Mike Logan was communing with Ed McBain when the phone rang just after 11pm. It was Wednesday and Merry was filling in for one of her bouncers at the club. She hadn't done that gig for a while, having moved into management, bookkeeping, and general operations at the bar as the owner gradually backed out of day-to-day business and concentrated on a new bar he'd just opened across town. In fact she'd talked more often lately about leaving the bar business entirely. Some of the community services stuff she'd heard of through Mike's work was beginning to interest her, "I'd like to help drive something that does a little more than help people get drunk and laid," she'd told him recently. But until she chose a new direction The Death of Me was Merry's to drive, though occasionally she picked up the slack at the door or behind the bar if necessary. "Keeps me among the little people," she cracked before going to work tonight. Wednesdays were slow, not much trouble to deal with if she'd become rusty at her old trade.

"Yeah," Mike muttered distractedly into the phone. At this hour it could be only one of two callers: someone from the precinct calling him and Briscoe in for a hot case, or Merry telling him she'd be late. Neither call was welcome. This time it was Van Buren. Shit.

"We got a call from the West side, Mike. I've already called Lennie. Assault, two female victims, one on the edge."

Odd that it was the captain and not Profaci calling with the pain-in-the-ass news. Mike was looking forward to some serious down time with his wife of five-and-something years; in fact he'd cashed in some recent overtime to get Thursday off.

"Lemme leave a note for the little woman, and I'll be there in a few."

"I need you to report to the scene, Lennie's already on his way." A pause. "Mike, the 911 came in from The Death of Me."

"What?" He dropped the book and sat at attention. Merry was working with Nicole, the weeknight bartender, and just a barback and a waitress tonight. She and Nicole would be closing up alone, probably about now since weeknights were slow. Shit. He was into his jacket and grabbing his gun and badge while shouting into the phone, "Talk to me!"

"That's all I know. Somebody jumped one woman outside the back door of the club, her coworker tried to intervene. Both being transported to Bellevue, one's not looking good."

"Who?"

"I don't know, just meet Lennie there and the uniforms will fill you in." She thought she should say more, but what? Logan was gone anyway by then, he didn't even switch off the cordless as he slammed out the door, dropping it to let the batteries bleed out their power on the carpet.

The ambulances had left by the time Mike's car screamed to a stop in front of the bar Merry had been working at since before they'd met. Crime scene tape across the door, but nobody out front. He ducked under and ran inside hollering "Lennie!"

His partner beckoned him through the back door into the alley. "Mike, Merry's banged up a little but she'll be okay. Looks like someone went for the bartender, Nicole Williams, and Merry dove in." Briscoe indicated a punky-looking kid in leather and blue jeans talking to a uniform ten feet away. "James Dean here was rummaging for empties when he heard the noise, the assailant took off when he saw him coming. The kid ran into the bar and called 911."

Mike strode over to "James Dean". "Did you get a look at the guy who did it?"

The kid shrugged. "Man, it's dark, y'know? He just split." Recognizing the menace in the detective's eyes he furrowed his brow in concentration. "Okay, okay, maybe a few years older than me, like 22, 23, or something. White guy. Dark hair, I think. Not blond, anyway. T shirt, jeans, it's all I saw, I swear."

"You get that?" Mike barked at the female officer taking notes.

"Yeah, detective, I even got the big words."

Lennie appeared at Mike's shoulder. "Let's go to Bellevue." As if slapped out of a daydream, Mike dashed back through the bar and to his car. Lennie caught up and grabbed his arm, stepping back when his partner whipped around abruptly with a mad look in his eye.

"Come on, I'll drive, one of the uniforms'll bring your car to the precinct."

Logan barreled through the ER waving his badge. "Merry Logan, where is she?" In his panic he'd forgotten she used her maiden name most of the time. The startled staff looked at each other in puzzlement. "MERRY LOGAN," he repeated at high volume, slapping a hand on nurse's station desk. "Two assault victims just came in, where the hell are they?" Lennie was there again, trying to slow him down.

"Two women, from a bar on the West side," Lennie elaborated as his partner fumed, and the nurse at the computer offered "We have a Meredith A. Ryan in exam two…"

As Mike broke for the treatment area the nurse went after him, "Detective you can't go in there." He turned on her with a look that stopped her cold.

"Try and stop me."

He took off again as Lennie informed the shaken nurse, "Detective Logan is Ms. Ryan's husband." He showed his badge though by then it wasn't necessary. "I'm Detective Briscoe. This is our case, and I'll need to talk to whoever is treating the other victim."

Mike burst into the treatment room, slamming the door open with enough force to send a stack of supplies cascading to the floor. Merry was sitting on the treatment table; the intern cleaning blood off of her face jumped so severely he dropped the gauze pad he was using.

"Ow! Shit, watch it!" Merry protested. She sounded drunk or something, then Mike came in for a closer look and saw the swelling around one side of her mouth. Bloody lip, puffing eye, scrapes and contusions on her jaw. Both hands were bagged and there was more gauze and tape on her right forearm.

The intern had recovered and finished blotting the scrapes on Merry's face. Mike held his breath and forced himself to stand still for the minute or two it took for the guy to finish up. Then he approached Merry warily, not sure what state she was in. He indicated her baggie-wrapped hands. "Factory fresh, huh." It was a hopelessly lame attempt to lighten up.

"I gouged the hell outta him, I got enough under my nails to clone three new guys."

"I'm through for now," the intern said. "I'll send someone in to collect evidence."

"My partner will take it when it's finished," Mike told him as the intern ran to another treatment room. He went to Merry, tipped her face up, grimacing at the damage.

"How much does it hurt?"

"A shitload." She nodded toward the diamond-and-emerald eternity ring that lay in an instrument tray, the one Mike had gone deep into hock to buy her for their fifth anniversary a few months ago. "They managed to get it off before my hand swelled up. No way I was gonna let 'em cut it." Mike took it from the tray and slipped it in his pocket as he studied her face.

"I guess I got slammed pretty good, huh?" Merry asked, not quite able to keep the whimper out of her voice.

"Yeah but I can't wait to see the other guy." Another lame joke as his panic receded. "Can you tell me what happened?"

She nodded uncertainly then abruptly began to hyperventilate, covering her face with her bagged hands. "I dunno, I heard Nic screaming and I ran out back and he was on top of her just pounding and pounding, I don't think I thought at all, I just jumped, on him, you know, he threw me off and I hit him with something, and he left Nic and grabbed me," Merry ran out of breath and words so Mike just kissed the top of her head and rested his forehead there.

"I don't mind telling you I almost croaked on the ride here," he confessed. "I heard one hurt bad, one hurt worse, but nobody said who."

She pulled back then, frightened and insistent. "Where's Nic? How bad did he hurt her? Mikey, it was crazy, he just hit her and hit her with his fists, in the face and the head and what else I couldn't see. I thought that asshole was gone, she thought he'd left town."

He slowed her down by rubbing his hands over her shoulders. "Lennie's talking to the doctors to find out how she is. You recognized the guy?"

She nodded. "Nic's ex, Randy Walsh. She gave him the heave ho a few weeks ago, moved out of his place 'cause she was sick of his drugging and whoring and lazy-ass doing nothing but hanging with his low life friends."

"And he didn't take it real well."

"Are you kidding? Losing his meal ticket? She put up with his shit so long he figured it was permanent. He'd called her and called her and she told me she just erased the messages. Nic's not a low life, Mike, she's good people, she just got caught in a bad situation and finally got out. She made her choice, starting a whole new life, and this has to happen…" she trailed off and he hugged her against him again.

"You can give a statement once we get you taken care of, okay?"

A movement near the door caught his attention as a grim-faced Lennie Briscoe entered quietly. Mike's raised eyebrow was met with a frown and a terse shake of the head. Merry had noticed Lennie's entrance too, and though she hadn't seen his silent exchange with her husband, his sober demeanor said it all. She'd seen it before too many times at the end of any of Mike's long bad days not to know its meaning.

"Oh Lennie, no, not now," she looked helplessly up at Mike begging, "Mikey no, I tried so hard, I should've gone sooner," but he shook his head firmly.

"Baby, stop, this asshole almost did the same job on you, you couldn't have done any more than you did. It was probably too late by the time you even knew what was happening."

"Mike's right, honey, the trauma doc said the first blow to her head probably killed her, it was over from the start."

That just seemed to upset her more. "No, it's not right," she was trembling with rage and physical pain, and exhaustion. Grief was still too distant.

"She's just starting over, the bad stuff is supposed to be over..."

Briscoe exited discreetly as his partner tried to calm his wife. Mike kissed and hugged Merry, and wondered what else to do, until someone came in with the forensics kit to take evidence from her hands. He stepped back to let the lab tech unwrap the tape from the baggies, but jumped when Merry cried out.

"Sorry!" the tech said hastily. "I'm gonna call the doctor back in, okay?

Merry's right hand was swollen grotesquely, the left much less so, and both sets of knuckles were bruised and scraped raw. When the tech went to get a doctor Mike returned to her and gently took her right wrist to get a closer look.

"You must've clocked him good. Looks like you busted something here."

Merry breathed rapidly through the pain. "I don't remember. I didn't notice until now. Shit it hurts." The lab tech re-entered with the third doctor she'd seen so far, who took her hand from Mike and turned it this way and that as Merry gritted her teeth.

"Yup, this needs an x-ray." He looked at the left hand, in slightly better shape. "Might as well do this one too." The doctor looked Merry in the eye. "You up to getting those nails done?"

She grimaced but nodded. "Yeah. I didn't collect all this DNA to wimp out because it hurts a little." But Mike heard the tremble in her voice and saw the look in her eye. He moved to the other side of the table and slipped his arms around her waist.

"Right behind ya, baby. It'll be over quick."

Merry choked back a strangled whimper as the doctor scraped under her nails as carefully as he could, wiping each time on a separate piece of lab paper held out by the tech. Her husband whispered encouragement to her, "Almost done, you're doin' great, my woman here kicks ass guys, I'm only holding on so she doesn't mess you up," and it occurred absurdly to Merry that he sounded like some sort of bizarre labor coach. The left hand was worse than she expected, and when the doctor carefully gripped her right she tensed back against Mike. A spontaneous inspiration came to him; with one hand he turned her head to the side and leaned around to kiss her deeply, keeping it up until the doctor had finished with his collection of evidence. When both men let her go she was smiling weakly in spite of the tears running down her face.

The doctor signed off on the evidence bag and handed it to the tech along with the signed form. "Take this to the detective in the waiting room, and make sure he signs for it."

"You're too smart, detective," Merry complimented Mike somewhat shakily.

He shrugged. "Whatever works."

An orderly came and took Merry up to X-ray, and Mike rejoined Lennie in the ER waiting room.

"So how's she doing?"

"So-so. Her face is banged up and her right hand is probably broken." Briscoe whistled. "Yeah, she really tore loose on the perp. Plenty of DNA under the fingernails."

Lennie held up the evidence bag. "We'll get this to the lab toot-sweet and see who it matches."

"Merry said she recognized the guy. Nicole Williams' ex boyfriend, guy named Randy Walsh. Apparently Nicole broke up with him recently and he wasn't taking get lost for an answer."

"Abusive?"

"Merry says yeah, and a leech. A real prince."

"She's sure it was him?"

"She said so just now, but I didn't push it. I told her we'd take her statement later."

"She knows that her friend is dead, right?"

"Yeah, Lennie, you heard her."

"I was just wondering if it sunk in is all."

Mike handed Lennie back the notes he'd been looking over and explained, "It will. Two in the morning."

"You got it timed?"

Mike smiled ruefully. "Oh, yeah. It's Merry's Crisis Hour. Anything that's waiting to clobber her hits between two and three, guaranteed. I'll wake up alone and find her in the kitchen staring out the window."

"Well maybe they'll give her something that'll knock her out."

Logan frowned, anticipating a storm of emotions to come even as he suspected she'd find a way to keep it quiet. "Man, I hope so."

Lennie patted his shoulder. "Look, she's gonna be awhile. How about I run the notes and evidence back to the precinct and you call when you're through? I'll come back and get you."

"Yeah, that'll work." Mike smiled wearily. "Thanks, I need all the help I can get. I have a feeling it's gonna be a long night."

Briscoe shook his head sadly. "Too bad Nicole Williams had hers cut short. Call when you're ready." He left Mike standing in the near-empty waiting area.

At nearly1am Merry was ushered back into the waiting room, where Mike had nodded off. Slumped in her wheelchair, she was obviously under the influence of some painkiller or other.

"Detective," the nurse reached out and touched his shoulder. "You can take your wife home now."

He shook himself alert and jumped to his feet. Merry's right was hand wrapped up tight in several layers of ace wrap and a brace.

"Slight fractures in the index and middle fingers and a badly sprained wrist," the nurse explained. "We don't coat people with cement anymore. There's probably some minor cartilage damage too. She really must have walloped something good."

"Someone," Mike corrected, and lifted the wrapped-up hand to kiss it. "Poor li'l paw." Merry's left wrist and hand bore a lightweight ace bandage over some gauze and tape. The nurse told him it was just slightly sprained and scraped up.

"Hurts a lot," Merry whined, sounding very unlike herself. The nurse handed Mike a bottle of pills, a filled-in insurance form, and a prescription slip.

"Keep an eye on these, she'll probably need one at least every four hours for the next 24 or so."

"Will this mess complicate her arthritis?" he wanted to know. The nurse shrugged.

"I don't suppose it'll help, but you'll have to see later. Call the number on the care orders if you have any questions." Then she was gone about her business.

Merry leaned her head against Mike's stomach. "Can we go home now?" He knelt down to look in her bleary eyes.

"Sure." He kissed her for good measure. "Lennie's gonna come get us." He flipped open his cell and speed dialed. "Hey Lennie, we're all set. Merry's fixed as good as it's gonna get tonight."

When Lennie pulled up to the door some twenty minutes later Mike lifted Merry from the wheelchair and carried her out.

"No, you're tired, you don't have to," she protested vaguely.

"I'm a big boy, I'll be fine." He settled them both in the back seat. "To the precinct, James."

Briscoe laughed in spite of the situation. "How you doing, sweetheart?" he asked Merry.

"Dunno," she slurred. She was settled against Mike's side like melting jello.

"We'll be home soon," Mike told her as he kissed her head for maybe the hundredth time. Kisses he could do, and he figured not much else would help anyway. Suddenly Merry stirred a bit, struggling to lean forward and focus.

"How's Nic?" she asked with obvious distress. Silence from the two detectives, then Mike tightened his arms around her.

"Nic's gone, babe."

"Oh, yeah." She slumped back again.

"Hey, why don't I just run you guys home?" Briscoe suggested abruptly, "I'll send a couple uniforms with your car, okay?"

Mike nodded gratefully. The sooner they got home the better for everyone.

Mike got Merry tucked up in bed, her right hand propped up on a pile of pillows to try and keep the swelling (and pain) down. She'd taken another pain pill, or rather he'd fed it to her. She was drifting in a fog of pain and confusion as he got ready for bed.

"Where's my ring?" she asked suddenly.

"Right here, sweetheart, I'm putting it on the dresser, okay?" Mike made the ring sparkle under the light so she could see.

"'kay." She was so quiet as he slid into bed that Mike thought she was asleep until he heard a ragged sigh.

"What's going on in there?" he asked, leaning so close his lips touched her cheek.

"It hurts." There was a tremble in Merry's voice that Mike swore he could feel. Very gently he moved over to kiss first her right hand, then the left.

"It'll get better."

"I wasn't talking about my hands."

Mike lay on his side, as close as he could manage without jostling her. "Neither was I."

"I really tried." It was barely a whisper.

"I know. I know you would've torn that bastard's head off if you could, you would've busted through that wall like Wonder Woman the minute you heard there was trouble. That's what you would've done, but you couldn't, you couldn't bust through the wall and you couldn't tear his head off. You're Wonder Woman inside, but the real world only lets you be Merry. I know you know it's not your fault, and you know I know that doesn't help worth shit. I love you, Merry Ann, I love you so much it hurts and it's the best I can do, like what you did was the best you could do. It sucks, but we're just stuck with it."

As minutes passed again Mike thought Merry had finally fallen asleep, helped along by the fat dose of pain drugs. He wasn't sure he'd be sleeping much himself. Dealing with the number, variation, and randomness of the crimes he confronted every day usually didn't leave him worrying overmuch about Merry's safety. If he knew violent death was frequent and random, he also knew she would be wiser to look both ways when crossing the street than over her shoulder for some attacker. Sure, her face replaced a vic's in his imagination now and then, but it was "what if" not "watch out". Nobody but another cop would realize how far out of left field tonight's fears came from. Shit. Exhaustion had dragged him near the point of sleep only an hour or so before daybreak when Merry's timid voice pulled him back to the surface.

"Mikey? You awake?"

"Yeah." He gave her a squeeze to prove it.

"Do you think she knew?" After a second's confused silence she added, "Nic, I mean. Do you think she knew?"

"Knew what?" He figured it was the drugs talking.

"You think she knew I was trying?" The words were weak, shaky.

Mike shut his eyes tight against the pain he couldn't reach because it wasn't his.

"Yeah babe, she knew. I bet it's the last thing she heard, you clocking that asshole to make him stop."

"I really wish I knew." She started sobbing quietly and rolled closer against Mike, not caring about her hands.

"Sssh, baby, I know for both of us." As he rubbed her back and kissed her again and again, the intensity of his relief staggered him. He'd met Nicole once or twice and liked her, she seemed smart and capable and according to Merry she never whined about hard times, she just worked to make her life better and tonight, against all right and fairness, she got killed for it.

Mike Logan was too long a lapsed Catholic to believe that one life was "chosen" to end tonight, and one wasn't. But oh god, if it had to be one of them...he tried to sort out what rushed him as he considered it but he'd never be able to choose whether it was gratitude or guilt, not if you put a gun to his head and cocked the hammer.