Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

5: Never Again

(Legolas)

Los Angeles, Mid-2004

      He missed those old walkie-talkies.  The two-way digital radios were a mess of complications, and were often easily scrambled by clever, criminal minds, possibly by those that he was pursuing.  He hated to think he could not reach his partner for a graver reason…

      "Montes!" Legolas called upon his partner for the nth time, and he was once again met with no reply.  He barely broke his stride as he slid the communication device from within the folds of his plainclothes. 

      The job was supposed to be routine; some officers had called in for their expertise after a young man went down in a hail of gunfire from a drive-by.  He and his partner stopped by the crime scene for an investigation, but some nervous, jerky adolescent caught Rafael Montes' expert eye, and as he made a step toward the teenager hovering around the scene, the kid broke into a frantic run. 

      Legolas was still in the middle of conferring with witnesses when he noted that his partner was gone, and that his despicable device was making warbling noises.  It was more because of his elven senses than the gifts of modern technology that he managed to put together the general direction of pursuit.

      His running brought him into a narrow road lined by buildings and heavily shaded from the light of the hot afternoon sun, and he felt his heart jolt at the sight of his partner's body crumpled upon the ground.

      "Montes!" he exclaimed, sprinting forward.  He was almost to his friend's form when a hand lashed out from one of the alleys that separated one building from another.  Claw-like hands formed a death-grip upon his right arm, inhumanly fast and insistent.  He was pulled into the darkness of the alley, just as a bullet zipped into the wall right where his head had been.

      Heart pounding, adrenalin burning through him, he whipped to face his attacker/savior, pointing his gun at… at…

      He squinted his eyes against the dark.  The old man before him had clear eyes that were wise, and calm, and penetrating.  His white hair was snowy in the few spots it was not liberally adorned with dust and soot.  His clothes were old, and battered.  He did not seem to have much, and could have easily passed for just another hapless, homeless man on the street, save for the nobility entrenched into those eyes.

      Legolas opened his mouth to say something.  Gandalf!, would have been a nice way to begin that intriguing conversation, except more gunshots sounded, and Legolas had to turn away from the old man to face a more pressing situation.

      He narrowed his eyes in thought, falling into a cautious stance with his gun poised before him at the ready.  By the sounds and angles of the shots fired, he knew just where to aim his own gun. 

      'Stay out of sight, Mithrandir,' he advised the old man, unknowingly slipping into his elven tongue, pushing him against the wall for his own protection.  After assuring himself that 'Gandalf' was reasonably out of harm's way, he took careful sight of his prey, situated by one of the second-floor windows of the nearby building.  A single shot from his gun silenced the alley, and he ran forward and fell to his knees before his fallen friend.

      Pale, graceful hands reached hungrily and urgently for Rafe's neck.  Blood pooled on the ground and soaked the injured detective's clothes so much that Legolas feared he arrived too late.

      "Blast you, Greene," the man drawled, "I'm alive, I'm alive.  Don't do that, it makes me feel like a corpse."

      Legolas chuckled nervously as he fished for his cellphone and called for an ambulance. 

      "Remember when I got shot a few years back?" Legolas asked him mildly, willing for him to stay awake, "My eyes were open, and I was talking to you, and you were still fishing for my pulse."

      "That's called, love, brother," Rafael groaned, trying to shift his position.  He winced at the movement.

      "Stay still," Legolas scolded him, "Help arrives soon."

      "You all right?" Montes asked, looking at him searchingly, "I think the bastard left me out here and waited for you."

      "He did," Legolas said, looking away from his partner and out toward the alley where he left the old man who had saved his life.  He was disappointed, but not surprised to find him gone.

      "Well aren't you a lucky dog," Montes murmured, beginning to drift as the reassuring sounds of sirens began to fill the air and near them.

      I'm not so sure, Legolas thought to himself, wondering if he was losing his mind, and knowing that if he was sane instead, and the man he had seen was indeed Gandalf, well… the Istari do not get sent into Arda to take care of a minor peace and order situation.

      "I'm beginning to think," Montes told his partner wearily, "Like you have fifty million lives or something."

      Don't you know it, Legolas sighed, stepping back upon the arrival of the emergency medical technicians.  Distractedly, he strolled to the alley he left Gandalf in.  It was dark, and narrow, and had an opening in the other end.  He was tempted to follow and search for the old man, but he was worried about his wounded friend and was anxious to follow to the hospital.

      Besides, he thought wistfully, If the old man is who I think he is, he will be turning up again soon.

" " "

      "I know we agreed that if Montes died you'd marry me," Julianna said of her husband, "But I won't hold you to it."

      Legolas' lips curved in an appreciative smile.  The woman beside him was formidable, worthy at the very least of his good friend.  Her frame was lithe, like a dancer's, and her face had a subtle, quiet beauty.  She seemed so delicate and doll-like, especially beside her imposing hulk of a husband.  But the woman had a thick head on those wiry shoulders, and Legolas was glad for her strength. 

      "I didn't think you would," he told her evenly. 

      She arrived some hours ago, and the pair of them was manning a waiting room.  He remembered her shaky but determined voice over the phone after he informed her of the situation, her uncertain smile of greeting as she breezed into the room to wait with him.  She rushed forward to embrace him, stopped short at the sight of her husband's blood on his soiled clothes for the blink of an eye, but anyway enfolded him in her arms.

      "Leland.  Oh, are you all right?" she had asked, and he managed a surprised laugh, finding the question a bit ironic.  The wait for his partner to come out from surgery has been as pleasurable as possible given the context since.

      "What's taking them so long?" Legolas asked impatiently, "The wound was not that serious.  I saw for myself."

      "I don't mind the wait," she said evenly, "As long as they take the best care of him."

      "Indeed," Legolas agreed, sighing and reigning in his temper, "Where are the children?"

      "The little monsters?" she laughed a little, "My darlings are at my sister's.  They took the news relatively well.  But I did promise them Rafe was going to be all right."

      "I'm sure that's the case," Legolas assured her, paused in thought before asking, "And how is Dianne?"

      "Hm," she smirked at him, "She's sour at you, you handsome devil.  But then again you really ought to know that.  My sister expected you to call after your first date."

      "It was not a date," Legolas clarified, "You and Montes set me up.  I was an unwitting party!"

      "Oh but really, Leland," she said, "You should start to settle down.  People are supposed to have a life outside of work too."

      Her cellphone rang, and she rose and excused herself for a moment, saying Montes' mother was on the line. 

      Legolas watched her step out into the corridor, before leaning his head against the wall that was behind the couch.  He stank of blood, but he was not keen on leaving until he was assured Rafael was well.  He closed his eyes for a long moment.  He's not smelled so much and so long of someone else's blood since… since… well, since the Second World War. 

      I am so old…

      And as if he did not have enough to contend with, he had to deal with crazy, happy married couples trying to similarly ensnare him.

      Quiet footsteps caught his attention, and he quickly rose to his feet and turned to the doctor standing by the door, still wearing his surgical greens.  The man was well-built, with staring silver eyes and an assuring smile on his clean-shaven, sculpted face, framed by dark brown whorls of hair. 

      If you weren't so clean, Legolas thought fleetingly, inanely, I could have sworn you were—

      For the second time that day, Legolas' jaws could have dropped to the floor and headed on straight down to the core of the Earth. 

      Estel.

      "Are you with Rafael Montes?" the doctor asked him pleasantly.  Even the sound of his voice mirrored that unforgettable musical tone of the ages-old and ages-dead adan. 

      Legolas blinked at him, trying to find some form of ground.  The world was toying with him.  In the span of a few months he's come across the twin sons of Elrond, a Gandalf-hobo and now, this Estel-incarnation too.

      The doctor pressed a warm hand upon the elf's shoulders, trying to relax him but making things much worse.  The familiar grip was unforgettable.  Legolas knew the feeling of that warm hand in his sleep.  The elf haltingly backed away a step, and the doctor frowned at him worriedly.

      "Are you all right, sir?" the doctor asked, "You look pale…"

      "I'm fine," Legolas told him quickly, shaking his head as if to clear it.  "I'm sorry.  Yes, yes.  I'm with Rafael Montes.  He's my partner."

      "Oh," said the doctor, a moment before his eyes widened in understanding (or misunderstanding), "Ohhh.  I see.  Well.  He's doing wonderfully.  You can have him home with you in a few days."
      Legolas blinked at him in some confusion, before it dawned on him that the man was making a rather horrid mistake.  He felt his face warm.  "No.  I mean no.  I meant, we work together."

      "Ah," the man's brows rose, "I apologize."
      Julianna—bless her, Legolas thought—picked that moment to re-enter the room.

      "She's his wife," Legolas said quickly.

      "Rafael's other partner," she said with an effortless smile on her face, having heard the exchange.  Julianna stepped forward and claimed the doctor's healing hands.  "Tell me good news."

" " "

      It being that Rafael Montes was guaranteed a quick recovery, Legolas found it in himself to think of his own pressing troubles.  What did all these things mean?

      Rafe was still asleep when he entered the private room.  He decided to let Julianna have her privacy, and stepped back out into the waiting room, trailing the doctor who had Estel's uncanny face.

      "The drugs will keep him down for a few hours more, you know," 'Estel' said to him, "You can go home and freshen up.  You should."

      Legolas took a moment to simply stare at the man. 

      What are you doing here…?

      Indeed, did Elrohir and Elladan not say that Aragorn's kin grew wide and extended far? He should not have been surprised to find one had migrated to America.  But to run across him… it was nothing short of a miracle.  And to run across him the very day he ran across 'Gandalf…' surely it spelled nothing short of some impending disaster!

      Or perhaps coincidence?

      He could not find it in himself to believe that.  The Istari never appeared at random, for one thing.  And though he often had dreams of once again reclaiming old dead friends in some weird reincarnation, he knew through the years that the gods were not quite as generous or, perhaps, did not indulge their children's trivial wishes. 

      If we are all here, together, in this time, he knew in his heart, it is for a purpose that is great.

      People were never randomly thrown together, he understood that.  And especially, most especially, not the likes of them. 

      His world was spinning.  But why were they here? And why now? And what was he supposed to do?

      Maybe it's all a coincidence…

      I hope it's all a coincidence.

      "Do you want some coffee?" the doctor asked him.  The brows were wrinkled in thought and worry, and the silver eyes were raking across his face in a fervent and unhidden effort of ascertaining if he was all right.

      Just like Estel.

      "I'm Leland Greene," Legolas said, offering his hand to shake, "I'm a detective in the LAPD.  I'm sorry if I seem distracted.  It's just… work."

      Just not of the sort you may think…

      The doctor smiled.  "That is perfectly understandable, lieutenant.  Call me Adrian."

      Indeed, Legolas thought darkly, I'll call you whatever you want, mellon-nin.  It doesn't matter.  You're not you and I'm not me…

      "Adrian, yes," Legolas forced himself to smile, "Yes, thank you for taking good care of my friend.  That coffee sounds great, thank you."

      "It's from the vending machine," Adrian said to him wryly as the two men walked together, "Do not thank me yet."

      "I got it," Legolas offered, fishing for coins in his pockets. 

      "Nah," Adrian said, beating him to the slots, "Don't worry, I'll add it to the service charges to the government."

      The adan was looking at him expectantly, and he smiled in response.  In truth, the attempted levity was driving him insane.  The man even had the same irreverent sense of humor as Aragorn.

      The doctor handed Legolas a cup.

      "Hannon le," Legolas said, on a whim, watching the expressions that crossed the other's face intensely, wanting a sign, wanting some remembrance, wishing some fiber of that bloodline knew him still…

      "I guess that's a 'thank you,'" said Adrian with a pleasant expression on his face, his movements undeterred as he grabbed another cup of coffee for himself, "I thought you sounded British or something, but I guess you're from like from some other place, huh?"
     

      Nothing, Legolas concluded, knowing he's not been forgotten, he was never known at all.  The man before him had Estel's face, Estel's wit.  But he was not Estel himself.  No one ever would be again.

      "You could say that," Legolas said quietly.

TO BE CONTINUED…