ACT III

The tense atmosphere had followed them all the way back to the DeHaro house, as Steve pulled the Galaxy in park shortly after midnight.

As the mountain of incriminating evidence against him grew exponentially, he couldn't help but begin to feel paranoid. Looking over his shoulder as he exited the car and followed Mike up the stairs, Steve drew in a deep breath of the cold and damp air coming off the bay, hoping to settle his frayed nerves.

He'd never known Fletcher Thompson too well.

Their only exchanges were the morning- and nightly nods as he pulled into the parking lot reserved for faculty staff and late night lectures only. And yet, a lingering sense of guilt washed over him at the thought of whoever was trying to get him indicted had wasted the lives of so many people just to prove some disturbing point.

Steve felt his nerves calm down immediately as he entered the sanctity of Mike's house, recognizing the familiar sights and scents. Dropping off his overnight bag by the door like he'd done so many times in the past, he took a second to appreciate the irony of all this.

Two years of separation and one-sided attempts of communication, and yet, here they were pretending nothing ever happened.

At least for tonight, Steve's exhausted mind thoroughly enjoyed the illusion.

"What…eh…what can you eat or drink with your medications?", Mike nudged apprehensively and turned on the kitchen and living room lights.

"Water is fine. I don't know if I can eat right now.", he answered truthfully and stripped out of his jacket, subconsciously rubbing the sore spot on his wrist where the handcuffs had dug in too deep.

"You need to eat. You look like hell. Don't they ever give you a break at that campus?", Mike scolded and reached for an empty glass out of a nearby cabinet, "You dropped what, twenty pounds since I last saw you?"

"It's mostly muscle I lost. They kept me off exercise until about a year ago, but with the tight lesson schedules, I haven't had a chance to get back into shape again quite yet."

Gracing the explanation with a skeptical grunt, Mike sat the glass of water down on the living room table in front of him, then returned to the kitchen and reached for the percolator to start some coffee.

"Are they going to keep you on drugs indefinitely then?"

Steve sensed that there was more behind that question than Mike let on, and he shrugged indifferently, as he took off his tie and unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt.

"I don't know. Doctor Lowell has me on blood thinners right now, because he is cutting down the number of pills I take to regulate my heart rate. If that works out, I can get off the blood thinners in another month or so and lower the dose of the other meds as well. Apparently, all that takes times. And it's really testing my patience."

"Well, that was no simple scrape.", Mike said somberly and sat down on his green couch, before putting his feet on the small table, "It's going to take a long time to recover. I still think you're pushing it teaching as much as you do. How many hours a week do you work?"

"Not much more than what we did in Homicide.", Steve justified and took a sip of water as he sat down in Mike's recliner, "Sixty, maybe eighty in the busy season. Taking over Professor Ferguson's classes was difficult, but we're slowly working his students through the system. I figured another semester and things will be back to normal. On the bright side, they gave me a bigger office and all the top of the line equipment I ask for."

Mike nodded but said no more, his eyes never quite losing that sad expression.

Far for the Lieutenant to say that he had changed.

As Steve glanced at his best friend sitting across from him now, it became obvious that Mike was a mere shadow of the jovial character he'd left behind in San Francisco. Maybe the stress of a new partner or the morose daily routine was finally catching up with the Lieutenant.

But one thing was for sure; that bright sparkle in his eyes he cherished so much was gone now.

"Enough about me. What about you? You're still pretending to be a gruffly old bear around Dan? He looks scared of you. I thought I had you promise to be nice."

A faint smile crossed Mike's features as the Lieutenant leaned his head against the back of the couch.

"He's a good kid. Got lots of smarts right here.", pointing at his head, Mike briefly glanced over at the percolator in the kitchen as it began to brew away, "Tries to talk me into eating healthy all the time. I could do without that. I really miss our pizza nights, Steve."

Noting the eve of another emotionally charged conversation looming ahead, the young Professor cleared his throat and nervously ran a hand through his sandy hair.

"How…eh…how's Jeanie? She married yet?"

Staring at him in utter horror, Mike shook his head determinedly.

"Over my dead body. Education comes first. Then I might consider the possibility of interviewing future boyfriends."

They shared a hearty chuckle for a few brief moments, the make-belief of reliving old times warming his heart for a brief moment, when suddenly, Steve fell quiet, the pain from missing his quasi family returning with a vengeance. He vaguely remembered Jeanie visiting him in ICU and her instrumental role in helping to set up his new apartment at Berkeley. And yet, he'd walked away from Jean just like he'd walked away from everybody else who cared about him at that point in his life.

Ultimately, his decision to change careers had caused more pain and heartbreak that he'd been originally hoping to avoid.

"Mike…", clearing the lump in his throat once again, Steve shifted uncomfortably, "You are…bending the rules to the max on this situation. We can't keep a lid on this forever. Olson is going to start asking questions about what happened tonight. We're running out of time to find the real killer before he strikes again. And I am worried about any…repercussions for your career because of this…this cover-up you're doing here."

"Listen to you trying to lecture me like I am one of your students.", Mike grunted and got up to reach for the phone book, "Have you forgotten who's the Lieutenant and who's the Professor here?"

"Nope…no Sir.", Steve countered, knowing how the loathed expression annoyed his old partner tremendously.

Waiting until Mike glared up at him, he slowly rose from the recliner and leaned against the back of the couch, his expression stern.

"All I am saying is that you are harboring an alleged serial killer in your home, Lieutenant Stone. Those are going to be Gerry's and Olsen's words, if they find out what is going on here before we gather enough proof that I didn't do it…you and I both know that."

Putting the phone numbers of his favorite pizza places aside for a moment, Mike stepped forward, resting both of his strong arms on Steve's tense shoulders, before squeezing them gently.

"You know, I've been at this job for a long, long time, Buddyboy. Almost as long as you've been alive. I've had a few years to learn how to go by the book. And how to bend a few rules, to buy me more time for a thorough investigation, if it means to protect anybody from getting wrongfully convicted. The only way that you will get indicted for any of these murders will be over my dead body. You got this?"

Nodding gratefully, when Mike's steel blue eyes seemed to pierce right through his, Steve tried to keep his expression neutral.

But truth be told, he was nervous as hell.

And Mike knew it too.

"All I need from you is to trust me as your old partner and…friend.", Mike added in fierce determination, before squeezing his shoulders once more, "Trust me that I will keep you safe. You're the Professor now, so use your bright mind to help me narrow down my list of suspects. I'm the cop. My job is to protect you with my life. And you bet I am going to do just that."