A/N: Inspired by a Writer's Challenge, the prompt is printed in bold. The story is a WHN to "Target Red", Season 3, Episode 3.
As always, a big thank you to Tanith 2011 for all the help and encouragement , Meixel, for coming up with great prompts and all my readers and reviewers.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, I merely borrow them for a little while for fun, not for profit!
The Many Faces of Courage
What seemed like hundreds of people were milling around the festive room, making small talk, meeting and greeting, mixing and mingling. The blend of the chattering voices seemed like a buzz of aggressive insects in his ears. Inspector Steven Keller of the SFPD was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Decked out in his dark grey suit and most subdued tie, he felt like he was going to a funeral, his own…
His older partner was standing next to him, chatting with the Captain, Rudy Olson, who were both oblivious to his mounting unease. The two of them were making great progress in clearing a platter of finger food between them. Even the mere thought of eating brought on waves of nausea. He felt sweat covering his face and found it increasingly harder to breathe.
Feeling choked by his own tie, he loosened it and muttered, "I've got to get out of here".
He didn't wait for Mike's reaction but rushed out of the crowded room like a man pursued by demons.
Rudy looked at Mike with consternation and whispered, "What's wrong with him? Nerves? I never thought he'd be shy about speaking in public!"
Mike replied in an equally low voice, "I think there's more to it, Rudy."
"Well, I'm sure we can hold things together here for a little while longer, but you'd better haul his ass back in here, pronto!" the Captain demanded, this time his voice was so loud, that a few of the attending dignitaries turned their heads.
Mike put his finger to his lips and murmured, "I'll try, Rudy, I'll try, but …"
"No buts!" Olson was getting frantic. "Just get him back even if you have to drag him!"
Mike looked doubtful but quickly went after his partner. He didn't have to go very far. The young man was sitting on the stone steps outside the building. A picture of distress… rocking to and fro, breathing hard, head down, looking pale and miserable. He didn't even raise his head to acknowledge the presence of his partner, when Mike sat down next to him. The older man assessed the situation in a glance and took hold of the back of Steve's neck, pushing his head down gently but firmly.
"Here, put your head between your knees before you pass out. Now, slow breaths. In…out-…," he kept talking to the troubled young man until his breathing grew a bit more regular.
Mike put a steadying arm around Steve's shoulders and asked, "Do you want to try and lift your head up now? "
Steve nodded.
"Mind you, easy does it, just do it slowly and put your head down if you get dizzy!"
Steve nodded again. He lifted the head and leaned against Mike's supporting arm.
"Sorry!" he mumbled.
Mike gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze and asked gently, "What's there to be sorry about?"
The older man recalled a painfully similar situation a few weeks back, when he had found Steve in an almost identical condition after he had to shoot Jerry Schilling, an assassin, who was in the process of blowing up the Chinese delegation on a state visit to the United States. Steve had done the only thing possible and had shot to kill, but he had taken it hard, very hard.
Mike's thoughts went back to the present situation on his hands. Now he had to coax his partner to come back inside to be presented with a Medal of Valour for the exact same act. Oh Buddy Boy, I wish I could make it go away! Instead he scrutinised his partner's face. Some colour had returned and at least the he didn't look like he was going to keel over any minute, but Steve was still miles away from the condition he was expected to be in to make a short speech after receiving the medal.
Without prompt Steve started speaking. "I'm really sorry Mike, but I can't go in there and accept a medal for killing somebody, I simply can't!"
"I understand where you are coming from, I really do, but you're not getting a Medal for taking a life. You're going to get one for saving lives; maybe more lives than you are aware of."
Steve looked up and faced his mentor.
"Yes, I'm not only talking about the Chinese delegation in the car and their escorts. Can you imagine the international scale of the incident? Even the possibility of a war with China or at least some violent repercussions?"
Steve remembered vaguely that his friend had used the same line of reasoning on the day it happened. It seemed like yesterday. He could almost hear the whistling of the wind again and a shiver went through his body.
"Buddy, boy, I know this is tough, and I know how much you hate using your gun." Mike tried a different approach.
"Schilling was a deeply damaged person, he needed help, not a bullet." Steve's voice sounded bitter.
"I know that, that's why it took even more courage to use your piece that day," Mike maintained.
Steve made a non-committal sound and shrugged his shoulders.
"Courage or valour has different faces, you know. Sometimes you have to do harder things than just putting yourself in the line of fire. Using a gun on someone and having to take a life to preserve another, making fast decisions. Going against your own principles because the situation you are in demands it, sometimes just playing the game!" Mike stood up and reached out his hand to Steve, ready to pull him up. "Let's go in now and show some courage, buddy boy!"