Disclaimer: So, over the holidays, I sent Dick Wolf a really nice card, hoping to maybe get a piece of Munch that I could call my own, but... well I'm sure we all know how that turned out. He's still not mine.

Also, any songs used, titles, lyrics, none of it's mine and I'd just like to thank the people who sing those songs for giving me a bit of inspiration, because Munch knows I needed it.

A/N: So I've been working on this since about mid-June, 2005. It's gone through a lot of rewrites, revamps, rereads... all of that jazz. Been through a few betas (thank you Ink Cat and boredsvunut3. Love you guys!), a couple friends from school... maybe even a few more people, I can't rightly remember now. Point is, I worked really hard at this one, my first real chapter fic, and I hope you enjoy it. Sounds cheesy, I know, but we all want some recognition and praise now and then, right? Right, so here you go...

Chapter 1: Listen to Your Heart

Listen to your heart

when he's calling for you

listen to your heart

there's nothing else you can do

I don't know where you're going

and I don't know why

but listen to your heart

before you tell him goodbye

It's scary, watching somebody cry. Especially when you know that person. And definitely when that person is usually the strong one. The one who holds their emotions in check so perfectly. Never overreacting. It's scary when, in fact, you're the one who's almost lost it in front of them. You're the one who just barely held back the tears while she stood there. Now thinking about it, you probably scared her, too. And in this job, you can't do that a lot. Even when the case is horrible and all you want to do is cry, you don't. You can't. What would the victims think? What would your coworkers think? You'd be the laughing stock of your peers and highly doubted by the people you're supposed to be helping.

So when you climbed those stairs and opened that door the other day and saw her crying, you didn't know what to do. When a victim cries, it's so much easier. You're on auto pilot. Moving and acting like the book told you to. But now, it's her. And you've never been in this situation before. You've never seen anyone in your squad cry. Maybe come a bit close to it, but never actually crying. Tears running down their face like they're running down hers now. And you wish she would stop because they're making you uncomfortable, but you think maybe she needs you. Maybe this strong woman needs a shoulder to lean on.

But shouldn't it be her partner? Shouldn't it be the man, the person, she's closest to? The one she's seen more than anyone else in her life for the past six years? But he's not here now. He's not here to comfort her and you know it might be him who's the root of her pain. Her partner might be the one who's broken her heart. You think quickly of where he might be then decide she might need you to be here. She might need you to talk to, if she feels like. She might need you to lean on, if she can't stand. She might need you to wipe away her tears, if he's not there.

So you walk out onto the roof, hoping she won't mind your intrusion. Hoping she'll see it as what it's meant to be. A friend here to comfort a friend. Someone to help her get back up. And when she looks up, you see the brief fear mingled with anger in her eyes. Then she puts her head back down, muttering for you to go away. You should've known she'd react this way. She's stubborn and secretive. Like you. She doesn't want to burden others with her pain, either that or she's too proud to let others know she suffers. But you've seen it before, just not like this.

You walk over to the bench where she's sitting, thinking it's not that comfortable to be crying on. It's hard and rough and you know a couch or bed would be more comfortable. God knows you've gone through all of them, alone of course. You'd never let anyone see you break down. Never let anyone see your weak side. The side that's haunted by your own past and the faces of long gone victims. But this isn't about you tonight. Tonight, she needs you to be there for her, whether she's willing to admit it or not. She needs you to hold her and be with her just because. Not because you can feel her pain. Not because you can feel her anger, but because she needs you. Just to be.

And you sit beside her and talk softly to her. Just little things. About how you're there for her and if she needs you, you're there. And you don't really expect her to respond to you, and if she did, you think it would be to push you away. But instead, she's opening up and telling you what he did, telling you why she's crying, if it's easy to explain. You're surprised, but you listen, trying your best not to let the book get in the way. Trying to treat her like a friend, like a person and not a victim, though you secretly think she might be a victim. A victim to her partner's rage. Her partner's love. Her partner's problems. And the more she talks, the more you realize your thinking is correct, but you dare not tell her that. You dare not tell her what you think.

She stops talking and she stops crying. You want to wrap your arms around her and tell her it's okay. Tell her that when it's over, everything will be back to normal. But you know it isn't true, and she knows it too. So instead, you sit in silence with her. Watching her now steady breathing and thinking she doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve this pain and suffering. She deserves more. Much more. But if you told her that, that would be admitting what you feel, and you're not ready for that challenge. You're not ready to bare your heart, your soul to her. Not yet. And you know it'll only cause her more pain and more problems. Because you know she'll want to let you down easy. She knows your marital history and how nothing has worked out for you. And she won't want to be the one to break your heart again. It's best just not to tell her and keep your heart relatively intact.

You're still sitting in silence with her. No tears, no words, just silence. At least, as quiet as it can get on a rooftop in the middle of New York City. And you're tired and you know she is too, and you start to wonder if you'll fall asleep right there on that bench. You almost hope you do because it would mean more time with her and you would rest assured she was okay. And if she wasn't you'd be right there beside her to make sure she will be okay. With time, she will be okay. And the closer you get to sleep, the closer you get to falling into the temporary dark of sleep, the idea of telling her is sounding better and better. Because for some reason, that dark that is sleep seems like it will be more permanent this time and you don't know why. You think you should panic, but the blackness is feeling warm around you instead of cold, like you always thought it would be. You hear muttering; a soft voice coming through the folds of time itself, it seems. Maybe you're just overtired, you try to convince yourself, but you like the voice.

You think it might be her, but she often visits you in dreams. Nothing new there. Feeling a sharp pain in your side, eyelids open and you realize you in fact fell asleep on the roof, though for how long, you don't know, and apparently she doesn't, and won't, either because it's her elbow that's poking your side and her head on your shoulder. You feel cramped like that, but you don't want to wake her. She's been through a lot tonight. She deserves these few moments of peace, so you quietly and slowly inch to a better position, hoping not to stir her much.

As you lean against the arm of the bench, legs stretched before you, you can't help but wonder what's led her this far. What's been her strength all these years. For her, every case must be hard and you wonder if anyone could ever live with that for long. You know you've been through a lot, but sometimes you think others really have it worse off than you. Those are your good days. When you realize you could have it a lot worse off. When you realize you're not one of those children that you see everyday. You're not one of the many women who come in and out. You can't be, but you could be one of those dead guys you find. The point is, you're not a victim like that. Sure, childhood was rough, but growing up is rough business and you've seen worse in this job. Lots worse.

And as you realize this, you feel her stir beside you and you hope that your movements didn't wake her. You look down on her face as her eyes open, watch her eyes search your face for something and you wonder what she could possibly find. What anyone could possibly find. Usually, you're good at keeping your face straight. Often, people have told you that you have a good poker face, but you never paid them much attention. It's an expression born of secrecy and of being a cop. One born of desperation and need. And it works. Quite well actually and you know that only when things get through to your heart does the face break. Does the expression crumble. Does the mask crack.

She isn't moving, only her eyes and you wonder why. Why wouldn't she be getting up if she was awake? Does she realize she's leaning against you? Does she realize that she's fallen asleep like that? Certainly she must know, but she's not moving. Just her eyes, trying to read your eyes, your face. You hope that now, more than ever, the face will hold. The expression, the mask, will remain strong, but you feel them slowly disintegrating. Slowly, yes, but deteriorating all the same. Falling apart under her gaze and you always knew that it would happen eventually. You always knew she'd break through one day, whether on a case or for something else, you knew it was inevitable.

The idea of telling doesn't sound as good as it did right before you drifted off to sleep. Not near as good and to be frank, you're scared again. Does she see it in your eyes? Does she see what you feel for her? What you think of her? Does she see your fear? You hope not, but she's a cop, like you, taught to read emotions. Facial expressions, movements, the works. And for once, after all those interrogations you've seen her do, you hope that for some reason, her learnings from the book and the Job are frayed tonight. You hope that for some reason, they're not as sharp so you might sneak away, undetected. You know your chances are slim, but it's all you have right now. Her gaze holds you steady. That and the fact that she's still leaning against you. She's holding you there and you're not sure you want to leave. Not sure you don't want her to figure it out, suddenly. Not sure you don't want her to be leaning against you. Not sure that you don't want her.

"John."

It's like Zeus has hit you with one of his famed lightening bolts. The electricity that shoots through your veins is incredible and the fear that was just quieting down is roaring through you again, pulsing through you and pounding in your ears. You want to answer her and acknowledge her with words, but only a grunt comes out in reply.

"You didn't have to... you know." She's reluctant to say it, and you're eager to hear it, but you know you'll wait. She's worth it, and keeping your secret is as well.

"I know." You don't know if you should go on, though your heart tells you to. You've hardly ever listened to your heart. Maybe if you had, you'd be happily married, or at least happily single, instead of divorced too many times to remember. Instead of divorced too many times to forget. You wait for her to say something, but when nothing is forthcoming, "You needed... it." At the last second you change 'me' to 'it'. It's safer. Much safer.

She's still leaning against you. "Sometimes, I just don't get him. I know that it's gotta be hard, but--"

"You've no idea how hard," you mutter, interrupting her. You don't mean to, it just comes out.

"But," she continues despite your comment, "he takes it out at the wrong time at the wrong people. I'm here to help him, to work beside him, and sometimes, I just want to give him a piece of my mind. Tell him to get a grip. Over the stupidest things, he gets angry. I would help him if he would just ask. I can't just sit and watch him turn into something else. I can't." There are tears creeping into her voice and they spike new fear in you. She's not supposed to cry. She's supposed to be strong and hold herself up high. And now, she's about to cry for the second time tonight. It's breaking your heart, but you can't tell her that.

"He's gotta find himself, Olivia. Let me tell you, divorce really messes a person up, especially when you thought there was something there that isn't, at least not anymore. He thought his wife loved him and he thought he loved her. When something like that goes haywire, it messes up everything. You don't know what to do anymore. It's like your world is turned upside down and what you thought was right is wrong and vice versa. It's scary." You're amazed that you've just told her this. And that last bit, that amazes you the most. Because it's what you're feeling this minute and usually what you feel, stays yours.

"I know, it's just... " She pauses and you hope it isn't to cry. You hope it isn't to wipe away the tears. "You guys always joked that we were the dynamic duo; Lois and Clark, better than Batman and Robin and suddenly... I feel either thrown to the side or thrust into the spotlight. There's no medium anymore. It's confusing as hell and I can't help but put the blame on myself. If he wasn't at work so much, Kathy wouldn't have left him and he wouldn't be feeling so crappy. His world wouldn't be crumbling. He would get to live with his kids instead of seeing them when his wife lets him." She takes a shuddering breath and you're afraid of the tears still. "I should've told him to go home more. I could've been less a part of his life."

For the first time, you look away, unable to see her like this. Not knowing what to say. You almost wish you'd just turned around and went back downstairs. Went back to whatever the hell you needed to do. But instead, your goddamned curiosity got you landed here, and as much as you think you love her, that maybe you've made the wrong choice. At least your heart wouldn't have to see her like this and you could go on thinking she was the strongest woman you knew. You could go on thinking she'd never need you and you could be content just to watch her from afar. But now, being pushed up against her, you realize this love thing is harder than you ever expected. Maybe that's why it never worked out with the other women.

"John, why'd you come out here?"

"I thought we'd already established that point?" Your sarcasm has always been there to back up your mask. Your dry humor, and now is no different. It's there, like always. The one thing you can depend on.

"I've never known... this side of you." Her voice is soft and she seems unsure of how to word it at first, but what she says get's the point across to you. "No offense," she quickly adds.

"None taken." Now, how to tell her why she's seeing 'this side' of you. Why you're out on this roof, cramped up on a bench with her. Why you've listened to her and why you want to hold her. Why you've talked to her and why you want to kiss her. How to word that? You decide with what you hope will be the easy way out. "I'd do it for any of you."

"Not the Munch I know." She knows you well after all these years. Damn.

"Well, maybe I'm not playing Munch. Maybe I'm playing a different part tonight."

She's quiet at this, and so are you. You're surprised you let that much come out in two sentences. "I think I like this part almost as much as I love the Munch part."

You look down at her, shocked beyond belief. She didn't just say that about you, did she? She didn't just say what you're thinking about her? It can't be true; no one in their right minds would admit to such a thing. You're Munch. Hard and cynical and witty and... numb. Uncapable of love. Surely, this beautiful woman can't be saying that she's attracted to you. Not when she has Elliot Stabler as a partner. You're still asleep, you decide. Dreaming. This whole thing up on the roof is some wild figment of the imagination. A hallucination, a mirage. She can't care for you like that. It's impossible.

And she's looking back at you, no tears in her eyes, but something else. And it's not so much her eyes as her expression. It's not her mask, that's for sure. It's... open... and... inviting. Finally, she moves to a regular sitting position, still holding you in your seat with her eyes. It's scary but you know that it's finally come to a point where you can't hide anymore. Your face has broken. Your expression has crumbled. Your mask has cracked. It's all falling off. And for once, you're not sure you want a replacement, not now at least.

You're glad that your glasses are still firmly on your nose and ears, for if she could see your eyes... You almost shudder at the thought. If she were to see your eyes, she would know. Everything. You wouldn't have anything to hide behind anymore. Maybe she's worth it though, you think. Maybe, for her, you can forgo the walls, forgo the hiding. But you know it isn't that simple. You know it'll take more than her to get through all the protections you've built up around everything. You want to let her in, but that feeling of keeping people out for so long is over powering and you hope she'll be able to fight it.

She takes your glasses off and places them on the side of the dirt filled stone planter behind you. Suddenly, she's torn away your last physical barrier and you don't know what to do. You're sitting somewhat sideways and so is she, facing each another. More like facing off, you think. You're still stunned and when you feel wetness on your eyes, you hope it's because of the wind that's just cut across the roof. You don't want to cry now. Not that you ever want to, but now... you don't want to scare her like she scared you. At the same time, you don't want to wipe your eyes because that would show you're feeling something more than sarcasm. You're feeling something more than the chill of night. You're feeling her... and something deeper.

"John?" Her soft, caring voice brings you from your thoughts, allowing you to register the fact that she's still sitting before you on the roof on that dumb bench with a stupid planter behind you and no glasses on and that damned city all around.

"No," you find yourself whispering. "No."

"No what, John?" You can tell you've confused her slightly, but that doesn't matter now. How are you supposed to tell her? Or will you? Or will she tell you something? Or will nothing be said? The questions float through your mind, your brain trying to process them all at once.

"You can't love... me. You... you can't." Stuttering is something you've never done, and the rare instances you have, you can count on one hand.

She sighs and turns away. "You know... forget it. I'm going back down." She starts to stand and your mind, and stomach, are doing weird flip things and you're so confused... before you know what you're doing, you're on your feet and holding her hand.

"Don't," you whisper. "Stay." It's time you pushed your past to the side, at least for now. She deserves that. If you love her, you can push your past away for her.

She sits back down and you hold on to her hand still, needing something solid to hold on to in the turmoil of your body. You notice the tears are back yet again and somehow, you're not as afraid as before. "What is it, John?" Her voice is tired and you can tell she's sick of crying and being emotional. It's how you feel after a rough case, or when you think of her.

"I... I..." You look away, disappointed in the fact that you're already stuttering. "I think I love you." You're surprised that, in the end, they come out so easy. Those words that you couldn't seem to get your mouth around just fell out, slipped and slid off your tongue. And you feel somewhat better. But you suddenly can't take it. She's going to reject you now, despite what she said earlier and you're going to be left on the side again. So you stand, reaching for your glasses, grasping them and putting them back on. The world is clear again and you start to walk away. You almost hope she'll call you back. Almost hope she'll stop you. But it's silent at her end and you make it all the way to the stairs. You don't look back because that would hurt to much. She hasn't said anything and you're going down the stairs.

You reach the landing and you know. She didn't stop you. She let you walk away.

She let you walk away.

And you swear, as you open the door to go onto the street, that you will ensure that it doesn't happen again. You can't live through it again.