Closure (1/1) by Bean Rated PG for mild language. Keywords: Lewis. Kellerman. No, no, no... you're wrong! I DON'T own the characters from Homicide: Life on the Street and so I CAN'T make money off of them because that would be WRONG! :) I don't remember the actual scene from the show very well (except for the fact that Mike was coming out of The Horse You Rode in On bar... that's such a cool place), so this is totally my view of the situation between Mike and Meldrick. Also, in case you can't tell, I *hate* Falsone. If someone out there reading this really likes him and is offended, then I'm sorry... but DAMN he's a punk!It pissed me off how those episodes made Mike look like Satan himself, and little punky Paul Falsone look like a saint. Erf! ::kicking something:: Ok,I feel better now... where was I? Oh yeah... this is me shamelessly using poor Meldrick Lewis to thrust my opinions about Mike Kellerman and the whole Luther Mahoney "incident" onto you, the innocent and unsuspecting reader. Enough of that! On with the show! Oh, by the way... write me and tell me what you think. Please... I'm really a very cordial person. :) ---------------------- Closure (1/1) Meldrick Lewis stood on the dark street and shifted back and forth nervously. This was stupid. No, correction: this was *monumentally* stupid. What the hell was he planning on saying to Kellerman anyway? "Hey, Mikey, how ya doin'? Sorry about that whole bein' forced to resign thing. How 'bout that damn NBA lockout, huh?" Smooth. Very, very smooth. He shook his head and decided that whatever forces of fate or nature or what the hell ever had sent him onto this street to meet with Mike Kellerman must be completely off the deep end and he was going the hell home. Too little, too late, for the forces of nature or fate or what the hell ever are not so easily thwarted: just as Lewis turned to go, he caught sight of a familiar strawberry-blond headed figure coming his way. Mike Kellerman walked out onto the street and took a quick glance around. It had not been the best of days, and he was tired and ready to go home. Maybe there'd be something good on TV... he could grab a beer, sit back and relax. The thought was comforting, and he even whistled a little as he crossed the sidewalk. But then he saw Meldrick Lewis. "Shit," he muttered, ducking back into the bar. What could he possibly say to Lewis? "Hey, Meldrick, what's up? Sorry about nearly gettin' you fired and all. That NBA lockout sure sucks, huh?" Oh yeah, that was conversation worthy of ole Al Einstein himself. With a resigned sigh, Kellerman opened the door and stepped outside once again. "Hey, Kellerman," Lewis began warily as his former partner approached. "Hi, Lewis," he said coldly in return. "You lookin' to give me a hard time just like everyone else?" <Damn, damn, damn,> he thought as soon as these words were out, <that was just *perfect*.> "Hey... I just came to see how you were doin'. Obviously just peachy, so I'll let you get goin'." He turned to go and sighed inwardly. Now why had he done that? Everything just came out all wrong... damn, he felt like some dumb high school kid asking a girl out for the first time or something. Kellerman watched him walk away for a moment before saying, "Meldrick, wait!" When the other man stopped, Mike hurried to fill the silence. "I just... look, Meldrick, I never meant for all this to happen." Lewis turned slowly to face his former partner. "Never meant for all *what* to happen? Huh, Mikey?" "You know what, Lewis! All this shit with Luther and Georgia Rae and Junior Bunk. I know all that blood spilled is on my hands, and I know I'm gonna have to live with that for the rest of my life. I never meant for it to happen, Meldrick... but he just looked at me with that self-righteous sneer and I couldn't stand it!" he spit out angrily. There was a long silence as Meldrick considered these words. Finally he said, "Nah, Mikey, it ain't all on you. You made one big mistake: you shot him too late. If only you'da pulled that damn trigger sooner, ain't none a this woulda happened. "I can't speak for Stivers, but I know I made my choice. I backed you up cuz I wanted to, Mike, not cuz I had to, not even cuz I felt some sorta duty as a fellow cop. I backed you up because you were my partner, man, and my friend. I know you wanted to be a cop since you were a kid, and I just wish things coulda worked out different." Mike's eyes were widening steadily through this whole speech, and now he said, "Do you mean that? You don't blame me like everyone else does?" "I don't blame you cuz it's part my fault too," he said hesitantly. "I had Falsone feedin' me info about players in the Mahoney group and I was usin' it to clean house. I didn't know it would go so far, though... I didn't know Junior Bunk would come downtown ready to shoot the place up." "Falsone... that damn little punk! He's so smug about all this, rubbin' it in my face and callin' me a bad cop. I didn't mean to be a bad cop, Meldrick." "Yeah, bunkie, I know. You can't listen to Falsone, cuz he don't know shit. You ain't a bad cop, Mikey. You never was." At that moment there was formed an understanding between the two men, a sense of camaraderie that hadn't existed since Mike Kellerman's first years in Homicide, before all the crap about receiving (or not receiving, as it turned out) bribes back in Arson, before he blew away Luther Mahoney. Meldrick grinned and said, "Come on, Mikey. Let's go get a beer." "At the Waterfront?" he asked with a frown. "No, bunk, you think I'd take you to that shit-hole? Let's go some place real nice." Lewis threw a casual arm around his former partner and, laughing, they walked off into the Baltimore night in search of a bar with worse beer, louder company, and more smoke per cubic inch than the Waterfront. It was a quest, they were sure, which would take all night. End 1/1