Angels and Ministers of Grace
Chapter 10
"Fuck!"
Mike Logan cursed, clutching his left shoulder. Jack McCoy, back against a tree, was fine, at least; after yet another run in with Renautas agents. Mike Logan hadn't been quite as lucky this time.
Hissing with the pain, he probed at the gunshot wound in his left shoulder. He felt the bullet, sighed in relief.
Not lodged into the bone, at least. Something to be grateful for…
In the immediate aftermath of the…incident, Logan had ordered Jack McCoy to gather all the guns and ammunition. Then, they had fled the area, seeking a safe place where Logan could…deal with his injury…
Now, here he was, feeling at the bullet at his shoulder. He could dig the damn thing out with a tweezer.
But he would need Jack McCoy's help.
Logan sat himself against a tree, wincing as he pulled the blood-stained shirt up and over his head. Jack McCoy was…hovering nearby…pacing frantically.
"Jack, come over here," Logan beckoned him over. "Gonna need your help, buddy."
McCoy knelt by his side, staring at the blood, at the gunshot wound.
"I don't know how to take bullets out," Jack was trembling.
"I do," Logan assured him. "But I need you to hold me steady."
McCoy nodded uncertainly.
"I can do that," he finally said.
"Good…" again, Logan looked at the wound. The bullet was right there. He wouldn't have to dig too deep. He picked up the tweezer, and took a deep breath.
"Okay, Jack," he smiled tightly. "Here's what I want you to do…"
Jack McCoy seemed to get the idea. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Mike Logan, immobilizing the left arm and shoulder, leaving the right arm free. Now, Mike Logan could dig the bullet out.
Oh…joy.
"You're doing well, Jack," he murmured. "Just hang on to me, buddy…"
This wasn't going to be fun at all…
Sighing, Logan got to work with the tweezers.
It hurt…oh…god…it hurt…
But, finally, the bullet lay in his trembling hand. It slipped from his fingers as he laid his head on Jack McCoy's shoulder, breath coming in shuddering gasps. Logan just wanted to close his eyes and rest.
Not yet…
"Jack, get my First Aid Kit."
It was out, just a few feet away, but Logan was in no condition to get it himself…
McCoy let go, and Logan leaned back against the tree as the other man retrieved the kit. The worst part was over. All that remained was to clean and bandage the wound.
Logan sighed as he pulled on a clean shirt, watched Jack McCoy pick up the old shirt and stuff it into his backpack.
He put the hydrogen peroxide away along with the bandages, hauled himself back to his feet. He reeled, would have fallen, but Jack McCoy caught him, held him steady.
"Thanks, Jack," Logan leaned on McCoy. "We gotta move, buddy."
All their gear was packed and ready to go.
He sighed. Jack McCoy was carrying both backpacks now, and probably would for the next couple of days.
How do I keep us alive?
How do I keep McCoy alive?
If Jack McCoy died…
Well…Logan was fairly sure he would be dead first. But if Jack died…
That would break Adam's heart…
1 Hogan Place
Adam Schiff was on-edge today, and even Anita Van Buren's presence wasn't helping. It had been over a week since Sal Contarini had sent him that email; and, after that lone email…
Nothing…Zip…Zilch…and Nil…
Schiff sighed.
Now, I'm worrying over both of them…
The office door opened, and Abbie Carmichael walked in, followed by Darren Marth.
"Any news?" Schiff demanded.
"Nothing from FIPP, Adam," Marth replied. "But Ms. Carmichael has some news."
Abbie looked grim.
"More bad news?" Schiff looked up at her.
Please…no deaths…
"A team of Renautas agents was killed last night, in Pennsylvania," Abbie explained. "The bullets were traced to Mike Logan's gun. No sign of him, or Jack…"
She paused briefly.
"The local CSUsthink one of them may have been shot," she continued. "There were indications of…field surgery…about an hour's walk away. A bullet was found there; the blood seems to suggest it was Mike who caught the bullet."
Adam Schiff wanted to lay his head down and weep.
When is this going to end? With both Jack and Mike dead?
He threw down his pen in disgust.
"There's nothing we can do to help them?"
Silence reigned. Then, Lieutenant Van Buren cleared her throat.
"In his email to you," she said. "Mike referenced the Lord of the Rings Trilogy…"
"Which I've never read…" Schiff sighed.
"Okay," Van Buren said. "I'll explain. Frodo and Sam had to take the Ring to Mount Doom, in Mordor. But this didn't happen in a vacuum. They had the hardest part, getting the Ring where it had to go; but they weren't alone. They had friends…allies…who did everything in their power to help Frodo and Sam get where they had to go."
"So, what do we do?" Darren Marth asked. "Establish a grapevine?"
"Yes!" Van Buren nodded. "You have contacts among the Evos, don't you, Darren? Send the message out through the grapevine. Let them know Jack and Mike need help to get them both to Canada, to…Haven, I think it is?"
Marth was smiling.
"How did you know?" he asked.
"Takes one to know one," Van Buren was smiling too. "Let's do our best to help our friends."
Nodding, Darren Marth stepped out of the office, and Adam Schiff was left wondering what the hell he had just missed.
Not that it mattered. Only Jack McCoy and Mike Logan mattered.
Getting the two of them safely home…
Mike Logan, sitting on a bench in a Manhattan park.
"You know…" Lennie Briscoe strode up, sat next to him. "You have an unparalleled talent for dropping yourself right into the soup."
"It's Jack McCoy," Logan shrugged. "Tell me you wouldn't have done the same."
"Yeah…" Lennie nodded, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Like getting yourself killed is going to help the Counselor. When did you forget how to duck?"
"They caught me by surprise, Lennie," Logan objected.
"So…Be Careful!" Lennie scolded. "If you die, the Counselor is going to be right up shit creek, and you know it! He cannot do this on his own. You die, he dies. So, don't get yourself killed, Mike."
"It's not my plan to get killed, Lennie," Logan sighed, heard Briscoe snort. Briscoe poked Logan's shoulder, sending shockwaves of pain passing through his body.
"Get that looked at Mike," Lennie ordered. "And clean it. You don't want an infection."
Mike Logan opened his eyes. Early morning, the Sun just beginning to show over the horizon. Logan forced himself to sit, left shoulder screaming in protest.
Lennie…Damn…I miss him…
But Dream-Lennie was right.
Sighing, Logan stripped off his shirt, looked at his shoulder.
No infection. Yet…
More Hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound, and clean bandaging too. That done, he pulled his shirt back on and hauled himself to his feet, only wobbling a little bit this time.
Jack McCoy lay nearby, curled up, trembling, in the throes of a nightmare.
"Claire…" he was muttering her name in his sleep.
Great…he's dreaming of Claire again.
"Hey, Jack," Logan knelt, patted McCoy's shoulder. "Wake up, buddy…"
McCoy jerked awake, such despair in tear-stained eyes.
"She's dead…" he whispered. "I couldn't save her…"
"It's just a dream, Jack," Logan hoped there would be someone to help McCoy, if they managed to survive this.
Emil Skoda, or Elizabeth Olivet…
As of now, they had surviving this ahead of them.
McCoy managed to pull himself together.
"Will you need help?" he asked.
"For the next few days, yes," Logan nodded.
After a quick breakfast, the two men headed off, Logan leaning on McCoy for support; heading for Canada, for a place inside Canada.
A place called…Haven.