A/N: More insight as to Munch's history directly after Vietnam. Thank you to boredsvunut for beta-ing and special dedication to Ink Cat and detectivesweetheart. Oh, and the song doesn't belong to me, but to Toby Keith. The man rocks, seriously.

Chapter 5: Nights I Can't Remember, Friends I'll Never Forget

He said the years seem to roll on faster

Than they did back when we were kids

Then, we need us a break from the grindstone

That's exactly what we did

We put in a phone call to Sonny

Then we stayed out all night long

We drank a few cold ones, then told a few old ones

And sang another verse to the song

Now what? Sit around and wait for another case or turn on the TV and face the possibility of coming upon another Vietnam movie? Either one is torture and I collapse on the couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the hell I'm going to do. I'd thought I'd long ago forgotten that war. Forgotten the screams. Forgotten the silence. Forgotten David.

But no. I remember it, all of it. I tried so hard to forget and now this damn case brought it all back. Danny, David, me. Others whose names I can't really remember. Others whose names I tried not to learn because chances were, either he or I would be dead within the week. Only a few in my original company made it back alive, in one piece. Me and Danny and I think maybe two or three other guys. Out of fifty or so men.

And now... now I can't even sleep because of it. When I first came back, it was real bad then. Every night. I didn't sleep decently for months. I'd wake up screaming, bodies mangled in my head, burnt and torn up. Bullet-ridden bodies. Burnt bodies. Burnt so bad you couldn't tell who it was. Men. Tired, unshaven, covered in dirt and mud and blood. Sometimes their own, sometimes others. David. Dying in my arms. Those last words he said to me. Echoing in the night as a mere whisper, but sounding as loud as the explosions.

I'd had to tell Mary when I came back. David's parents didn't want to tell her so they lay the burden on me. I cried when I told her. Tears ran down my finally clean, shaved face. My scarred face. I told her he loved her. Told her that he had died fighting. I couldn't tell her what I saw though. Couldn't tell her what Dave saw. Couldn't tell her what I had done afterwards. Most of the afterwards was a blur; all I remembered were bodies falling before me and around me. She thanked me, teary eyed and heart broken and I left, my hat in hand. I had gone straight to her house, in uniform and all. She must've thought I was David at first, for when I knocked on her door, I was looking at the ground, wondering how I was going to tell my best friend's girl that he was dead. That he had died in my arms.

Of course, after that, I finally went to college. I can't really remember what I studied, just that I don't think I finished. I couldn't. And I protested the war. I remember that too. I remember marching in Washington, with hundreds, thousands of others. I wasn't the only veteran there either. There were others. Others who had seen their friends die. Others who had woken in the middle of the night, screaming. Others who though it was the government's fault. The government's fault that we were sent to Vietnam. The government's fault we were scarred and broken and hurt and dead and haunted. Haunted beyond belief.

But they never really understood. They never really understood because they never went into the jungle in the middle of the rain and as the jungle steamed up, shot the enemy while watching their friends die around them. They never felt the hot blood of their friends soak their hands. Never heard the helicopters. Never saw the sights we endured 24/7. They didn't get it and they never would. The government would never understand why soldiers came back, scarred beneath the skin. They were oblivious to the pain they caused. And they sent young men over to fight their war. Young men like me. Like Danny. Like David.

Damn government, I think as I start to drift back towards sleep. Goddamned government.

SVU

I wake a few hours later, to another nightmare. To another bad dream. Faces looming out of the dark of my small living room make me jump up and hit the light switch, hard. The faces disappear, as does my vision. I blink, shutting my eyes for a few moments so as to readjust. When I open my eyes, I can see better and I make my way back to the couch, sitting down. Maybe TV is the answer, I wonder sleepily. Looking at the clock, it's already four in the morning. Can't really get too much more sleep. Damn it.

I turn on the TV and start flipping channels. I come across some stupid show and for some reason keep watching even though it's some stupid sitcom rerun. Something stays my hand, until a man and a woman on the show start fighting. She asks why he's doing this to her and he turns around and says loudly, "Because I love you!" and he starts to walk away. As he opens the door, she calls out, "John, wait."

My mind instantly flashes on the other night and I begin flipping channels like a mad man, trying to get away from it. That thing that I wanted. For her to have stopped me. For her to just call my name, anything. Something that would have made me turn around and looked at her. Something that would have made me walk back to her. Anything.

But life isn't as easy as TV, a voice tells me and I tell it to shut up. I hate when the dumb little voice is right. I hate when it actually tells me the truth. Even when everything in me wants to prove it wrong, I know in the end, it'll be right. That's called your conscience, John. Repeat after me, conscience. Conscience.

And it sucks, I add. It sucks.

I finally find a neutral channel and start watching infomercials. Those are safe, right? Right. I think I doze off because the sudden ring of my doorbell startles me. I glance at the clock as I head for the little control panel thing and notice it's a little after six thirty. At least I got some more rest, I try to cheer myself up with. Yeah, but now for Fin.

"Come on up," I say into the speaker, knowing it's him. Soon, he's pounding on my door. All too soon for me to get ready and I open the door with only pants on. "Sorry, I overslept."

He grunts, glares and heads for the fridge without asking and without invitation. I don't mind. It's not like it goes too quickly for me to refill it. I get dressed quickly, having taken a shower already this morning. After I brush my hair and teeth, I straighten my tie and meet Fin in the kitchen, grabbing my coat off the hook. I pull it on and watch as Fin finishes off his drink, puts the glass in the sink and leads the way out. Locking the door on my way out, he looks at me oddly.

"What is it with you lately?" I ask, counting up the number of odd looks the past couple days to equal more than usual.

"What is it with you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it."

"No, tell me what you think is wrong," I persist as we get on the elevator.

"I said forget it. Just drop it, arright?" For the one who wants to know what's going on he sure clams up quick, I think, but keep it to myself as we climb into the car.

"All right," I finally say. "I'll drop it." This receives another odd look. He probably doesn't believe I'm actually dropping it. But he and I both know I'll bring it up later at some obscure time. Perhaps when he isn't suspecting it or perhaps when he is. I'll figure it out when the time comes.

"Morning," Benson says as we walk into the squad room.

"Morning." I try to sound cheerful, but remnants of last night's dream won't let me be. I sit down at my desk, having already hung my coat on the rack. "Anything new?"

"Nope. And there weren't any more rapes matching ours last night."

"He probably knows we're looking for him. Decided not to give us any more evidence." I get up and start to make my tea, not wanting to face the coffee, even if it is warm.

"He didn't give us any to begin with," Fin says tiredly, but with a hint of anger in it.

"Hand prints around Elaina Simnowski's neck. And we know he uses a straight edged knife," I say, dipping the tea bag in and out of the hot water a few times before squeezing any liquid stuck in the bag out.

"Yeah, but no one saw him and he used a condom," Fin argues as I pour some milk in and then some sugar.

"Better than nothing." I sit down again, and begin to stir my drink.

"Fin, did you check to see if any other rapes matched our description?" Benson asks.

"Yeah, nothin'. And I tried parts of the crimes, but still, nothin'." He looks somewhat dejected and I know the feeling. Granted, it's only two days into the case, but when you don't get any hits in the system, it bothers you because you know there's a new guy out there. A new threat and not only does it mean more danger, it means more work, more pressure.

"So what now?" I ask no one in particular when Elliot walks in. He looks tired. "Kids keep you up?"

"No, I just couldn't sleep." He hangs his coat up and goes over to his locker while the rest of us look at each other behind his back. We know he hates that Kathy only lets him see the kids sometimes, but we never mention it. Not to him, and generally not amongst ourselves. Fin mentioned once, when we were joking around, that I should talk to Elliot, considering I was the expert on divorce. And, thinking about Fin, where is he? He was just sitting across from me? Man, I need a leash for him.

"Whadda we got?" Elliot asks as he sits down, a cup of coffee in his hands and trying to sound happy, or at least awake.

Benson looks up from the file on her desk to answer. "Three victims. Guy grabs them from behind, presses a knife against their neck, forces them into their apartment and rapes them."

"Descriptions or anything?"

"No, he wore a ski mask. One victim's dead, the other two are in the hospital."

Ah, there's Fin. When I launch my sneak attack later I'll have to ask him where he was. "He uses a condom, too," Fin adds.

I stay silent, asking myself why couldn't Elliot have been free this weekend? Why couldn't he have gone and dealt with the victims, dealt with the uniforms? Why couldn't he be Benson's partner on this one? Why couldn't he be Olivia's partner on this one? Because he hurt her. Because he's breaking Olivia, and Benson is all the rest of us have. He doesn't know it though. Doesn't know that the silence, the anger, is breaking her. I see it, Fin probably does too, but Elliot, nope. The one that matters doesn't see it. And I'm left to hold her and be crazy enough to say that I care for her more than I should. That I care for her more than he does. More than her own partner, her best friend.

But I know... I know he's scared. I know he doesn't have control and I know it scares him. I see it in those moments when he's caught staring into space, a lost expression on his face. As if his world is collapsing around his sides, and he suddenly can't do anything. He can't see a suspect for what he sees as a crime. He might blame Kathy, or the Job or himself. That I don't know, but what I do know is that he can pull himself back up. As crushing a blow as this seems, he can do it. He has Benson. Olivia, he doesn't have her anymore, not really, but Benson he has. Olivia might be better, but Olivia can't trust him anymore.

Elliot and Olivia have ceased to be them. They're Stabler and Benson now, and for some reason, Munch got stuck in between them. John got stuck in between them. I should've stayed out of it. I should've stayed out of it and never opened my big mouth. They're right, I talk too much. I should shut up. I really should.

"Can I help you, sir?" Stabler's voice interrupts my thoughts and I turn to face the door.

"Is there a Captain Cragen here?"

"Yes, right this way, sir." Stabler leads the man to Cragen's office and I follow with my eyes.

"Nice suit," Fin comments when they are safely tucked into Cragen's office.

"Who is it?" I ask Stabler as he returns to his desk.

"Robert Warrington." He picks up a file off his desk.

I lean back in my chair, hands comfortably on the arms. "Looks like Doug told daddy."

This catches Stabler's attention and he turns away from his file. "Doug who?"

"Warrington. The guy you just walked into Cragen's office is his father. Doug was a suspect yesterday until his hand prints ruled him out," I inform him. Before he can ask any questions I add, "His fingerprints were found in Elaina Simnowski's apartment. She's our dead vic."

He makes a small sound of acknowledgement and turns back to his file. I wonder why he isn't asking any questions and making sure he knows all the details, but then Robert Warrington walks out of Cragen's office and effectively derails that train of thought and throws me onto another. Warrington's face is calm, though there is a definite hint of anger in his eyes. He walks past us all, Cragen following, hands in his pockets and stops next to my desk as we all watch Warrington leave, brushing past a uniform.

"He doesn't seem too happy," I comment.

"He was wondering why we were questioning his son. Would you be happy?" Cragen retorts. Before I can fire back, he points at me. "Can I see you for a minute, John?"

I shrug. What choice do I really have? Exactly. I follow him back into his office and he gestures me to sit down. "What's up?" Cragen sits down too, looking at me sadly, or perhaps it's how he's always looked at me, I've never noticed.

"Benson told me yesterday that you knew Elaina Simnowski's husband. Said you served with him in Vietnam."

How to handle this? How to brush it off as nothing when in reality, I can't stop thinking about it? "Yeah, her daughter Cheryl showed us a picture."

"Benson also said Cheryl recognized you in the photo."

"Where are you going with this Cap?" I have to ask straight out. I mean, I know where it's probably going to lead, but this dancing around it isn't helping any.

"You okay with this?"

"I'm fine," I respond and add, upon seeing the disbelieving look on his face, "really. I am. Just a shock to find the family of a buddy from forty years ago."

"Fin said you couldn't sleep last night. Are you sure you're okay?"

Why that conniving little--"Yeah, Cap, I'm sure. Just had a rough night is all."

"All right, but you tell me if anything's wrong, I'll give you a couple days, got it?"

"Got it, Cap." We look at each other for a few moments. "We done?"

"Yeah, we're done." He sounds sad and again I wonder if he always sounds like that. As I leave, I try to plot my revenge against Fin, but nothing comes to mind. I just don't have the heart to torture him today. Damn, I'm getting soft. Fin looks at me as I sit back down at my desk, guilt written all over his face. I smile, not wanting to yell at him or make a fuss over it. He just wanted to help, I tell myself over and over again. He didn't want to get me in trouble, he was just worried. And rightly so, considering the dreams I had last night. Considering the memories that are on constant replay in my head since I saw that picture.

"Hey, you all right?" Fin asks quietly and I'm surprised that he's even saying anything. Normally, he'd just look at his desk, pretending he hadn't betrayed me. Pretending I wasn't there. And to tell the truth, it bothers me more than if he had sat there ignoring me.

"Yeah, I'm all right." Sarcasm won't work for this. Sarcasm won't get me through this. Ouch, reality hurts.

He nods, looking me over once as if to make sure I really am all right then goes back to his work. Fine by me, as long as I'm left alone.

Maybe I will take that day off, I think suddenly. Maybe getting away for a day, getting my thoughts together, would help. I look around the squad room, taking in all the sounds and sights. Getting away from all this noise and pain sounds like a great idea. Then my eyes land on Benson. I could get away from her. Let her fly solo for a day. Let her not see me for a day. Let her forget me for a day. Sounds nice. And in turn, I could forget about her, at least for a day. Go without her smile, her eyes, for a day. It would do me good. But as I look at Cragen's door, I know that would be giving in. That would be ceding everything I just fought for in there. Looks like I'm stuck, as usual.

Yeah, stuck between Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler. And it'll take the jaws of life to pry me out.

Too bad I don't have the strength.