Disclaimer: Munch ain't mine, but Ben is, which makes me kinda happy. He's cute as all get out. grin I created him, of course he is. Oh, and George Strait owns the heartbreaking song. Thanks, King George.
A/N: For those of you who will finish this and want more, don't worry, 18 more chapters after this. They're even all written out and the first four are set to go. Enjoy! And don't forget, reviews make a happy author.
To say I barely saw him come flying at me would be cliché, as well as a lie. I saw him pull away from the officer who was sitting with him and run towards me, nearly knocking the breath out of me as he collided with my stomach. The officer immediately tried to recapture her charge, and Fin made an odd movement next to me, but I waved them off, words getting stuck in my throat. All I could do was hold him to me as he tried to burrow his head into my stomach. I placed one hand on the back of his head, petting his hair, trying to calm him down and aiding in his quest for security and warmth. But mostly security.
Normally, I would have sent him back to the officer and gone on to the crime scene. But this wasn't 'normal'. Instead, I stood in the middle of the hallway, clutching him as if my life depended on it, and I suppose it might have, in a way, for without him... let's just say that there were times I felt like giving up, but kept going because he was there. I closed my eyes, shutting out the sight of cops, CSU technicians, ME assistants... all the trimmings of a murder scene. This one I definitely didn't want in my head.
To say that I lost track of time standing there would also be cliché, but it would be true. The talk going on around me, the questions being asked, it was just a buzz in the background. The people walking around me I didn't notice. It was as if I had fallen into a time warp; the only thing that mattered was the boy I still held. When Fin finally said my name, which I somehow noticed, the ME was ready to leave and Benson and Stabler were there. He said something else, which I didn't really hear but when he waved his hand in front of my face, I snapped out of whatever trance I had been in.
"Stay with him," I said, not really trusting the uniform from before. Only my partner would do. He looked at me a moment before taking the boy's hand. Before he could say anything though, I had entered the hotel room. I looked over it with the eye of a seasoned detective, yet something in the air still made it seem as if this was my very first stiff. There wasn't far to walk, it only being a hotel room. Benson said something, I think, but again, it was only a buzz, a far off voice that didn't penetrate my numb brain.
I looked down at the two body bags. Two ME assistants were in the process of taking one out. I held out my hand and walked over, unzipped it just enough to see the face. I stared at the face of a woman, wondering how the hell this had happened. I closed the bag again and let the assistants leave. I dimly hoped that Fin wouldn't let the boy see the bag. No child needed that in their head. Turning, I knelt by the second body bag. I already knew who lay within, but some sick part of my head needed to see, to make sure. So I pulled down the zipper, staring down at the blood covered face of a man. I must have scared the hell out of Benson or something, because next thing I knew, Stabler was closing the bag, and Benson's hand was on my arm. I looked up at her and saw utter pain upon her features.
Pain I knew was reflected on mine.
I abruptly stood, not meeting my colleagues' eyes, walking out of the room and down the hallway, not even checking to see if Fin was following or not. I needed out of that room, out of that building. When I got outside, I stood underneath the awning and took a deep breath, also needing fresh air. At that moment, even the polluted air of New York City felt fresh. Fin stopped next to me, and for one crazy second, I thought he was going to ask how I was feeling, then realized he didn't need to ask. For one, it was written all over my face, inscribed in my motions and two, he was my partner. We knew these kind of things, only asking to find out what was wrong. And for this, he didn't need to ask what was wrong, it was obvious.
My brother and his wife were dead. Murdered. And my nephew... he was now an orphan.
No questions were needed.