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It was long past the time he usually left the office, but Ben Stone couldn't stop staring at the paperwork in front of him. Adam had left over an hour ago, stopping by on his way out, but Ben was still going over his summation and reading witness testimony, unable to let this one go. It had been a difficult one to lose, for many reasons. Not just because the jury disregarded the letter of the law and voted with their own bigotry to acquit, but because every photo of Officer Rick Newhouse had, in his mind, begun to blur to look like someone else: his partner, Mike Logan.
He wasn't the only one that had a difficult time with this case. He knew when Mike was having difficulty sleeping; it had been nearly three years and they rarely slept apart. When it was discovered that Officer Newhouse was likely left without backup because he was gay, Mike hadn't found his way into Ben's bed until the small hours of the morning after walking out his frustrations and fears. Ben awoke a few hours later to find him staring at the ceiling, having obviously not slept at all. They'd talked about it then; how Mike had lost one partner and another had been relegated to a desk due to a shooting, but this wasn't a shooting done to silence a lead witness or done by a crazed gun dealer. This was a bigotry perpetrated by people supposed to have a fellow officer's back.
"This is why I can't tell anybody, Ben. I…you never know who to trust. I'm good at my job and I want to keep doing it," he'd whispered against Ben's shoulder as the morning light crept in through the window.
Ben just hadn't expected it to creep into his psyche like this. He supposed it happened when Craig McGraw came into his office in his uniform blues. With his dark eyes and dark hair, Ben couldn't help but see a younger version of Mike. From there, the image of him dying alone, waiting for backup that wouldn't come haunted him. He had to keep reminding himself that Mike wasn't Officer Newhouse, Captain Cragen wasn't Captain O'Hara, the 31st wasn't the 27th, but the thoughts still tumbled over themselves in his head. He knew that it could just as easily have been Michael Logan instead of Richard Newhouse.
Sighing, he began to stack the papers in the bottom drawer of his desk. It wouldn't change anything, but he couldn't bear to file away the final chapter on the young officer's life. At least in his desk, he could pretend that there was something about the outcome that could be changed. As he locked up his office, Ben didn't bother calling because he knew Mike would be expecting him.
Ben quietly unlocked the door of Mike's apartment and slipped inside where he could hear the Yankee's game playing quietly from the small television set in the living room. He smiled as he shrugged off his coat and suit jacket, placing them on the chair near the door that Mike insisted on calling a coat rack. As he stepped further into the space, he could see Mike's arm jutting out from the couch with the remote dangling precariously from his hand. A warmth flooded through him at the sight. His Michael was happy, safe, and alive. He sat on the arm of the sofa and listened to the quiet sounds of the other man's breathing as he gently carded his hands through Mike's hair.
Eventually, the movement made Mike stir, his voice thick with sleep, "You did everything you could, Ben. Not your fault that bastard shrink said everyone's afraid of queers." As the grogginess cleared from his voice, the disdain was evident at the psychiatrist and at the jury who then allowed the notion that the four officers didn't respond because they were bigots, but had a deep rooted fear of someone different than themselves.
Ben felt the anger begin to well up inside him again. "I should have crucified that psychiatrist. There must have been something I could have said that would have changed things."
"No. They heard what they wanted to hear, what they were telling themselves all along. He just gave them an excuse to say it out loud."
Ben's hand fell from Mike's hair as he started to stand. He knew there was whiskey in the kitchen cabinet and he needed a drink now. He didn't want to think about how Mike was right, that the case had been unwinnable from the start. That for all the progress that had been made, it wasn't enough. He knew this decision was going to force people deeper into the closet. And God...Mike. This could happen to him. They were careful, but Mike Logan wasn't exactly the poster child for clandestine affairs. They were going to get caught and then…a sharp pang in his chest told him the aftermath would probably drag him under too. Except he'd have to continue living without the one he loved. Three fingers of whiskey could dull the pain for one night and he'd deal with it tomorrow morning. Preferably never.
He felt himself being pulled back to the couch by a hand around his wrist until the two men were sitting side by side on the secondhand sofa. Ben could feel Mike staring at him, but he stared at their hands that were clasped between them instead.
"It's not your fault, Ben," Mike sighed. "You didn't let him die in that street. You did everything you could for him. I'm proud of you for that."
Ben didn't know what to say, so he just nodded his head. He knew that it wasn't his fault, but he'd so desperately wanted to get justice for the young man. This wasn't justice at all.
"It's not going to happen to me." Mike's words were so soft, almost like a solemn oath to himself, that Ben almost didn't catch them.
He snapped his head up, bile rising in his throat, "You can't promise me that. Don't you dare promise me something you know damn well you can't keep."
"I know…but I need to. My life…our life isn't his. It's not going to play out the same way, Ben." Mike's hand had come up to rest on his cheek, his thumb softly moving across Ben's cheekbone.
Ben closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Mike's, breathing in the scent of him: his cologne, the detergent he used. Home. What happened to the young officer was still a tragedy, and one that needed to be remembered for the bigotry behind it, but Mike was still with him. He couldn't erase society's prejudice, but having this man with him…it was enough for the moment.
They lost track of how long they sat there, holding each other and quietly listening to the television, until Ben smiled when he heard the ending broadcast. "Your Yankees lost, sir."
He dropped his head to lightly kiss Mike's shoulder when he heard Mike groan and mumble about Don Mattingly going "oh for four, Ben. Oh for four." Ben chuckled against Mike's shoulder, enjoying the moment as the announcer droned on.
"Well, it's not all bad. Your good for nothin' Mets lost too, Counselor," and Ben could hear the smile in Mike's voice. When he looked up, Mike had that boyish grin that he loved so much and he couldn't stop himself from leaning forward to kiss him. He couldn't wait for the day they could be completely free. However, for right now, Mike's lips on his and his fingers in Mike's hair was enough.