Maggie helped Mike ease back onto the pillows. He closed his eyes, obviously tired, but a warm, contented smile lingered.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, stroking the side of his face.
He opened his eyes slightly. "I feel great." They had spent almost half an hour walking up and down the corridor, under the watchful eye of smiling doctors and nurses. Everyone on the floor, of course, knew about the police lieutenant and his very close brush with death and, in a city still reeling from the murders of its mayor and a city supervisor, good news was a welcome commodity. "We gotta start taking these strolls more often," he chuckled.
She smiled back, leaned forward to give him a quick kiss then looked at her watch. "We've got a good hour or so till Jeannie and Steve get back here with dinner. What say you and I do a little cuddling, sailor?"
Mike chuckled again, already starting to shift over on the bed. "Now that sounds like a wonderful idea." As he got closer to the edge of the bed, she sat and began to stretch out. "You know," Mike said with a smile, "if I play my cards right, what with you and Jeannie and Steve all hanging out here, I may never have to eat another hospital meal again."
As she lay down beside him, Maggie laughed. "Ah, that's the method behind your madness, is it?"
"There has to be an upside to all of this," he joked, trying to lift his left arm enough so she could lie against it, but he had to stop, wincing in pain, and brought it back down to his side. "I mean," he continued, trying to make light of it, "not that you're not an upside too, of course."
Her smile had disappeared as she watched him try to raise his arm, and she hoped he hadn't seen the worry in her eyes. As she lay down, she teased, "Oh, I see, I come second to a good restaurant-cooked meal, do I?"
Mike pretended to pause before answering then he grinned. She laughed, kissing the side of his face before burrowing her head against his shoulder.
# # # # #
Taking the stairs two at a time, Dan Robbins, his .38 pointed slightly upwards, raced to where he thought had heard the two loud gunshots. Reaching the landing of the third floor, he stopped, listening, trying to hear anything over the pounding of his own heart that could tell him where the reports had come from. Further down the short dark corridor, he could see light spill from an open door.
With a quick glance back down the stairwell to make sure he was alone, he started quietly down the hallway, every sense alert. The building, its walls graffiti-covered, the halls and stairway littered with garbage and human excrement, the smell so overwhelming it was difficult to breathe, seemed empty, and Dan was grateful for that at least.
He approached the open door silently, careful where he walked, but still he could hear nothing. The smell of gunpowder hung heavily in the air. Trying to keep the image of a badly wounded or dead Haseejian from his thoughts, he stopped at the open door. The frame was shredded, large splinters of wood, surprisingly clean and crisp, now the only evidence that a deadbolt had been in use.
The door itself hung open, wide enough that Dan could squeeze past it, eliminating the possibility that it would make a noise and therefore alert whoever was inside. Tiptoeing down the short hallway, its floor covered with discarded food containers and soiled clothing, Dan swung into the opening of the first room, in a crouch, his .38 out in front of him. The room was empty.
He took a step back into the hallway and continued further into the apartment. As the kitchen came into view, he became aware of someone leaning against the wall, and from the first glimpse of the dark gray material, he recognized Haseejian's suitcoat. Trying to calm himself, breathing silently through his open mouth, Dan eased into the doorway.
Haseejian was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall and legs splayed out in front of him. His head was down and his hands were in his lap, the .38 still in his right hand. Swallowing nervously, Dan looked anxiously for any sign of blood, confused and relieved when he didn't see anything. He took a step closer, then almost jumped back when Haseejian raised his head and looked at him.
"Norm!" Dan gasped, startled, and took another step towards his colleague, lowering his gun, "Norm, are you okay?"
The Armenian detective looked at him blankly and Dan's brow furrowed even more. "Norm?" he said again, more urgently.
His expression unchanging, Haseejian turned away, looking across the kitchen. Dan followed his gaze and froze. Propped up against the cupboards in front of the sink, his head down on his chest, arms limply at his sides and legs criss-crossed, was the barely identifiable body of John Lewis Stanton.
# # # # #
"You know, we're gonna have to tell him about Moscone and Milk soon," Jeannie said as she and Steve carried the paper bags of food into the elevator on the first floor of the hospital. "I mean, now that he's walking around the floor, he's bound to see a newspaper or somebody's gonna say something to him."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Steve replied as he punched the button to the fourth floor. "Let's wait a bit and I'll see if he's up to the news."
"Yeah, there's no telling how he's going to take it. I know he liked Moscone. Most of the department hated him, but Mike thought he was a pretty good guy, a 'straight-shooter'," Jeannie said with a chuckle. "Do you know if he ever met Milk?"
Steve shook his head. "I have no idea. I, on the other hand, met Dan White once. He didn't make much of an impression on me, I can tell you that, and the only reason I remembered was when he made City Supervisor and they talked about his past, they mentioned he was a cop and that was when I remembered that I'd met him."
"Where? At a scene?" Jeannie asked as the elevator doors opened and they headed down the corridor towards Mike's room.
"No, funnily enough, in a bar. I'd gone with a couple of the guys for a beer one night. Your father wasn't there – he had a meeting that night, I think."
"What did you think of him? Dan White, I mean, not my father," she giggled.
"Ha ha," Steve smiled back. "I don't really remember. Not much, I think. He was just too…I don't know…'whitebread'," he snickered as they pushed the wooden door open and entered the room.
# # # # #
Stunned, Dan lowered his gun. He looked back at Haseejian, who continued to stare at the dead man. Dan holstered his .38, took another step towards Stanton and squatted. The junkie/shooter had obviously been dead for several days, if not a week; the stench of decomposing human flesh was unmistakable and staggering. It took all of the young inspectors might not to gag, but he did put a hand over his nose and mouth.
"I think he came here right after he shot Mike," Haseejian said quietly, his voice flat and dull. "I guess we'll never know if he did it deliberately or not."
Dan, who had turned to look at his colleague as he spoke, let his eyes travel slowly back to the body, coming to rest on the syringe that was still in the crook of Stanton's left elbow.
"This is why I couldn't find the little bastard," Haseejian continued, "he was here the entire time."
Dan stood up and crossed the room, extending his hand. Haseejian looked up and, with a small, grim, grateful smile, took the proffered hand and hoisted himself up, sliding his .38 back into its holster.
"I heard shots," Dan said.
Haseejian nodded. "I couldn't kick the door open, it wouldn't budge. I shot it open."
Dan nodded. "Look, ah, you stay here, I'll go down to your car and call this in." Slapping his colleague on the shoulder, and with one more look at Stanton's body, Dan left the kitchen, leaving Haseejian standing over the remains of the person that had so consumed his life for the past week.
# # # # #
"So, what was it like to have your first steak in awhile?" Steve asked, as Jeannie and Maggie started to gather up the remains of their dinner, putting it back in the paper bags.
Mike settled back on the pillows with a satiated sigh. Chuckling happily, he smiled. "That was great, thank you. I think I'm finally starting to see the light at the end of this particular tunnel." He glanced at Maggie, the love so evident in his eyes. "We took two walks today, and they want me up and about even more tomorrow."
Jeannie had turned back to her father and smiled.
"Dr. Webster told us that they might let him out day after tomorrow," Maggie added proudly.
"Really?" Steve asked with raised eyebrows, looking at his former partner. "Wow, that would be great."
"Oh, Daddy, that's fantastic." Jeannie crossed to the bed and kissed him. "Oh, gosh," she said quickly, turning to Maggie, "then that means we're gonna have to do a major shopping trip to the grocery store tomorrow to get stocked up."
"Um, I like the sound of that," Mike said warmly, "home-cooking. But, wait a minute, young lady, don't you have a Ph.D. to work on?"
"Mike, in case you forgot, it's December. There's not much going on at the University now anyway – they're sitting exams – and any research I need to do I can do from here. I'll have one of my colleagues send me down what I need."
She threw a meaningful glance in Maggie's direction. "Besides, Christmas will be here before you know it, and I want you a hundred percent by then, because after that we're gonna have a wedding to plan, aren't we?"
# # # # #
"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow," Steve kissed Jeannie on the cheek as the door shut behind the women and he turned back to the room. With a warm smile, he approached the bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he sat in the armchair.
Mike smiled wistfully. "Tired. It was a busy day. But good, really good."
"Been giving things any more thought?"
Mike inhaled as deeply as he could. "Well, I really didn't have much time for that today, which was a good thing, I guess. God knows I'm gonna have enough time in the next month or so."
Steve nodded soberly, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head. Mike looked at him warily. "What is it?" When Steve looked up, eyes questioning, Mike continued, "I know that body language. Something's on your mind. What is it?"
Sighing deeply, Steve leaned back and nodded, as if making up his mind. "Mike, the day you were shot…something else happened that day, something that's changed this city, probably forever." As Mike's attention focused even more, Steve pulled the armchair closer to the bed and he smiled enigmatically.