Title: Only Human
Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net]
Summary: A conversation at the DMV
Rating: PG-13 - one use of the F word
Timeline: Sometime after the Movie
Disclaimer: All Homicide: Life on the Street characters belong to Tom Fontana, Barry Levinson and Baltimore Pictures. This fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: List archive, Muse's Fool. Anyone else, please ask.
Feedback: Would be lovely.
Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete for always being there to beta. And to Sarah T. for telling me my Kellerman was on. This kept me from sleeping last night. I just wanted to see Mikey throw Frank's words from Fallen Heroes II back at him. In the end, I'm a Kellergirl. I admit it. This is my first [and probably only] real Homicide fic.
indicates thoughts
Only Human
It was an odd place to run into him.
He never expected to see the man again, yet there they were. They sat next to each other in that ninth circle of hell known as the Department of Motor Vehicles as if they were strangers.
His first instinct -- and who was he kidding? He'd always gone with his gut -- was to lean over and speak, so the other man, in his icy hauteur, had to acknowledge his existence. The words, however, came from a place deep inside, a wound he thought had healed long ago.
"It wouldn't be Bayliss, huh, Frank?" he said, and even three years later, he couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Pembleton turned a cold glare on him. "Does it make you feel better, Kellerman, to know another good man fell prey to vengeance while trying to serve justice?"
Kellerman pulled back a little, stung. God, Mike thought, he sounds exactly the same. The precise enunciation of each word, measured and weighed to deliver the most profound impact. He'd come all the way back from his stroke, apparently. How the hell does he do it?
"No."
"Does it make you happy that I was wrong?" Pembleton pressed, and Kellerman saw a flash of the detective who had raised interrogation to an artform.
He smirked. "Yeah. Yeah, it does," he replied. "The great Frank Pembleton, brought low by human nature." Frank snorted and Kellerman shook his head. "You don't get it, Frank. You never did."
"A killing is a killing is a killing," Frank said, but the passion which once would have informed that declaration was long gone. He recalled a day, years ago, when Felton had explained the difference between a killing and a murder.
Mike inclined his head, acknowledging the statement. Then, "You couldn't be the partner Bayliss needed, so you left him. The way Lewis left me." He ran a hand through his tousled mop of hair. "We really fucked up. All of us."
The woman behind the counter called out, "Four thirty two. Number four thirty two."
"That's me," Pembleton said, rising. He walked toward the counter, checked himself, and turned back to his old colleague. "We're human. We were doing God's work, but we're only human." Then he moved up to the counter and handed over his paperwork.
Kellerman slumped down in his chair, his delight at Frank's admission offset by sadness at its truth. He felt shaky, suddenly, as though one of the last stable things in his life -- Frank Pembleton's complete confidence in his own superiority -- had been taken away, and nothing but uncertainty had been left in its place.
He shook his head and heard his own number being called. He got up and walked to the counter, feeling older than he had before.
End
Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net]
Summary: A conversation at the DMV
Rating: PG-13 - one use of the F word
Timeline: Sometime after the Movie
Disclaimer: All Homicide: Life on the Street characters belong to Tom Fontana, Barry Levinson and Baltimore Pictures. This fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: List archive, Muse's Fool. Anyone else, please ask.
Feedback: Would be lovely.
Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete for always being there to beta. And to Sarah T. for telling me my Kellerman was on. This kept me from sleeping last night. I just wanted to see Mikey throw Frank's words from Fallen Heroes II back at him. In the end, I'm a Kellergirl. I admit it. This is my first [and probably only] real Homicide fic.
indicates thoughts
Only Human
It was an odd place to run into him.
He never expected to see the man again, yet there they were. They sat next to each other in that ninth circle of hell known as the Department of Motor Vehicles as if they were strangers.
His first instinct -- and who was he kidding? He'd always gone with his gut -- was to lean over and speak, so the other man, in his icy hauteur, had to acknowledge his existence. The words, however, came from a place deep inside, a wound he thought had healed long ago.
"It wouldn't be Bayliss, huh, Frank?" he said, and even three years later, he couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Pembleton turned a cold glare on him. "Does it make you feel better, Kellerman, to know another good man fell prey to vengeance while trying to serve justice?"
Kellerman pulled back a little, stung. God, Mike thought, he sounds exactly the same. The precise enunciation of each word, measured and weighed to deliver the most profound impact. He'd come all the way back from his stroke, apparently. How the hell does he do it?
"No."
"Does it make you happy that I was wrong?" Pembleton pressed, and Kellerman saw a flash of the detective who had raised interrogation to an artform.
He smirked. "Yeah. Yeah, it does," he replied. "The great Frank Pembleton, brought low by human nature." Frank snorted and Kellerman shook his head. "You don't get it, Frank. You never did."
"A killing is a killing is a killing," Frank said, but the passion which once would have informed that declaration was long gone. He recalled a day, years ago, when Felton had explained the difference between a killing and a murder.
Mike inclined his head, acknowledging the statement. Then, "You couldn't be the partner Bayliss needed, so you left him. The way Lewis left me." He ran a hand through his tousled mop of hair. "We really fucked up. All of us."
The woman behind the counter called out, "Four thirty two. Number four thirty two."
"That's me," Pembleton said, rising. He walked toward the counter, checked himself, and turned back to his old colleague. "We're human. We were doing God's work, but we're only human." Then he moved up to the counter and handed over his paperwork.
Kellerman slumped down in his chair, his delight at Frank's admission offset by sadness at its truth. He felt shaky, suddenly, as though one of the last stable things in his life -- Frank Pembleton's complete confidence in his own superiority -- had been taken away, and nothing but uncertainty had been left in its place.
He shook his head and heard his own number being called. He got up and walked to the counter, feeling older than he had before.
End