Holding the beige raincoat tightly around his neck, he watched as the rescues and recoveries continued without pause. They were discovering more and more people alive; injured, sometimes critically, but alive. He was unable to stop shaking, partly from the chill in the air, he knew, but also from the deep-seated fear that he kept trying to push from his mind, the fear that the further down they dug, the more bodies they would find.

More help had arrived. Two large cranes, capable of moving even the biggest chunks of concrete and steel, were being moved into positions on either sides of the collapsed structure, and two huge light towers on stanchions had been set up at opposite corners. Bright klieg lights on smaller stands had been placed on the ground all around the wreckage site. At four in the morning, it was now as well-lit as Candlestick Park for a night game.

The parking lot was filled with rescue vehicles, a continuous stream of ambulances coming and going. Several coroners wagons had arrived and, even from where he was sitting, Steve could see an area that had been roped off, and the growing number of bodies that now lay under tarpaulins on the cold and unforgiving asphalt.

He closed his eyes, trying not to think, trying not to project. If there was nothing else he had learned from Mike in the past few years, it was to never give up hope. He let go of the raincoat and shrugged it off as he climbed gingerly to his feet and, moving slowly and carefully, ignoring every part of his body that was screaming at him, joined the human chain again.

# # # # #

Mike's eyes were squeezed shut. He was trying to breathe shallowly through his open mouth, trying to control the trembling that was wracking his entire body. The cold from the cement floor had been seeping through the wool topcoat for hours, chilling him to the bone, but he knew it was the fear that was beginning to get the better of him.

He had no idea how much time had passed as he continued to hold Bobby's limp hand, not willing to give up, not willing to accept in his heart what his mind kept telling him. The one small flicker of hope he was clinging to was that the young man's hand had not grown cold.

The silence was becoming oppressive. He had not heard a thing, not a cry, not a shout, no sound of heavy machinery moving the debris… nothing.

Against everything he believed in, against every instinct, against everything he had ever told Steve over the years, he was beginning to lose hope.

# # # # #

By the time the first faint glow on the eastern horizon heralded the dawn, the cranes and rescues crews had worked their way down to what was left of the second floor. Many bodies had been found but many more victims had been found alive, and every time that happened there was a renewed vigour that infused the rescuers, spurring them on.

Well aware and uncharacteristically accepting of his limitations, Steve continued to help working the human chain under Neil's watchful eye. With only quick breaks to slug down cans of Coca-Cola brought to them by volunteers, they had pressed on, starting to make good progress. But he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all taking too long,

# # # # #

He was taking another slow deep breath when he felt the fingers in his right palm twitch slightly. His eyes shot open and he held his breath, every sense on full alert, praying it wasn't just wishful thinking. A couple of very long seconds later, the fingers moved again, and he closed his own around them.

"Bobby…. Bobby, can you hear me?"

The fingers tightened a little more. Mike shook his hand gently. "Bobby, are you still with me?" He waited again. There was a long silent pause and then a soft exhale.

"Can you hear me, son?" Mike didn't even try to mask the fear and worry in his voice.

There was another slow exhale, this time a little louder, then a quiet, "Yeah… yeah, I'm still here…"

Mike exhaled loudly with a relieved chuckle. "That's what I wanted to hear…" He shook the weak hand in his own again. "How are you doing?"

He could hear a couple of deep, pain-filled breaths. "I'm okay," Bobby lied, "but it hurts a lot…"

"I'm sure it does. But they'll be here soon, I promise. And I need you to promise me you won't pass out again, okay?" He chuckled gently to let the young man know he was only half-joking; he felt the fingers tighten around his own.

"I'll try…" came the strained reply punctuated with a soft snort, and Mike smiled to himself, in awe of the strength of the young man he hadn't even really met but whom he was coming to know quite well.

They were silent for a few seconds then Bobby said, "Mike…?"

"Yeah?" He heard an almost embarrassed chuckle.

"Um… ah, I gotta pee…"

After a brief second of stunned silence, Mike started to laugh. "Me too. I've been trying not to think about it." Bobby's hand tightened around his and he heard a quiet chuckle. "Can you do it?"

"I… I can't move…"

Mike's smile disappeared. "Just do it, son… just do it…"

A second of silence then, "Okay…."

Mike tightened his grip on the young man's hand and waited. When he felt the long fingers tighten, he squeezed back. "Feel better?"

"Yeah…"

"Good." Mike snorted softly in embarrassed amusement. "Listen, ah, I'm gonna need my hand back."

"What…?"

"Well, my, ah, my left wrist is broken…" A quick and warm chuckle reached his ears and he felt the fingers let go of his hand. "Be right back," he said with a laugh as he pulled his right arm out of the tunnel.

# # # # #

With the sun completely up, it was now easier for everyone to see the extent of the damage. And though almost half of the debris had been removed and they were making good progress on what was left of the second floor, there was obviously, and worryingly, a long way to go until every body and every survivor had been located and extracted.

It looked like it was going to be a glorious late summer day, its sunny innocence in sharp contrast to the tragedy unfolding on the abandoned pier.

The large group had just extracted an unconscious older woman with two broken legs and a gash on the back of head when an authoritative voice bellowed at them through a bullhorn. It was the fire captain who had arrived in the first wave hours before, the one that had forced Steve to receive medical attention.

As everyone paused to listen, he thanked them all for their tireless efforts, explained that working on the dwindling pile was getting more intense and more dangerous, and that there were now enough professionals on site to take over the search and rescue. But he was also quick to tell them that their help was still needed on the ground, continuing to remove debris further afield and helping with the injured. Despite a lot of concerned grumbling, people began to work their way down, allowing the experienced hands to take over and continue the life-saving work.

Steve, who had sunk to his knees then sat, trying not to let anyone see his discomfort, began to push himself up again when he felt a strong hand around his upper arm. He froze then looked up into Neil's smiling face. "You look like shit, man," the guard chuckled gently, helping him stand. "Come on, I'll help you get down." He frowned. "Where's your raincoat?"

Finally, albeit unsteadily, on his feet, Steve looked around then shook his head carefully as if trying to remember. "Ah, over there somewhere," he mumbled, pointing several yards away.

Neil looked in that direction, squinting and frowning, then shrugged. He took a step away then turned back. "You musta had a jacket too, right? I mean, you wouldn't just've been wearing a raincoat, right?"

Steve shrugged, shaking his head again. "Yeah, but I have no idea…"

Neil smiled quickly. "I'll keep an eye out for it."

# # # # #

By the time they made their way down to solid ground, Steve was getting more and more unsteady on his feet. Neil kept a hand on his arm as he led him through what seemed like a small army that had descended on the disaster site.

He was being gently led towards the same firetruck he had parked himself on before when he heard his name called, the voice filled with a worried urgency. He wobbled to a stop, looking in the direction of the call, surprised to recognize a uniformed sergeant who had briefly been one of his trainers just after he'd graduated from the academy. With a discreet nod and smile at the young detective, Neil let go of his arm and melted into the milling group around them. Steve's eyes followed him with a curious frown before focusing on the sergeant.

"Jeez, kid, what the hell happened to you?" The paunchy grey-haired man's eyes were looking up him and down, obviously worried, then nodded towards the fallen building. "Were you in that?"

Swallowing dryly, Steve shook his head then shrugged ineffectively. "I, ah, I was on the top floor… I got lucky."

"Jeez, you sure did. Look, you need to sit down." He grabbed Steve's arm and slowly led him towards the back of the firetruck. As he started to help the obviously injured young man sit, he glanced around quickly. "Listen, ah, some a your guys from Homicide are around here somewhere. I saw them. You stay here and I'll try to find them, okay?"

Nodding, Steve leaned back against the red panel of the firetruck and closed his eyes, trying not to give in to what his body was demanding of him. He could hear the babble of voices around him but no words over the roar of the machinery, the cranes and several front end loaders moving the debris.

Suddenly everything stopped and the entire area became eerily quiet. Curious, he opened his eyes and lifted his head from against the truck. Then he heard someone yell, "Over here!", the engines roared to life again, and people began running towards the frantic shouting.

He was still looking in that direction when he heard a familiar gravelly voice almost bellow in his ear, "There you are! Hell, we've been looking for you guys for hours!"

He turned his head slowly, trying not to aggravate the headache that he could no longer ignore, to see Healey and Haseejian hurrying up to him, worry written all over their faces.

Steve raised a hand to his forehead, wincing. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Looking for you and Mike," Healey replied pedantically. "A black-and-white spotted your car in the lot over there," he gestured with his head, "and called Homicide. We figured you guys were in there." They had been studying their young colleague with anxious scowls, and were obviously not happy with what they were seeing.

"Where's Mike?" Haseejian asked quickly, looking around.

Despair flashing briefly over his face, Steve shook his head. "I don't know. I was on the top floor… but he was on the first."

Healey's florid face went pale; Haseejian turned quickly to stare at the pile of rubble that had once been a warehouse. When he turned back, he looked stricken. "They're, ah… they've been pulling people out that are still alive, we've seen it…" he said with a small but hopeful smile.

With a soft nod, Steve looked down, feeling a tightening in the back of his throat. "Yeah… but a lot of them aren't…" he said quietly, turning to stare between firetrucks at the makeshift morgue that had been set up in the parking lot. "A lot of them aren't…"