If I Forgot Who You Were...
"Jeffries! Hey, Jeffries!"
Monique turned around to see John Munch coming after her from the interrogation room. She stopped, reluctantly, and put her hand on her hip, allowing him to catch up with her. John was one of the detectives on her squad, and not exactly the one she wanted comforting her. She had heard that he wasn't very good at that.
"What do you want, John?" she demanded, sounding harsher than she meant to, although it wouldn't have matter with their type of relationship. They were always bad-mouthing each other, but lately, Monique had been growin weary of the constant degrading. To her, it seemed like John was worth so much more than that.
Her tone, though, seemed lost on him, as they began walking out of the station house. "Just, in there... those guys..."
"What about them?" she snapped, although she knew exactly what he was talking about.
He opened the door for her as they stepped into the bright sunshine, another thing that wasn't like him. Chivalry wasn't exactly in his day-to-day vocabulary, especially when it was based towards her.
"They seemed to get to you, that's all."
You think? Monique wondered, harshly. After all, she had just burst into the interrogation room while Munch and Cassidy were questioning a witness, some pig named Tucker, just to give him what for. Not exactly what a person who was not "gotten to" would do.
"Of course they got to me, Munch," she sighed, angrily. "Those racist bastards tied black women to trees to get off. How the hell am I supposed to feel?"
"Touch-ee," Munch said, working hard to keep up with her. "Here I am, trying to comfort you, and you choose now to put up a blockade."
"You know, I don't get you, Munch," Monique informed him, spinning around suddenly to face him. He almost ran into her, but caught himself just in time. "One minute; you act like you want to tear my head off, the next; you want me to confide in you?"
"Well, I change my behavior every few minutes so no one will remember the way my brilliant mind works."
"Yeah, I'd like to know how that mind of yours works," Monique muttered and John grinned.
"No, no you don't."
"You're right," she agreed. "I'd probably die of fright."
"You?" he teased. "The woman that hath no fear? Never."
Monique's face gentled and she looked at the ground. "I have fear, John. Everyone does."
"It was a joke, Jeffries."
"You're losing your touch then," she told him, "because it wasn't funny."
John rolled his eyes. "Look, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you?"
"Yes, I'm..." she began, but then realized that she wasn't okay. She wouldn't be until after she had taken her fury out on a punching bag at the gym, gone home, and taken a bubble bath to wash away the day. She sighed. "No, I'm not okay."
"You want to talk about it?"
"Not really," she said. "But I will, because I know you'll pester me until I do."
"Too true, too true," John laughed. Monique rolled her eyes and began the story.
She was seven years old, not even, when the big man came to their house, looking for her brother Todd. The man was wearing a police uniform, and he introduced himself as Officer Taggert. He said that Todd had murdered someone, and they needed to see him immediately. Momma told him that Todd was in California, which was the truth, but the Officer hadn't believed her. He, instead, with his partner and a few other white, male officers, ransacked the house trying to find him. Monique had sat curled in a corner, wide-eyed and afraid. When it was all over, she had tried to forget everything, and prayed it would never happen again.
But during Christmas vacation that year, Todd had come home. He went out to get some last minute presents, and Monique and her family heard gunshots out in the alley. They ran to find Officer Taggert over Todd's dying body. Taggert wasn't even shook up. He simply said Todd had pulled a gun on him, but Monique knew he was lying. Todd didn't own a gun.
"I found out later," she told John, "that Officer Taggert was racist, and he had only wanted Todd for that murder because he'd pulled him over before. He was bitter that he couldn't find anything wrong with his driving. Todd was an immacualte driver," she laughed, remembering everything about her brother. "That's why I became a cop, though. So nothing like that could ever happen to anybody else's big brother."
"That's... wow," was all Munch could say.
"Oh, I see I made the Great Munch speechless," Monique teased, but there was sadness in her voice. Her eyes began to tear up and she sniffed to hold them back. John touched her shoulder, comfortingly, but she jerked away. She didn't need his comfort. "I'm dealing with this, John," she told him.
"Is that why you're about to cry?"
She looked up, into his face, and saw only care for her there. His eyes moved across her face, as if searching for something that he couldn't find. Monique had the sudden urge to let him find it. Before she knew what was happening, though, he leaned forward and caught her lips in his own.
For a moment, Monique was taken aback, but soon found herself forgetting who was kissing her. She forgot who was holding her against his warm chest by her waist. She forgot whose hair she found her fingers combing through. She forgot who was brushing her cheek gently with his thumb. She forgot who was kissing her more passionately than she'd ever been kissed before. Then, she remembered.
And she found she didn't mind.
"Jeffries! Hey, Jeffries!"
Monique turned around to see John Munch coming after her from the interrogation room. She stopped, reluctantly, and put her hand on her hip, allowing him to catch up with her. John was one of the detectives on her squad, and not exactly the one she wanted comforting her. She had heard that he wasn't very good at that.
"What do you want, John?" she demanded, sounding harsher than she meant to, although it wouldn't have matter with their type of relationship. They were always bad-mouthing each other, but lately, Monique had been growin weary of the constant degrading. To her, it seemed like John was worth so much more than that.
Her tone, though, seemed lost on him, as they began walking out of the station house. "Just, in there... those guys..."
"What about them?" she snapped, although she knew exactly what he was talking about.
He opened the door for her as they stepped into the bright sunshine, another thing that wasn't like him. Chivalry wasn't exactly in his day-to-day vocabulary, especially when it was based towards her.
"They seemed to get to you, that's all."
You think? Monique wondered, harshly. After all, she had just burst into the interrogation room while Munch and Cassidy were questioning a witness, some pig named Tucker, just to give him what for. Not exactly what a person who was not "gotten to" would do.
"Of course they got to me, Munch," she sighed, angrily. "Those racist bastards tied black women to trees to get off. How the hell am I supposed to feel?"
"Touch-ee," Munch said, working hard to keep up with her. "Here I am, trying to comfort you, and you choose now to put up a blockade."
"You know, I don't get you, Munch," Monique informed him, spinning around suddenly to face him. He almost ran into her, but caught himself just in time. "One minute; you act like you want to tear my head off, the next; you want me to confide in you?"
"Well, I change my behavior every few minutes so no one will remember the way my brilliant mind works."
"Yeah, I'd like to know how that mind of yours works," Monique muttered and John grinned.
"No, no you don't."
"You're right," she agreed. "I'd probably die of fright."
"You?" he teased. "The woman that hath no fear? Never."
Monique's face gentled and she looked at the ground. "I have fear, John. Everyone does."
"It was a joke, Jeffries."
"You're losing your touch then," she told him, "because it wasn't funny."
John rolled his eyes. "Look, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you?"
"Yes, I'm..." she began, but then realized that she wasn't okay. She wouldn't be until after she had taken her fury out on a punching bag at the gym, gone home, and taken a bubble bath to wash away the day. She sighed. "No, I'm not okay."
"You want to talk about it?"
"Not really," she said. "But I will, because I know you'll pester me until I do."
"Too true, too true," John laughed. Monique rolled her eyes and began the story.
She was seven years old, not even, when the big man came to their house, looking for her brother Todd. The man was wearing a police uniform, and he introduced himself as Officer Taggert. He said that Todd had murdered someone, and they needed to see him immediately. Momma told him that Todd was in California, which was the truth, but the Officer hadn't believed her. He, instead, with his partner and a few other white, male officers, ransacked the house trying to find him. Monique had sat curled in a corner, wide-eyed and afraid. When it was all over, she had tried to forget everything, and prayed it would never happen again.
But during Christmas vacation that year, Todd had come home. He went out to get some last minute presents, and Monique and her family heard gunshots out in the alley. They ran to find Officer Taggert over Todd's dying body. Taggert wasn't even shook up. He simply said Todd had pulled a gun on him, but Monique knew he was lying. Todd didn't own a gun.
"I found out later," she told John, "that Officer Taggert was racist, and he had only wanted Todd for that murder because he'd pulled him over before. He was bitter that he couldn't find anything wrong with his driving. Todd was an immacualte driver," she laughed, remembering everything about her brother. "That's why I became a cop, though. So nothing like that could ever happen to anybody else's big brother."
"That's... wow," was all Munch could say.
"Oh, I see I made the Great Munch speechless," Monique teased, but there was sadness in her voice. Her eyes began to tear up and she sniffed to hold them back. John touched her shoulder, comfortingly, but she jerked away. She didn't need his comfort. "I'm dealing with this, John," she told him.
"Is that why you're about to cry?"
She looked up, into his face, and saw only care for her there. His eyes moved across her face, as if searching for something that he couldn't find. Monique had the sudden urge to let him find it. Before she knew what was happening, though, he leaned forward and caught her lips in his own.
For a moment, Monique was taken aback, but soon found herself forgetting who was kissing her. She forgot who was holding her against his warm chest by her waist. She forgot whose hair she found her fingers combing through. She forgot who was brushing her cheek gently with his thumb. She forgot who was kissing her more passionately than she'd ever been kissed before. Then, she remembered.
And she found she didn't mind.