~*~
Mike Logan hated walking the dreary streets of Staten Island with a yappy twenty-something at his side. He hated it more than anything he'd ever hated in his entire life. Hated it more than the murderers and rapists he'd helped to put away seven years ago when he was still a detective. He didn't belong on the streets with a club on one hip and a gun on the other, his badge pinned neatly to his navy blue uniform. That shiny silver badge had taken the place of the pin he always used to wear; the American flag. Everything that he had believed in had been taken away because of one mistake. One simple mistake.
The young woman he was currently working the beat with never seemed to close her mouth and Mike could swear that he could feel himself beginning to go insane. Her endless yapping was pointless and worthless, office gossip, occasionally her personal life which Mike couldn't have cared less about. Sometimes he felt the urge to punch her in the face because of her annoying drivel, but so far he had been able to contain himself.
*I'm living a fucking lie,* he thought, unconsciously touching the badge he wore. Everything in his life had been right, for once. Maybe he hadn't been rich or in love, but he was happy. Being a detective had made him happy for a few years, happier than he'd ever been before. It had been hard and there had been struggles, but he was an easy going guy and problems rolled off his shoulders easily. Mike had found a place where he belonged, a place where he had found friends; Lennie and Claire.
It was hard to think about them. Lennie had gone through two partners since Mike and probably didn't even think about him anymore. Mike knew that to the entire two-seven he was just 'that stupid detective with a temper'. Well, maybe he had been stupid but he had been happy. They shouldn't have been allowed to just take everything away.
And Claire . . . it hurt him so badly to think about Claire. She had died only a year after he had been demoted and when Jack McCoy called him with the news, Mike realized that he hadn't bothered to call her or see her in more than eight months. There was nothing he could do about it now; she was dead and he was still alive. Alone . . . but alive.
Alone he would remain, patrolling empty streets day and night, pretending that he made a difference in the world. It was painful, being demoted from something that he had been so passionate about to this. This world of fake authority, a world where he had no say in a case even though he knew he could help. The detectives looked at him and laughed, like he was just some useless piece of garbage. A forty year old man, still walking the beat. How would they ever know that he had once been one of them?
*A fucking lie!* he thought again, clenching his fists tightly.
He was better than this, better than all of this. Mike Logan was a damn good detective, he knew it and so did the entire twenty seventh precinct, yet no one would stand up for him. Seven years away, they had told him he'd be back in two. Jack McCoy had put a bet on the fact that Mike would be reinstated after two years.
*Fifty dollars, down the drain,* Mike thought bitterly and suppressed the acrid smile that had found a home on his face during the past seven years.
His thoughts ran hot all the time, angry thoughts of betrayal and revenge. They had left him for the dogs and no one had come to save him. His best friends were gone, they had forgotten about him within days, he was suddenly sure of it. Everything had fallen apart around him and it was only that goddamn politician who could hold the blame. It was all his fault.
Mike growled deeply in his throat and his partner looked at him.
"Nothing," he muttered before she could even ask what he had said.
Seven years was far too long for Mike Logan to be walking the beat in Staten Island. His anger boiled over in that moment and he knew what he had to do. When they returned to the car he would request a transfer form be sent over to the two-seven. He would prove to them that he could come back, he would make Anita Van Buren take him back and make him Lennie's partner again. He would force her to do it.
"I need a transfer request sent to the twenty seventh precinct," he growled into the radio when they arrived at the car. Mike waited for a response, then looked over at his partner who was talking to the men who would take over their shift. She glanced away from Mike when he met her eye and continued talking quietly.
Mike Logan sat in his car and waited.
~*~
"He's finally gone off the deep end," Allison Haley said to two other officers. "He's been growling about requesting a transfer to the two-seven for years now. I guess it just doesn't compute in his brain that the two-seven is gone."
One of the other officers nodded slowly, "When did that happen? Six years ago now?"
Allison nodded. "It was 2002 that the building exploded. I'm sure glad that McCoy got the sick fuck who planted the bomb." She shook her head sadly. "Thirty eight detectives killed, Lennie Briscoe was among them."
"That was Logan's partner, right?"
"Yeah," Allison said. "He just refuses to believe that it's gone. Briscoe, Van Buren . . . they're all dead. He still thinks he's been walking the beat for only seven years and that he'll get back to the two-seven in no time. I feel real sorry for him. He just keeps living this lie."
End
Notes: hehehe, please don't flame me for this. It had to come out, it just had to. I like writing stories about my favourite characters gone nutty. Hmmm, who can I pick on next? :)
Mike Logan hated walking the dreary streets of Staten Island with a yappy twenty-something at his side. He hated it more than anything he'd ever hated in his entire life. Hated it more than the murderers and rapists he'd helped to put away seven years ago when he was still a detective. He didn't belong on the streets with a club on one hip and a gun on the other, his badge pinned neatly to his navy blue uniform. That shiny silver badge had taken the place of the pin he always used to wear; the American flag. Everything that he had believed in had been taken away because of one mistake. One simple mistake.
The young woman he was currently working the beat with never seemed to close her mouth and Mike could swear that he could feel himself beginning to go insane. Her endless yapping was pointless and worthless, office gossip, occasionally her personal life which Mike couldn't have cared less about. Sometimes he felt the urge to punch her in the face because of her annoying drivel, but so far he had been able to contain himself.
*I'm living a fucking lie,* he thought, unconsciously touching the badge he wore. Everything in his life had been right, for once. Maybe he hadn't been rich or in love, but he was happy. Being a detective had made him happy for a few years, happier than he'd ever been before. It had been hard and there had been struggles, but he was an easy going guy and problems rolled off his shoulders easily. Mike had found a place where he belonged, a place where he had found friends; Lennie and Claire.
It was hard to think about them. Lennie had gone through two partners since Mike and probably didn't even think about him anymore. Mike knew that to the entire two-seven he was just 'that stupid detective with a temper'. Well, maybe he had been stupid but he had been happy. They shouldn't have been allowed to just take everything away.
And Claire . . . it hurt him so badly to think about Claire. She had died only a year after he had been demoted and when Jack McCoy called him with the news, Mike realized that he hadn't bothered to call her or see her in more than eight months. There was nothing he could do about it now; she was dead and he was still alive. Alone . . . but alive.
Alone he would remain, patrolling empty streets day and night, pretending that he made a difference in the world. It was painful, being demoted from something that he had been so passionate about to this. This world of fake authority, a world where he had no say in a case even though he knew he could help. The detectives looked at him and laughed, like he was just some useless piece of garbage. A forty year old man, still walking the beat. How would they ever know that he had once been one of them?
*A fucking lie!* he thought again, clenching his fists tightly.
He was better than this, better than all of this. Mike Logan was a damn good detective, he knew it and so did the entire twenty seventh precinct, yet no one would stand up for him. Seven years away, they had told him he'd be back in two. Jack McCoy had put a bet on the fact that Mike would be reinstated after two years.
*Fifty dollars, down the drain,* Mike thought bitterly and suppressed the acrid smile that had found a home on his face during the past seven years.
His thoughts ran hot all the time, angry thoughts of betrayal and revenge. They had left him for the dogs and no one had come to save him. His best friends were gone, they had forgotten about him within days, he was suddenly sure of it. Everything had fallen apart around him and it was only that goddamn politician who could hold the blame. It was all his fault.
Mike growled deeply in his throat and his partner looked at him.
"Nothing," he muttered before she could even ask what he had said.
Seven years was far too long for Mike Logan to be walking the beat in Staten Island. His anger boiled over in that moment and he knew what he had to do. When they returned to the car he would request a transfer form be sent over to the two-seven. He would prove to them that he could come back, he would make Anita Van Buren take him back and make him Lennie's partner again. He would force her to do it.
"I need a transfer request sent to the twenty seventh precinct," he growled into the radio when they arrived at the car. Mike waited for a response, then looked over at his partner who was talking to the men who would take over their shift. She glanced away from Mike when he met her eye and continued talking quietly.
Mike Logan sat in his car and waited.
~*~
"He's finally gone off the deep end," Allison Haley said to two other officers. "He's been growling about requesting a transfer to the two-seven for years now. I guess it just doesn't compute in his brain that the two-seven is gone."
One of the other officers nodded slowly, "When did that happen? Six years ago now?"
Allison nodded. "It was 2002 that the building exploded. I'm sure glad that McCoy got the sick fuck who planted the bomb." She shook her head sadly. "Thirty eight detectives killed, Lennie Briscoe was among them."
"That was Logan's partner, right?"
"Yeah," Allison said. "He just refuses to believe that it's gone. Briscoe, Van Buren . . . they're all dead. He still thinks he's been walking the beat for only seven years and that he'll get back to the two-seven in no time. I feel real sorry for him. He just keeps living this lie."
End
Notes: hehehe, please don't flame me for this. It had to come out, it just had to. I like writing stories about my favourite characters gone nutty. Hmmm, who can I pick on next? :)