Concerned and worried, Jeannie was waiting near the front door. Surprised to see them smiling as they re-entered the house, she crossed quickly to her father and took his arm. "Mike, what was that all about?"
He looked down at her with an enigmatic smile. "Ah, they were from the FBI. They just needed to talk to us about the case, that's all."
Steve thought Mike sounded convincing and nodded his approval, which looked to Jeannie like affirmation.
"Does the FBI always go around so suspiciously? Sheesh, it looked like you two were under arrest!"
"Well, they can be a little melodramatic sometimes," Steve offered, trying not to laugh. He cut a glance at his partner and Mike took his cue.
"Sweetheart, why don't you show me where that wonderful buffet is? I'm starving."
As Jeannie began to lead her father away, Steve looked around. All eyes seemed to be on Mike, something thankfully he hadn't seemed to notice, but people were keeping their distance. He noticed that their colleagues were fanned out around the room, and seemed to have spread the word that Mike should be given space and time. And so far, it seemed, everyone was complying.
Relaxing, Steve strolled over to Burke and Ianello, who were huddled in a corner. Steve and Ianello shook hands and traded salutations before Burke asked, "What the hell was that all about?"
It was all Steve could do not to roll his eyes and sigh. It was suddenly going to be a long night of evasion, he thought.
# # # # #
Steve looked down at his watch, having to turn his wrist to catch the light from the house to see the dial. He chuckled to himself. 5:17. He looked back over his shoulder at the chair he was leaning against. Mike, a beer bottle in one hand, was leaning far to his right, deeply engaged in a conversation with Luca Ianello and Matthew Donovan.
He shook his head with a quiet chuckle. The night has just gotten better and better. When they returned to the house after their brief meeting with John Martin, Mike's entire attitude seemed to change. With Jeannie at his side and Steve hovering close by, he made the rounds, greeting everyone he knew and spending time with those that needed or wanted more of his attention.
Jeannie had taken a cab home around two, but Mike showed no sign of wanting to leave. He was thriving on this newfound confidence. Inspired, Steve pulled Lessing and Olsen aside and hatched a plan that he hoped he would be able to implement.
Now, with a self-satisfied smile, he took a sip from his beer, uncrossing and stretching his legs. He'd been sitting on the ground in front of Mike's chair for so long he was beginning to get a little stiff.
"You're looking pleased with yourself," came a voice from above, and he looked up as Danny Segal sank to the ground beside him. They clinked bottles after Segal got settled.
Nodding over his shoulder, Steve leaned closer. "I'm just marveling at the fact we're still here and he's still talking," he chuckled.
With a quiet laugh, Segal glanced in Mike's direction. "It's been a pretty special night, hasn't it? You know, I didn't think he was gonna be here tonight, and to get to see him again…wow." He paused. "You know, the last time you and I talked…" He let the rest of the sentence hang.
"Oh, I know," said Steve, "I remember it well. It was just after that that we got him back." He looked at Segal with baffled wonder. "These past seven months have been…I don't know… surreal? But I finally think it's over, I really do."
Segal grinned and nodded.
"Hey," Steve said suddenly, holding out his bottle for Segal to clink again, "I almost forgot to congratulate you for finally getting your shield. Let's have a look at it."
Chuckling, Segal reached into his inside jacket pocket, took out a brand new leather case and flipped it open to reveal the shiny gold star. He couldn't hide his proud smile.
"Nice, nice," said Steve, "well deserved, man, well deserved."
They sat on the Olsen lawn, surrounded by colleagues, catching up on each other's lives. Steve kept an eye on his watch. Closer to six, he excused himself and got to his feet, turning to Mike, who was still engaged in conversation with the two sergeants and, surprisingly, still wide awake.
"Ah, I hate to break this up, guys, but, ah, Mike, we gotta go."
Mike looked at his watch but couldn't see it in the dim light. "What time is it?"
"Close to six."
"Are you serious?" He looked around in amazement. "Why is everybody still here?" he asked with a laugh. He got slowly to his feet.
Goodbyes were made, and the Olsens were thanked for their hospitality as everyone gravitated towards the front door. Concerned, Mike took Steve's arm and pulled him aside. "I don't think either of us is capable of driving, buddy boy…" he began, but Steve cut him off with a smile.
"Don't worry. Lee's been drinking club soda for the past four hours. He's gonna drive us home. But, ah, we have to make another stop on the way. Are you up for it?"
It had been an exceptionally good night for Mike and he was feeling better than he had in months. He was very tired, but didn't want the night, and this feeling, to end. Unsure of what he was getting himself into, he nodded, smiling warily but warmly "Sure."
Steve smiled back. "Alright, let's go."
The partners stepped off the porch and started down the walkway. The tan sedan was parked at the curb immediately in front of the house. As they got closer, the driver's door opened and Lee Lessing got out, then opened the back door. When Mike and Steve approached, he nodded with a smile and executed a slight bow. "Lieutenant."
Mike stopped, a little taken aback, and looked at Steve, who with a smug smile jogged around the car and opened the other back door. With raised eyebrows and a nod, he got into the car and slammed the door.
With one more confused look at Lessing, who just smiled tactfully, Mike got into the back seat and Lessing closed the door. Mike looked suspiciously at his partner. "What's going on?" he asked as Lessing got behind the wheel, started the car and pulled away from the curb.
"You'll see," Steve replied noncommittally, not making eye contact. "Just sit back and relax."
With another frown, Mike did as told, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. For the first time in a long, long while he felt completely at ease and comfortably secure. It was a state of mind he thought he would never experience again.
As the car slid effortlessly through the empty streets, Steve looked across the seat and smiled happily. He glanced into the rearview mirror and saw Lessing smiling back at him.
With no traffic to contend with, the trip from Pacific Heights to the bridge was made in mere minutes, and as the car made it's way from 101 onto the span itself, Mike opened his eyes slightly. He knew instantly where they were and where they were going and, with a warm contented smile, closed his eyes again.
Eventually the car made a left-hand turn, passing a sign reading 'Battery Spencer', and continued along for a bit before pulling to a stop. Lessing got out and closed the door. Mike opened his eyes and raised his head, turning to Steve and smiling self-consciously. With a grin and a chuckle, Steve slapped his partner's leg then nodded at the door behind him. "Come on," he said encouragingly.
They both got out. Lessing had opened the truck and was waiting behind the car. Without a word, he handed Steve two large paper bags with handles and closed the trunk.
Steve looked at Mike, who was waiting silently. Steve nodded ahead of them and began to walk away from the car, and Mike obediently followed.
As they walked in the dark away from the parking lot, the vista slowly came into view. Steve could sense Mike slowing down behind him, and he eased his pace as well, smiling happily to himself, knowing that this was the exact right thing at the exact right moment.
He came to a stop and put the two bags down, glancing quickly back at the older man, who had also come to a halt, staring at the panorama before them. With a quiet chuckle, Steve took a heavy blanket out of one bag and spread it on the ground. "Here, have a seat," he said, as he kneeled on the blanket and took two lighter ones out of the same bag.
With an almost melancholy smile, Mike crossed to the blanket and sat, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his shins. He couldn't seem to take his eyes from the view.
Grinning happily to himself, Steve turned away and carefully and quietly began to remove the contents of the second bag. He glanced up, pleased to see the first rays of the morning sun beginning to colour the horizon. The timing had been perfect.
Everything ready, he leaned back on his elbows and stared at the spectacle before them. He glanced over his shoulder at Mike, who was staring straight ahead, tears brightening his eyes, and smiled warmly.
They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, not moving. Then, the chill of the night beginning to penetrate his lightweight clothes, Steve sat up and picked up one of the lighter blankets. Standing, he shook out the blanket and crossed behind Mike, gently dropping it over the older man's shoulders. Mike didn't move.
Steve sat back down and turned away, tossing the other blanket over his own shoulders. With another glance at the horizon, which was becoming lighter by the minute, he swiveled where he sat and extended his right hand. "Here," he said.
Mike started slightly and turned towards him, eyebrows rising in surprise. Almost hesitantly, he reached out and took the champagne flute from Steve's hand.
With a wide grin, the younger man reached behind himself and picked up a champagne bottle. Not taking his eyes from Mike's, he grasped the cork and turned the bottle, and the cork slipped from the bottle with a soft, pleasing pop. He tossed the cork over his shoulder and picked up his own flute, pouring the bubbly liquid into both glasses.
He carefully set the bottle down and repositioned himself on the blanket so that he and Mike were side by side. He turned to look at the view before them, Mike following his stare. The sun was just cresting the horizon over the majesty of the Golden Gate Bridge and the lights of their beloved City, a sight that never ceased to enthral or awe.
With a smile wider than the view itself, Steve turned to his partner and held out his glass. His heart in his throat and tears in his eyes, Mike met his partner's stare, raising his own glass. When the flutes clinked, Steve's grin faltered as he felt his composure begin to slip. He took a deep steadying breath then, with immeasurable affection, whispered, "Welcome home."
Though this may seem like the end of this story, it's not quite - there are two 'codas' still to come...