Disclaimer: I do not own Law and Order: SVU. It belongs to a genius named Dick Wolf. No profit is being made from this story.
Author's Note: on, review, review! You know you want to….do I have to beg? Oh all right….please? Pretty please? I'll give you…. (insert favorite candy or food here)!
It didn't really hit him until he was sitting in his office at his apartment. Munch was sitting in his cushioned rolling chair in front of his desk, having just finished typing in the web address for the precinct on his laptop, and had to freeze when the realization hit.
He had no life.
He had just been given what every working American dreams for….a day off in the middle of the workweek, with no penalty or effect on his sick day accumulation, and what was he doing with his time?
Working on case files.
John sighed, sitting back and taking his glasses off momentarily. I should really get a social life, he mused dryly. When's the last time I went on a date?
Scoffing, he shook his head and put his glasses back on. "Oh, yeah," he thought aloud. "Now I remember…wife number three took me to alimony court five years ago…wonder if that counts?"
Chuckling, he went to the SVU homepage and typed in his password. He recalled how miserable most of the divorcees he knew had been after splitting with their wives. Most of them thought he was just cruel, but he was only being reasonable….he had a large brownstone in a nice neighborhood, worked all the hours he wanted, and didn't have to shell out monthly support payments thanks to the alimony settlement.
All in all, it seemed like he was getting the better end of the deal.
Not surprisingly, his train of thought drifted to Elliot then. Newly divorced men were always obvious, and in Elliot's case, he was painfully so. The poor man still wore his wedding ring. The rumor going around the office was that he was still so naïve that he was convinced he and his wife would get back together.
Everyone was careful not to let Elliot hear them say that, or for that matter, Olivia either. Any time one of them mentioned the slightest thing about his family at all, she would jump in with claws, ready to defend him.
Munch himself stayed away from the gossip mill as a courtesy to Elliot because he was his friend. But he still managed to hear what was being said behind the coffee pot in the mornings.
His thoughts strayed even more and he began thinking about this crazy new case. He wasn't used to having a case just fall into their laps like this one had, and to him it seemed like things were getting more and more confusing. Dead prostitutes…uncoordinated stakeouts… spontaneous fires…hell, he was still confused as to what they were even looking for.
The news about the officers killed in the last fire had been a total shock. It was never easy to hear about a brother killed in the line of duty, but to have them die that way seemed to add insult to injury.
Elliot sure took it hard, he thought, recalling the events of the morning. Oh, wait…he said that one of them was an old part-
In that instant, something clicked in John's brain. He sat still in shock, the thought making his heart race. It couldn't be…
He thought back rapidly to the beginning of the case. Two dead prostitutes, one of them an undercover cop. Both women choked, found with lighter fluid on their bodies.
A fire at the 3-5 precinct, two civilians killed. Another fire at Phil's Grill, twelve police officers killed from the same precinct.
Frowning, he swiveled the chair around and reached for his leather work bag hanging on the coat rack. Rifling through it, he unearthed the notes he had copied from Melinda and skimmed them.
Reaching behind him again, he grabbed a notepad and pen and scribbled down details about the prostitutes. Turning around again, he sat back and tapped the pen against his teeth.
"You're jumping to conclusions," he said aloud in frustration. "Too much work with no breaks, Munch."
He sighed and twirled the pen between his fingers. The thought in his mind was threatening to explode, but he fought it.
His mind flashed back to the debate that had risen the day before.
"We know what Sean has told us...so far I have yet to see a single piece of tangible evidence."
A sudden thought came to the surface, and the pieces fell together. "Fuck!" he exclaimed. "That's it!"
Quickly, he reached for the phone.
Olivia was getting ready to step into a hot shower when the phone rang. "Damn it," she grumbled, shutting the water off. Wrapping a towel around herself, she went into the bedroom.
"Benson," she answered.
"I figured it out!" Munch said quickly. "The case, the fires….it all connects to Elliot."
It took her a minute to make sense of the rapidly fired words. "What?" she asked. "John, what are you-?"
"It all makes sense," he barreled on, cutting her off. "The prostitutes both brown-haired and blue-eyed…like Elliot. A fire was set at the 3-5 precinct in Queens…his old station."
She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, dancing around to try and relieve the feeling of sweat dripping down her back.
"You're talking crazy!" she said. "I know we're all anxious to get this guy, but come on, John! Brown hair and blue eyes?"
He kept going as if he hadn't heard. "The fire at Phil's Grill killed twelve of his old colleagues….and his ex-partner! And don't forget about the fire at his apartment complex…his apartment complex, Olivia!"
"That was an accident," she protested weakly, but her stomach was starting to churn
She thought back to the nightmares she had been having. No, she berated herself sharply. Stop it…this is insane!
"It makes sense," he said, pleadingly.
She chewed her lip uneasily. "I don't know, John," she said. "This is an awfully big assumption, don't you think?"
"What if it's not, Olivia?" he said persistently. Worry laced his tone. "What if it's not?"
A beep cut off her words. "Hold on," he said. "There's someone on the other line."
"Just call me back in a few minutes," she said. "I'm going to go get in the shower real quick."
"Fine," he said quickly, and hung up.
The cell phone lying on the double bed rang shrilly. Sean reached for it and flipped it open.
"Yeah," he answered, knowing who it was.
"What are we doing here, man?" a frantic voice on the other end said. "Those guys were cops, Sean…cops! We need to get out of here, and I mean now. We're going to have half the NYPD on our asses soon!"
Sean waited for a break in the other man's nervous rambling. "Will you relax?" he snapped. "I've taken care of it…we'll be out of here by noon, alright?"
"Why noon?" the man whined worriedly. "Why not now?"
He looked in the mirror, scowling as he fingered his still-sore jaw. "Because," he said evenly. "I've got one more to do before we go." His eyes narrowed into slits.
"But-"
"Just get your ass over here," he snapped. "You've got ten minutes."
He snapped the phone shut, cutting off the man's protests. Grabbing the keys that were resting on the dresser, he twirled them around his fingers as he picked up the bedside phone.
Elliot was on his way back toward Manhattan when his cell phone jangled. Reaching over, he fumbled around the passenger seat for the instrument that he had tossed there as he got into the truck.
"Stabler," he said, flipping it open.
"Elliot-"
The voice of his brother made his lips curl in disgust. "What do you want?" he asked abruptly.
"I have your apartment keys," Sean said, twirling the keys around again. "I just know realized they aren't mine…they're on the same kind of key chain as yours."
"What?" Elliot asked in irritation. "No you don't. God, Sean….I'm kind of stressed right now, you know? Why the-"
"Yes, I do," he insisted. "I threw mine on your desk when I got in this morning and forgot about them after our little chat with the captain. You had yours on there, and I grabbed them after you left, thinking they were mine."
"Look," Elliot snapped in frustration, digging into his pants pocket. "I'm telling you, my key-"
He stopped abruptly as his hand hit empty fabric. "Fuck," he muttered, his eyes sliding closed. He had tossed his keys underneath the stuff on his desk, intending to put it in Olivia's locker, then had gone upstairs and forgotten all about it.
"Are you at the station?" he asked.
"No, my hotel," Sean answered. "I've got a conference call in ten minutes….just come by and get them. I'll leave the door open."
"Whatever," he muttered, hanging up.
He cursed and changed lanes, heading for Chelsea.
"What the fu…."
John couldn't even get the word all the way out. The captain's words echoed in his head, but he couldn't process them.
"Look, John," Cragen said hurriedly. "Right now, we need to get a hold of Sean. I need you to get to the precinct. I'm calling the others-"
"I just talked to Olivia," he interrupted. "I'll call her and Fin. Call Elliot and-"
He trailed off again as he finally put two and two together. "Jesus Christ," he said weakly.
"What?" Cragen asked in surprise.
"Captain, where's Elliot?" he asked quickly, his mind racing.
"I assume he's still at the 3-5," Don answered. "I haven't talked to him."
"Forget Sean," Munch said, standing up quickly. "We need to get him back here right now."
Elliot sighed as he went up the elevator to the seventh floor. He walked down the hall to room 715.
"Sean," he called abruptly before turning the knob.
It was unlocked, as Sean had promised. His brother wasn't there, but he figured he was in a downstairs conference room. Crossing between the two beds, Elliot rummaged through the pile of quarters and tissues on the bedside table.
"Damn it, Sean," he muttered angrily. "Where the hell did you put my keys?"
He went to the dresser and found nothing. Growing angrier with each step, he checked the closet safe and searched around on the floor. Nothing.
"I swear," he mumbled, dropping to his knees to search under a bed. "If that shit-face is…"
His keys were lying just beyond the edge of the comforter, having most likely fallen off of the table.
Shaking his head, Elliot grabbed them. His hand caught the blanket and pulled it back, and he faltered, shaking it off. As he did, he got a glimpse of something pushed far under the bed. Curious, he pulled the blanket back again and bent for a closer look.
His brow furrowed. "What the hell-?"
Sliding on his stomach, he reached in and pulled out the large lump. He brought it closer so he could see what it was. At first, he thought it was a fire extinguisher. Upon closer inspection, though, he saw that it was a blow torch, and beside it was a large mass of chicken wire.
He looked at the items in total bewilderment. "Why the hell would he have a-?"
His blood suddenly froze and he stopped abruptly, pushing himself away from the bed hastily.
"Great police work, bro," a voice sneered behind him.
He jumped in surprise, whirling around. A minute later, everything was black.
Sean dropped the crowbar he was holding and watched his brother slam to the floor like a stone. He smirked. "Looks like you lose again, little brother," he said slyly.