Well folks, I think we're about done here. I got a request for longer chapters, so I think I can finish this out with this and one more. I'm glad to add to theMunchie goodness! I've got two more story ideas in my head. So hopefully the fun can continue! Til then...
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They had spent hours going through case files. All afternoon and into the evening, they flipped pages looking for someone suspicious that could've held a grudge against Munch. The problem was - unless they were already dead - almost everyone fit that profile.
Stabler had bowed out at 6:28pm to meet his kids for a school play. Benson excused herself around 8:02pm for something she described as personal, meaning a hot date. Cragen had bared himself in his office at 10:37pm and had turned the lights out. Fin had waited about another hour, then got up and demanded to take John home.
John had made an excuse that he wanted to finish this one case file and then he'd hail a taxi. Fin made him promise and swear on his grandmother's grave that that was what he'd do. Then he threatened John with every vudoo curse he could get his hands on, plus a severe beating of his bony white butt if he found out that John had stayed. John promised.
John lied. At 1:05am, he was still reading. This was important to him. He poured another cup of tea, and attempted to concentrate. Inwardly he admitted that this was harder than he thought. He had been shot just under a week before, but he had convinced himself to pull the all-nighter anyways. Besides - he had done it so many times before. In homicide he had secretly idolized his partner, Stan Bolander, but Stan never did any grunt work. It had always been up to Munch, staying up late researching, and Stan always got the glory in the end. Munch didn't mind, Stan had deserved it.
It was a role he accepted when he came to SVU. Sitting for hours cataloging evidence - pictures or videos of perverts doing horrible things to innocents. Images that were now seared into his mind, into his memories. They reminded him of his own past - of things he wanted to forget.
He erased those thoughts and continued the task at hand. He had done those things for them; he could do it now for himself.
Sometime around 3:14am, he had fallen asleep at his desk. He awoke several hours later feeling incredibly stiff and sore - especially his left shoulder. "I hate this damn bullet hole already" he thought. His mind was kind of fuzzy as he struggled to remember where he was and why he was there, when a familiar voice snapped him back to reality.
"Oh John, please tell me you weren't here all night," Benson stared at him accusingly. Stabler stood right behind her. John suddenly felt like the kid with his hand in the cookie jar when mom and dad got home.
"Get up, we're taking you home," said Stabler.
"No way," replied Munch, "There are more files to be read, and the ones from Balto haven't even shown up yet. I'm fine." He was lying through his teeth and it showed.
"No excuses Munch - now move it before Cragen or Fin finds out and your butt is really in trouble!" Stabler grabbed one arm and Benson grabbed the other and forced him away from his desk. It wasn't until his body hit the back seat of the sedan that he realized how tired he really was.
"Home Jeeves!" Munch remarked, closed his weary eyes and allowed his head to relax.
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Forty-two minutes later, Stabler was parking the car near John's building. It normally doesn't take that long to get to his apartment, he had chosen it specifically because it was the closest to the station house, and he liked to be near, in case of emergencies, or if someone needed something, like his VCR. But traffic had been worse than ever. John secretly didn't mind. It wasn't that he wasn't looking forward to getting back to his own bed, but the feeling of going back somewhere that something bad happened and knowing once you got there you were helpless to change the situation. On the other hand, he was so tired.
Stabler and Benson had been giving him a lecture most of the way there about the fact that he wasn't so young anymore and he should really take it easy. Like he didn't know that already. He had started to notice that he was being treated differently. Sometime, if something happened in the middle of the night, Stabler and Benson would call Fin in, but not John, claiming that Munch deserved a little extra sleep. He wasn't as young as he use to be, he couldn't run after perps anymore, but he wasn't dead yet, and last time he checked, he was still the better marksman. On the other hand, he was kind of tired of being shot at.
Munch sighed inwardly to himself as Stabler helped him out of the back seat. The two had insisted that they walk him in, even though he had pointed out that he was a big boy and could take care of himself. They were making him feel vunerable, and he didn't like that.
They walked through the front door and Munch went to check his mail. Sure enough a weeks worth of bills and junk were shoved in his box. He struggled to pull it all out. Just then movement was heard at the top of stairs leading to the elevator. All three detectives tensed up and turned around. It turned out only to be John's noisy neighbor. "Hey jerk off! Tell your cop friends to stop stomping in and out of your apartment, they're rude and this place ain't no revolving cop hotel. They need to get their own place!" the guy started in.
"Excuse me? Who the.." Stabler started but the guy cut him off. His neighbor barreled down the stairs and out the door yelling about not having time for rude pigs. He jammed his shoulder into Benson as he passed.
"That's it," cried Stabler, and started to go after him, but John stopped him.
"Just forget it El, the guy's a jerk, but he's got his own problems. I hear his wife just left him, and that's never fun, trust me," explained Munch. Sure the guy was a rude SOB, but he was willing to give out breaks for a soon to be divorcee, he had been one once, or four times.
"Hey, he dropped something," said Benson, noticing a large envelope on the ground. "I guess we can just lean it up against his door for him. Come on, let us get you in bed."
They took the elevator to the 9th floor to his apartment, but when they got there John insisted that they need not come in. He let them take a quick sweep of the situation and assured them once again that he'd be fine. They said quick good-byes, and Benson promised to call in 5 hours and give him an update. As John shut and locked the door, he could still hear Stabler and Benson conversing in the hallway. He wasn't really interested in overhearing what they were saying, which was a first for him. Normally he had his ears in every conversation in the squad room. But today he'd give them a break.
Pulling off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt he headed for his bedroom. With every step he got a little bit more drowsy. And thanking himself for the window shades he bought that blocked out all the light, (a must have for any cop that works the night shift), he pulled off his shoes, took off his glasses, and fell into bed.
