Author's Notes: Happy Veterans' Day, everyone. This oneshot drabble is dedicated to current and former military men and women and especially to those who may have lost someone who gave their life while serving their country. Semper Fi. (Yes, I know it's the motto for the Marine Corps, but I think it applies to every branch of the military.) LO:CI and its characters belong to Dick Wolf and company; I'm just borrowing them for a little bit. Any and all mistakes made are my own.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Calverton National Cemetery, 9:00 a.m.

Detective Mike Logan let out a small sigh as he turned on the car's radio, tuning it to the local oldies station. He strummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove up the Long Island Expressway. He was on his way to visit his dad's grave at the military cemetery, a trip that he made twice a year on Memorial Day and Veterans' Day.

After having driven for about an hour and a half, Mike finally reached the cemetery. He found a parking spot near the front entrance. He turned off the engine and got out of the car, locking the driver's door behind him. He walked through the entrance that led to where the graves were. "Do you need any assistance locating someone's grave, sir?" a young man asked when Mike emerged through the door. "No, thank you," he said. "I'm know exactly where I'm going." The young man nodded and smiled, then turned his attention to the elderly couple that came in after Mike.

Mike looked up at the clear blue sky as he walked the familiar path to his father's grave. The air was cool and crisp. "What a beautiful day," he thought. "Hey, Dad," Mike said when he got to his father's grave. "It's Mikey." He chuckled lightly at his childhood nickname. No matter how old Mike got, his dad always called him 'Mikey.' ("I will call you Mikey even you turn 100 years old," his dad told him many times when he was a teenager.)

Mike knelt down so that he was eye level with the stone grave marker. "I thought I'd come by and check up on ya," he said. "Make sure you're doing okay." He looked at the ground and sighed. Between his late partner, Lennie Briscoe and his dad, Mike missed both of them equally. There were times Mike used to tell himself that his dad chose death over divorce to get away from his alcoholic and abusive wife. "There's not much going on with me. I, uh, I quit the force a while ago. I got tired of all the political…bullshit that was going on."

Mike looked at the grave marker. "Anyway, I'm just trying to figure what to do with myself. What my next step should be." He half expected to hear his father's gruff but lovable voice offering some advice. "I know. I know. I'll figure out something sooner or later," he said with a dry chuckle. He stayed there for a few minutes, telling his dad about things that were going on in the world.

Mike stood up, stretching a little bit to work the kinks out of his legs. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He read what was written on the paper, then looked around. When he found out which direction he was suppose to be heading, Mike put the paper back into his pocket. "I'll see you next year, Dad," he said softly before he walked away.

Mike walked a few hundred yards away from his dad's grave until he found the grave marker that he was looking for. The person's name on it was Toby Donnelly, aged 24. Mike stood there, staring at the grave marker. During his 10 year banishment to Staten Island, Mike Logan met then 15 year old Toby in the most unusual way: he was trying to steal the police vehicle that had been assigned to Mike. He took pity on the poor kid and decided not to bust him for attempted car theft. Instead, Mike took Toby under his wing in his own special Logan way: getting on his case when he missed school or got into trouble; listening to him when he needed someone to talk to.

When Toby finally graduated from high school, Mike walked around like a proud peacock with his chest stuck out for at least a month. He had hoped that he would go to college, but Toby wanted to go into the Army to serve his country and see the world before he settled down to do some serious studying. Just like Toby's mom, Mike was a little apprehensive, but he supported him and his decision. He was always happy to get the occasional e-mail or postcard from him.

In March, Toby had been on patrol with his unit in Baghdad, Iraq when a roadside bomb exploded underneath the vehicle he was riding in, killing him and 3 others instantly. He was suppose to have been returning home for good by Christmastime. Mike was so upset by the news of Toby's untimely death that when he had come to visit his dad's grave on Memorial Day, he couldn't find the strength within himself to visit his young friend's grave.

Mike cleared his throat. "Hey, Toby," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "I, I just want to apologize for not visiting you sooner. I was still a little shook up by your death. But I want you to know that I won't let that happen again." He cleared his throat again. "Anyway, I want you to know that I'm real proud of how you turned out." Mike sniffed as he gathered his thoughts. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Toby, thank you for serving your country and the sacrifice you made to protect it and its citizens."