John Martin had been sitting alone in the interrogation room for almost an hour. Bailey had brought him to the station earlier that morning, but hadn't told him why.

Martin glanced around the stark room once more – at the obvious two-way mirror, the institutional grey metal table and chairs, the bare walls. He wondered if every interrogation room looked the same.

Suddenly the door opened and two men he had never seen before walked in. Without saying a word, they crossed to the two chairs opposite him. The younger one took off his rather loudly patterned sportscoat and slung it over the back of the chair before he sat, patting down his tie and flipping open his notebook in one smooth motion.

The older man just sat and leaned back, arms crossed, and stared at him. Martin looked quickly away from the intense blue-eyed scrutiny but not before he noticed that the man looked unnaturally thin, ill even, and that the dark blue suit hung loosely on him. 'Cancer?', thought Martin. 'Poor bastard.'

The younger one looked up from his notebook and quickly cleared his throat. "John Martin Is it?" he asked pleasantly enough, meeting Martin's wary gaze evenly.

Martin nodded quickly, nervously. "Yes, sir."

The younger one smiled. "I'm Inspector Keller, this is Lieutenant Stone," he indicated his colleague with a quick tilt of his head. "We're with the San Francisco Police Department."

Martin's eyes swung briefly to the older man but the blue-eyed stare completely unnerved him and he looked again into the friendlier green eyes of the inspector.

"San Francisco?"

The inspector ('Keller, was it?') nodded with a smile. "Homicide Division."

Martin swallowed. "Homicide?" he repeated softly. "Does this have something to do with the …?" Martin started slowly.

"The warehouse?" Keller finished quickly for him. "Yes, it does."

"Jeez, no one said anything about a homicide. I didn't think the… I told Sgt. Bailey everything I know about that. I don't know anything…"

"Oh, we know," the inspector interrupted again "And we appreciate that, we really do. We're here on a somewhat different matter." He paused.

Martin's eyes flicked nervously from one cop to the other and back again. "A different matter?" he asked slowly.

"Yes. You see, Sgt. Bailey and his team are handling things here, and the FBI is going to take over the kidnapping aspect of it –"

"Kidnapping?" It was Martin's turn to interrupt.

Keller looked up from his notebook and met the older man's eyes evenly. "Yes," he nodded. "The person in that warehouse was from San Francisco." When Martin didn't respond, he continued, "You didn't know that?"

"Uh, no," said Martin nervously, glancing once more into the blue-eyed stare. "Ya gotta believe me…"

"Oh, we do, we do." Keller glanced at his colleague and for the tiniest second, Martin thought he saw the younger one smile…

Into an uncomfortable silence, Martin ventured, "So, did you guys know…?" He left it hanging.

Keller looked up and nodded. "Oh, yeah. It was a cop, actually," he said casually and Martin caught his breath.

"A cop?" he repeated as he felt his heart sink into his stomach.

The inspector nodded and smiled. The blue-eyed stare hadn't wavered and Martin felt himself withering.

"Did you…I mean, do you know him?" Martin asked tentatively.

This time they both nodded.

"Yeah," said the younger one, "as a matter of fact, he's my partner."

Martin leaned forward and let his head hang. "Ah, jeez," he moaned, shaking his head, "your partner, jeez…" He froze, then raised his head slowly. The inspector was leaning back now, with a wide grin. When Martin met his eyes, he nodded, and with raised eyebrows and a tilt of his head, indicated the man to his left.

When Martin's eyes shifted, the lieutenant's hard blue-eyed stare dissolved, and a dazzling smile transformed his entire face. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward.

Martin stared in disbelief, wide-eyed. "You?" he mouthed silently, a hand coming up to point.

Stone nodded, and began to get to his feet. Keller stood quickly and put a hand to his colleague's elbow, helping him up, a gesture not lost on the still stunned man across the table.

"Mr. Martin," said Stone in as strong a voice as he could muster. "I owe you my life, sir," he continued as he circled the table toward the now totally flabbergasted little man.

Martin scrambled to his feet, the chair scrapping the floor in his haste. He held out his hand, and tall detective took it in both of his, pumped twice, then pulled the smaller man into his arms.

Steve knew what it felt like to be enveloped in a Mike Stone hug, so he just stood back and smiled. He glanced at the window – he knew Bailey and the rest were on the other side, just as delighted, just as pleased and just as touched as he was.

Mike and Martin pulled apart, and the small man looked up into those previously terrifying blue eyes. "It really was you?" he asked, the words seeming to catch in his throat.

Mike nodded. "It really was."

Suddenly Martin seemed to realize why this man looked so ill. He grabbed his chair and pulled it forward. "Please sit," he insisted.

Mike almost started to protest but stopped, moved by the gesture. He nodded and sat, indicating the now empty chairs across the table. "Please, join me."

Martin grabbed a chair, pulled it around the table to in front of Mike and sat, leaning forward. "Look," he said urgently, "I gotta tell ya, I am so sorry –"

"You have nothing to apologize for," Mike interrupted quietly. "What you did… I can't begin to thank you for what you did…"

As Mike continued to talk, Steve eased himself towards the door and quietly slipped out. He joined Sgt. Bailey and two other men at the window. "They need some time to talk," he said softly and Bailey reached up to switch off the intercom, then turned to Steve, wide-eyed.

"Oh…my…god," he said with a laugh, "I thought I was gonna lose it. I seriously thought I was going to burst out laughing and you'd hear me through the door."

Steve grinned. "Of course, the clothes didn't help – Mike looks like an 8-year-old wearing his dad's suit and that used-car salesman's jacket I was wearing…?"

"Hey," laughed Bailey, "what did you expect? It was the best we could do on such short notice!"

"Nevertheless, that was impressive," offered Captain Ron Bennett, APD's head of Robbery-Homicide. "You could almost hear the tumblers snapping into place in Martin's head as he put it together."

"I'll say," echoed the third man, Chief of Detectives Calvin Robinson. "I'd love to see you two in action when he's a hundred percent." He nodded towards the window.

Steve laughed. "Mike never wavered; I don't even think he blinked. The one time I looked at him, I almost lost it so I didn't dare look at him again." He was staring through the window at his partner, and Bailey was struck by the naked affection he could see in the young man's eyes. "That was fun," Steve said quietly, almost to himself.

Into the silence that followed, Robinson interjected, "So, I hear you all are leaving tomorrow?"

Steve turned from the window. "Yeah, the doctor's have cleared him so we're gonna take him home."

"What time is your flight?" asked Bennett.

"Just before noon. We took the later one so Mike could make the rounds and thank everybody. We didn't want to rush him."

"Well, we're gonna miss him," said Bailey with a sigh. "It's been a real breath of fresh air having something so potentially tragic turn out so well."

"You can say that again," agreed Robinson. "The force has been through some rough times recently, but this has helped morale immeasurably." He looked at Steve. "I know, for legal and personal reasons, we haven't gone public with this, but our members all know about it and, to a man, it has restored a bit of faith in the system. And for that I can't thank you enough."

"Don't thank me," said Steve, nodded toward the window, "thank that little guy in there. Who would have thought it, hunh? A con with a conscience."

# # # # #

Bailey was behind the wheel as the maroon Galaxy left the police department parking lot, heading for the airport. "We drive these too," said Mike from the back seat. "Dependable."

"Functional," Steve added dryly.

Jeannie turned to Bailey from across the front seat. "They've never agreed about the cars," she offered.

Bailey chuckled and threw another glance into the rear view mirror. Mike was barely visible under the visor of the Albuquerque Dukes baseball cap. APD members had chipped in to buy him the hat and a Dukes t-shirt and jacket, as well as khaki pants and sneakers – everything but the sneakers two sizes too large so he wouldn't 'out-grow' them when he was back to his normal weight.

Mike was grateful and more than a little touched by the gesture, even though the Dukes were the Triple A affiliate for the L.A. Dodgers, his beloved Giants most-hated rivals. And as he, Steve and Jeannie had 'made their rounds' that morning, starting at the hospital, for thanks and goodbyes, he wore the Dukes outfit with pride.

At her father's request, Jeannie had purchased a few dozen boxes of chocolates, and the three made their way slowly to those instrumental in Mike's care and treatment. Doctors, nurses, orderlies, and even the ambulance crew, were contacted, thanked, and, as Jeannie put it, "chocolated". There were more than a few tears.

Escorted by Bailey, the trio then stalked the halls of APD headquarters, where every officer they could locate was given the same treatment.

As they were leaving the building, a State Trooper's car pulled up, and the big, dark-glasses-wearing Trooper Moreno stepped out. "I was almost half-way across the state," he laughed, only half-joking, "but I couldn't let you leave without this." He stopped in front of Mike and shot him a crisp salute, his left hand holding out a small black box.

Mike, taken aback for a split second, returned the salute and took the box. He opened it and chuckled, taking out a pair of very black dark glasses. Grinning, he held out his hand. "Thank you."

As Moreno shook Mike's hand, he said warmly, "It's good to see you looking better, sir."

"Mike, Trooper…it's Mike."

"Enrique, sir…I mean, Mike…sir…" he finished with an embarrassed shrug. Moreno looked at Bailey. "Are you on your way to the airport?"

"Yep," Bailey nodded.

"Good," said Moreno, "my jurisdiction. How about an official New Mexican escort?"

"Couldn't hurt," agreed Bailey.

"I'd like that, Enrique" said Mike, as the young trooper puffed with pride.

"Then it would be my honour….Mike."

# # # # #

"I thought Bailey was going to cry," Steve said as he handed Mike the cup of coffee he'd taken from the stewardess.

"He's a good man," Mike answered as he put the cup on the tray table. "I owe him as much as I owe Martin."

"Well, I invited him and his wife to come visit us sometime, show him around the city. And I think he might take me up on it."

"I hope so," said Mike, taking a sip of the coffee. His melancholy stare out the window was not lost on his seatmate.

Steve knew Mike was having mixed feelings about his return to San Francisco. Steve was a little worried too. He had called Devitt the previous evening with details of their return, and to get the captain to ensure that there would be no welcoming committee at either the airport or Mike's house. It was still too soon.

Now he could only hope that word had not gotten out and well-meaning friends and colleagues had congregated at either place.

"Look, ah," Steve began, "I know we haven't talked about this yet…"

Mike eyed him warily.

"This is purely for me and not necessarily for you, but…if your couch is available…I'd like…"

Mike grinned. "If you weren't gonna offer, I was gonna ask," he interrupted.

Steve smiled and patted the back of his hand. "As long as you need me."

Mike swallowed, the haunted look from before briefly flashing across his face. He turned to the window again.

Steve knew when the San Francisco skyline eventually came into view – Mike inhaled sharply and stiffened in his seat. Suddenly the older man was jolted by a thump on the back of his seat.

Mike sighed. "Yes, Jeannie, I see it." The thumping continued. "You can stop kicking my seat now," Mike ordered, but the smile in his voice was evident. Still the thumping continued. Mike raised his voice even more. "Am I gonna have to come back there, young lady?" he growled. Then both men chuckled at the girlish giggle that came from the row behind them.

# # # #

Steve was relieved to see only Devitt waiting for them in the concourse. The captain was delighted to see how much better Mike looked, even though everyone knew he still had a long way to go.

Mike grew quieter the closer they got to his house, and by the time the Galaxy pulled to the curb in front of the De Haro address, he was silent.

Jeannie threw Steve a concerned look across the back seat as Mike opened the front passenger door and got out. He stood stock still on the sidewalk, staring up at the house.

Giving him a few moments to collect himself, Jeannie crossed to her father and took his arm, and together father and daughter slowly and wordlessly climbed the steps to their front door.

Steve got their bags from the trunk, told Devitt he would talk to him soon, and followed at a distance.

Jeannie had her keys in her hand and unlocked the front door, then stood aside for her father to enter first. Mike stepped across the threshold and stopped, looking around slowly. Jeannie and Steve stood on the landing, waiting, worried.

Eventually Mike turned to them and smiled. "I never thought I'd see this old place again." He suddenly seemed to notice their serious expressions, and his smile grew even wider. "What are you standing out there for? Come on in!"

# # # # #

A couple of hours later, the remains of two pizzas – one with anchovies, one without – sodas, beers and a wine bottle littering the living room, the trio was relaxing in a post-dinner lethargy.

It had been a good day all around, and while everyone was tired, especially Mike, no one wanted the day to end. Steve glanced at his watch. So much had happened already and it was only shortly after six!

It was Mike who finally broke the easy silence. "You know what I'd like?" he seemed to ask no one in particular.

Steve finished his sip of beer before inquiring, "What?"

Mike hesitated for a second before continuing slowly. "I'd like to stand in the shower for half an hour and wash the last three months off me for good."

Steve heard Jeannie catch her breath with a small whimper. He felt his own heart pounding in his ears – he knew what Mike had lived through and he couldn't begin to fathom what his partner must be feeling.

He sat up from where he had been reclining and put the beer bottle down with a thud. "I can do something about that," he said with conviction as he stood. "Michael, come with me."

Mike looked at the young man and smiled. Slowly he got to his feet and crossed to the stairs, Steve close on his heels, arms partially out-stretched, protective, ready in case Mike stumbled or lost his balance. As they climbed beyond the level of the second floor, Steve glanced back at Jeannie, and grinned and winked. She heard them go into the bathroom and the door shut.

Once again marveling at the bond they shared, she crossed quietly to the stairs and tiptoed to the second floor landing, content to sit on the top step and listen to the murmur of their voices through the bathroom door.

# # # # #

"Here, let me give you a hand." Steve helped Mike pull the t-shirt over his head, then undid his belt. "Put your hand on my shoulder," he instructed as he knelt and helped Mike step out of his pants and undershorts. He was still appalled at how thin his partner was; hip bones, ribs and collarbone still very visible. But Steve had learned to mask his concern.

Steve turned on the shower and when he was satisfied the temperature was right, he opened the curtain. "Get in." He helped Mike into the tub. "Brace yourself against the wall." Mike did as he was told, letting the warm water fall onto his head and cascade down his body.

Seconds later he heard the curtain open and close again, and Steve was there, in the shower beside him. "Just stand there," Steve said simply. "Close your eyes." Mike felt Steve's hands on his head and could feel and smell the shampoo being rubbed into his hair.

Mike's small groan of pleasure made Steve smile, even as the water bounced into his face. Slowly, with infinite gentleness, Steve began to wash the horrors of the past one hundred days from his partner's body. Mike stood, eyes closed and breathing deeply, one hand on the tile wall, and let the warm water and tender ministrations flood over him.

"Turn around," Steve instructed after awhile. Mike faced away from the showerhead, the water now on his back. Steve began to rub the washcloth across Mike's shoulders, trying not to look at the all-too-visible ribs and vertebrae.

Mike's head was down, allowing the water to bounce off the back of his neck. Suddenly his deep breaths became shallower and he began to shake. The shakes rapidly turned to heaves, and Steve could hear him gasping for air.

Instantly aware of what was going on, Steve dropped the washcloth and put his hands under Mike's arms. He felt the older man's knees buckle and braced himself to take the weight.

"Go down, go down," he said quickly. And as Mike folded up on the bottom of the tub, Steve did as well. He managed to turn them both as Mike collapsed so that he was lying against the back of the tub instead of the faucet.

He pulled the broken man into his arms, Mike's head against his chest. He rested a cheek on the top of Mike's head and wrapped both arms around the thin, shaking body. "Let it out, let it out, let it out," he crooned softly, soothingly, as he rocked them ever so slightly.

And as Mike's sobs filled the small, steam-filled room, Steve Keller held onto his partner for dear life, his own tears mixing seamlessly with the warm shower that continued to bathe them both.

# # # # #

Jeannie had risen from the top step and was just about to return to the living room when she heard it. She hadn't heard her father cry since her Mom had died, and then he had been alone in the confines of his room – he never knew his daughter had been sitting on the floor outside his door.

Once more the sound pierced her heart, and she crossed slowly the bathroom door and slid to the floor. Then, with despair and grief borne out of helplessness, she laid her head against the door and wept.