[FIC] "No Shrines"; Law and Order for eldritchhobbit
Title: No Shrines
Fandom: Law and Order
Rating: PG
For
eldritchhobbit and the request for deathfic (although the fic is more about the aftermath of a death. Hope it's OK.)
Fic #8 for June Fic-a-thon
***
"Hey," Van Buren greets Detective Green with a soft voice, handing him a cup of coffee.
Green was slumped in his chair, staring at the opposite end of his desk. "Thanks."
"How are you?" Van Buren asked.
Green sighed, shaking his head, "He never even told me he was sick."
"Nobody knew Lennie was sick," Van Buren said. "For whatever reasons, he decided to keep it a secret."
"I’ve been his partner for years and he doesn’t even tell me?" Green spoke with hurt and anger in his voice. "I mean, he’d talk to me about his ex-wives and his kids and...but he wouldn’t even tell me that..." Green found it difficult to finish his sentence without getting the urge to cry.
Lennie’s seat had been filled quickly by Fontana. Green’s new partner was not sitting at it at the time, but Fontana had already spread all his stuff around the desk-his pictures, his pens, his photos. It seemed strange, almost sacrilegious, to have anyone sitting in that chair other than Briscoe at that moment.
"Maybe he didn’t want to be the subject of pity." Van Buren shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps he didn’t want us to think of him as anything other than the tough guy he was."
That’s when Green heard Briscoe’s voice in his head, telling him: "There are no shrines in the NYPD." A hole was left and it needed to be filled. Green could not be mad at Fontana, or the brass, for that reason.
"When’s the funeral?" Green asked.
"Saturday, Cyprus Hills," Van Buren answered. "Even McCoy said he’s coming."
Fontana walked in swiftly, "Hey, sorry to interrupt, but there’s been a double homicide in Hell’s Kitchen."
"Let’s go," Green was out of his seat in a second. He took one last look at Fontana’s side of the desk before heading out the door.
Fandom: Law and Order
Rating: PG
For
eldritchhobbit and the request for deathfic (although the fic is more about the aftermath of a death. Hope it's OK.)
Fic #8 for June Fic-a-thon
***
"Hey," Van Buren greets Detective Green with a soft voice, handing him a cup of coffee.
Green was slumped in his chair, staring at the opposite end of his desk. "Thanks."
"How are you?" Van Buren asked.
Green sighed, shaking his head, "He never even told me he was sick."
"Nobody knew Lennie was sick," Van Buren said. "For whatever reasons, he decided to keep it a secret."
"I’ve been his partner for years and he doesn’t even tell me?" Green spoke with hurt and anger in his voice. "I mean, he’d talk to me about his ex-wives and his kids and...but he wouldn’t even tell me that..." Green found it difficult to finish his sentence without getting the urge to cry.
Lennie’s seat had been filled quickly by Fontana. Green’s new partner was not sitting at it at the time, but Fontana had already spread all his stuff around the desk-his pictures, his pens, his photos. It seemed strange, almost sacrilegious, to have anyone sitting in that chair other than Briscoe at that moment.
"Maybe he didn’t want to be the subject of pity." Van Buren shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps he didn’t want us to think of him as anything other than the tough guy he was."
That’s when Green heard Briscoe’s voice in his head, telling him: "There are no shrines in the NYPD." A hole was left and it needed to be filled. Green could not be mad at Fontana, or the brass, for that reason.
"When’s the funeral?" Green asked.
"Saturday, Cyprus Hills," Van Buren answered. "Even McCoy said he’s coming."
Fontana walked in swiftly, "Hey, sorry to interrupt, but there’s been a double homicide in Hell’s Kitchen."
"Let’s go," Green was out of his seat in a second. He took one last look at Fontana’s side of the desk before heading out the door.