Title: Love at First Sight

Love At First Sight
by Greenupstreet

//"It's not always love at first sight with you."//

Cragen's words from, God, ten years ago, echoed in his head as he watched Lennie from the the entrance to the cafe.

*Oh, Donny, you were so wrong. It *was' love at first sight. That was the trouble.*

Lennie was sitting with his back to the door, his foot tapping nervously, toying with a half empty cup of coffee. Mike stopped to look at him a moment. His hair was a little grayer. His hands a little more gnarled and wrinkled. He was fitter than most sixty-two year olds, but the years had definitely taken their toll. He was in his usual casual attire, a blue, short-sleeved cotton shirt and khaki pants. He was beautiful.

From day one Mike Logan was totally smitten with Detective Briscoe. He'd fought it hard, not even wanting to be civil to his new partner. That hadn't lasted long. Lennie was too good a cop not to respect and admire, and that only added to the initial attraction. At first, Mike thought---hoped---it was just the vague sexual attraction he felt around certain men. However, Mike soon found that he wanted to act on these feelings. He firmly resisted it at first and thought he had succeeded until two months after they had been assigned together.

The Harriman case was a nightmare.

There was no real investigation. The perp was standing over the body with the knife. He had called the police himself so he could confess.

//"I think he was expecting us to shoot him," said Lennie. It was late and they were off duty, but neither man could face going home to an empty apartment that night. They sat together in a local pub instead, nursing their drinks.

"He'd have been better off if we had," said Mike.

"Not our call, partner."

"Thank God." Mike signaled to the bartender for another Guinness. "I hate domestic violence. It reminds me too much of how I grew up."

"Your old man whacked your old lady?"

"Yeah, and then she'd whack me." He regretted that comment the second it left his mouth, and the look of concern on Lennie's face cut him to the quick. "It was a long time ago. He was a drunk and she was a drunk. . ."

"Ah, the delights of a dysfunctional family."

Lennie put his hand on his shoulder to give him a sympathetic squeeze. It was the act of one partner giving another the most intimate gesture two straight partners could offer each other, but it proved to be a defining point in their relationship.

The moment Lennie's hand touched his shoulder, Mike could feel the heat. Through the light-weight suit jacket, oxford shirt, and cotton t-shirt, he could trace the current of arousal from where Lennie's hand touched his shoulder down his body and into his groin. Their eyes locked
together, Mike's hazel to Lennie's brown, and he knew. They knew. A second later, a mutual decision had been reached.

Lennie removed his hand and yelled out, "Hey, barkeep, hit me again, and put it on my partner's tab."

Message received loud and clear. Nothing had happened. Nothing had changed.//

"But it did change, Lennie," he whispered. "And today is the day we do something about it, one way or the other." Mike glanced down at himself, and he had to laugh. He was wearing his best gray trousers, a white tattersal shirt, and a sweater the salesman at Brooks Brothers had assured him brought out the green in his eyes. Thinking back, the man had probably been making a pass, but Mike had been too preoccupied with the idea of buying 'nice' clothes to notice. *Be honest, Mike, the only man you were interested in wasn't there. He's here now. And here you are, dressed to impress. Jesus, I look like a yuppie.* He realized he was using his silver-handled cane and winced. *A pretentious yuppie.* Mike told himself to stop stalling and moved forward to meet his objective.

Lennie had his fourth cup of coffee of the day sitting in front of him, and he was officially coffeed out. Mike was supposed to meet him at the cafe at seven thirty, and he was having second thoughts. Hell, he was having sixth and seventh thoughts. It was crazy and came of trying to have profound thoughts at four o'clock in the morning instead of sleeping like a sane person.

"This is a bad idea, this is a bad idea, this is a bad idea," he kept repeating like a mantra.

"Why?" inquired a baritone from behind him. Lennie jumped.

"Jeeze, Mike." The other man smiled unrepentingly at his discomfort. Mike settled himself in the chair next to him and Lennie took a moment to look him over. It had been a few years since he'd last seen Mike, and he knew the other man was now in his mid-forties, but the gray hair at
his temples still came as a shock. As well as the silver handled cane he sported and not for aesthetic purposes. "What's with the walking stick?"

Mike shrugged. "I guess you don't hobnob with the Staten Island guys, Len. Got shot a few years back. Shattered my kneecap. I'm not on the job any more."

"God, Mike, I'm sorry." Lennie felt of new wave of guilt wash over his soul.

"I'm not."

That rocked Lennie a little, as Mike seemed to be serious. "Not that I'm not glad to see a friend make a positive adjustment to adverse circumstances, Mike, but. . ."

"It just doesn't sound like me?"

"Hell, no." Lennie carefully looked Mike up and down. He was older now, but he looked good. His eyes were clear and . . calm. "Damn, Mike, what happened? Did you find God or something?"

"Or something, and we can talk about that later. First, I want to hear why an old friend I haven't seen in years calls me at four in the morning and tells me he just has to talk?"

Now that the time had come, Lennie didn't know how to start. He sipped his unwanted coffee to give himself a few precious seconds to think. God, Mike was looking at him with that infamous half smile that made grown women, and not a few guys, drool in longing. He forgot how that smile. . .Damn, don't go there, not yet.

"Tell you what," Mike said after about a minute of strained silence. "Why don't you tell me what happened just before you called?" Lennie sighed and it started.

"I couldn't sleep. Yesterday, Ed and I caught a domestic violence case."

"Ed?"

"Oh. yeah. Ed Green's my partner, now. Curtis transferred, personal reasons. Anyway, the husband beat his wife to death with a baseball bat. Open and shut, but it was bad." He paused for a moment to take another sip of coffee. "It reminded me of the Harriman case."

Mike's heart thumped. *It wasn't just me.*

"I remember. That was a rough one. I always hated domestic violence cases." A waitress came by, and they placed their orders. After she walked away, he continued. "So what was so different about this one, Lennie?"

"It wasn't different. That was the trouble. I've seen so many, Mike. Too many mangled bodies. Too many crying kids with no hope. I'm getting old, Mike."

"We're both older, Lennie. But I don't think that's what was keeping you up last night." Mike was looking directly into Lennie's eyes. Lennie had forgotten how intensely Mike could focus on someone with those hazel eyes that shifted from amber to gold to green with his moods. He loved
to look into those. . .beautiful . . .eyes. Lennie finished his coffee and made a decision at the same time.

"You're right, it wasn't the case that was keeping me up, it was the memories that went with it."

"What kind of memories, Lennie?" Lennie couldn't remember Mike ever speaking so softly and so kindly, but he liked it. Whatever Mike was doing with his life seemed to agree with him, and Lennie was happy for him.

"Remember the night of the Harriman case, you and I went to this bar. I had a Diet Coke. . ."

"And I had way too much beer. Yeah, I remember." *I'll never forget.*

"We talked about some things, and I. . .started feeling. . .things." Lennie stopped again. *God, Len,* he cursed himself, *just spit it out.*

"Let me help," Mike said. Lennie watched as Mike slipped one hand under the table beneath the white cloth and placed it on the hand Lennie was resting on his right thigh. Mike took the hand and squeezed it firmly. "I felt things, too, Lennie."

In panic, Lennie tried to pull away, but Mike held on firmly. "Mike, for God's sake, we're in public here."

"That's why I'm holding your hand under the table. No one can see. No one will, unless you make a scene. Relax." Lennie took a breath and stopped trying to pull away. A moment later, he squeezed back. Something in Lennie, a tight ball of fear he hadn't noticed before, loosened. "That feels good," he admitted. "So, you felt it, too?"

"No more denial, Lennie. We both felt it, and we both knew the attraction was mutual. We just refused to act on it."

"Why?" Lennie wondered aloud.

Mike laughed without humor. "We were chicken shit, that's why. Oh, the thing with gay police officers was a part of it, but mostly we were afraid of ourselves. Two big, bad macho cops would have had to admit to themselves they had 'feelings' for another guy."

"No way, no how, were we ready for that," said Lennie, sadly. "And now. . ."

"No," said Mike firmly, "do not say it's too late. It's only too late if we're dead, and I intend to live for a long time. Question is, how do we want to do live it?"

Something clicked in Lennie's head. "You've been thinking about this."

"For a long time," Mike agreed. "I was nerving myself up to call you, but you beat me to it. Shocked the hell out of me. I thought for sure I'd be the one to crack." Mike took a deep breath. "I'm out, Lennie. I've been out for about three years now."

"Out?" Lennie nearly yelped. "As in the closet? Is that what happened to your leg, Mike?"

"Being gay had nothing to do with it, Lennie. I wasn't even out to myself, then. No, it had to do with Profaci."

"Profaci? You weren't responsible for that. He fried his own ass."

"Wasn't I? I was responsible for a cop going to prison, Lennie. I breached the blue wall. Punching that politician made me an exile, but putting Profaci away made me a pariah."

"Mike, we've both done that."

"Not the way I did, Len. Not that blatantly, not alone, and not about someone like Profaci."

"I don't get it. Profaci wasn't anybody. I mean, no more than you and me."

"Lennie, Profaci was a 'nice guy'. In direct contrast to myself, everybody liked Profaci. He was everybody's pal. No one wanted to see him go down. 'I' didn't want to see him go down. The only cops who talked to me after that were my partner and my captain. Three weeks later, the same thing that happened to Newhouse almost happened to me. I was pinned down, hit, and nobody came."

"Jesus, God," said Lennie. "Mike, I had no idea. I swear." Mike inhaled and blew it out, hard.

"I know, Lennie," Mike said darkly. There was something in Mike's eyes when he said that, but before Lennie could ask him about it, Mike continued, "Anyhow, they wanted me to ride a desk, but I said screw that, and I took my disability."

"I wish you'd called. I wish 'I'd' called." Mike squeezed Lennie's hand again.

"You're here now. Well, like I said, I came out. I even dated a few guys."

"How many?"

"Two."

"Two? In three years? Mike, you used to date more than two women in a week. Hell, sometimes the same day."

"What can I say? Now that I'm out, I don't have anything to prove any more. Funny, that should have been a tip off. Guys don't date that much if they 'don't' have something to prove, if only to themselves." He started to say something else, but the waitress came by with Mike's order. After she left, Mike seemed to change his mind about speaking, and gave Lennie a look that seemed to say that the ball was in his court.

Lennie squeezed Mike's hand again and released it. This time, Mike let it go.

"You still haven't told me what the big change in your life is." He pointed to the cane Mike was fidgeting with. "And what's with the prop from Dr. No?"

Mike starred down at the cane in his hand. "Yeah, well, I don't usually use this one. It was a gift."

"From one of those two guys you dated?" Lennie asked with a smile.

"Actually, it was from my publisher."

It took Lennie a few seconds for the last word to register. "Publisher? As in 'books'?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "Who would have thunk it? I'm a writer."

"Damn," said Lennie, "I always knew you were smart enough to do anything you put your mind to, but writing? What do you write?"

"Don't laugh. Murder mysteries." Mike spread cream cheese on his bagel, took a bite, and waited or Lennie's reaction. Lennie opened his mouth, shut it, and then opened it again. "What, you're Agatha Christie, now?"

Mike nearly choked. He swallowed and said, "Well, I'd have said Joseph Wambaugh, but okay."

Lennie shook his head. "A writer, huh? I don't remember hearing about any new writers named Mike Logan, though."

"How about Philip Greeves?"

"Don't remind me! The other day Van Buren was going on about the latest from...Wait a minute. Philip? Phil Ceretta? Greeves? Max Greevey!"

Mike gave him a sly wink. "Guilty as charged."

"I don't believe it. How did you get into writing?"

"I kind of fell into it," Mike admitted. "My knee was a mess after the shooting, and it took a long time to heal. The doctors insisted that I see a therapist, who said I had anger issues...Don't say it!" Mike warned as Lennie was about to open his mouth. "Anyway, the therapist said that writing things down would give me a positive outlet for my aggression." Mike waggled his fingers in the sign for quotes. "I filled up three one hundred page notebooks in a week."

"That's alotta anger."

"Tell me about it. Anyway, after he's read a couple he tells me I should take some creative writing courses at NYCC. I did. A year later I finished my first book. I sent it to about fifty agents, one decided to give it a go, and I signed a contract six months later."

Lennie was shaking his head and laughing.

"What? I know it's weird, but it's not that funny."

"Oh, yes it is. Van Buren loves Philip Greeves' books! She keeps the three novels and a collection of short stories that 'Philip Greeves' wrote for Mystery Magazine on her desk. She and a couple of other female clerks and detectives have a club where they discuss the stories and how to nab the next book. If there was a Philip Greeves fan club, Van Buren would be President."

"Do you want the website addy?" Mike asked with a smirk.

Lennie didn't know whether to wipe that smirk off his face or kiss him. The thought of pressing his lips to Mike's sensuous ones sent a jolt to his groin, and he quit lying to himself about what he wanted to do to Mike Logan.

"When do you have to leave?" Lennie asked.

Mike smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "It's Saturday, Lennie. Normal people don't work on Saturday. My day is free."

"Mine, too. Would you want to come? To my place?"

"Sure." *Dear God, yes, I thought you'd never ask.*

Lennie's heart was thumping. *Please, God,* he prayed, *don't let me mess this up.*

While they took care of the check, Mike touched Lennie on the small of the back, briefly. It was as if to say, "It's okay, everything is going to be fine."

Lennie couldn't remember the trip to his apartment. The next thing he knew, they were inside and Mike was shutting the door behind them. Before he could say a word, Mike walked up to him, put his arms around him and hugged tightly. Lennie returned it with equal parts relief, joy, and terror.

"Lennie," said Mike, "the day we met, what did you think when you saw me?"

"I dunnno, something along the lines of what a sexy guy."

"Anything else?"

"What a pain in the ass?" They laughed briefly."Seriously? I don't remember exactly, but I think it was that I could really fall for this guy if I let myself."

*Is that love at first sight? Close enough.*

"Well," he whispered into Lennie's ear, "it looks like we're here." Mike shifted position slightly and covered Lennie's mouth with a searing kiss.

end?