The slightly-built young man with the blond surfer haircut and the haunted blue eyes looked towards the door with suspicion and dread. He was sitting against the headboard of the single bed, his arms wrapped around his upraised knees.

Steve smiled at Mrs. Steen with a curt nod then stepped further into the room. She quietly closed the door behind him.

"I don't know if you remember –"

"I know who you are," Steen said sharply, dropping his head back onto his arms.

"Good," the detective said softly, looking around the room as he moved closer to the bed. There was no other place to sit so he stood and waited for several long seconds. When the young man didn't look up again, he cleared his throat softly. "Was this your room when you were a kid?" he asked, his tone friendly and non-threatening. Still no response. "I ask because I remember your Mom telling my partner and me that you had your own apartment. We were there actually, trying to find something that would help to tell us where you were."

He watched as the young man tensed and his head rose slightly, listening. "Well, you didn't find me, did ya?… And you ended up down in that… that cellar just like I did, didn't ya?"

The bitterness in the young voice was surprising but not unanticipated. Steve smiled slightly in understanding, determined not to overplay his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what happened all right. But not because we didn't discover anything in your apartment. I ended up there because I happened to play pool on the wrong table."

That caught the young man's interest. He raised his head from his arms and met Steve's eyes with a wary caution. "What do you mean?"

Sensing a break-through, Steve took the opportunity to sit on the foot of the bed; Steen watched silently as he did. "Well, the bikers objected to my partner and I playing pool on their table," he raised his hands, his first two fingers making air quotes. "They put him in the hospital and they took me to the ranch, with you."

Steen stared at him for several long seconds without moving; Steve waited. "Your partner… was he all right?"

Nodding, the detective smiled again. "He's gonna be fine. Thanks for asking."

Steen nodded, looking away briefly. "Was, ah, was that him that, ah… that found us…?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you said he was in the hospital?"

"He was. They stabbed him in the belly with a beer bottle."

Steen's head snapped back and he inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing.

Steve smiled softly. "He's a tough guy… He got them to let him ride along when they raided the ranch… He said he needed to find us, you and me…" He bit his bottom lip hard, trying to stop the tears he knew were threatening to cloud his vision; he couldn't let this boy see him lose control. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

"He opened that heavy trap door all by himself… he popped some of the stitches in his belly and he started to bleed again, but that didn't stop him."

Steen's eyes were boring into him; the boy's mouth had fallen open and he was breathing heavily. "He called to me… I remember hearing his voice… He was calling your name, he thought I was you… He broke the lock on the cage…" Tears started to slide down his cheeks. "He held me in his arms… he called me by my name, and he told me he was going to get help… I didn't want to let him go… I was so scared…" He dropped his head again.

An uneasy silence hung over them, then Steve said softly, "He saved us both, didn't he?"

Steen nodded, his head still on his arms. His muffled sniffles could be faintly heard. Eventually he looked up, only his eyes visible. "Are you sure he's okay?"

Steve smiled gratefully. "Yeah, he really is. They had to put him back in the hospital and stitch him up again, but he's good. As a matter of fact, we're heading home tomorrow."

Steen swallowed heavily, raising his head a little higher. "Where's that?"

"San Francisco. We're both homicide cops."

For the first time, a glimmer of interest, tinged with a tiny bit of awe, was reflected in the blue eyes. "No shit?"

Steve grinned and shook his head emphatically. "No shit."

Steen grinned back with a short laugh but it disappeared quickly. "They, ah, they told me what I was kidnapped for…" He bit his bottom lip and sucked in a quick breath. "Was that true?" His blue-eyed stare was unsettlingly familiar.

Steve stared back and nodded slowly with a facial shrug. "Yeah… it was true."

The young man's face crumbled and he buried his head in his arms again.

"But it didn't happen, did it, Craig?"

The blond head came up, the eyes narrowed and confused.

"It didn't happen, did it? We weren't put on that ship and we weren't sent overseas, were we…? Were we?"

He waited for a response. He knew that this was the right time, that this was the make or break moment. And he waited and watched without blinking.

The blue stare faltered and dropped, and Steve hid his elation. "No… no, we weren't."

"No, we weren't," Steve repeated, his tone light and encouraging. "We're still here, both of us… and we've got our whole lives still ahead of us… don't we?"

Steen looked at him again, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"Well, what I mean is… I don't know about you, but I'm not about to spend the rest of my life obsessing over how I almost disappeared on a ship to god knows where. Life's too short for that kinda shit, isn't it?"

Steen lifted his head even more, as if he was hanging on the cop's every word.

"Craig, you have a mom, and some great friends, and a fiancée who loves you very much. You have your whole life ahead of you, man, your whole life. I think the best thing you can do, your way of giving the middle finger to those bastards who wanted to use you to buy drugs, is to move back to your apartment and marry Katie next June and have a whole houseful of kids and be the best dad and the best granddad you can be. Do you think you can do that?" His laugh was deep and real and infectious and, after his initial confused hesitation, the younger man began to smile and nod.

For the first time since he had been stretchered out of the Crocker barn, Craig Steen began to feel like he could get his life back. A small smile ghosted over his thin lips. He nodded slightly. "Yeah, I think I can do that."

Steve grinned. "Great. Yeah, that's what I want to hear." He started to get up, reaching into his jacket pocket and taking out a business card. "Here." He held the card out. "If you ever want to talk…" he shrugged. The younger man glanced from the card to Steve's face and back to the card. He reached out slowly and took it. Steve took a step towards the door.

"Hey," Steen said suddenly. Steve stopped and turned back to him. "What, ah, what are you gonna do? I mean, ah, with the rest of your life."

The older man smiled warmly. "Me? Well, I'm gonna try to become the best homicide detective the city of San Francisco has ever seen. That's what I want to do. And I've got the best teacher I could ever hope for."

"Your partner?" Steen frowned with a smile.

"Umh-humh," Steve nodded with a close-mouthed grin and a happy snort. He moved to the door again, looking back when he turned the knob and pulled it open. "Think about what I said, okay, Craig? We can't let the bastards win, right?"

The young blond nodded again then he smiled self-consciously. "Hey, ah, could you do me a favor and thank your partner for me… you know, for… well, you know…"

"Yeah, I know… and I will. And his name is Mike."

As Steve stepped through the door he turned back to the troubled young man sitting on his childhood bed, and he winked.

# # # # #

Mike finished doing up his shirt, sliding carefully off the bed and tucking the shirt into his pants before buttoning the waistband and doing up his fly. He put his hands on the sides of his abdomen and looked at his partner. "You can't see it, can you?"

Steve, who was snapping Mike's suitcase closed, glanced up and shook his head. "Nope. Well, not really. I mean, you do look like you've gained a couple of pounds."

"Ah, that I can live with," Mike waved a dismissive hand at him as he picked up his windbreaker and baseball cap.

The wooden door opened and their three colleagues crowded into the room. "You guys almost ready to go?" Devitt asked as he glanced around the room as if checking for anything they'd left behind.

"All ready," Steve said, picking up Mike's suitcase and handing it to Healey.

"Paperwork's all done, and I've had my final lecture from Dr. Cavanagh, so we're good to go." His windbreaker on, Mike set the ballcap on his head, tugging the bill into place.

"All right, let's get out of here." Devitt opened the door and stood back for the others to exit.

Haseejian was staring at Mike. "Did you put on weight while you were in here?" he asked innocently.

Mike, who had taken a step towards the door, stopped and glared at his sergeant. "No, I have not," he enunciated every word, "they've given me a… a…"

"A girdle?" Healey offered with a straight face

"A corset?" Haseejian chimed in, chuckling softly.

"A brace," Mike snapped through gritted teeth, the suddenly hard blue eyes snapping from one insubordinate subordinate to the other as Steve and Devitt laughed.

Straight-faced, the two sergeants looked at each other. "Did you hear snark?" Healey asked calmly. "I'm pretty sure I heard snark."

"Oh, there was definitely snark, I'm confident about that. Snark and a little bit of snit." Haseejian was nodding seriously, scowling as Mike's eyes continued to snap back and forth.

"Yes, yes, you're right about that. Well, at least we know he's feeling better, don't we?" Healey started to grin, staring at Mike who finally realized he was being had.

The lieutenant dropped his head and started to laugh. "Oh dear god, what am I going to do with you two?" He shook his head at them, continuing to chuckle. "Come on, fellas, let's get out of here."

Laughing, Devitt opened the door again and everyone waited for Mike to lead the way. An orderly with a wheelchair was waiting in the corridor and with a frustrated sigh the still recovering lieutenant sat carefully and allowed himself to be wheeled to the elevators.

# # # # #

The five San Francisco homicide detectives were walking down the corridor in the historic courthouse building, where the Eureka Police Department was currently housed, when Chief Ryan stepped out of his office.

"Welcome to my little fiefdom, gentlemen," he smiled broadly, his arms outstretched. As he shook hands all around, he nodded at Mike. "Good to see you out of the hospital, Lieutenant… ah, sorry, Mike," he corrected with a chuckle when Mike quickly raised a forefinger.

"It's good to finally be out. Look, ah, thanks for arranging this. I just didn't want us all slipping out of town without getting to at least say goodbye to everybody involved… and to try to get some of our unanswered questions answered."

"I understand completely, and I'm glad we're getting to do this too. Gents, come on in," he waved them towards the door he had just exited, which bore his name etched into a gold plaque. "It's gonna be a bit tight in here – it's not the world's biggest office – but I think I've managed to scare up enough chairs for everyone."

He opened the door and stepped inside, standing against the wall to allow his guests to enter, Mike again leading the way. Sheriff John Manley was standing in front of one of the chairs behind the large wooden desk.

"Mike!" he almost shouted when the older detective walked into the room, leaning across the desk with his right arm extended. "I am happy to see you up and about again. You sure gave us all a scare the other morning."

Chuckling, Mike took the sheriff's hand and pumped it warmly. "Sorry about that, John, but, ah… I really had no intention of getting that involved…"

"Well, we're really glad you did," Manley grinned, glancing at Steve and nodding. Mike caught the look; he smiled knowingly at Manley and winked.

Manley and Ryan took the chairs behind the desk and the others sat in the five wooden armchairs squeezed between the desk and the door. Haseejian looked around the office, at the plaques, citations and photos adorning the walls, and chuckled. "Cozy."

Ryan laughed. "Well, there's usually only me and maybe one or two others in here, not a platoon."

Mike cocked his head and his eyes narrowed. "Were you a Marine?"

Ryan's head went back slightly, startled, then he grinned. "I wish. My Dad was a full bird colonel in the Corps in Guam during the war."

"I was at Iwo. Did he make it home?"

The police chief smiled warmly. "Yes, he did. He and my mom are living just outside of town here. He's still going strong."

"That's great to hear. Tell him hi for me, will ya?"

"Will do." Still grinning, Ryan turned to the others and clapped his hands. "So, gentlemen, a lot has happened since our little raid on the Crocker ranch, and almost all of it good. Where do you want me to start?"