A Place for My Fic

Current Mood: creative

John Munch sat at the dining room table in Sarah Zelman’s apartment, taking a sip of Chardonnay as they finished dinner. He toyed with his fork, his head down. John sighed and finally loosened his tie, a cue he was ready to unwind from the stresses of the day.

“Something on your mind?” Sarah asked softly, wondering what he was thinking.

He took off his glasses for a moment, rubbing his eyes. “Ever think about getting shot?”

“Yeah, all the time,” she admitted. “That’s why I bank my own blood. Donors are a scarce commodity when you’re O-negative. Mercy General is my monthly lunch date, but you know that.” She considered their day and couldn’t recall any one thing that would cause him to wonder, aside from the obvious. “Cops get shot, John. Hazard of our job – we’ve both been shot before. It happens.” She wasn’t being cavalier, but she knew deep down he’d take it that way.

“I realize it’s a fact, but lately it’s been on my mind more than it usually is,” he admitted, looking at her squarely for the first time since they sat down to teriyaki salmon and fried rice. “Banking your blood is a good idea. Fin is pretty happy you do it,” he said.

“Hey, it’s there for anyone in the squad who might need it,” Zelman replied. “My type is the ‘universal donor,’ remember?” After she’d been shot the first time, during her career with the FBI, her supervisor had recommended she bank her own red cells on a regular basis. It had been sage advice, especially after the events of September eleventh.

John gave her a look, feeling as if she was trying to sidestep the issue. “It only works if you can get to the hospital in time, Sarah. To the right hospital – it has to be Mercy.” He stared into the light amber liquid in his wine glass, as if it held an answer for him. “That’s what concerns me most.” There. It was out. He’d said it at last and he watched as she kept her face studiously blank.

She thought for a moment then nodded. “It bothers me, too, every time I hear an ‘officer down’ call. I always wonder where you’re at…if you’re safe.” She played with a few grains of rice on her plate, wishing she could think of the words that would magically ease his mind. “We’ve talked this through before. We can’t do anymore than we already do, John. We grab the Kevlar every time we have a dangerous situation.”

“Do we use the vests often enough?” he asked, putting his glasses on once more. “Or do we simply take it for granted we’ll have enough prescience to know when we should?” He reached forward and took her hand, his finger tracing across the blue topaz ring she wore when they were away from the Sixteenth, a Hanukkah gift he’d given her the year before.

“I can’t answer the question, John,” she admitted slowly. “It’s more a question of acceptance for us, isn’t it?” She looked deep into his dark brown eyes, wishing she could allay his concern. “We have to put it out of mind, so we can do our job, I guess.”

He interlaced his fingers in hers for a moment, silently searching for the right words. “You’ve got a point,” he said softly. “But acceptance isn’t a workable solution as far as I’m concerned. It’s too easy, Sarah – it’s a potentially lethal dichotomy. We’re supposed to reduce it down to merely ‘acceptance’?”

“You’re right…” She shrugged elaborately, unsure of what to say. “I can’t offer you anything to change your mind. All I can say is, we have to keep the risks in perspective.”

“Or they’ll consume us,” he asserted, “when it’s better the cases and the victims get that privilege.” He swirled the wine in his glass and took a long sip, before blowing out a long, resigned sigh. “Acceptance and perspective. Here’s to both,” he said wryly, clinking his glass against hers.

“Better yet, John, let’s forget about death for a moment,” she offered, touching her glass to his again. “L’chayim,” she said simply.

He nodded. “L’chayim,” he repeated gently, in the hope they would be able to say that to each other for a very long time to come.

# # #

Current Mood: creative

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The usual disclaimer applies: Dick Wolf owns John Munch, but Sarah Zelman is mine.

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The heavy, humid air closed in around John Munch like a damp wool blanket, every bit as irritating to his hair and skin. He felt bathed in sweat, despite being clad only in a sleeveless undershirt, gray boxer briefs and black socks which he planned to pull off as soon as he could move.

He and Sarah had been sent home by Don Cragen, who’d dismissed all non-emergency personnel to weather the summer night’s rolling blackouts at their choice of location. For John, it meant checking on his place and then spending the night at Sarah’s, but they hadn’t gotten far. He’d stripped out of his suit, shirt and shoes as she insisted on taking a shower at his place, the feeling of gritty sweat against her skin compelling her to bathe immediately.

Munch looked out the window while he waited for her, idly watching the haze around a streetlamp outside his bedroom. Suddenly, its light faded from white to yellow, dimming rapidly as the power grid deemed it was time to flicker off at last. But for how long? Before he could contemplate the question, he heard Sarah yell, “Dammit!” as she was left to rinse the Herbal Essence from her hair in darkness.

He roused himself, opened a drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed and fished out a book of matches. Another moment’s searching yielded the feel of a cool metal MagLite, the batteries fresh, its light good and strong. John took a couple candles from the bedroom with him to the bathroom, where Sarah stood with a towel wrapped around her. “You called, milady?” he asked wryly, setting the candles on the back of the toilet before he lit them. “At least one of us was outside to get the emergency provisions.”

“You’re my hero as always, John,” she replied, kissing him deeply. “I thought we had more time, didn’t you?” She pulled her towel snugly, buried one end beneath the other and took the flashlight from him, her arms now free. She balanced the Mag in the empty sink, then pulled off his undershirt as he worked to get out of his socks.

“I thought we’d at least have until midnight,” he replied. “The witching hour, a perfect time for the grid to be shut down, making sure everyone’s late to work tomorrow morning.” John turned the water on full-force, as cold as he could stand it, before taking off his briefs and reveling in the chilly spray.

Fifteen minutes later, both of them lay on the bed, clad in their towels, smelling of their respective brands of soap and shampoo. Fingers of one hand interlaced, both of them shared the same thought. “I hate to admit this, but it’s too hot to have sex,” John said.

“Even in the shower,” Sarah replied, thoroughly beaten by the heat. “I’ll bet you and Felicia never let a little heat-wave slow you down,” she teased, remembering the night John, far past simply a bit inebriated, told her more than she needed to know about him and his favorite ex-girlfriend’s exploits.

“That was in Baltimore heat,” he began, “which is an entirely different animal than Manhattan feeling the wrath of Mother Nature running a raging fever.” He stared up at the ceiling, a sly smile creasing his features in the dark. “This has to be worse than Southern California heat, too.”

“I think you might have me on that one,” she admitted, toying with his fingertips. “Still, it was pretty brutal sitting in a car with two sweaty feds, on a one hundred and ten degree day in Canoga Park. I hated hatching perps out there.” She playfully tugged at the edge of his towel as he chuckled softly.

“I hope you don’t mind going back,” he replied. “Once I retire, I’m going to the beautiful San Fernando Valley and living the sweet life. Make that both of us.” He missed the sound of his ceiling fan, its evenly-paced clicking almost as hypnotic as the ticking of a clock. He debated opening the window, convinced the stench of daylight-heated garbage would waft in to stay.

“If we go, you know that has to mean Burbank, right?” Sarah asked, unwilling to live anywhere else in Southern California for a wide variety of reasons. “Otherwise, my sister will never give us a moment’s peace,” she said, giggling. “And you know she’ll tease you relentlessly.” Bear, as Sarah’s sister was affectionately known, had her own nickname for John who, in his rampant curiosity, badgered her with questions about everything from ‘earthquake weather’ to where the local cops gathered after end of watch.

“If she didn’t tease me, I’d think she didn’t love me,” he shot back. “Besides, she’s a nurse – they know all the best places for important things like food.” He clasped Sarah’s hand in his, as they listened to sirens wail alongside the activity of people on the street below. “Since your brother-in-law’s an IT manager, it means he can set me up with a slick, wireless laptop to keep in touch with everyone.” John knew he could just as easily e-mail family and friends from a hammock in Bear’s backyard, as he could from his small apartment in Washington Heights. “That’s where we’ll go when we’re through chasing perps, a warm place to rest our tired bones.”

“Sweetheart, all of your vinyl records would melt.” Sarah didn’t relish the thought of moving a few hundred prized platters completely across the country. Or the hundreds of books between the two of them.

“You want to stay in New York, don’t you?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Right now, I want to stay where there’s the promise of cold weather at some point during my lifetime.” She resisted the urge to untie her towel, as did John. They wanted to keep the cool layer of air between damp terrycloth and their skin. “Do you have any ice?”

He sighed, mentally cringing. “No. I knew I forgot something after our little soiree on Saturday night.” In the heat of their passion, both of them neglected to refill even one of the four plastic ice cube trays John owned. “We have some cold beer. Want one?”

“Are you offering to get up and bring me one?” she replied, doing her best to lure him with her voice. “You’d do that for me?”

“I offered you one, but I never said I’d go get it,” he teased back, as he reached over just far enough to tug her towel loose. One side fell away, leaving her partially exposed, yet he still wasn’t in the mood for a carnal encounter.

“Evil man,” she quipped. “We could drag ourselves up to the roof…” It was a half-hearted suggestion, born of boredom and inertia from the ninety-three degree evening.

“First, we’d have to get dressed,” he replied, finally relinquishing his own towel, “and that’s a ridiculous amount of effort at the moment.” He reached over, idly stroking her hair. “Then we’d have to climb stairs, a thought I don’t particularly relish right now.”

The air felt even heavier than it was hot. “Stairs. You’re right, there’s no way I’d survive the climb tonight.” She rolled over slowly, kissed him deeply, touching him only with her lips. “Out in earthquake country, I’d always wanted a backup generator for power outages.”

“It’s not like we’re completely unprepared. I do have a radio with batteries, a small one here in the nightstand.” He roused himself enough to reach in and grab it, tuning it to news. “We’re not totally out of touch with the world,” he said.

“We’d never get so lucky,” Sarah replied. “Is there something on besides more news about this god-awful blackout?” On the way to his place, they’d heard nothing but over-excited newscasters insisting that – even if the sky wasn’t falling – they were in for certain mayhem from the lack of light.

John turned the dial, hearing snippets of different stations until he found music. “Smooth jazz work for you?”

“It always has in the past,” she said seductively. They listened to the melodic guitar of Marc Antoine, his style as sultry as the heat surrounding them. Both of them eventually dozed off, exhausted by their day and the ensuing lethargy.

Two and a half hours later, John awoke first, the air in his apartment stifling. He wrapped his towel around his midsection and carefully made his way to the window, opening it in hopes of a breeze. He was greeted by the headlights of a lone squad car as it patrolled the relatively quiet neighborhood. Satisfied air was moving once more, albeit slightly, Munch left the window open wide to the smells and sounds of the street below.

Sarah realized subconsciously John was no longer with her and she awoke, sitting up to watch him look down on those brave enough to venture out despite no light. Flashlight beams bobbed up and down the street, illuminating footfalls to and from his apartment building. While Zelman knew she and Munch could easily walk the two blocks to her place, it was almost better being in his space for the duration. “John?”

“Yes, sweetie?” Observing the people beneath his window, he was reminded of his childhood ant farm; it too hummed with activity, no matter the time of day or the condition of the world at large. It had been as compelling then as the scene below him was now.

“I have an idea,” she answered. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, but I don’t think Dominos will deliver in the dark,” he quipped. “I’m starving. How about you, babe?” He didn’t take his eyes off the strobe of a bicyclist’s tail-light, the woman’s dim headlight barely keeping her from bumping against the cars along the side of the street.

“I’m hungry, too,” she admitted. “I’ll be back in a few.” She found her way to his dresser and a fresh change of clothes, then headed cautiously into the kitchen to raid his fridge. Her hands met the extra Mag-Lite he kept on the edge of the counter and she clicked it on, giving her enough illumination to keep her from cutting herself as she hastily put together a couple of lunchmeat sandwiches. Reaching into the refrigerator once more, she pulled out two bottles of beer, still ice cold. In the cabinet above the counter, Sarah found a half-full bag of Fritos and a couple packs of Hostess cupcakes. Paper towels would have to serve as napkins.

A second beam of light joined hers as John made his way into the kitchen, flashlight in hand. “Look at you… Aren’t you the resourceful one? We’re eating al fresco, I take it?” Fully dressed, he was finally ready to climb the stairs to the roof, more so since there was the promise of dinner involved.

“We are. Scratch a cynic, get a hopeless romantic,” she replied with a laugh. “Few things are more romantic than dining on the roof during a power outage.” Sarah put everything they needed into a plastic bag before she and John shared a kiss. “Got your keys?”

He double-checked to make sure they were in his jeans pocket, walking with her to the door. “Of course. I’ll lock up behind us,” he said, as she made her way past him, taking the opportunity to kiss him once more. She didn’t need a light on to know he was smiling at that point.

Once up top, they found a secluded spot near an unused air conditioning unit. It shielded them from the small gatherings of people who’d gone to the roof before them, some sharing food, others passing bottles of wine or spirits, all of them making the best of a what could have been a bad situation.

A thick, wide curb of concrete surrounded the compressor, providing John and Sarah with a place to sit, their backs against the machinery for support. From the bag, she took out a small candle in a glass dish, lit it and watched as he smiled gently at the gesture. They ate dinner in silence broken from time to time by the nervous laughter of those at the other side of the roof, the only additional illumination the ends of cigarettes as some people smoked and chatted.

Despite the heat, John and Sarah sat shoulder to shoulder, enjoying their closeness. He gave her a pull off his beer as she fed him Fritos, both of them happy simply being together. He wrapped his arm around her as she instinctively put her head on his shoulder. They spent the better part of an hour that way, interlacing their fingers from time to time. John closed his eyes, in a meditative mood; Sarah much the same, having chased the day’s stresses from her mind.

Excited chatter from the other side of the roof brought them out of their reverie.

“Hey, look, we have lights again!” She saw the faint yellow glow of the streetlamps growing stronger, amber giving way to strong bright white. “Still want to trade all this for the San Fernando Valley?” she asked, as they watched dots of light begin to sparkle throughout both Inwood and Washington Heights.

“And miss the chance to do this again? No,” he admitted, “I think I’ll hang around this place a little while longer.” He nudged her foot with his and smiled. “How about you? Ready to pack it in and move to Burbank?” He already knew the answer, but he always liked to hear her say it.

She felt the breeze start to pick up as it riffled his hair, the salt and pepper strands never losing their allure. “You know all too well, my home is where your heart is.”

He stood, pulling her effortlessly to her feet. Their arms around each other, they watched more lights come on, the rhythm of the city slowly building once more below them. “I guess that means we’d better go back to work tomorrow, since neither of us is retiring any time soon,” he quipped. “But we still have the night off.” John tilted his head slightly, a hopeful look on his face. “Nothing says we couldn’t go downstairs and create a heat-wave of our own.”

“I thought we were too overheated for carnal pursuits,” Sarah replied teasingly.

“Now that we’re no longer famished, the temperature is rapidly getting back to what passes as normal, and we have a few hours to spare…” He tipped her chin up, kissed her deeply and began to steer her toward the stairs.

“And?” she asked, daring him to finish their mutual thought.

John blinked in the low light of the stairway access, closing the door behind them. “The night is young and filled with possibilities.”

# # #

Current Mood: creative

The reddish glow from the neon light cast a ruddy aura into the early morning fog.

Beneath the lighted sign that screamed “MOTEL” to no one and everyone, sat two experienced detectives in a police-issued Ford Explorer.

They waited for a man with blonde hair and pallid eyes, who would be bringing a young girl in tow. He would be furtively trying his key in the hotel room door, having rented the room for exactly one hour, of which he would require no more than forty-three minutes. The girl would be killed by then, left posed in a graphic display of perverse sexuality by the depraved blonde man.

The glow of sunrise added its shimmer to the light of the sign, neon red blending into the pink-orange tint that marked the start of a new day. Soon, the sun would burn through the fog, leaving clarity in its wake.

The man with the strangely compelling eyes was out there, somewhere, deciding which six year old would be his next victim. It was a school day, he knew. There would be plenty of children to choose from. He could select one as simply as an old woman might pluck a chocolate from an open box of candies. Not much thought, but the promise of a moment’s pleasure.

Both detectives waited, watching the office of the motel, slouched as low as they dared in the SUV. They didn’t know when it would happen, only that he would suddenly appear. This time, even sooner than they expected.

John Munch watched as the man drove up in a battered Chevy, patches of Bondo and primer clinging to the car like weathered scars. “Heads up; here we go,” Munch whispered. The man got out of his car and went into the dingy office, a half-asleep desk clerk waking barely enough to take his cash and slide him a room key.

Sarah Zelman’s surreptitious glances never left him, even as he walked back toward the car, his unsettled gaze scanning his surroundings for any hint of trouble. “Start the timer,” she whispered, speaking figuratively for the moment, as she saw him pull a small girl from the back seat.

“Today is the last day of life as you know it, Rodney,” John murmured, his hand going instinctively to his Glock. He nudged Zelman as they watched the perp unlock the door to the well-worn room, disappearing inside with the child. “Ten minutes and we go.”

Munch knew it would take the man exactly ten minutes to coax the clothes from the girl, promising her a stuffed animal if she complied. Both detectives knew the children always did what the man said…until ‘it’ began. ‘It’ always spiraled out of control.

The tall blonde man had raped and killed twice; two agonizing mothers lost their daughters from both elementary schools nearby. One was a woman whose child triggered the murderer’s longings, the other woman hadn’t heeded the warnings to walk her young girl to school, to guard the child from a perp who raped before he deprived his victims of their life.

Nine and a half minutes later, Munch gave the signal. “Backup units roll out now! Go!” John called into the handheld radio, as they exited the Explorer. He pulled his gun as Zelman followed suit, the glow of sunrise obscuring them from view. The front window’s drapes were closed, the glare of light too bright for them to be seen even if the sheers beneath had been pulled back.

Munch kicked the door open and yelled, “NYPD! Let me see your hands!” He kept his gun leveled at the perp, while Zelman rushed forward to take the child from his grasp. “Down! Right now!” He stared into the perp’s pale eyes, watery blue puddles filled with surprise at being discovered.

Backup arrived and flooded into the room, a wave of blue uniforms pouring forth to aid in the apprehension of a dangerous criminal. Zelman cuffed the man as he was surrounded by law enforcement personnel, relieving him of two firearms and a Bowie knife in the process. “Take him in. We’ll transport the little girl,” she ordered, handing him over to the sergeant.

“Hey, sweetheart,” John said quietly, kneeling down before the frightened child. “It’s going to be okay… He can’t hurt you anymore.” The scared six year old looked at him with dark eyes wide, fearfully wondering where her mommy was and why she had been taken away from the familiar schoolyard sidewalk. “My name is John,” he explained, his voice soft. “This is my friend, Sarah,” he added, as Zelman kneeled next to him and held out her hand to the girl.

Tears brimmed in the child’s eyes as Sarah extended both arms toward her. “Here, sweetie… Come to me, it’s alright,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. She felt hot tears track down her own cheeks as the girl rushed to her, the child’s body wracked with sobs of fear and unknowing. “It’s all going to be fine, honey,” Zelman assured her. “We’re going to find your mommy and everything will be better.” The child hugged her tightly, thin arms firmly around her neck.

“We’re going to take you with us, okay?” John asked, as the girl looked up toward him. “Come with us to our house, and we’ll call your mommy. Would you like that?” He reached over and smoothed her hair, his heart almost breaking as she momentarily flinched beneath his touch. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Will you tell us?”

“Ashleigh,” she whispered, still clinging to Sarah. She had stopped crying, but still held fast to his partner. “Are you a policeman?” Her voice was a bit stronger; a good sign.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” John replied. “If you come with us, I can show you the police station.” He smiled at her and felt a profound sense of relief when she slowly managed to smile back.

“Will my mommy be there?” she asked, momentarily relinquishing her grip on Sarah.

“We’ll call her and she’ll come right over, Ashleigh,” Sarah said carefully, letting her down gently. “Why don’t we leave, so we can let your mommy know you’re safe?”

“Would you like to sit in the front seat with us?” John asked, secretly pleased when she held out her arms to him to be picked up. The last thing he wanted was to frighten her further, by placing her in the back seat by herself.

Ashleigh grinned as Munch picked her up. An encouraging sign. “Where’s my bear?” she asked, looking around as John held her. “The man was going to give me Boo bear.”

Munch gave Zelman a look and swung the child around to his other hip. “One of the officers had to take Boo bear, sweetheart. Boo bear’s going to help us put the bad man in jail.” He reached into his pocket, fished out the car keys and tossed them to Zelman, allowing her to drive while he took charge of Ashleigh. “C’mon, kiddo, we’re going to get you to the station and call your mommy.”

Sarah slipped into the driver’s side of the unmarked, as John got in with his young charge. As she watched the two of them for the briefest moment, she noticed something different about her partner as he held the child on his lap.

He had a definite glow about him.

# # #