Title: Making a Connection, Chapter 10

Author: Sorsha711
Fandom/Pairing: Munch/OFC, O/E
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf. Sigh!
Summary: Across a crowded coffee-shop… yadda, yadda, yadda. A Munch romance with a generous side of O/E; Post "Uncle" so Spoiler warnings if you've not see that episode

Making a Connection, Chapter 10

John and Arwen slowly made their way back across the park, their arms wrapped securely around each others waists. Their talk had provided a release to the tension and anxiety that had been pulling at his spirit for longer than he could guess. He felt at peace… connected to life in a way he had never known.

Pulling John to a stop, Arwen turned him to face her. "We have the rest of the week off, so I think we need to make this a real vacation. You need to relax and have fun for a change. What do you want to do?"

A wicked grin lit his face. Pulling her to him, he whispered into her ear, "Well… I can think of a few things! Want to hear my list?"

Tilting her head to allow him to nuzzle the sensitive skin under her ear, she breathed, "Ummm, a list? I'm glad we have the rest of the week!"

Pulling her closer so that she could feel the reaction he was having to her, he shook his head. "We'll need a lot longer than a week for my list! I've had months to work on it."

Grinning, she teased, "Is now a good time to tell you I have my own list?"

A groan gusted against her neck. "You're killing me, baby!"

Relenting, Arwen proposed, "Tell you what… why don't we go by your place so you can pack a bag… then go somewhere a little more private to continue this discussion?"

Looking up, he smiled. "Where are we going that I need to pack?"

"My place. You're on vacation, so you get to sleep as late as you want, read, watch TV… movies, surf the net… go for day trips; it's all up to you. We'll go shopping for whatever you want for dinner… breakfast, too." Reaching up to caress his cheek, she added, "As for that list… you can tell me more about it over a glass of wine tonight."

Resting his forehead against hers, he whispered, "So, I have to wait unto tonight for a little… wine?"

Laughing softly, she pressed a kiss to his smiling lips. "It's your vacation… so you might be able to talk me into opening a bottle a little early."

"I'm very thirsty; I'm in the mood for something smooth… a little full-boded," he teased, a pleasant mix of anticipation and contentment singing in his veins.

Eyes sparkling with amusement and desire, she attempted to assume an outraged expression. "Full-bodied??? What exactly are you suggesting?"

Laughter accompanied his arms tightening their hold on her body. "Full-bodied… voluptuous… sexy… beautiful! I think you're perfect!"

"Hardly!"

Pulling back enough to catch her eyes, he shook his head. "You're perfect to me. I'm the one that should be worried about what you'll think of me. My nickname in school was 'the Pencil' after all."

"I happen to think you're very sexy," she murmured nestling back against his chest. "If you hadn't been dead on your feet this morning, I'd have jumped you!"

"Good to know." Taking a deep breath, he repeated, "My place to pack… the market, then home?"

"Home… that sounds perfect," she agreed.

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John stepped out of the bedroom after putting his things away in the space Arwen had cleared for his use and looked around the living room of her co-op. The unit was roughly the same size as his but the rooms were smaller. Hers had to accommodate two bedrooms, one for her and one for her sons. Despite being smaller, the main room was open and bright.

It made him realize how dark and depressing his own co-op seemed some days. It underscored how little he had done to make it feel like a home since moving in over eight years earlier. He had been able to purchase it thanks to his pension from Baltimore, but it still felt like a rental.

Moving over to the cd racks that were clustered near an entertainment hutch, he took several minutes to sort through her collection to find the ones he wanted. It had been yet another sign of their innate compatibility that they shared a lot of common ground in their musical tastes… but then Arwen seemed to like almost any type of music. He was more predicable and fixed in his tastes, but he had finally begun to admit he liked some of the non-jazz selections she made when she was the one choosing their music for the evening.

A mix of various jazz artists found their way onto the carousel, a compilation of tracks by Thelonious Monk set to play first. Smiling a little smugly, he reminded himself that he was on vacation and ignored 'the opportunity to broaden his horizons' as Arwen often urged him to do. Next week he would go back to allowing her to interest him in classical music or the more recent variants of rock… even hip-hop if she smiled right. For the rest of the week, he was more than willing to be indulged and petted. That meant jazz… maybe some blues and classic rock, and more jazz.

Satisfied with both his selections and with his vacation mindset, he drifted over to the door of the kitchen to see what his lady was doing. /My lady! I love the sound of that! I wonder if she thinks of me as her man?/

Leaning against the archway that divided the rooms, John smiled at the sight before him. Arwen was making bread. He knew without looking that the lamb chops they had purchased at the market were already marinating in the frig. The fresh veggies she had carefully selected had already been washed and were in the crisper until she needed them.

It fascinated him to watch her cook; it was one of her favorite activities. It no longer surprised him to find the TV set to the Food Network when he turned it on… she watched cooking shows like he watched ones about conspiracy theories. Some of those shows had even captured his interest, so he was not averse to spending an hour or so learning new cooking techniques with her curled up to his side.

Arwen had good instincts for selecting new recipes to try from the hundreds offered. She loved to tease him that he was her guinea pig, but he was a willing test subject. It was rare indeed that her selections weren't completely delicious. Good food was a passion they shared, so he was open to trying some of her more adventurous offerings.

He had to admit he found it oddly comforting to simply watch her putter around her kitchen. None of the women he had known before her shared this interest, including his mother. Deborah Munch was an indifferent cook at her best. As a result, John had developed a preference for eating out while he was still a child… if for no other reason than to get a good meal. Behind her back, it was an old family joke that she could burn water.

For good or ill, she was the standard against which he had measured all women in his life. On some level, he had long ago realized that the women he had married were a lot like his mother. As much as the comparison unsettled him, he knew that his mother was beautiful, demanding, spoiled, and not regularly given to intellectual pursuits… terms that could describe his ex's with equal accuracy. He was sure a psychiatrist would tell him he had been trying to find a substitute for her love in women that reminded him of her; he preferred to ignore the issue and used sarcasm to distract everybody else.

Deborah Munch lived for attention. While she had loved his father passionately, she loved herself more. Bernie had accepted her rules; he and his father had not. That meant they were regularly subjected to her tantrums…Deborah expected to get her own way even when what she wanted was unreasonable or illogical. After his father's death, John had borne the brunt of her childish behavior alone. She had told him many times that he was a disappointment… mostly because he refused to relent and accede to her demands.

John Munch, Sr. had been as different from his wife as night and day. He had been moody and withdrawn, then endlessly talkative in turns. He had lived in his head much of the time… a trait his older son had inherited. When he returned from World War II, he had planned to pursue a law degree. Even with the GI Bill, the demands made by Deborah had made that impossible. There had never been enough money to make her happy… then the needs of their children had become another obligation that came before his own desires.

His mother had suffered two miscarriages before he had been born… three more in the years before Bernie came into the world. The need to support his family had smothered his father's dreams. In his heart, John suspected his father had never gotten over his disappointment and that his disappointment had fed his depression.

Bernie was, in many ways, a carbon-copy of their mother. John was more like their father, though he knew he reminded most people of his maternal grandfather in temperament. He often wondered if his likeness to his father was one of the reasons his mother was so hard on him… that she feared he would end up like his father, dead by his own hand. His physical resemblance to his father was uncanny and he knew she found it difficult to look at him when he visited her. His last visit he has told her about Andrew. Her only comment had been to say she wasn't surprised.

Forcing his thoughts away from his family, he focused on the woman before him. She had begun to knead the dough, her entire upper body engaged in the task. He found it oddly sensual, her hands pulling and pushing the dough in rhythm with the force exerted by her shoulders and arms. Watching her soothed him and he felt the melancholy that always accompanied thoughts of his father slip away.

It wasn't that he held to the old stereotype that women should be good cooks that explained his enjoyment of Arwen's culinary skills. Yes, he had been more than happy to show his pleasure at the meals she had made them since they started dating. His pleasure, however, was founded on the fact that it underscored the fact that she was more multi-dimensional than the women in his past.

Arwen was a solid, stable, sensible person. She had a successful career in a challenging field, had a mischievous sense of humor, was extremely well-read and conversant on current events, loved a wide range of music and art… was a mother and friend to a fortunate group of people. That she could also cook was a bonus… one he heartily enjoyed.

Coming to her place after a particularly bad day at work to find the apartment filled with the scents of baking bread or some decadent dessert made him feel wanted… even cherished. Arwen cared enough to take the time to cook for them and her co-op now seemed like the home he had called it earlier. The prospect of being able to sleep there on a regular basis was exciting to him on many levels beyond the obvious prospect of adding the intimacy of love making to their relationship.

Her cooking seemed to express her personality as surely as a painting expressed an artist's. It also spoke to her desire to take care of those that shared her life. Her response to his crisis earlier in the day… her approach to dealing his deep-seated fears about his own future, had been as far removed from his prior experiences as he could imagine. She had focused on him; she asked for nothing more than his honesty, offering the same in return.

Her voice broke into his musings. "Did you have enough room for your things?"

Moving up behind her, John slipped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Plenty. You're sure you don't mind my leaving a few things over here after this week?"

Tilting her head so that she could look up into his eyes, she replied, "You know I don't, John. I have to admit the prospect of having you spend nights here… excites me. It felt so good sleeping beside you this morning."

Pleased that her thoughts matched his, he teased, "Excites you does it? Shall I open that bottle of wine?"

A sultry purr suggested, "Well, we did buy a several bottles, so your choice."

The simmering awareness that had been coursing through his veins since waking to find her in his bed ratcheted up several notches in response to her suggestion. Feeling himself begin to harden, John pulled her closer as he pressed firmly against her back. A soft growl preceded, "Keep using that voice and we can forget the wine!"

Wiggling around so that she was facing him, Arwen twined her arms around his neck. Pulling his head down for a passionate kiss, she whispered, "The wine will keep…"

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Rolling onto his back, John took several deep breathes as he tried to control his racing heart. Looking to his right, he watched the play of emotions drift across Arwen's flushed face. Noting that she looked as pleased and sated as he felt, John reached out to brush a strand of blond hair off of her cheek.

Smiling at the gesture, she turned to curl into his side. His arms wrapped possessively around her waist to pull her up so that she draped over his chest. A heartfelt, "That was… amazing!" was breathed against his damp skin causing him to shudder slightly.

A smug grin erased the last of the uncertainty he had been trying to hide. "Yeah, it was."

"It… was good for you too?" she whispered.

Touched by the soft, hesitant tone of her voice, John tightened his hold for a few seconds. "It was better than I could have imagined… and I have a very good imagination. I feel like that was the first time I ever truly made love."

He felt her smile. "We did… make love that is. I love you, John."

"I love you too, baby," he whispered. "I have only one complaint…"

Frowning, Arwen shifted so that she could see his face. Renewed insecurity threatened to erase the contentment from her features. "What?"

Pulling her the rest of the way up onto his body so that he could catch her lips in a lingering kiss, he murmured, "Can we try making it to the bed next time… or at least the couch? I'm too old for making love on the floor of the kitchen! Ceramic tile is cold and it's pretty hard on my back."

Caught off guard by his response, Arwen began to laugh. "Don't blame it on me, Det. Munch! I seem to remember you were the one…" Her retort was cut off by another kiss.

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A grin seemed to have permanently attached itself to his face. Looking up from pouring the wine he had selected, he watched as Arwen put the finishing touches on the salad she had made to go with their meal. The kitchen was filled with the pleasing aroma of baking bread and the lamb chops grilling on her down-draft range.

Wincing at the shock of the cold tiles on his bare feet, he rose from the chair he had occupied for the last half-hour… time spent watching her, and placed a glass of a rich Cabernet Sauvignon where she could easily reach it. Toying with the idea of going in search of a pair of socks or his bedrooms shoes, John felt his grin widen into a smug smile at the thought that cold tiles would always remind him of the first time they had made love. /First two times actually/, he mentally tallied.

Looking up in time to see his expression, Arwen chuckled. "It's a good thing you have the rest of the week off, love. Fin would have way too much fun with you and that grin."

An answering chuckle preceded, "He's just jealous now that he's met you."

"Right! Fin is sitting at home this minute lamenting the fact you met me first!" she laughed. "I somehow doubt he sleeps alone much."

Feeling a little jealous, John frowned. "You only met him once. Why would you think he is such a player?"

Tilting her head to study him, Arwen noted, "Other than the fact he's handsome, sexy, and single?"

Sputtering on a sip of wine, John demanded, "You think he's sexy?"

"Well, not as sexy as I think you are, but yeah." Grinning, she teased, "You can't be jealous?? Not after the way we spent the afternoon! Do I need to drag you back to the floor to prove I love and desire you, Munchkin?"

A slightly dopey smile lit his face. "I promise not to struggle… though the couch…"

Sighing dramatically, Arwen pointed toward the table she had set for their meal. "Go sit and stop trying to distract me. Be a good boy and eat your supper; then, we'll discuss the couch… the bed over a glass of wine."

Chuckling, John settled aback into his chair. "Define 'be a good boy'?"

Taking a sip of the wine he had poured for her, she studied the smug grin on his face. Shaking her head, she smirked, "Quite trying to get me to jump your body, my love. Speaking of your body… love your tattoo! Care to tell me how a cop ends up with a tattoo like that?"

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