I hate how little we got of Mikey when you look at L&O as a whole…. We deserved more Mikey 😭😭😭😭
On the one hand, yes we got less of him over the years than some other characters --but also there are plenty of characters that got even less screen time (by a significant margin). Personally, I wish he had been on OG L&O longer (and found myself thinking I would have preferred various S6 eps more with Logan instead of Curtis); but generally find myself grateful for what we got.
I also enjoyed Claire, Stone, Robinette, Phil, and many others who had far less time.
Law and ...Fatherhood? - GirlDad! Mike Logan Pt. 1
Synopsis: Very specific (and convenient for the author) AU in which Max Greevey is a widowed father before dying in a botched home-invasion. Mike Logan takes in his orphaned daughter, Jessie, and grapples with his partner's death and complicated feelings about parenthood.
Word Count: 2,955
A/N: Howdy! I promised I would return with my silly creative writing piece, so here it is! :3 I've split it up into two parts (otherwise it would be WAYYY too long of a post lolol), so Pt. 2 will be linked here! My creative writing muscles are a bit rusty, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! <33
In the glow of the morning sun, New York Police Department’s 27th precinct sits almost abandoned. It’s a rare sight to everyone, save for the lone man at an old oak desk.
“C’mon Max, I’ve been here all night,” Detective Mike Logan groans into the receiver of a rotary phone. In the dim light of a desk lamp, he sifts through a stack of papers. “My date’s gonna get cold.”
Max laughs through the other end of the line. “Really Mikey? This is your third one in two weeks. When are you gonna find a nice girl and settle down?”
“Spare me the lecture, wise-ass. I’m hot-wired, remember? No broad can handle me,” Mike retorts and taps the papers on his desk. “How long does it take to find a damn case file?”
“Patience is a virtue, you know.”
Mike rolls his eyes and listens as Max shuffles through the trunk of his car. He’s about to set the phone down when a second voice catches his ear. The words are too muffled to make out, but Max’s tone sounds alarms in his mind. Mike hears the phone clatter against the wall.
“Max? What’s going on?” His voice is urgent, but he receives no answer. Mike is left powerless as he listens to the sound of three distinct gunshots on the other line. His heart sinks. “Max? Max!”
There’s no answer.
Mike slams the phone on his desk and bolts for the door of the old precinct. His heart pounds in his ears with each step he takes. He rips open the door of his Dodge Charger and crams himself behind the wheel. With the flick of a switch, lights and sirens spark to life and Mike takes off. His full weight presses into the gas pedal as he weaves through the morning traffic. Don’t be dead. God, please don’t be dead. He takes a sharp turn, and he feels the tires lift from the pavement.
“Detective Logan,” Mike barks over the radio in his car, “I need back-up and emergency response to West Elm, now!”
A car refuses to yield at an intersection, and he swerves in time to avoid it. Mike lays on the horn. Almost there. Just hang on a little longer. The tires screech to a halt as Mike parks outside Max’s old townhouse.
Mike draws his service piece and breaks from the car. “Police!” He calls and approaches the front door. The hinges are busted, and the frame is splintered. Was this a break-in? He clears the living room before he enters the kitchen. Blood covers the far wall. The back door hangs wide open.
“Max!” Mike calls out and rushes to the body in the door’s threshold. “Shit, shit.” Mike drops to his knees and assesses the damage. Two in the chest, one in the stomach. Mike yanks a towel from the counter and stuffs it against the wounds in Max’s chest.
“Mikey? Is that you?” Max’s words slur together as he speaks. His skin is clammy, and his breathing is heavy and quick. He tries to move, but Mike forces him back down.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here. Fuck, you’re losing a lot of blood.”
“Gunshot wounds’ll do that,” Max chokes out a laugh. Mike doesn’t even crack a smile.
“Just hang in there–I called for EMS in the car–they’ll be here soon,” he responds as he shoves the towel down harder with a sickening squelch. Max hisses in pain. “You’re gonna be okay. Just hang on.”
“Mikey, give it a rest,” Max coughs. His body shudders with the force. “I’m not gonna–”
“Shut up and breathe, Max!” Mike’s voice wavers. He ignores the warmth of Max’s blood on his hands as it seeps through layers of fabric. “You’re gonna make it!” You have to make it. Mike can hear sirens drawing near. “C’mon, just a little longer–”
“Cut it out, Mike.” Max wraps his hand around Mike’s wrist and uses the last of his strength to pull it off. Mike freezes. “Take care of Jessie for me, will’ya?” Max forces through gurgling coughs and a mouth of blood. His body shudders and his head lulls before his hand falls slack at his side. Mike’s nose scrunches as he presses his hands down enough to bruise.
“Damn it Max, don’t die!” He slams his hands once, twice, three times. No response. One, two, three. Still, Max doesn’t move. One, two, three. One, two–
“That’s enough–you can step back.” An emergency responder hoists Mike up by the arm and escorts him out the back door. Fellow officers occupy the scene now, but he can’t hear their chatter over the ringing in his ears. It takes five minutes for his captain to shake him from the dissociated stupor.
“Mikey—you okay?” Donnie asks, and Mike’s attention snaps to the older man.
“Yeah, I’m great,” Mike rasps through the bile gathering in the back of his throat. “Just peachy.” Mike feels his stomach churn before he pries his eyes off the house.
“Listen, I…” Donnie’s voice trails off. “I’m sorry about Max. It’s gonna be tough on both of us, but I want you to know that I’m here for you.” Donnie reaches out. His hand weighs heavy on Mike’s shoulder.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” Mike pulls away from the touch, and glances over in time to watch a dark sheet cover his dead friend. A sudden wave of panic washes over him. “Where’s Jessie?”
“Daycare,” Donnie responds. “Nobody’s called it in yet.”
There’s a flicker of relief in Mike’s expression. If he were still a religious man, he’d thank the forces above that Jessie hadn’t been home. The feeling doesn’t last long, however, and his heart sinks again. “Max was her only living relative,” Mike states. “What’ll happen to her?”
“The state will take her. My guess is she’ll end up at St. Anne’s, if she’s lucky.”
“St. Anne’s?” Mike grimaces. “You know they treat those kids like shit.”
Donnie sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know, but there’s nothing we can do about it. Max is dead, Marie’s been dead for years, and I can’t afford another mouth to feed, so unless you have any better ideas–”
“She’s not going in the system, Donnie.” There’s no room for question in his tone. “Call the daycare and tell them the situation. I’ll pick her up, and she can stay with me until I find someone better to take her in.”
Donnie doesn’t argue, and the two part ways as Mike crosses the yellow tape. He reaches for the doorhandle of his old Dodge, but falters long enough to give the scene one last glance. He watches as Max is tossed in the back of a coroner’s van, and he ignores the pit it leaves in his stomach. His car’s engine sputters to life, and he doesn’t waste time putting distance between the scene and himself.
Mike’s knuckles turn white as he grips the wheel and maneuvers the busy street. Max is dead, he thinks to himself. A taxi cab cuts him off, but he doesn’t touch the horn. How am I gonna tell Jessie? The silence becomes unbearable, and Mike reaches for the radio dial. Do I even have to? Sinatra croons through his speakers about strangers-turned-lovers. He doesn’t believe in any of that crap anymore, but he’ll take the noise to fill the void of Max’s banter in the passenger seat.
The car’s growling fades into the music as he continues to drive. When he reaches his destination–Manhattan Daycare–he spots a mob of children running around a dingy playground. Must be recess time. He kills the engine and waits for the color in his cheeks to return before he steps out onto the cracked pavement. Mike wobbles on his feet as he makes his way to the door. A bell chimes overhead, and an older woman looks up at him from a reception desk. She offers a smile that Mike forces himself to return.
“Name and ID?” The woman flips through a tray of notecards. Mike produces his wallet and sets his license and badge on the counter.
“Michael Logan. I’m here for–” Before he can finish his sentence, a shrill yell cuts through the air.
“Uncle Mike!” Jessie giggles as she bounds across the room. Mike’s body tenses, and with the force and grace of a car crash, the little girl slams into his torso. Mike stumbles back with a quiet “oomph.”
“Hey! Watch it, kid! I’m not as young as I used to be, you know?” Mike ruffles her hair, and as she looks up at him, his chest aches. “Sorry, Uncle Mike!”
A younger woman stands off to the side, and the pity-filled expression helps Mike ID her as Jessie’s teacher. The pair exchange a knowing glance before he looks away again. “Listen kiddo, how’d you like to come home with me today? You can ride shot-gun in the old cruiser–we’ll get ice cream–you name it, we’ll do it.”
“Can we get McDonald’s?” Jessie’s face brightens, and when she smiles at him, his chest tightens. She looks just like Max. “Yeah, we can get McDonald’s.” He ruffles her hair again and smiles back. “You got everything you need?”
She nods, and he takes her little hand in his own to lead her to the car. “You know, if you ride up front, you have to help me keep an eye out for bad guys, right?” Mike fakes a serious tone as he scoops her up into the passenger seat and buckles her in. Her brows furrow as she mimics his expression. “Right!” She replies and lifts her hand to her forehead. Mike grins and returns her salute. “The city of New York is counting on you, kiddo.”
Mike slides into the driver’s seat and sparks the engine to life once more. Sinatra’s voice oozes from the speaker, and Jessie’s nose scrunches. She reaches for the radio, but her arm is too short to reach. “What’s wrong? You don’t like Sinatra?” Mike jokes and places his fingers on the dial.
“He sounds weird,” Jessie states with a shake of her head, and Mike chuckles. “Your old man’s not raising you right if you don’t like the Rat Pack.” He twists the dial once, twice, three times. “What about Billy Joel?” He glances over at her when the car rolls to a stop. She nods.
“I like Piano Man!” She smiles up at him, and Mike reaches to tousle her hair. “Everyone likes Piano Man, squirt. It’s a classic.” The car rolls forward again, and a gentle quiet falls over the pair. When the golden arches creep into view, Jessie’s face lights up again.
“What do you want, kiddo?”
Jessie ponders for a moment before she speaks up. “Can I get chicken nuggets, and a milkshake?” Her voice is hesitant, like she expects him to say no.
“A milkshake, huh?” Max would kick my ass. He considers saying no, but the pleading look in her eyes makes his chest ache. She’s not used to being spoiled–that much is obvious. “Hell yeah you can, kid.” She smiles, and he can’t help but feel like a bad influence. His attention turns to the loud speaker.
“Can I get a McNugget Happy Meal, a large chocolate shake, and a large fry?” Mike calls out. When he receives his total, he pulls forward. The over-worked teenager at the window takes Mike’s cash in exchange for a brown bag and a large sugary drink. He passes the shake to Jessie and laughs when she struggles to get her hands around the cup.
“Maybe we should’ve gotten a smaller one–that thing’s as big as you are,” Mike jokes as he pokes a straw through the lid. “You’ll share some with your favorite uncle, right?”
Jessie lifts the straw to her lips and takes a drink before she holds the cup out to Mike. “Yeah! You can have some, too!” He leans forward and sips from the straw, but he grimaces at the sweetness that assaults his tongue.
“Jesus, kid. How do you handle that much sugar?” He shakes his head and guides the car back onto the main road. Jessie just shrugs and kicks her feet as she continues to gulp down the chocolate shake.
Mike feels at ease when he pulls up to the precinct. “I need to run in and pick up a few papers before we go home, okay? Can you be good and wait out here in the car?”
“Why?” Jessie tilts her head. “I wanna come too!”
“Nah, you don’t wanna go in. It’s really boring in there. I won’t take long.”
“But I wanna say hi to daddy!” Jessie pouts. The memory of that morning slams Mike like a freight train, but he keeps a brave face for Jessie. Right. She doesn’t know.
“Honey, daddy’s not here.” He looks into her wide, innocent eyes, and he knows the truth will break her heart. “He’s out on a super secret mission, and that’s why you’re gonna be staying with me for a couple days, okay?” He bites the inside of his cheek and hopes she doesn’t question him further.
“Oh, like a spy?” Jessie smiles. Mike sighs in relief and pats her head. “Yeah, like a spy. Just sit tight, and I’ll be right back.”
“Okay! I watch for bad guys!” She salutes the man again, and he gives a chuckle.
Mike returns the gesture before he exits the car. When he’s out of Jessie’s sight, his shoulders sag. I just need to lie for a few days. He pushes his way into the precinct and maneuvers around the other officers in the bullpen before he reaches his desk. His eyes linger on Max’s nameplate and empty chair. Mike gathers papers off his desk and crams them into a leather satchel.
“Hey,” a voice calls from across the room. “Mikey, you doing okay? I heard about what happened with Max.”
“Yeah, I’m just fine,” Mike responds. “Thanks, Tony.”
“No problem–you know we’re all here for you, right?” Tony pats Mike on the back. He winces. Can’t you just leave me alone?
“I know,” Mike shrugs and drapes his satchel over his neck.
“Say, are you still coming to the pub later? A little drinking and socializing might do you some good,” Tony jabs to lighten the mood.
“Nah, as much as I need a good drink or five, I’ve gotta get home,” Mike rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms over his head. Tony feigns surprise. “I never thought I’d see the day where Mike Logan turns down a chance to drink his problems away.”
Mike snorts, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well, I’m a changed man. I’ve got a six year old in my cruiser that I’ve gotta get home before bedtime.” His eyes linger on a framed picture of Max and Jessie on the desk beside him. Mike picks it up and stuffs it in the satchel.
“You’re looking after Jessie? I never would’ve pegged you as the fatherly type.”
“I’m not. I’m just holding onto her for a bit until I can find someone else to pass her off to,” Mike steps away from the desk and makes his way to the door. His eyes roll when he notices Tony following. Each jab stokes the flame building in Mike’s chest.
“That’s definitely for the best,” Tony retorts. “Kids require a lot of patience, and I’ve seen how short your fuse is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike bristles. He tries to catch his tongue, but he isn’t fast enough. “You think just because my mom and old man used to beat me around when they got angry, I’d do the same to her, huh?” His fist curls around the strap of the satchel. “D’you think I haven’t thought of that already?”
“Mikey, you know I was just joking–” Tony blubbers, but Mike continues. “Don’t bother. I don’t wanna hear it.” Mike shoves through the doors of the precinct. It slams behind him. The wind shocks him from his fury, and he runs a hand down his face. He’s right. I’m no better than my mother. Why the hell would Max trust me? Mike takes a moment to compose himself before he returns to the car.
When he climbs inside, he finds Jessie asleep in the passenger seat. The tension in his body melts away. The car starts again, and he takes off for his apartment. He’s careful to avoid the potholes along the way. When he parks outside the old building, he shakes Jessie awake.
“Are we home?” She rubs the sleep from her eyes and smiles.
“Yeah, we’re home.” Mike parks the car and leads her inside. In the living room, there’s a TV, a couch, and a recliner–what more could a man need? The kitchen is small, but functional. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it with Jessie’s backpack by the door. “Bathroom’s down the hall. My bed’s across from there. You can sleep in it–I’ll take the couch–okay?” Jessie nods and starts down the hall, but she lingers in the doorway.
“Uncle Mike? Can you tuck me in?” Mike’s chest clenches at the tiny request. “Sure thing, kid.” He follows her back and lets her get comfortable. He pulls the blanket over her and gives her one final pat on the head. “G’night, kiddo. I’ll just be in the other room if you need me, okay?” Jessie nods and smiles as he turns out the light. Mike closes the door behind him before he retires to the couch for the evening. Well, that’s one day down. I’m sure someone will take her soon. She’s a good kid.
“Oh, well, whyn’t you toss in a free subscription to Playboy magazine while you’re at it?”
(5x05, “White Rabbit”)
Mikey is being a little bit of a jerk here. It’s also an unusually sexually-charged thing to say to Claire (usually he defaults to deferential or polite-enough around her).
There are lots of things that make people’s lives more enjoyable, and this is the very first thing he picks…? What, is the advent of Jack McCoy bringing back Logan Who Could Use Some Manners? (And it’s doubly-odd, because when it comes down to it, he’ll always take money over sex, but that’s another story. Although, “free”…)
So what does this say about what’s on his mind?
Well, Playboy gets you off, but from a distance. And for free in this case.
So… “I get off for free from you at a distance”…? And he’s… yeah, sitting in the distance against the wall.
(Claire, by the way, takes it in stride. Whatever the state of their relationship at the moment, she’s known him for a whole year…)
Mike and Claire are both locked out of the 60’s loop in this one, although Mikey’s lying/someone didn’t consider how old he really was then/he went as a ten-year-old to stare at older girls with no inhibitions, take your pick. But he says he heard they gave out “free love”. ‘Free’. There’s that word again. Maybe he knows it’s not the 60’s and you don’t need older hippie girls to find it anymore, since he has said it’s available from another source…
(Bonus, these are the faces these idiots manage to make at work (+4x11), to each other, while they’re arguing with each other.) dun dun
Not RPFing and without too much RL commentary, but Chris adores her. In a way he doesn’t most of his costars. Jill is a much more positive person about everything generally but it’s still pretty mutual.
Yes, this is totally the verse where she doesn’t die, why?
So, according to him, Mike’s actual dad was still alive as of 1x21 (“Sonata for Solo Organ”) but not by 3x04 (“The Corporate Veil”).
The fact he died sometime during Logan’s partnership with Phil Cerreta is probably part (along with losing Max and his own lovely hideous upbringing) of why Mikey is willing to accept the man as a substitute father-figure (Phil having five kids of his own not hurting).
Mikey is trying for second base two episodes after he met the lady. In pretty much the exact same spot in Van Buren’s office before.
Although if you consider his “Kiss the Girls…” conversation with Max Greevey, he has known her long enough to do a whole lot more…
“French silk” is another reference to Claire, and her French name, and though specifically not in the US legal system, “silk” happens to be a lawyer-reference from elsewhere (Ben would be one, although Claire wouldn’t), thanks Lieutenant…
Or as Julia said, “You can’t tell me you’ve never been there. Some guy has his hand in your— and he won’t stop.” [non-criminal version]
…he’s trying awfully hard to be politically-correct. ;)
So… about 99% sure Logan’s tie from 5x02 (“get fucked mccoy”) is the one he wears for his final scenes in 5x23 (“go drown in the east river”).
….His entire outfit is the same, actually.
This is his darkest tie. Black Watch plaid or close. Pretty sure if he doesn’t wear it solely for these two scenes, he doesn’t wear it much more often…
Briscoe’s tie is very similar. McCoy’s may or may not be the same both times.
J.J. McCoy is not his friend in the District Attorney’s office (that’s Claire. As she then proves in the final scene.)
Jack never has been. Even though they are classified as “on the same side”…
The evil twin reflecting factor is too strong. (If Logan had some misplaced pride in his last ep, Jack McCoy had a couple fistfuls more, and it’s his that went much more directly before Logan’s fall — Mike said “mea culpa”— and who was Mike really punching, anyway…?)
I have a lot of thoughts about 5x23, but “Pride” basically explains their relationship (and Logan/Kincaid/McCoy) with some sledgehammer metaphor-ing.
dededos
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