Fanfic Forever!!!

Welcome to my very own place of fanfic! Read and be impressed...

The Chronicles...: Here's something that *I* actually wrote...
Disclaimer: My little babble about not meaning to infringe on copyright laws...

"The Eyes Have It"

This was written by my good friend, Olga Stewart especially for me.
She is such a sweetheart!!!  Thank you so much, me Mad Lady!!! :)


 Of all the days for Lennie Briscoe to be sick!  This was the
thought whizzing through Mike Logan's head as he was maneuvering himself
along the eternally busy streets of New York.  Under other circumstances,
Mike would not have been out on his own, driving the police issued car but
with Lennie in the hospital and Profaci off for a family reunion (along
with Shirley), there was nobody else to 'pal up' with Mike, as the recent
glut of cases consumed all of the manpower of the 2-7.

        What was it about the month of April that brought out all the
loonies, in full force?  Every year it was the same.  And this year, it
might have clipped by faster if Lennie had been there to help him.

        Damn those cannellonis that Profaci had brought to the 2-7, for his
going away party, a couple of days before.  Normally, Profaci's Mama would
have made the culinary treats and sent them along with Profaci.  This time,
however, Shirley had decided to get in on the act by making them, herself.
When the cannellonis were put out, Cragen took one look at them and
muttered, "Will these be finding their way to the trash heap?"  Mike could
only roll his eyes in agreement.

        Even Tony knew better by staying away from the cannellonis.  But
not Lennie.  He was too much of a a food connoisseur to ever pass up the
chance to experiment with his palate.  Quite enthusiastically, Lennie
reached for a cannelloni despite collective warnings from Profaci, Mike,
and Cragen.  "Hey, what are you all gabbing about?  If you ever had to try
my first wife's meatloaf, anything else would be pure heaven, in
comparison.  It's not like I'm going to be landing in the hospital with
this little baby here, huh?"

        Those were actually quite telling words, on Lennie's part.  A
couple of hours later, he was in the hospital with food poisoning and it
was bad enough to keep him out of commission for a few days.  "Great.
Could we be any more of a sage with this precinct of ours?", Cragen asked,
when he found out the news.  "I can only imagine the footworks Profaci's
performing trying to get Shirley down to the calm ground.", Mike mused.
Ever the cheerful optimist, Lennie piped in with, "Don't know what you guys
are worried about.  I see quite a few possibilities here for pool partners.
That Doris dame brings new meaning to the phrase, 'heal thyself'.  Thyself
heels at her every command."

        Cragen took one look at Lennie, who was sitting up in the hospital
bed and exploded, as only Cragen could, "What?!  It's because of your puppy
food paws that we're in the bind we're in."  That was enough to stop
Lennie's jaw from flapping any more.  "Right.  Since Profaci's taking off
tomorrow and you, Briscoe, are saddled up here, Mike takes on the extra
load.", Cragen instructed.  "Oh geez, Lennie, why didn't you scarf the
whole lot, while you were at it?  I could have had Donnie's job.", Mike
muttered.  "Uh, Mike, keep that tone up and you'll find yourself relegated
to desk duty and it could be of a permanent nature.  Now quit barking and
get to it!", Cragen testily instructed.  Both Lennie and Mike knew better
than to say anything else.

        So, Profaci and Shirley took off, as planned, the next day.  Lennie
was getting along quite famously with Doris, at the hospital.  Cragen was
storming with the police upper ups.  Which left Mike to stew in his own
pent up juices.

        For that whole day, it was slog work galore.  Never thinking that
he would ever see desk space again, Mike attacked the files with a vigour
and persistance that would rival any taxi driver traversing the New York
streets.  Cragen was so impressed by Mike's output that Mike, the next day,
got the call to hit the pavement.

        Early the next morning, Cragen called Mike into his office and gave
him the scoop on the case.  "A beating occurred right in front of the
Mulder Dance Studio over there on 24th.  Some ding dong was going for a
woman's purse and he got the business end of her fists.  Seems this lady
has had quite a few training  rounds with the punching bag.  The perp got
it good to the face and the stomach.  And it turns out that there was a
witness to this party.  A girl, dancer, actually.  Name's Brenda *******.
She was going in for her usual dance practice do this morning and came
across the latest ROCKY sequel.  She put in the call whil the other lady
kept the turkey under secure means."

        Mike was chewing his gum and was trying to figure out how long it
would be before termites finally did in Cragen's office.  The sound of the
file slapping down on Cragen's desk brought Mike back to reality.
"Something you wanted, Donnie?", Mike nonchantlantly asked with that
devilish grin on his face.  "Yeah, peace on earth, goodwill to men, and
your undivided attention, Mike.  Course, seeing that you were such an eager
beaver with all those files yesterday, we could keep you very occupied
today, if we need to.", Cragen pointed out.  "Uh, where did you say this
dance studio was, again"?, Mike casually asked.

        So, there Mike was driving along the street, with his black Irish
temper carrying him through, body and soul.  At one point, an old man
almost got the 'bird' from Logan when Mike passed out of the man's
pedestrian area and into the speed merchants lane.  The man was too busy
keeping the steering wheel steady to even notice or care that Mike was in a
foul mood.

        About fifteen minutes later, Logan turned onto 24th Avenue, with
practically two of the car's wheels gliding in the air.  He quite politely
parked in front of the studio and this meant that a nearby garbage can just
about got tossed into the middle of the sidewalk.  The car door opened and
out stepped an agitated Logan.

        There was a doorman at the entrance of the studio.  He took one
look at Mike's angry face to know that it would be very prudent to let his
hands do the the talking.  This train of thinking, on the doorman's part,
was solidified when Mike just about poked the man's eyes out with his
police badge.

        Getting through the front door was the least of Mike's worries.
Trying to find the dance studio that this Brenda so and so dame was in was
the next bloody obstacle to get through.  "Gee, Donnie, decided to send me
on a wild goose chase, now didn't you?", Mike stormed to himself.

        Suddenly, he heard music reverbating through the walls.  Big band
music.  Lennie would have known what this was, in a heartbeat.  However,
Mike had had enough 'training' from Lennie to be able to make educated
guesses at these songs.  Stopping for a moment, those ears of his focused
intently on the music.  After a few seconds, he had it.  It was "Sing,
Sing, Sing (With A Swing)" by Benny Goodman.  And by the sounds of it, it
was near the end of the tune.

        Somehow, the music drained all the anger out of Mike.  He slipped
easily into his Logan swagger and cruised to the source of the music:  Room
N 13.

        Mike slowly opened the door and stepped quietly into a cavern of a
dance studio.  It was lit sparsely but the big and long windows, along one
side of the room, more than made up for that.  At the far end of the room
was a long series of mirrors covering the wall.  Over in the left corner of
the room was a tape deck, from which the music was booming.  But it was the
woman, on that dance floor, that completely stopped Mike in his tracks.

        The legs were the first thing he noticed.  Her legs were long,
sleek, toned, and shapely.  The blackness of her stockings further
emphasized the alluring qualities of those legs.  On her feet, she wore
black shiny tap shoes.  He imagined what it would be like to take those
shoes off and to start caressing her feet.  But he didn't let his thoughts
linger there too much as he wanted to take in the the sight of the rest of

        Next up was the kilt and it was of his tartan, the Logan.  The tie
she was wearing, as well as the ribbons holding her pigtails together, were
of the same tartan.  He was utterly awed by the sight of his tartan looking
so natural and gorgeous on this woman.  Lastly, there was the white man's
dress shirt, tucked into the kilt.  Her tiny waist was shown off to its
best advantage.  She also, despite the thinness of her frame, had subtle
curves that were making his mind go dizzy with infatuation.

        The music ended and the woman skipped over to the tape deck.  She
took out that tape and put in aNOTHer.  She ran back to a position near the
centre of the dance floor.  Mike decided to slip back into the shadows and

        Music came floating out of the tape deck and this time, it was
Celtic music.  This was something he was more in key with.  The music was
spirited, lively, feisty, and infectious.  Not to mention the lady dancing
to it.  Those feet of hers really tore up the floor, calling further
attention to those glorious gams of hers.  As he was listening to the music
and watching this intoxicating sight in front of him, Mike was trying to
place the tune.  Aha!  He had it!

        A few weeks ago, during some downtime on the midnight shift, Mike
had been flipping through the arts section of the TIMES.  He came across an
article on the Irish tap dance show, LORD OF THE DANCE.  Typical male that
Mike was, he was fairly interested in the 'ladies of the dance'.  Then,
later on, he heard this song at THE BLUE WALL.  Casey, the barkeep, told
him that it was called the "Cry of the Celts".

        Coming back to the present moment, Mike was transfixed by this
'Lady of the Dance'.  Her whole body became one with the music and the joy
came from her heart and sparked a bewitching fire in her eyes.  Man, but
she was a fiery temptation of an Irish princess.  Silently, to himself,
Mike was blessing Cragen for this.

        But just as soon as the music began, it ended and all too soon for
Mike.  Now what was he to do?  He was absolutely dumbstruck with awe.

        Meanwhile, the lady trotted over to the tape deck, turned it off,
turned around, and slinked directly over to where Mike was standing.
"Damn, she's good.", Mike thought, in admiration.

        "Hello.  I'm presuming that you're the police detective that
Captain Cragen was sending over.  Detective Logan, right?", a melodious
voice intoned in Mike's direction.  Mike could only manage an 'um'.

        "Oh my,", Brenda thought to herself, "this will go easy, huh?"  She
took a good look at the man standing in front of her.  Tannish brown
leather jacket reaching to his mid-thigh, dark blue suit, light blue shirt,
a black, red, and blue plaid tie, and shiny soft raven hair, falling
perfectly wavy atop his head with a cheekay tendril saucily hugging his
forehead.  His eyes were of a hazel-gray tinge and he looked to be over six
feet.  Even his beak nose set off his face perfectly.

        Well, that was that.  Brenda was hooked.  Looking into those sweet
tortured eyes of his got her right in the bone.  She tried to wonder what
it would be like to help him bring a happy light into those eyes.  However,
it was his eyes, that she felt were his most beautiful part.

        Mike's tongue was still just about stuck to the roof of his mouth.
"Why the hell can't I talk to this woman?", he thought to himself.  Now, of
course, she was luring his senses on, even more, with those captivating
eyes of hers.  They were of a baby blue that pierced his soul with both
their innocence and desire.  And her hair was like a golden halo.  When she
untied her hair ribbons and let her hair tumble naturally and sexily over
and past her shoulders, he was completely and utterly lost.  She was an
angel with the touch of the devil in her.

        Moments shared between Mike's and Brenda's eyes almost turned into
minutes.  It might have continued on that way if Lennie had not waltzed
into the room.  "Kids, we've got some business to take care of.  Mikey, you
ready?", Lennie asked.  Mike still was staring at Brenda, as she was, at

        Lennie knew all about this drill but had never been a witness to,
in the presence of Mike.  Yet, as nice as this picture was, Lennie knew
there was a purpose to be accomplished.  So, he whispered into Mike's ear
about letting him take over.  Mike was reluctant to leave but it was only
when Lennie just about flung him out of the room, that Mike got the message.

        Brenda was disappointed, too.  She wanted to be as close to this
'Mikey'  for as long as possible.  And Mike wanted to be around her even
more than that.  Nevertheless, their desires would have to wait until
aNOTHer time as there was a case to be closed up.
                                  THE END (?)