is quiet as well, afraid that if he says it too loud, it'll get worse. That if he says it too loud, his fears will come true.
"I got scared like that one time. I'm still here."
"Barely."
Fin ignores the comment. "Like this horrible feeling in your gut, right? That's what it feels like?"
Munch nods. "This is so stupid!" He throws the napkin away from him, but predictably, it doesn't go far, being only paper.
"No, it ain't." He picks up the napkin and hands it to his partner.
Munch takes the napkin wordlessly and begins to play with it again.
"You'll be fine, man. Don't worry about it. Only makes it worse."
"Yeah, sure," comes the unbelievingly response.
Fin watches his partner, following the deft hands fold and unfold the napkin. For all his wisecracks and oddities, Fin cares about his partner more than he'd readily admit and it hurts to see Munch like this now. It's not often he sees his partner in this state, almost beyond hope. But the few times he has, Munch has always gotten back up and kept going. Always. He wants this time to be the same.
"You'll be all right," he repeats, trying to reassure both himself and his partner.
Munch looks at him over the top of his glasses, head bowed. His eyelids are drooped down, giving him the appearance of a tired, sad, old man. Which he his, Fin thinks. No, stop, he tells himself firmly. He's just older than the rest of them. That's all. More experienced. Better not let him hear me say that out loud, he thinks.
"Let's go. I can't stand this place anymore. They're probably suiting up anyway." Munch stands and Fin follows, glad that his partner has decided at last to leave his question to rest.
But he can tell, John's still bothered.
He's still worried.
Godammit.
