A/N: Special thanks to boredsvunut and for DS and Ink Cat, as well as bored. You guys are great. Chapter title courtesy of John Michael Montgomery.
Chapter 6: Letters From Home
I hold it up and show my buddies
Like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy
But no one laughs 'cause there ain't nothing funny
When a soldier cries, and I just wipe my eyes
I fold it up and put it in my shirt
Pick up my gun and get back to work
And it keeps me drivin' on, waitin' on
Letters from home
SVU
Dear Mom,
We went out Tuesday night for a short reconnaissance mission that turned into an awful firefight. We didn't get back to back until early Thursday morning. They killed David. He died in my arms. To think, to even fathom your friend dying beside you is unheard, unthought of back home. But here...
Some new boys were assigned to our company. I didn't find out their first names. I realize now how I must have looked when I first got here. Clean, to begin with. I understand now the jokes the others made when I first got here, but I didn't join in when these new boys came. They'll learn soon enough it isn't like playing soldiers in their backyards with sticks for guns and pots as helmets. This is real. Dear God is it real.
One more month.
Your loving son,
John
I wiped the lingering tears from my eyes, ignoring the ones that had fallen on the paper, sliding the letter into a pre-addressed envelope. Little did I know that my mother would do the same thing back home when she sent a reply.
I wake suddenly, picturing my mother on the dark wall opposite me. How many years has it been? How many years since my brother and I buried her? Too many, the answer comes back as I throw the blankets away from me. I curl my toes on the carpet, contemplating what to do now. Watch TV or... or what? I've already run out of things to do after three sleepless nights. A book, perhaps? Perhaps.
I fumble for a moment with my bedside lamp, trying to find the switch thing underneath the shade. Finally, my fingers hit it and as light fills the room, I think of how ironic it is that I need a light to find the switch for the lamp. Weird. I sit on the edge of the bed, my arms pressing down into the mattress as if I were about to get up, staring at the floor between my feet. Every aspect of my dream is burning in my mind. I can even feel the sting of tears, same as that day as I wrote that letter. I reach up and touch my face, getting angry as I feel real tears sliding down. I'll have trouble sleeping, I'll have nightmares, I'll watch TV in the middle of the night, but I won't cry. I've had enough of it. Do you hear me? Enough!
I grab my glasses off the table beside my bed and slide them on, somewhat glad to see the world clearly. At least it will be harder to create images out of blurry objects. Now, I'll have to make do with the shadows, something that's never as hard as it should be. Something that my mind both likes and hates to do. Or perhaps it's my heart that hates it. Move, John. Stop thinking and move.
That's the only way to stop it. Stop the thoughts that threaten to destroy me. The ones that threaten to make me a shell of a person, though I must say, they've gotten pretty far even with trying to block them out. Too far. And no matter how hard I tried, and still try, there are always the ones that get through. The memories, the nightmares that seep through the cracks in my defenses. That climb the walls I've built up around my heart. Around my soul. Sometimes, they're so bad, so horrible, that I'm amazed that I can function normally the next day. Function normally so as no one will raise any questions. Especially my partner.
I look at the bookshelf before me, trying to find something I haven't read, at least in a while. That's when I remember the book on the small table beside the couch. Hopefully a conspiracy book will help. Picking up UFOs, JFK, and Elvis, I sit down on the couch with a sigh, laying back against the pillows and propping my feet on the other end. Getting comfortable, I flip through the pages until I find my place, "Who's Who Among the Lesser Potential Assasins." So far it's a good book, but for now I hope it's dull enough to put me to sleep. A dreamless sleep.
SVU
"That guy looks like you." Fin's voice startles me awake.
"Wha?"
"The guy on that book. He looks like you," he says again.
"I heard what you said. Asking 'what' was just a reflex. As in, what are you doing in my apartment?" I sit up and stretch, wondering if I should kick him in the process.
"You overslept again." He looks me over once, then says, "Go get dressed, take a shower. I'll tell Cragen we hit traffic."
I nod and he knows it's in thanks. As I stand up, I realize he's already got a glass of juice in his hand, and I shake my head, making my way to my room. I hear the TV flip on and the voice of a reporter comes through the closed bathroom door. I shower quickly and dress, knowing that even though he said he'll wait, he won't want to be too late. That's fine with me though. I don't want to be late either and I don't want to be in my apartment anymore. I need some fresh air, though that's a joke in New York. Breathing fresh air here is as likely as Lee Harvey Oswald actually shooting Kennedy.
I come out of the bathroom, pulling my tie a bit and Fin calls, "Ready?"
"Yeah. Could we stop and get a quick breakfast?"
He shuts off the TV and stands, glaring slightly at me. "Do I look like your personal chauffeur?" As I open my mouth to retort, he quickly says, "Don't answer that."
I smile. "Actually, I was going to say you looked more like a taxi cab driver. Chauffeur's too sophisticated a word, don't you think?" I smile evilly, trying not to laugh as he glares some more.
"I'm not an alarm clock either," he growls as he brushes past me for the door. Nothing like an early session of piss-off-Fin. I follow him, making sure all the lights are off and locking the door behind me. He's waiting at the elevator, staring intently at the doors and I'm surprised to find there's no burn marks yet.
"Concentrating?" I ask lightly.
"Yeah. On how your face is gonna look when I get my hands around your neck."
"Ooh, you've got me shakin' in my blue suede shoes now." We step into the elevator and I push the button. I stand, hands in my coat pockets, rocking back and forth on my feet. I have the odd urge to whistle, but I don't. Maybe in the car I can launch my attack against Fin's defenses. Find out what I want to know.
"Where do you wanna go eat?" he asks as we walk out to the car.
"That deli around the corner from the office."
He nods and we buckle up. The radio's already on when Fin starts the car and I reach over to turn it down.
"Hey, that was a good song," he protests.
"What did you mean yesterday when you asked what was up?" I hope being forward is the way to go. But he's like me, and doesn't give up personal info without a fight.
"I told you, nothin'."
"Why did you tell Cap I overslept? You don't even know if I had trouble sleeping."
"I know. And you couldn't sleep last night either."
"Are you a stalker?"
"No, I just know my partner. Sue me for caring!" He's angry, as I knew he would get, but I want to know.
"Yeah, exactly what do you know?" Time to test his so called 'knowledge'.
He sighs and flips the right blinker on. "I don't wanna go there, Munch."
"Too bad, because I want to know why you've been giving me all these funny looks lately? Or have you finally come out of the closet and picked me as the man to fulfill your dreams?"
"You wish, old man!"
"Spill it."
He tears into it, fast and loud, angry at me. "You hate that this job is ripping you to pieces, just like everyone else. You hate that no matter how many jokes you make, it never gets easier. You don't agree with suicide, but somehow you connected with Amy Solwey." He glances at me. "That good enough for ya? I could go on."
I stay silent, staring at Fin and wondering how the hell he sounds like a shrink. "How much time have you been spending around Huang?" A joke. Of course. How fitting.
"Munch!" He's angry again. "I'm your partner, for Chrissakes! You don't think I notice things?"
"Yeah, but I never expected for you to analyze me."
"Simple observations, man." He glances at me again. "You been acting weirder than usual, okay? I just wanted to make sure you ain't gonna do something stupid."
"Do I ever do stupid things?"
"You really want me to answer that?"
"No, not really." I expect him to answer anyway, like I did, but he doesn't. It's moments like these I know he cares. I know he doesn't mean all that crap he says, not really. "So, what about these weird looks you've been shootin' me?"
"Benson."
"What?"
"You and Benson. You around Benson. You freak out whenever she looks at you."
"No I don't."
He looks at me as he parks the car in front of the deli. "Here's your stop."
I sit there a moment more before finally getting out. I go into the warm building and order what I did the other day, minus the coffee. I'll have my tea this morning. Thanking the woman at the counter, I grab my bag and head outside, trying to get into the heat filled car before a cold wind comes along.
"So how exactly do I 'freak out'?" I continue as if I hadn't stepped out.
"You do this weird jumpy twitch thing. I don't know how to explain it. And whenever you gotta go someplace with her, you're face gets this look like you're gonna be sick."
"I do?"
"Didn't I just say that?"
"Technically--"
"Shut up," he interrupts before I can start and we finally get to the station house.
"So, where was the traffic?" I ask as we walk towards the elevator. I know he's got it figured out already, but it doesn't hurt to ask, to remind him we've got a story to tell.
"Where have you two been?"
"Traffic, Cap. Sorry." Luckily, Cragen doesn't ask why and we sit down. Benson and Stabler look at us, knowing better than to believe Fin's lie. I ignore them, trying to get into the mind set of work, though my conversation with Fin is replaying in my head. Especially the part about how I look around Benson. Oh well.
"Anything new?" I ask.
"Huang stopped by, took a look at our case. Gave us a basic profile of our guy."
"And?"
"Said he might try to hurt their family members if he gets the chance," Benson finishes, looking up at me. I hope she isn't remembering the other day in the hospital, but somehow, I know she is.
Without asking any more questions, I flip quickly through the file, finding Maribel Antonio's phone number. I pick up the phone and carefully dial.
"Hello?" comes the small voice of one of her boys.
"This is Detective Munch. Is your mom home?"
"Yeah, hold on a minute." I hear him yell for his mom. Some set of vocal cords the kid's got.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Maribel. It's Detective Munch."
"What happened?" She's worried, I can hear it and it hurts.
"Nothing happened, per se. A psychologist who works with our unit on some cases came up with a profile for your rapist. He thinks the rapist might attack your family if he gets the chance."
"Oh my God," comes the shocked whisper. "What... what should I do?"
"Do you have any relatives that you can stay with for awhile? Outside of the city?"
"My... my mother-in-law lives in Putnam County. Is that good?"
"Perfect." I pause for a moment, wracking my brain for anything else I might tell her to ease her worry. Her pain. Nothing comes to mind. "I'll call you if anything else comes up."
"Thank you, Detective. Goodbye."
"Bye." I hang up the phone and suddenly the squad room exists again. I lean back in my chair, thinking of how wonderful the day is already. Yeah. Right.
"She okay?" Benson asks.
"Yeah, her mother-in-law lives in Putnam County. She's going to stay with her for a while." I feel oddly detached as I say this. As if my voice isn't mine. Hollow sounding. Alien. To my own ears.
Her eyes linger on me longer than they should and I try to stifle the redness I feel coming to my cheeks. Not now. Not here. Please. When I tear my eyes away from her and try to concentrate on my work, I see Fin looking at me knowingly. Oh, I could just slap him. But I don't of course. Instead, I get up and set to making my tea. Something to take my mind away. Hopefully.
Day number four, I think as I sit down, hot tea in hand. For some reason, it isn't really about the case anymore. The case is just facts, and except for Maribel and her boys, it's just facts and vics. This case has turned into a nightmare... not about rape victims or murder victims of the past, but Vietnam, and it's really starting to piss me off. When all this extra stuff gets dragged into the case... it really kills a week, you know? All this emotional baggage gets hauled in and that's when it stops really being about catching the guy. It's just about going from one night to the next and hopefully finishing the case so when you go home at the end of it all, you can sleep at night. Until the next one comes along, you can sleep.
SVU
Dear John,
Mom's real worried about you. Especially after that last letter you sent. She's afraid you'll do something stupid or slip up and you won't come home. Or that you'll die. She cries herself to sleep most nights now. I try to do something to help, anything, but she won't be okay until you come home.
School's doing all right. Me and Jim took a couple of girls to the movies the other night. We're going out again tomorrow for dinner. Nothing fancy, you know. Probably another movie too. I saw David's brother yesterday, but he didn't say anything to me. I think he's mad that I still have you, while he doesn't have a big brother anymore.
Can't wait until you're home.
Love,
Bernie
I read it over again, the first paragraph searing my eyes until I had to close them. This war was hurting my mother. This war, which was changing me and killing my friends, was hurting her. She couldn't sleep. She cried. She wouldn't be the same. Until I got home. Somehow, I knew, as I folded the letter and tucked it into my pocket, she would get better. I wouldn't. Not ever. Somehow, I knew.