"If it isn't the prodigal son returning…"
Steve rolled his eyes as Lenny entered the office, offering his outstretched hand and a genuine smile.
Shaking it with the last bit of enthusiasm left in him after a long morning, Steve leaned against Mike's desk; his hands tapping a nervous rhythm on the surface, his red tie swaying over his friend's empty inbox with each breath he took.
"Your catholic background is shining through again, Lenny."
Closing the door behind him, the Psychiatrist put his stack of files onto the desk before sliding into Mike's chair, adjusting the arm rests along the way, trying to create his own unique work environment.
"No wonder the Lieutenant's always so grumpy. This thing is uncomfortable. Geez."
Steve waited until the other man took a sip of coffee, fondly remembering the intrusive way Lenny always stared at them. Still after all this time, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"So, I hear you got up close and personal with our killer last night."
"Somewhat."
Steve casually let his eyes drift over the busy bullpen, shamelessly relishing in the past for a few precious moments, pretending that he was waiting for his partner to return from a meeting before hitting up the streets looking for their killer.
It put his mind into a more peaceful state, even though it was nothing but temporary make-belief that would eventually end up in heart-wrenching disappointment.
"Seems he wanted to engage in a silly cat and mouse game. I lost."
"Well, at least you didn't lose your life.", Lenny argued genuinely and intertwined his fingers, "Which makes me question something…by engaging into this activity, our killer is now openly taunting you. He is showing you that he can come up behind you without you noticing, which signals an intrusion of privacy. Social dominance over you. Perhaps he was standing by your door watching you for a while. Then the fact that he made you chase him, knowing he would outrun you and that you would look like a fool. That's strike number two. Now…you're the newbie at Berkeley. Somebody is trying to prove to the rest of the campus that he can play with you. The question is why?"
"You think that maybe one of my current students is behind this?"
Shrugging indifferently, Lenny leaned back farther and looked him up and down, gauging every nuance of his body language, every blink of the eye, every breath he took.
"Could be. Maybe one of your students thinks you are the wrong guy for the job and is showing that he is much smarter than you. Maybe one of your coworkers thinks you are too young to be doing what you are doing. Did you replace anybody when you started teaching there? I know they'd been offering you the position for a couple of years before you finally accepted…"
Steve shook his head as he took a sip of coffee from his half full cup, cringing at the bitter taste as it cooled off.
"The department was growing, so I didn't replace anybody. In fact, Professor Ferguson has left such a huge void that they are considering bringing in another professor for the next semester. I should know by August. As far as the students are concerned, a few of them were upset that he resigned. It would seem plausible that they were angry I took over, but it's not like I pushed him out."
"Did they say why he resigned?"
"No, that was never discussed. He…eh…he just came up to me one day saying I'd be teaching both of the freshman courses now. I won't lie; I got really drunk that night thinking about the added workload."
They shared a hearty chuckle, before the room fell uncomfortably quiet again for way too long. Thoroughly enjoying the tension brought on by the stillness, Lenny leaned back in Mike's chair, his eyes boring holes into Steve's skull.
"How's it going over at Berkeley anyways?"
"Good. Just busy."
Not buying the cut-short answer for one second, the Psychiatrist shook his head, but kept the rest of his features unreadable.
"That's kinda interesting, because you look horrible, Stephen."
Flinching slightly at those candid words, Steve reached for his coffee once again, sloshing the liquid clockwise and watching the calming motion with growing interest, refusing to make eye contact.
"Well, what can I say? I am torn between trying to clear my name in a murder investigation and looking over my shoulder in case somebody tries to kill me in the meantime. How would that scenario treat you after a couple of days, mm?"
Not gracing him with an answer right away, the psychiatrist got up from the chair and decided to join him up against Mike's desk, their shoulders and palms almost touching, definitely too close for Steve's liking, and most definitely the intended reaction for Lenny's purposes.
They stood next to each other for many long moments, the closeness slowly but surely causing the young professor's skin to crawl, and yet the seasoned psychiatrist remained stoically calm and controlled, not showing any emotion, barely moving a muscle, until he reached for the young Professor's wrist and held up his hand, watching it tremble.
"You do know you are shaking like a leaf, don't you?"
Glancing down at his fingers, Steve nodded half-heartedly, but decided to remain quiet.
"This didn't happen in the last few days. You've been wound up to the max for a long, long time. Long before Stone came back into the picture. Why are you putting yourself under this kind of pressure? And why all these vices suddenly? I thought you'd sworn off smoking. I can smell the tobacco on your suit. Why the drinking? Why the platonic relationships? You're a good-looking guy, Stephen, why satisfy any physical needs with your secretary instead of going out and finding a real mate? You finally got what you wanted when you left the department behind; no more crazy shootouts, no more death in the line of duty, no more nightmares. So tell me, why…why do you feel the need to engage in all these vices? That's not like you at all."
Swallowing hard, Steve shook his head, desperately trying to contain his emotions. Images he'd carefully buried in his mind resurfaced with a vengeance, bringing him back to the olden days, the ones he'd rather forget about, for talking about them broke his heart.
There was laughter, kind-natured bantering, the deep moments when he felt like there was at least one person in this whole wide world who understood him. There were moments of unconditional camaraderie, loneliness turned into friendship, and doubts into unquestioned affirmation.
And yet, sadly so, at the end of the day, the same person providing all these welcome feelings had brushed his fears under the rug when it came to pulling that trigger, downright pushing him to overcome a well-ingrained reflex that paralyzed his senses, one that made him hesitate instead of react. It was the same reflex that put both Mike and him in mortal peril, and yet the Lieutenant refused to acknowledge it, bypassing his concerns with a friendly smile and a squeeze of the shoulder for some false reassurance that did nothing to solve the issue.
Perhaps part of his need to cut contact with Mike for a while had more to do with immature resentment than just clearing his mind from all the unwelcome reminders of a past he missed dearly; a small amount of bitterness for the Lieutenant not realizing that his move to Berkeley wasn't some overzealous need for a change of scenery, if anything, it was the opposite. Leaving his best friend's side had been the sole way to ensure his safety, by putting his protection in the hands of somebody more capable and-
"You know, the psychological explanation for a vice is a mental disorder.", Lenny began when nothing else was said for a very long time, and straightened out against the desk, "It can signify unhealthy changes in our work environment or social structure. People engage in vices actively or subconsciously. Most often these vices are meant as a cry for help. But they become a dangerous practice if paired with stress, denial or severe trauma, to a point that they can become self-destructive. Soon enough, one cigarette isn't cutting it, so you need two, then three to make it through the day. You isolate yourself from friends and family and reduce social interaction to the most basic and primal levels. Lack of appetite, weight loss, insomnia, ulcers and increased agitation are all signs of impending mental breakdown. Because see, you can only ignore your past and run from your problems for so long, before they catch up with you…So, let me ask you this Stephen, what memories are you trying to blur out each time you reach for a smoke or decide to pollinate the first flower that crosses your path? Why'd you cut down all the contact to the Lieutenant? Are you trying to piss him off? Punish him for abandoning you when you needed him the most? You're upset that he didn't realize how hard of a decision it was for you to become a teacher at Berkeley? Or are you punishing yourself because of some misguided idea that this whole train wreck is your fault, and your fault only and that you're destined to spend the rest of your days in miserable solitude?"
A shuddered breath escaped his lips when those words were said, his innermost fears exposed so openly in the four walls of his old partner's office. Glancing over at the clothes rack where Mike's grey fedora and black overcoat hung neatly, waiting for their owner to return from his meeting, Steve finally shook his head in defeat.
"Each time I step in front of my class, I look at their faces. I wonder how many other Barbara Ross's are out there, willing to blow away a cop without blinking an eye. I even looked into similar cases, hoping to find a common denominator, a common psychological thread tying this behavior together so that it can become predictable before somebody gets killed. So that somebody who feels like me might have a chance of escaping injury next time this happens. And for the longest time it frustrated me because I couldn't seem to be able to put my finger on it, no matter which angle I approached- except for one. And that angle is me. That…that damn hesitation…the doubts…the thoughts going through my mind as I aim my gun at somebody. Getting distracted worrying about my suspects' motive, or why they are in my line of fire, rather than just react and do what I was taught. How, from one year to the next, something that was perfectly natural became my own personal nightmare."
A quiet grunt was Lenny's answer for many long moments, as Steve continued to stare blankly at the grey fedora, a seemingly casual clothing item that had become a symbol of so many things in his life; trust, companionship, mentoring, even discipline when he needed it the most.
"But that's not how the Lieutenant sees it, now is it? Even though you tried to tell him over and over again, he wouldn't listen, probably giving you some spiel about this being normal for any cop and how you'll get over it eventually. But you didn't. So when you made what was probably one of the hardest decisions in your life and accepted the offer from Berkeley, he did everything in his power to convince you to stay, probably spent days reiterating every fond memory you two share, try to guilt-trip you into keeping your old job. But you knew that the only way to save your sanity was to move on from everything you cherished, uproot and start from scratch, in a new town, with new people, where nobody knew you like Stone did. And that all worked out well until he came back into your life, bringing back all those memories and shoving your face right into them."
"Don't make him sound like he's the bad guy here.", Steve argued sharply, his eyes tracing every nuance of the floor as he shook his head, uncomfortable with how well Lenny had read his mind and doing everything in his power to bypass his prying, "I know what you're trying to do and it won't work. I won't fall for it. Mike…he has nothing to do with this. He was just being Mike. We did have a good thing going and I don't blame him one bit for wanting to hang onto it for as long as he could. Heck, I wish we could have kept it going for another year. But then again, he…he always has been better at handling these shootout situations, rationalizing why it was important to pull that trigger. This whole mess is my fault. I should have just…I should have just acted sooner and get things straightened out and move on. Because by dragging out the inevitable, it caused nothing but undue heartbreak. And regrets I wish I wouldn't carry around with me all day. But…but…I still am glad the way things worked out…really glad. Because if I hadn't taken that bullet, Mike would have sooner or later…and I would never be able to forgive myself…"