They stared at each other for several long seconds then Mike cleared his throat and smiled slightly. "Hi," he said simply as he continued slowly down the steps into the living room.
"Um, ah, hi," Steve said breathlessly, suddenly unable to find his voice, and he took a step or two backwards to make way. Mike crossed painfully slowly to the sofa, where a few pillows and a blanket were already laid out for him. With a hand on the sofa arm, Mike sat gingerly, kicked off his slippers and began to lie down.
Jeannie came in from the kitchen, a mug in her hand. "Oh, you made it," she said brightly to her father, handing the mug to Steve as she passed him on her way to the couch. As Mike leaned back against the pillows, she picked up the blanket and spread it over him. She pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa and set the box of tissues and glass of water within easy reach. As she stood up, she moved a wastepaper basket close as well.
"You okay?" she asked her father as she hovered over him.
"I'm fine," he said with a nod, breathing through his mouth, and Steve could hear that his voice was muffled; it was obvious his sinuses were congested.
Her gaze slid briefly towards Steve and he could see the worry, and the warning, in her eyes. He knew she didn't want him to stay long or upset her father, and her look seemed to suggest that this was all his fault. "I have some things to do around here. I'll be back in a little while with some soup and some aspirin for you, okay?" she said to Mike.
He smiled up at her gratefully. "Thanks, sweetheart."
She kissed his forehead then straightened up and as she moved past Steve, who seemed rooted to the spot, and towards the stairs, gave him another warning glare. When she had disappeared up into her room, he heard Mike cough slightly then say, "Well, don't just stand there. Sit down over here so I can see you."
Almost embarrassed, Steve crossed around the coffee table to the armchair. Putting the mug on the table, he moved the chair so it was facing the couch and sat, the file folder in his lap. Mike looked at it, recognizing it as the one he had given Steve a couple of days before.
"Um, ah, how are you doing?" Steve asked quietly, knowing it was a stupid question but at a loss for something to say.
Mike's concerned gaze melted slightly as he recognized how awkward the younger man seemed and, despite everything, his heart went out to him. With a slight, ironic smile he replied, "I've been better."
Starting to get his bearings back, Steve smiled as well. "I sure hope so." He nodded towards the older man. "How're the ribs?"
Mike shrugged slightly. "Actually, they're getting a lot better. But this cold is a bit of a nuisance. Every time I sneeze or cough it's a killer. So I'm trying not to do that. I'm hoping it just stays in my head, but I don't like my odds," he said with a bit of a chuckle, trying to keep a lightness in his nasally voice.
Steve nodded, worry knitting his brows.
Mike gestured with his head towards the file. "So what do you want to talk to me about?"
Startled slightly, Steve looked down as if baffled by the folder in his hand, then back up. "Oh, um, no, ah, this can wait. There's no rush –"
"Steve," Mike interrupted gently, "you're here. Go ahead and ask me."
Nodding but still reluctant, Steve said quietly. "Okay, you're right. But it's not something I want to ask you; it's something I want to tell you." Suddenly there was life back in his voice, and Mike smiled slightly, warmed by this flash of the old Steve before his eyes.
The younger man got up and crossed around to the other end of sofa. He moved the wastepaper basket and pushed the coffee table away a bit so he could sit cross-legged on the floor. With an enthusiasm he hadn't felt in weeks, he opened the file and took out a sheet of paper that Mike didn't recognize.
"So, okay, I got what you wanted to show me about Paul Bennett being married to Jack Gallagher's daughter Linda, but something told me there had to be more to it than just that. And I'm thinking that that was your guess too, right?"
Steve's bright eyes snapped up from the paper to meet Mike's, suddenly disconcerted by the warmth staring back at him. He hesitated, and a brief smile played across his own features before he looked down at the page once more, not trusting himself to stay calm and collected.
He heard Mike take a breath before he answered, "Yeah, I kinda figured it was too easy."
"Well, uh, you were right," Steve said simply. "I did some calling around. It seems that Jack was pretty certain you were gonna select Bennett for your new partner, and he was kinda bragging about it to a few people. Bennett thought so too." He glanced up again and noticed Mike's smile had disappeared, replaced by a deep frown.
"I have no idea where he got that idea. I never talked about any of you to anyone. Nobody even knew who was on the list."
"Yeah, well, that's what I heard, and from a number of people. So, ah, so you chose me," Steve continued softly, his voice cracking, then paused and looked down, composing himself again, "and, ah, from what I've been told, Bennett didn't take it too well."
"What do you mean?" Mike asked hoarsely, trying to clear his throat.
Steve waited until he knew the older man had himself back under control before he continued. He held up the piece of paper he had been holding. "Three weeks after you made your decision, Paul Bennett assaulted his wife. She left him, and he was busted back to patrol. Jack talked to the brass and they suppressed it; that's why nobody seems to be aware of what happened. Officially it's listed as a reprimand stemming from excessive force against a suspect. But in actuality, the 'suspect' was his wife."
When he finished talking, Steve looked back up at Mike. The older man's face was a mixture of sadness and anger. He reached out and took the sheet of paper. In Steve's handwriting was a list of the all the people he had contacted, the names, dates and times of the phone calls, and all the pertinent information. It was neat and orderly and extremely detailed – just as he had been taught. Mike allowed himself a quick smile of pride before he asked almost rhetorically, "And Jack blames both of us, doesn't he?"
Steve nodded with a facial shrug. "Looks that way."
"And he's done all this just because of that."
Another nod. "It's hard to believe someone could go to that extreme after something so trivial."
Mike tilted his head, looking into the middle distance. "Well, sometimes something that's trivial to you or me might be a matter of life or death to someone else. It's all in the perspective." When Steve nodded slowly in understanding, he continued softly, "When I was a rookie in Homicide, and I was a lot older than you, a young kid - Stillwell I think his name was, yeah, Brandon Stillwell - just got his driver's license and he accidentally backed into a neighbor's car pulling out of a parking spot. Barely made a dent in the chrome, you could hardly see it. Two weeks later, the kid was dead."
Steve pulled his head back sharply, his eyes narrowing, riveted.
"The neighbor obsessed over that dent, threatened Brandon a couple of times and the kid blew him off; you know how kids can be. Then one day Brandon came home from his job as a busboy, and the neighbor attacked him with a baseball bat. The kid was dead before his body hit the sidewalk."
Steve's brow had furrowed and he shook his head, looking down. Suddenly he felt Mike's hand on his back, sliding up to grab the nape of his neck; it was a touch he hadn't felt in a long time, and one he had missed more than he could fathom. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes.
Under his hand, Mike felt rather than heard the younger man's gasp as he stiffened briefly before starting to shake. He felt the moisture in his own eyes as he tightened his grip on Steve's neck, hoping with this simple gesture all the heartache and discord they had been through would finally be over.
They didn't move for several long moments. Then finally Mike whispered, "You did good, buddy boy, you did really good," gave Steve's neck one more squeeze, slid his hand down the younger man's back then leaned against the pillows and closed his eyes. Through his open mouth he was taking deep, heavy breaths.
Trying to get his roiling emotions under control, Steve sat there and watched, still unsure just how far he could go, then reached out and gently laid a comforting hand on his partner's arm. Despite the weariness, Mike smiled.
Steve heard a door on the second floor open and Jeannie start down the stairs. With a quick squeeze, he removed his hand just as she stepped off the bottom stair and crossed quickly to the sofa. "Daddy, are you okay?" she asked worriedly, moving past Steve to stand over him, and Mike opened his eyes, smiling up at her.
"I'm okay, just a bit tired. Damn cold," he tried to chuckle through his blocked nose.
Her somewhat relieved smile didn't quite make it to her eyes, and she glanced at Steve with a furrowed brow.
"Hey, didn't you mention something about soup earlier?" Mike asked, lifting his head, trying to allay her fears.
"Yeah, I made some chicken noodle soup, and yes, I know it's a cliché," she said with a pointed look towards Steve as if daring him to laugh.
"Sounds wonderful. I'd like a big bowl, please," Mike requested with a chuckle. "Say, why don't you stay and have some?" he asked, looking at Steve and raising his eyebrows. "I'm sure there's plenty." He looked directly into the younger man's eyes, and in that split second they both knew that everything had been forgiven.
Inhaling sharply, smiling suddenly, Steve stammered, "Uh, ah, yeah, sure, if that's okay?" He addressed the last part to Jeannie. Her frown had turned into a small grin as she sat on the edge of the sofa and was rubbing one hand up and down her father's arm in an unconscious gesture of love.
"Two bowls of soup coming up," she chuckled, smiling warmly at them both as she got to her feet and started towards the kitchen.
"Oh, ah, there's a Giants game on TV tonight. They're in L.A. That's why I'm down here. You wanna stay and watch the game with us?" Mike's tone was light and natural and Steve could feel the knot that had been in his stomach for weeks unravel. "Now I'm gonna warn ya, I probably won't be able stay awake beyond the first couple of innings, but I'm gonna give it a try."
Once more exhausted from trying to breathe and talk at the same time, he dropped his head back onto the pillows and groaned with comic theatricality. "By the way, you might be more comfortable sitting in a chair," he snickered softly, eyes closed.
Still stunned and trying to contain his elation, Steve got to his feet and crossed back to the armchair. He pulled it around to Mike's end of the sofa.
Opening his eyes slightly, Mike pointed at the file folder, now on the coffee table. "Hang onto that," he said, "when I get back to work, we're gonna do something about that together."
Nodding, Steve picked up the folder and laid it on the floor beside the chair. He had decided to wait until Mike was healthier before he even considered telling him about the grievance that had been filed. But all that didn't matter right now. He knew he still had wrongs to right, and his reputation to salvage. But he had his partner back, his best friend, and nothing could stop him now.