"Hey baby." No reply. "Bad day?" He went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge even before he dropped his badge and locked up his piece. Five years a cop's wife, she knew how to read.
"Usual."
She went to him, laid a hand on his hip. "Yeah?" He nodded, then told her about the vic, a teenage girl, found in the park. Usual, but the kids always got to him more. She led him to the sofa by his belt and pulled him down with her.
"Hey," she repeated.
Strained smile.
She leaned closer. "Hey," and she was answered by a sweet kiss. Always sweet, no matter the day.
"Hey." His smile loosened, realizing the regularness and that he was home safe from the job, and he stretched long arms to surround her for another kiss. "Good day?"
She nodded up at him. "Yeah. Real good. Grants answered with big bucks." She was on the board of a school she'd first known through an investigation of his. Photography. Outreach to poor and deprived kids. Who knew it had such a success rate, more than the regular schools. Kids stayed in public school, went on to college. Some became professionals. She didn't know one end of a camera from the other, really. Strictly PHD, Press Here Dummy. It didn't slow her down though, she beat the pavement and the school guidance offices with a vengeance, the Recruiter from Hell. And she did have an eye for good photographs, quite a few adorned their apartment, all black and white. "Why no color?" he asked her once. "Color distracts from the essence," she told him. It was a bullshit line and she knew it, but couldn't think of any other way to express it. He had to agree. Their wedding pictures were black and white, because it was all they could afford. But they captured the essence.
"Glad one of us made out." Medium sigh. This was a good thing; a heavy sigh meant he was deeply troubled. Well shit, he was a mostly-homicide detective, after all. The beginning of everycase was a bad day, and the way the police work went every day was a mix of beginning, middle, and end. When one began and one ended (ended right, anyway) at the same time, it was break-even. Sometimes better than that. Unlike lots of cops he did talk to his wife about work, when he was at a dead end or in a tight puzzle and just needed any crazy idea that might come from the outside. They knew it was against the rules and they weren't the first ones who broke them. But when it got to him toodeep he didn't really talk. Again unlike some other cops the stress and darkness didn't play out in the usual way, with short temper and aggression. When Mike was feeling used up and black-hearted he compensated by showering Merry with all the affection he could express. "In my line of work the world sucks, and people are monsters, and life is dark as a fucking coal mine," he told her once. "Then I come home and see you, and get reminded how full of shit I am." That was about as mushy as Mike ever got, but she didn't mind. If he wasn't much of a romantic, well neither was she. They'd both seen too much to cling to that kind of thing. But they were good at being together, good at finding the best in each other, and very, very good at setting each other right when they were veering off course. Still, there were times when Mike's own demons got stirred up by whatever case he might be working on, like that little girl with the psycho shrink father and abused, drug addicted mother. He went in so deep at those times it was hard to find him., so she just let him be quiet and hung around and waited for him to come back. Come hell or high water, though, bad days or good for him or her, the one code word that meant "here I am" was "Hey".
"Hey."
His look was questioning. What, he wanted to know, what.
"Nothin." She kissed him again. "You did good. I know you did. You always do. Don't make me give you the Lecture."
He rolled his eyes and laughed, fully, finally. The Lecture. Where she told him everything he did made a difference, win or lose, it made a difference to the families and friends of the vics especially. Sure they'd love it if every perp went in for life but that just didn't always happen. Not always for sleazy reasons, either. Sometimes the jury just wasn't convinced, for all the cops and the D.A. and the judge told them. Fair enough. But not fair. And he took it hard, especially on a day like today when he had to bring the parents of a (maybe) wholesome high school kid to the morgue to identify their daughter's beat-up body. But Merry came back harder, on days like these, and it saved his soul more often than not. She sat quietly holding his right (gun) hand, running her fingers over the palm like a blind gypsy.
"How about we have Lennie for dinner tonight?" she asked. Lennie could probably use a little TLC too, and he lived alone.
He asked with a wiseass grin, "You goin' cannibal?"
Merry Logan knew though Mike spent more than half his life with his partner, social company was different. And she did love Lennie. After all, he watched her husband's back in a way she could never imagine doing. For that alone she loved him. But once she got to know him, she knew it would've happened anyway. He and Lennie had been working together almost two years now. He was a good match for Mikey, laconic and laid back where her husband could sometimes get wound tighter than a cheap watch. If other teams were good cop/bad cop, Mike and Lennie were fast cop/slow cop. It worked well. And she'd left nothing to trust, nothing to chance, and no word unspoken when Detective Leonard Briscoe was first assigned to partner Mike.
"Hey. Detective Logan around? I was supposed to meet him..." she trailed off. She wasn't used to coming into the squad looking for him, but since Phil had been shot she was sticking pretty close. After Max, then Phil barely a year later, well she just stuck close. The detective with the careworn, sort of basset hound face looked up from his paperwork. At Phil's desk. At Max's desk.
"He's gone on a hospital visit. Can I help you?" It had only been a few days, but by now he had to know Mike was married. Was he wondering if this was an outsider? She took the plunge, leaning down and sticking out her hand.
"Meredith Ryan Logan. Call me Merry." The detective got to his feet, not sprang, simply rose as one might do for any social nicety.
"Lennie Briscoe. I'm your husband's new partner."
She nodded. "Yeah. I know. He's mentioned you." She sat at Mike's desk, and looked around a little awkwardly as Lennie paused in his paperwork. "So I guess he went to see Phil."
"Yeah, he should be back any minute. Was bringing him about forty pounds of those little Italian cookies."
"Biscotti Amerettini," she laughed. "Elaine'll kill him." An unnatural silence descended, broken finally by Briscoe.
"So, Mrs. Logan,"
"Merry."
"So, Merry." He shifted a little, not exactly uneasy but aware he was being studied, and chuckled under his breath. "Why do I suddenly feel like I'm on a job interview."
He was straightforward. Good. She liked that. She sat forward in Mike's chair, leaned her chin in her hand, and looked back at Lennie Briscoe, wanting to know him all at once. He saved her the strain.
"So Merry, let's just put it on the table. I'm Mike's new partner, and I guess you might be wondering some things to yourself."
"Not for long, I don't think."
He laughed again, more openly this time, and loosened up. "Well in four days we haven't 'bonded', but he has talked a little. Said his wife speaks her mind." He looked her in the eye, with an expression that invited everything she might want to say. "So, speak."
"Detective Briscoe,"
"Lennie."
"Lennie. Yeah you're right." She hastened to explain, "I didn't know Mike wouldn't be here, really. But since he's not, well yeah. It could turn out to be a job interview, even if I can't turn you down." Just then Tony Profaci strode by en route to who knows where a cop might be going in the middle of the day, but he paused long enough to greet her. "Hey, Irish, whassup?" and bent to kiss her cheek. She returned the quick kiss. "Just checking out the new blood, Tony."
"You better measure up, Briscoe," he said earnestly. "This lady is thelaw." Then he whooshed off to wherever.
She took a breath. She wasn't feeling hesitant at all, was clear and solid in what she wanted to say, but unsure of how this "new blood" would take it. She didn't want to queer things between Mike and his new partner. She knew that if Mike knew she was doing this he wouldn't be pleased. It was an unspoken agreement that she not get involved in his work.
"Okay, Lennie. I gotta tell you I know you've got a long career and have mostly been a good cop."
An arched eyebrow. "Mostly."
"Yeah. When it counts, on the street, in the field. The, ah, questions have been 'administrative'." She put the word in quotations so he would know that she knew the difference.
"You've done some homework."
"I have contacts in records." Silence. She shrugged. "Hey, I'm a cop's wife. I know my way around and I'm not shy to go there."
Briscoe leaned his chair (Phil's chair, Max's chair) back and smiled. "After only five minutes, why am I not surprised?"
She leaned forward. "Okay, no bullshit. You watch Mike's back. I need to know whoever does that does it right. Everything I've found out about you says you will. But I need you to know, if I ever doubt that, I will raise holy hell. With IAD, with Cragen, with anyone who will listen."
"That might make me think you have pull."
She focused like laser. "Pull? No. Balls, yeah."
"I thought I heard something clank when you sat down." He didn't usually talk like this to women he'd just met, but something told him it was okay. When she laughed he was sure.
But then she sighed and looked away for a minute, then back to Lennie. "Look. Look. We've been through one partner killed, and one shot next-to-dead, in a little less than two years. And at the same time I've been trying to hold Mike together I've thought oh shit it could have been him. I have to do this. I have to make sure in my mind, in my heart, that whoever is out there with him is someone I can depend on, not just him. Don't worry, in a few weeks he'll be bonded to you like crazy glue. He always is. Oh, right now he's going through the Change Anxiety but he'll attach. And so will I. You're my family now, just like him. Because I know that partners go deeper than family, than husband and wife. Because odds are I won't ever be in the position where I can save his life. But you will be. You are. And I don't have the right to be here or to say these things, and you could get someone hammered in Records for telling me shit. But you won't." She shut up for a minute, then added "Am I making sense? Or am I just your new partner's bitch wife?"
"Not that there's anything wrong with that," he told her with a half-smile. "But I know why you're asking. And I won't ask the same questions about Mike. Because after only four days, I know."
They locked eyes, saying nothing for a moment. Lennie went back to finishing his filing and said matter-of-factly, "But don't gettooattached to me. Your husband keeps telling me I'm just a temp."
She laughed almost inaudibly and shook her head. "Yeah, and he keeps telling me I still look twenty-five. Not that he knew me then." She looked at Phil's nameplate, still on the desk where Lennie was working. She didn't realize her face went so sad all of a sudden, until Lennie said, "It's a real kick in the ass, isn't it? Everybody rallies around the partner but it shakes up the 'significant others' in a whole different way. So who holds them together, huh?"
"You married, Lennie?"
"Not lately. I gave it up for Lent."
She really was beginning to like this guy, even though Mikey tended to bitch about him. It was the New Partner bitch, not really about Lennie at all. It was the Not-Phil bitch, who started out dealing with the Not-Max bitch. "At least Phil's still alive," she said apropos of nothing.
"Yeah, that's a real plus," he agreed.
"What's going on here? Less than a week, and already you're hitting on my wife?"
Mike, clearly taken aback by Merry's presence at his desk, and looking a little upset.
"No way, she's too much woman for me. But you got yourself a prizewinner. In case you didn't know."
He kissed her as she rose from his chair. "Trust me, I know. But whaddaya doing here, middle of the day? Everything okay?" He peered into her eyes for clues.
"Yeah. Just passing by and figured I'd say hello." Phil had only been shot two weeks ago. She was still very edgy, and he knew it.
"So how's Big Daddy doing?" she asked him. He frowned, deeply, and told Lennie, "Might as well unpack. Phil got kicked upstairs to the 110th detectives' administrative desk." Merry sighed inwardly. Mike had been fighting that battle with reality he engaged in now and then, insisting that Phil would be back after a little rehab. Elaine had told her about the nerve damage and weakness in his legs, but Mike wouldn't let it go. Merry didn't try to talk him out of it, but her silence on the subject spoke volumes. He'd tried to pick a couple of debates over it, to pound his points home enough so he'd really believe it himself, but the most she'd say was "Let's just wait and see how it goes." Now she just ran a hand down his already-perfect tie to straighten it and said, "Sounds like a good move. He deserves the promotion. And a break from you," she tried to tease, but it fell flat. Their eyes locked, sharing everything as always. "Yeah, I know." He kissed her again, longer this time. A whistle from across the squad room.
"I'd pay to see more!" Detective Bradley called out.
"Vice is down the hall," Merry countered sharply. "Do let the door hit you in the ass."
"You got good taste in wives, Mike," Lennie told him. "I was never real good at it, myself." Merry looked confused, and Mike leaned down with a confidential wink and told her in a stage whisper, "Three time loser."
Bradley was muttering, and finally announced, "Smart mouth like that needs some schooling."
Mike laughed out loud. "She could kick your ass from here to Yonkers. Better shut your own mouth while you still got teeth in it." Everyone broke up.
Merry extended her hand to Lennie once again, leaning against the arm Mike had around her waist. "Welcome to the family, Lennie Briscoe. We put the fun in dysfunctional."
"Okay, sure. I'll give Lennie a call."
She knew it wouldn't be entirely a shop talk night. Lennie Briscoe was a bottomless pit of stories, some from work, many others just from life. He was the kind of person, if she'd just met him at work or at a coffee shop or something, she'd want to be friends.
"What's for dinner?" he asked Mike, who called out, "Lennie wants to know what's for dinner?"
"Tonight's menu is take it or leave it," Merry hollered from the kitchen.
Before Mike could relay the message Briscoe told him, "I heard that just fine. Guess I've worked my way up from 'eat it or wear it'. When you gonna teach the little woman some manners?"
Mike laughed darkly. "When I swap my gonads for steel bearings. Half hour, hour?"
"Give or take. Make sure you're dressed when I get there." Lennie was always ragging on Mike about his perpetual honeymoon.
"No promises."
For all her bold talk, Merry was already working on what she knew was Lennie's favorite: lemon/pepper/tarragon chicken, peppermint carrots, green beans, huge salad, and lots of Parmesan garlic mashed potatoes. Both Lennie and Mike could put away pounds of her mashed potatoes so she had to make plenty whenever Lennie came over, to avoid conflict. Everything was home made, and everything was fresh-bought from the Korean grocer on the corner. Mr. Paik knew Merry well, and often held aside the best produce he had when he knew she was coming in, just as often cutting her a discount. "A nice customer like you, you're not married to Donald Trump," he'd say with a smile. He knew that, for all her busy schedule, Merry loved to cook and she was very picky about ingredients. He respected that. Too many people would just grab the first convenient thing, and had no idea how to judge a good piece of fruit or a fresh vegetable.
It was true, Merry did love to cook. It helped her unwind from the stress of being the "security coordinator" at a nearby club. In the kitchen as at work, she was meticulous and exacting. When Mike cooked, which was as frequently as Merry would allow, he welcomed company and conversation. She, however, banished everyone from the kitchen while she worked.
Once, long ago, Mike had made the unwise suggestion that Merry might save some time making dinner if she used frozen veggies.
"And you might save some time in the morning if you slept in your suit," she'd responded, drily enough to crumble jello. Point taken.
"I recognize that aroma..." Lennie sang as he swept into the apartment. "The harbinger of paradise..."
"It's chicken," Mike informed him, rolling his eyes as he took his partner's coat. "Get a grip."
Merry leaned out of the kitchen. "He was right the first time, asshole. Why don't youdrag your refined palate to the nearest dog wagon where it'll be appreciated? They must be running you a tab by now."
"I love the way you two lovebirds sweet-talk," Briscoe ventured to the kitchen door (but no further, being no fool) to kiss her hello. "Hiya gorgeous. When you gonna lose this bum and hook up with some real class?"
"I dunno," she mused, heading back to check the oven, "when is Johnny Depp gonna be single again?"
"Ooh," both men groaned in unison, clutching their guts as if shot. Then Mike suggested, "Hey let's go check out the Yankees, and leave Martha in the kitchen where all women belong." He mimed ducking, and rushed snickering into the living room.
"Don't get rug burns on your knuckles, dear," she called after them and added, Bostonian to the core, "and Yankees SUCK!
As they sat on the sofa and Mike clicked on the TV Lennie mused, "Y'know, if I'd proposed to a woman like that I'd still be married."
Mike snorted. "If you'd proposed to a woman like that you'd still be in traction."
"Right. I see you'redoing okay, Mr. Sensitive New Age Guy."
Fake shudder. "I'm holding my own."
Lennie just shook his head, rolled his eyes, and laughed. If ever he'd met a man who was stoned-stupid-lost in love, it was his wiseass partner.
