Only Sense

How then, ah wo is me! shall that chaste fire,
which burns the heart within me, be made known,
if sense finds only sense in what it sees?
"Love Misinterpreted" - M. Buonarroti

5/18/04
jesse
[for Cassatt, for pointing out the possibilities in the first place and then graciously allowing me to play in her world, and for a thoughtful, kick-ass beta as well. Any remaining hinky spots are completely the author's fault.]

#####

He heard them about the time he got to the door, the well-known, distinctive baritone and another, slightly deeper voice that he thought sounded familiar as well. After a pause, Ed Green rapped on the dented surface with his knuckles. The murmur of voices stopped, changed to the muffled sound of footsteps and the click of a lock.

"Green's Movers, at your service," Ed quipped cheerfully as the door swung open.

"Oh, so I'm actually gonna get some honest work outta you?" Lennie Briscoe cracked back, looking up and down Ed's jeans and sweatshirt clad form with a grin. "C'mon in, grab a box."

Ed followed the older detective inside, shutting the door behind himself. His partner was dressed more casually than Ed had ever seen him, in battered khakis and a button-down denim shirt.

Lennie waved a hand at the other occupant of the small main room. "Ed, you remember Mike Logan?"

"Your old partner, sure I do." Ed stepped forward, recalling a quick lunch meeting some time ago, consulting about a case that seemed to overlap one that Lennie had caught during the 'Logan' years. He held out a hand to the man just coming to his feet. "Mike, good to meet you again."

"Ed," Logan replied with a nod, returning Ed's grip firmly.

Lennie's former partner had that Irish black-and-white look: pale skin and dark, dark hair. Ed guessed Logan to be in his forties, hair threatening to gray at the temples, but still in fighting shape with no sign of paunch that Ed could see. The gray green eyes were the cynical, reserved ones of a cop, sharp beneath heavy dark brows; but they were offset as well with tiny lines that hinted that this man liked to laugh. He was tall, too, Ed's own height or better, with an aquiline profile a bit like his lover EADA Jack McCoy's-- Damn. What is it about the Irish, anyway? Fine- looking people....

"So," he said to Lennie, shaking himself out of his perhaps second-too-long perusal. "Where you want me to start?"

"Kitchen'd be good, not that there's a lot in there. And you," Lennie said with a grin, pointing a long finger at Logan, whose eyes had gone bright and crinkled at the edges with some inner amusement, "you can just shut up."

"Me? I didn't say anything," Logan protested, clapping a hand to his own chest, his attempt at disingenuousness failing completely.

"I know you, Mike," Lennie shot back, and the tall Irishman laughed, proving those tiny lines right.

#####

Logan proved to have a quick, sardonic wit that was nearly as sharp as Lennie's, and in fairly short order he went from being Logan to being Mike in Ed's mind. Ed liked him, or liked him as much as Mike would allow, anyway. He got the feeling that while Mike would make a great drinking buddy, the man didn't get close to people very fast, or very often.

He also saw the subtle change in demeanor every time Lennie was in the room, and understood that his partner was one of the special few.

Ed knew how the team of Briscoe & Logan had been broken up, of course. Everybody employed by the NYPD at the time knew how Logan had slugged a bigoted, gay-bashing city councilman in full view of nearly every reporter in New York City, and gotten himself temporarily demoted and banished to Staten Island as punishment. He had only recently clawed his way back up to something approaching respectability, with the good word of a former superior and the help of a former partner who had some pull. The NYPD grapevine said he was finally working Homicide again, at the 1-10 in Queens North.

In fact, Ed had taken the opportunity one recent evening to pick Jack's brain about the whole thing. Lennie's voice always held this little-- something--when he mentioned Logan, and Ed had become curious about both the incident and the man.

"Lennie and I have never been close, but I know he took it hard," Jack had told him. They'd been collapsed on the couch together, unwinding from the day, and Jack had described the scene as he and his then-ADA Claire Kincaid had watched it unfold. "He and Mike Logan really were two of a kind, and they worked well together. It took a long time before he and Rey Curtis found a stride. I think he resented Curtis for being different from Mike, and he blamed Mike for being stupid."

Ed couldn't help but recall how long it had taken he and Lennie to find their own working ground, but that was water under the bridge.

"Not that Crossly didn't richly deserve to be popped," Jack went on. He was tracing an aimless pattern on Ed's thigh with one finger as he talked, the very unconsciousness of it warming Ed's heart. "He was a son of a bitch and between you and me, I'm glad that his constituents wised up eventually and threw him out of office. But Logan's job was to uphold the law, not make his own, as much as I might've wanted to cheer him on."

Ed took a moment to consider his answer. "That's our job, yeah," he agreed softly. "But I gotta tell you, I drank me a little private toast that night when I heard about it. Didn't know Logan from Adam, of course, but that didn't matter. It just felt good that somebody gave an actual damn."

Watching that same detective now, he found that he wanted to raise a glass again, for whatever Mike's reason had been. A blow against bigotry was still a blow.

#####

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, the three of them packing up Lennie's apartment for his move to new digs. Ed was more than happy to help his partner get a change in location--as far as he was concerned, this place was a firetrap and certainly no place that a good cop should be living. Lennie's new place was a little further from the 2-7, but a nicer building in a quieter neighborhood, a definite improvement. And speaking of improvements, he was about to have words with his partner on the subject of furniture.

Except that Mike beat him to it.

"Honestly, why are you even gonna move some of this stuff?" Mike asked around a mouthful of the pizza they'd ordered for dinner. "We could just leave that chair and the couch out for somebody to take, get you some new furniture. Got a line on a place in Chelsea that's got some nice stuff cheap."

"Y'know, that's an excellent idea," Ed chimed in. "No offense, man, but some of this really could stand to hit the dumpster."

Lennie's head came up, dark eyes narrowed. "Because, Mr. and Mr. Interior Designers, that costs money which I don't feel like spending right now," he snapped. The sudden edge in his voice was far sharper than usual--clearly this was more than the man's normal low level annoyance-at-everything. "I just wanted your help moving, not redesigning my life."

Ed nearly did a spit-take with his drink. Whoa, hot button!

"Hey, sorry!" Mike said in obvious surprise, throwing up a hand as if to ward off Lennie's glare. "I thought Julia was finished with school? Figured maybe things would have eased up a bit."

Lennie eyed them both irritatedly a moment longer, then leaned back in his chair, his long face relaxing a little. "She is. But it still doesn't mean I'm looking to spend major money right now."

Mike nodded, drew a finger across his mouth in the universal "I'm shutting up now" sign, and changed the subject.

Ed watched the two of them for a few moments before rejoining the conversation, which was now basketball and the Knicks' chances this season. Man hasn't been Lennie's partner for what, eight years? And still keeps track of his kid? Interesting ....

#####

Just how interesting, he didn't realize until about a half hour later, when Mike was working on emptying the bookshelves, and an envelope that had been stuffed between two volumes got away from him. Ed turned from his end of the shelves as Mike swore, not quite under his breath, and crouched down to begin gathering up the contents of the old manila 9x12 which had split apart when it hit the floor. So he was looking right at Mike as the other man slowed and stopped, staring at the papers--no, pictures in his hands.

"Mike?" Ed questioned, moving toward him, struck by the expression on his face. That little sixth sense--his 'radar', as he thought of it--was beginning to ping.

Lennie's voice drifted in from the hall. "Problems?"

There was a few seconds' delay before Mike answered, his gaze still glued to the photos he was holding. "It's fine, Lennie. Just--picking up some pictures that spilled accidentally, sorry."

"Pictures? Of what?"

"You," Ed said quietly, almost to himself, now at Mike's shoulder. "Looks like family stuff," he continued more loudly, as footsteps told of Lennie's approach. "You, some other people. Early 70s, maybe."

Lennie came into the room, his eyebrows pulled down and together in puzzlement or concern. "Lemme see those."

Mike wordlessly held out some of the photos as Lennie crouched next to him, took them from his hand. Ed moved, coming around to kneel on Lennie's other side.

Lennie looked at the top picture silently for a few moments, then shook his head, snorting. "Oh, brother. Talk about ancient history--I don't think we'd been married two years when that was taken."

"So that's--, " Ed started.

"One reason I don't buy new furniture, yeah," Lennie said sardonically. "That's Gloria, back in the day."

Ed whistled. "You got taste, my friend. That's a good-lookin' woman."

Lennie snorted again. "Yeah. Shame the inside didn't match the outside."

The 'outside' was quite a package. Eastern or Jewish, if Ed had to guess her ancestry, with a lovely, oval face framed in smooth, dark hair. Her equally dark eyes were highlighted in the heavy style of the late 60s and early 70s, a striking contrast against golden skin. She was seated at a table and holding up a glass of wine just to one side of her full, curved mouth. The shot had been taken in someone's kitchen, maybe; the table held flowers and food, and the brick walls were hung with polished cookware and shelves with half-full bottles.

What interested Ed more was the man seated to her left, looking at her with affection written clear in his face--Lennie. A much younger Lennie, with a full head of thick, black hair and smooth skin, his eyes not so hidden.

Before Ed had quite looked his fill, though, Lennie flipped to the next picture in the stack. He made a little huffing sound in his throat, and Ed glanced at him to see an odd expression on his face. And an odder, weirdly familiar one, swiftly hidden, on Mike's. The pinging in Ed's mind got a little louder. "Same place?" he guessed, going by the pot-laden brick wall in the picture's background, and trying to place what it was that was setting his alarm off.

"Yeah," Lennie confirmed. "Kitchen in my brother's brownstone, about the same time, before Cathy was born. That's my nephew Kenny."

Which answered Ed's next question, because as far as he knew, Lennie's only children were his two daughters. Yet the young boy in the photo looked eerily like a still-younger version of his partner, right down to the arched eyebrows. Behind the child was Lennie, standing with one foot up on a bench or something, and dressed in a startlingly blue shirt with a scarf around his neck, 70s style. One arm was draped down protectively across Kenny's chest; his wedding ring was in plain view. Gloria stood to Lennie's right with her hands on his upraised knee.

"You really haven't changed your hair in thirty years, have you?" Ed teased.

Lennie shrugged. "Why mess with a good thing?"

Mike let out an overly-dramatic groan. "Jeeez, you could at least get outta the 70s, Lennie, try something a little newer."

"Oh, yeah, this from the guy who walked around our last year together looking like he'd been attacked by a rabid pair of dog-clippers."

The visual image that immediately popped up was so vivid that Ed couldn't have stopped the snicker even if he'd tried.

"Hey, it was the style!" Mike protested good-naturedly to Lennie's sideways grin. "I was right up to date, I'll have you know. You've never even managed the 80s, much less anything current."

The grin slipped a hair, body stiffening ever so slightly, but Lennie's voice stayed light. "Didn't like the 80s much. What I remember of 'em, anyway."

Ed winced internally, like he usually did when Lennie alluded to his years in the bottle. Despite their friendship and years together, despite the GA meetings that had saved Ed's own sanity, Lennie talking about himself that way still made Ed uneasy, made him want to offer a hand or a shoulder, somehow-- Don't put yourself down, man, you're worth more than that-- But Lennie was moving on, flipping through the pack of photos in his hands.

"Oh-ho, now here's a prize," he said, chuckling.

Mike made another little groan-y sound in his throat, except that this one didn't sound faked. "Aw, man, where'd you get that?"

"What's the problem?" Ed asked, glancing over at Mike. "Looks like a decent shot to me."

"I don't like having my picture taken," Mike groused.

Lennie grinned. "I know, that's why I made sure to get one, that day Profaci had the camera."

Mike's mouth pursed, and Ed was pretty sure he knew why. That had to be a sore memory, since Mike had been the one to blow the whistle on Tony Profaci after finding out that the long-time 2-7 detective had been mobbed up. But it was a nice picture, and he could see why Lennie had kept it. A younger Logan, with hair a little longer and white shirt and tie, sat behind a desk Ed recognized immediately as the one he himself now used. A coffee mug was raised partway to Mike's mouth, and he was looking not at the camera, but at something or someone across from him.

"Seriously, though, that's a nice shot. You look almost respectable," Ed teased gently, with a pointed look at Mike's currently grubby moving clothes. Mike transferred the glare to him, but didn't appear to be mortally pissed.

"Yeah." Lennie chuckled again. "It was such a change that I thought I'd keep it to remember you by."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Oh, ha ha, thanks. Gimme those," he said, twitching the stack of photos out of Lennie's hand and shoving his own image to the back. The next one in line seemed to stop him again for a beat, and once more that odd, strangely familiar look slipped over his face, something Ed would never have caught if he hadn't been looking right at the man.

Lennie's snort drew Ed's attention back to the photo. "Great. More ancient history."

Ed grinned, bumped his partner's shoulder. "Hey, man, you clean up nice," he snickered, as Lennie rolled his eyes this time.

This, too, was a very good shot of that much younger Lennie, obviously taken at the same time as the previous one they'd looked at. Lennie was posed at a bit of an angle, wearing the same intense blue shirt and scarf he'd had on in the picture with his nephew. But this photo was Lennie alone, facing the camera with a warm expression and a close-mouthed but incredibly inviting smile. The image as a whole practically dripped with that almost unconscious charm Ed had seen the man use on any number of waitresses and more than a few female witnesses--an attractiveness that had nothing at all to do with age or physical attributes.

And that's when the truth hit him, like a board to the back of the head. And not only the women, partner. Only you don't have a clue, do you? Jesus God-- Because now he realized where he'd seen Mike's look--years ago, on the face of a good friend of Ed's who'd been longing silently after an unobtainable man. Understanding full well that it was hopeless, yet unable to find a way to turn off the feelings. Resigned to having only what was, knowing that there could never be more....

Ed closed his eyes a moment, making sure his own face was calm. Opened them again at the sound of Mike's voice.

"Can I have this, Lennie?"

One of Lennie's arched eyebrows rose in apparent bemusement. "I guess, sure, if you want. But why?"

Mike shrugged, all casual. To Ed's eyes, a hair too casual. "'Cause I don't have a picture of you. You got one of me, this'll even us up."

Lennie's eyebrows went down, then he shook his head, trademark crooked grin lifting one side of his mouth. "Whatever."

Mike held onto the picture as Lennie took back the rest of the stack, obviously thinking nothing more of it. But Ed watched Mike as the other man looked at the decades' old image, and his own heart ached, now that he knew what it was he was seeing.

Jee-zus, Mike. I'm so sorry, man--

#####

"Mike Logan? For Lennie?" Jack's voice was bemused, but his eyes were lawyer-sharp beneath his heavy brows.

Ed nodded slowly, looking up at the man resting half on his chest as they lounged together in bed.

"Well, that sure puts a different spin on him punching Crossly," Jack said after a pause. "I'm guessing that I shouldn't ask if you're sure about this."

"As sure as I can be without asking the man outright." Ed tilted his head, tracing his fingers absently along Jack's bare shoulder. "I'm a cop, I'm gay, I'm in the closet, and I've been all those things for a long time--I'm good at reading people." It wasn't a brag, just a statement of fact. "It's nothing that'd stand up in court, of course, but yeah, I'm sure."

Jack just looked at him a few moments longer, then shook his head with a snort. "And Lennie doesn't know."

Ed nodded again. "Not a clue. I'd bet two weeks pay on it."

"And you're not planning on telling him?"

Ed narrowed his eyes. He'd been of two troubled minds, whether or not to tell Jack about this, but his lover had realized immediately that something had happened, and had proceeded to gently badger him until he 'fessed up. But now this was beginning to sound a little like cross-examination.

"Why?" he countered, keeping his voice even. "Only thing it'd accomplish would be to rock their relationship, and what the hell for? From what I saw, the last thing in this world Mike wants to do is hurt Lennie, and he knows that doing or saying anything would do just that. All he can be is the man's friend--but not if Lennie ever finds out. I don't think he'd push Mike away, but the way Lennie is--it'd--change things, if he knew Mike was attracted to him."

Jack's eyes had softened, and he turned his head to kiss the fingers on his shoulder in tacit apology. "But you and Lennie are okay."

"Yeah, we are. But I'm not attracted to him; wouldn't be even if I wasn't with you. I love him, but he's not my type." Ed shrugged, a rueful grin stealing across his lips.

"He'd better not be," Jack mock-growled, leaning in. The kiss was heated and slow, but easy. Comforting, with the promise of more to come in a little while.

When they came up for air, Ed held his lover's eyes, looking deep into the warm hazel he always felt he could drown in. "I feel for Logan," he confessed softly. "It's tough, to be that close and yet-- And sometimes getting together--it's just dumb, blind luck, y'know? I mean, if you hadn't stopped into the bar that night-- "

Jack's expression was thoughtful as he brushed Ed's skin, drawing lines just below the collarbone, but he didn't say anything.

Ed let the silence sit for a while, but after Jack's finger had crossed his chest three or four times, he had to ask. "What is it, Jack? What's going on under all that hair?" He reached up to flick the heavy silver lock of hair that always fell over Jack's forehead.

The look Jack gave him then was calm, but deep and honest. "I'm counting my blessings."

finis