A half-filled paper bag under his right arm, Steve unlocked the front door and slipped into the living room, closing the door before turning on the light. He had checked the street several times before climbing the steps to the house, making sure no one, that he could see anyway, was watching him.

With the curtains constantly drawn, the house had acquired a gloomy presence. There were no other lights on in the house and it was eerily quiet. His heart started to pound.

Dropping the keys on the side table, he zipped into the kitchen to put the bag on the counter before taking the stairs two at a time. The master bedroom door was closed and he couldn't see any light under it. Without knocking, he quietly turned the knob and stepped inside, the illumination from the hallway falling across the room and onto the bed.

Mike was still in it. He caught his breath, leaving the door open and padding across the room as quickly as he dared. He reached for the bedside lamp, his trembling fingers fumbling for the switch. As he turned it, he heard quietly, "It's okay, I'm awake."

The light snapped on. Mike, in pajamas, was laying under a thick wool blanket with his head resting on a couple of pillows, staring at him.

Steve smiled despite himself, almost overwhelmed with relief. "Have you been in bed since I left?"

Mike nodded carefully, closing his eyes as he did so. "Yeah. I got changed, as you can see," he chuckled softly, "but I didn't feel like getting up."

Steve fingered the blanket. "Are you cold?"

Mike nodded again. "Yeah, I couldn't get warm… I still can't."

Transferring his left hand from the blanket to his partner's forehead, Steve sat on the edge of the bed. "You feel hot. I think you're running a temperature." He lowered his hand. "I think you should go back and see Dr. Raynis."

Shaking his head and smiling, Mike chuckled. "No no no, I don't need to do that. Listen, ah, just give me two more of those," he nodded at the Tylenol bottle on the nightstand, " and that should do the trick." He stared at his young friend with a disarming smile.

Steve inhaled deeply and stared back then shook his head in defeat. "All right. But if you're still running a temperature tonight, I'm taking you back in, do you hear me?"

Mike nodded reluctantly. "But tomorrow morning… not tonight, okay?"

Another stare-off, another concession. "All right, tomorrow morning. Do you still have a headache?"

Mike shook his head.

"You're not lying, are you?"

The older man looked appropriately affronted. "I don't lie to you."

"Yeah, right," Steve growled with a sarcastic chuckle as he got to his feet and started for the door. "Have you eaten anything since I left?"

"No."

"I picked up a few groceries on the way home. I'm gonna make myself a BLT. Do you want one, with a ginger ale? Or would you like something hotter?"

Mike smiled warmly and pushed himself up onto his left elbow. "That sounds delicious. And I think I'll be okay with the ginger ale," he chuckled and watched affectionately as the young man disappeared down the stairs.

Shuddering slightly, he pulled the blanket up with his left hand and closed his eyes, wincing.

# # # # #

About fifteen minutes later, Steve gingerly climbed the stairs, precariously balancing a large tray atop his cast and holding it tightly with his other hand. Not taking his eyes from the tray, he crossed the floor. "Make room," he ordered urgently as he neared the bed and began to crouch.

Scooting to the far side of the bed, Mike watched breathlessly as Steve carefully lowered the tray. Safely down, he stood back and grinned. "Wasn't sure I was gonna make it there for a second," he chuckled. "I'll be right back with our drinks."

"One at a time, I hope," Mike called after him, laughing, then looked at the two mouth-watering BLT's and waited for Steve's return.

Finally ready to indulge, and having downed two Tylenol with his first sip of ginger ale, Mike set the plate on his lap and picked up the sandwich, eyeing it appreciably before taking the first bite. His eyebrows rose in appreciation. "Wow, I've gotta start letting you make our lunches more often. This is impressive."

With a grin and bobble of his head, Steve chuckled around a mouthful. "Why thank you, sir." He was sitting in the vanity chair from Jeannie's bedroom, the plate balanced on his knees.

Mike was about to take another bite when he stopped and looked at the younger man with raised eyebrows. "Oh my god, I forgot where it was you went this morning!" He lowered the sandwich. "So what happened? Were we lucky? Were there scratches in the trunk?"

His face betraying nothing, Steve chewed and swallowed, then put the remainder of his BLT on the plate before sitting back. "Well," he began slowly, moving his head as if to shake it, then he grinned and nodded. "There sure were. A lot of them."

Mike exhaled loudly and happily, glancing at the ceiling. He chuckled. "That's the best news I've heard in a long time. So, what's gonna happen now?"

"Well, Norm and Dan are going to get Charlie down to Impound and have him compare the paint on the nail file, such as it is, and the scratches on the car to see if he can make a match – both with the paint and how the scratches look… you know, if they could've been made by a nail file, that kinda thing. Don't know how he's going to do it, but that's his department, not ours."

"When's that going to happen?" Mike finished the first half of his sandwich.

"Tomorrow sometime. Charlie's tied up with another case for Robbery right now."

Balling his left hand into a fist, Mike pounded it against the mattress several times. He sighed loudly and shook his head in relief then looked at his partner with a warm smile. "Good job," he said quietly as he reached for the rest of his sandwich.

Steve laughed. "Hey, I didn't do anything… I've been kind of a witness to everything these past couple of days."

Mike snorted. "Don't underestimate yourself –" he began, then stopped abruptly. The phone was ringing. Automatically, Steve dropped his sandwich onto the plate and reached out to pick up the receiver. "Don't!" Mike yelled and he stopped mid-motion, his eyes snapping to the older man. His brows high and eyes wide, Mike glanced pointedly at the phone. "That's probably Rudy. He's probably figured out we're not at the motel anymore and he's trying to find us."

Steve pulled his hand away as if the phone was white hot.

Mike chuckled. "We're hiding, remember?"

"Right."

The ringing finally stopped but they continued to stare at the phone for several seconds just to make sure. Satisfied, Mike looked at the younger man again. He sighed almost contentedly.

"We're not out of the nightmare quite yet, buddy boy, but we're getting closer… I can feel it." Mike moved his empty plate to the tray.

Steve smiled. "Me too," he said with a gentle laugh and a shake of the head. He ran his left hand through his hair then nodded towards the other man with his chin. "You feeling any better?" he asked as he picked up what remained of his sandwich to finish it.

Mike bobbed his head from side to side. "A little, I think. I'm not as cold anymore, so that's definitely better. But I think I'm gonna stay here for the rest of the day." He patted the mattress with his left hand then raised it to stop the comment he knew would be coming. "And don't worry about me, I'm fine. I know I'm nowhere near a hundred percent yet and I want to be there for the… the coup de gras so to speak," he said with a grin and a flourish, "so I'm showing some… self-restraint and allowing my head… and everything else," he rolled his eyes with a chuckle, "to heal a little more before I try to do too much." He met the frowning green eyes evenly. "There, is that what you wanted to hear?"

Steve stared at him expressionlessly for a couple of seconds then smiled affectionately. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on Mike's forehead, then nodded with relief. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, thank you. And you don't feel as hot anymore. Things are looking up," he said with a smile as he stood and picked up the tray with the empty plates and glasses. "Listen, ah, I'm gonna slip out for an hour or so and go to my place, get some more clothes. I'll be careful," he said quickly before an objection was raised.

"You better," Mike chuckled, watching him. As Steve got to the door, he added, "Hey, ah, thanks for the lunch – that was delicious."

With a broad grin, Steve laughed. "You're welcome. Anytime." As he disappeared through the door and started slowly down the stairs, once more carefully balancing the tray, Mike's smile disappeared and he swallowed heavily, a worried frown deepening the lines in his face.

# # # # #

He dropped onto the couch and moved the phone to his lap. Stuffing the receiver against his shoulder and under his chin, he dialled the familiar number then grabbed the receiver again before the first ring started.

"Yeah, Dan, it's me. Yeah, just wanted to know if anything's come up?... Yeah, yeah I told Mike. He's very happy, as you can imagine… No, he's good, he's doing good… Okay, so tomorrow morning?... Yeah, I'll be at Mike's. Listen, we're not answering the phone there 'cause, you know, Rudy – and who knows how long that's gonna last… Yeah, right. Anyway, you have the number, right?... So let's do this: call it, let it ring twice then hang up, wait about ten seconds and call again, and one of us'll pick up. How does that sound?... Perfect, great. Okay, so we'll - What?... Don Gosselin? He's a PBA lawyer, isn't he?... So, why does he want to talk to Mike and not me?... Yeah, yeah, give me the number and I'll give him a call. Give me a second, I gotta get something to write on."

He tucked the receiver under his chin again as he transferred the phone to the couch, stood up and rooted around in the drawer in the endtable looking for a pen and a piece of paper. Mission accomplished, he sat back down, the pen held awkwardly with his right fingertips. "Okay, what's the number?...Yeah, great, thanks, Dan. Yeah, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He hung up the phone and stared at it in confusion for several beats before picking up the receiver and dialing again.

# # # # #

Mike heard the front door open and close and the clink of keys tossed onto the table, followed by the thud of footfalls climbing the stairs. He had pushed the bedroom door partially closed the last time he'd returned from the bathroom and he saw a glimpse of movement as Steve continued down the hallway to Jeannie's bedroom.

Several seconds later, the door was pushed open and Steve leaned against the frame. His partner was sitting up against a wall of pillows, his reading glasses on and pages of a newspaper scattered around the bed.

Smiling, Mike pulled the glasses off. "How'd it go?"

Steve tilted his head. "No problem. Nobody saw me," he answered casually.

Mike's eyes narrowed. He knew something was up. "Everything okay?" he asked almost cautiously.

Steve pushed away from the frame and took a couple of steps deeper into the room. "I talked to Dan. He told me Don Gosselin – the PBA lawyer? That he wanted to talk to you. I thought that was kinda strange, that he wanted to talk to just you and not me. So I gave him a call…"

Mike's face lost all expression and he blinked slowly. He looked away and swallowed heavily. Steve cleared his throat and the older man's eyes snapped towards him again.

"Why did you do it, Mike? Why did you tell them you wouldn't contest the lawsuit if they took my name off it?"