Chapter Text
Love at First Sight 1
Title: Last Night
Author: Emerald Starburst
Category: Pre-slash. Angst.
Summary: In the middle of the night, old memories can come back to haunt you.
Pairing: Mike/Lennie
Warnings: M/M, some graphic violence mentioned.
Disclaimer: Usual. The guys don't belong to me. Just playing with them for awhile.
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Notes: Part of Lyric Wheel series. Song by Tracy Chapman
Last night I heard the screaming
Loud voices behind the wall. . .
Despite the fact he was so tired he wanted to die, and despite the fact that it was his day off, according to the glowing numerals on his bedside clock, Lennie Briscoe was awake at 3:38 am.
Another sleepless night for me. . .
Lennie knew it was useless to keep trying to sleep, so he shifted his aching body into an upright position. It was mornings like this that made him think that maybe the Borough Command was right and that Detective Briscoe was long overdue to take his pension and leave. *And then what, Lennie? Spend all day in front of the tube watching the Home Shopping Network? God, I'd rather eat my gun. And probably would after about three days.*
He stood and walked to the bathroom. After he relieved himself, Lennie looked in the mirror and instantly regretted it. "If I have to look like I just came of a three day bender, why can't I at least have the bender first?" he said aloud.
He stripped and stepped into the shower, hoping that the hot water would bring some level of relief to his tired body. It did but not as much as he would have liked. Fifteen minutes later, Lennie was dressed in his old clothes and had fixed some coffee. He turned the radio on to try and catch the news. He didn't particularly like the music, but their newscasters were good. It was past the hour and a song by someone he didn't recognize was playing.
It won't do no good to call the police. . .
Dammit, dammit, dammit! Lennie gritted his teeth and barely refrained from hitting the table with his fist. His knuckles ached enough as it was. Damn arthritis.
*I hate when that happens.* He fought the flash of anger. *Something on the job gets to me and all of a sudden some song about it is playing on the radio, on the tv, the damned grocery store, everywhere. I don't need this!* The coffee finished brewing and Lennie forced himself to pour a cup and sip the hot liquid slowly.
Always come late, if they come at all
And when they arrive
They say they can't interfere
With domestic affairs
Between a man and his wife. . .
"No!" he said aloud. "That's not how it went down." Okay, when he started the job, too many years ago, it was like that, but that's not what happened this time. Everyone went by the book. The uniforms answered the calls for help. They wrote the reports. Fucking Social Services visited twice. But the Jackson woman wouldn't press charges.
"He'll kill me if I do," she had said in the reports.
Well, it hadn't done her any good to keep quiet, the bastard had killed her anyway. When Briscoe and Green arrived at the scene, Elaine Jackson was lying face down in a pool of blood. Bits of her skull and brain were spattered over the walls and the floor, evidence that Mr. Jackson had kept hitting her after she fell.
And as they walk out the door
Tears well up in her eyes. . .
That was the hard part. That was the thing that was eating him up inside. The kids. When Children's Services came to get the kids, he'd seen the tears in their eyes and the sad, helpless look on their faces.What had they heard that night? What had they heard all their short lives?
*Lennie, you've been at the job too long, Mike would have something to say about that.*
Lennie put down the cooling coffee and rubbed his temples. Where the hell had that come from? He hadn't even thought about Mike since the disaster with Profaci. Lennie felt a little pang of guilt about that. Mike had been a friend, as well as a partner, and he'd done a piss-poor job of reciprocating the favor.
Why was he thinking about Mike now?
*Dammit, Lennie, you know why.* Yeah, he knew why. A few months after he and Mike were partnered together, they'd caught the Harriman case, an almost carbon copy of the Jackson case. Afterward, they'd gone to a local pub where Lennie had had a Diet Coke and Mike had a Guinness too many.
"I hate the domestic violence cases, Len. It reminds me too much of when I was growing up."
"Your old man whacked your old lady?" Lennie asked sympathetically.
Yeah, and then she'd whack me. It was a long time ago, Lennie," Mike added, when he saw his partner's expression. "Besides, he was a drunk and she was a drunk . . ."
"Ah, the delights of a dysfunctional family," Lennie finished.
"Why do you think I never got married?"
Why, indeed. Lennie looked into the cold coffee. "There was a little more to it than that, wasn't there, Mikey?" he asked the cup.
Dammit, he knew why he couldn't sleep, and the Jackson case was only part of the reason. He put down the cup, reached for the phone, and punched in a number he was only mildly surprised he still remembered.
It picked up on the second ring. "Mike, I'm sorry I called so early, but I have to talk to you."
End