He drifted to consciousness again, slowly opening his eyes onto the dim room. He could hear very muted sounds through the heavy wooden door and the low hum of the building itself but other than that, everything was unnaturally quiet. It was a small room and he was its only occupant, and that bothered him.

He had lost all track of time and had no idea how many hours had passed since they had finished stitching him up, suctioning the air from his chest and re-inflating his collapsed lung. He was still having a great deal of discomfort every time he took a breath, even with the medication that made him sluggish and sleepy, and he knew he would have to deal with the pain for awhile yet. He'd already been told he wouldn't be going home for at least two days, or possibly longer, depending on how fast he started to heal.

And that was what was bothering him. Devitt had returned from his 'reconnaissance mission' with news that Mike was doing fine, that he had been examined, x-rayed and stitched and would be getting a brand-new cast on his still healing wrist. But that was the last thing he had heard. And if his partner was going to be admitted, which he assumed would happen, why weren't they sharing a room? It had been arranged before.

Trying not to move his head, he looked down towards his right hand, groping carefully around on the flannelette blanket beside his leg, trying to find the call button he knew was there somewhere. He touched the hard plastic, his fingers closing quickly around it, then he paused, suddenly unsure. Was he being overly paranoid, he wondered. He didn't want to pull a nurse away from something critically important, possibly life-and-death, just to inquire about his partner, but the uncertainly was becoming increasingly disturbing.

He closed his eyes, holding on to the call button like a totem, a talisman that could magically make his partner appear. He dragged a lungful of air in through his nose, wincing at the pain but needing the diversion from the worry that was becoming all-consuming.

Trying not to think, trying not to obsess, he let himself slowly drift back into a troubled but necessary sleep.

# # # # #

There was a hesitant knock on the door and Mike looked in its direction. "Come in."

It was pushed open slowly and Captain Olsen stuck his head in. "Oh, good, I finally found the right room. Even after all these years, I still get turned around in this place," he chuckled self-consciously as he crossed the small room towards his lieutenant.

Mike, his head bandaged and his still-drying cast in a temporary sling, was sitting in the middle of the examination table, facing the door and looking thoroughly miserable. Olsen stopped, looking him up and down with a furrowed brow, then tried an encouraging smile that actually seemed more sad than uplifting. "How, ah, how are you feeling?"

Mike stared at him without moving then snorted softly. "How does it look like I feel?"

Olsen nodded slightly. "Rough day, hunh?"

The lieutenant snorted softly again, looking down and shaking his head carefully. "Is it still even the same day? I have no idea. I've been stuck in this god damn room…" he shrugged slightly, "I don't know how long… and now they say I can go home but I can't go home alone and I haven't been able to see Steve…" He dropped his head and closed his eyes and Olsen could hear a loud, despondent sigh.

The captain took a step closer to his friend and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Well," he said with a gravely-voiced softness, "that's why I'm here."

Mike's head came up, his eyes wary.

Olsen smiled. "I'm more than just a pretty face, you know." He chuckled self-deprecatingly, taking his hand away and stuffing it in his pants pocket. "So let's take your grievances one at a time, shall we?" Mike's eyes narrowed suspiciously and the captain's smile widened. "You said they told you you can go home, but you're not allowed to be alone when you're at home, at least not for a day or two… right?"

Mike nodded slightly, tensing. "Right…"

"Okay, well, that's easy. Phone calls have already been made. And arrangements are in place for you to have your own personal… nurse for the next two days." He paused and smiled wickedly then chuckled. "Don't look so stricken, you've already used her services just a few weeks ago."

The lieutenant frowned. "Sandra Healey?"

Olsen raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Dan called here to see how you were doing and Roy talked to him about what your doctor had said, so Dan called his wife and she's gonna take a coupla days off work and… ta-da!" He chuckled again. "She's gonna meet us at your place. I'll give her a call before we leave."

Mike's expression didn't change and, after a long silent second, Olsen frowned. "You don't like the idea?" he asked hesitantly.

The blue eyes softened. "Ah, no… no, I do…. It's just… well, it's too much to ask for her to do that again. It's not fair…

Olsen snorted. "What are you talking about, fair? Mike, she's not doing this because she's been pressured into doing it, she's doing it because she, like everybody else by the way, cares about you and Steve and wants to help." He paused, staring at his old friend with a warm smile. He was not usually so verbose and candid and he was a little self-conscious. "Besides, both of you are going to be on sick leave for at least another month, doctor's orders, and both of you shouldn't've even been 'on the front line', so to speak, and I'm gonna have to explain that to Conden and the Chief, so spare a good thought or two for me in all this too, will ya?"

Mike was starting to look a little chastised. "Rudy, I wasn't on duty when this happened, it was just a… a fluke that I found the baseball bat," he shrugged slightly, "and I have no idea why, or how, Steve was there…. But I'm glad he showed up."

"So am I," Olsen muttered under his breath.

"But what happened to him is my fault," Mike continued softly and Olsen's eyes narrowed sharply.

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course it's not your fault." He growled slightly, trying to get a handle on his growing irritation. "Look, we still don't know exactly what went down, 'cause we haven't had a chance to really talk to him yet, or you to be perfectly honest, but from what Watson and Kendall have said, they followed Sykes and his sister from the… the temple, or whatever you call it, to the bodega. They followed them inside, into the pitch black, and used their lighters to trail them to the back of the store but by the time they got to the stairs they didn't know what they were walking into, they just knew it felt kinda… hinky to them, which is the way they explained it to me. But before they knew it, they could hear the sound of a fight. A bad one, from what they said. They got up the stairs as fast as they could and, well, managed to subdue Skyes and Stayner after a scuffle. But by that time, they said, Steve was already laid out on the kitchen floor and Stayner had been standing over him with a chair leg in her hand."

Mike's had closed his eyes and his breaths were shallow and unsteady. Olsen reached out and laid his hand gently on his shoulder once more. "They, ah, they found his gun on the floor in another room…"

The blue eyes opened under a confused frown. "What?"

"He didn't use his gun, Mike. Maybe he didn't want to use it in the dark, unable to see exactly where he was firing, or he never got the chance, I don't know… But it was either knocked out of his hand before he could… or it fell out of his unsnapped holster. We'll have to find out… for the report."

Mike looked away, nodding softly.

"And, ah, we found an open window on the second floor and a ladder leaning up against the back of the building…"

Mike stared into space for a long second before he looked up again. "He crawled in through a second storey window?"

Olsen nodded. "Looks like it."

The injured lieutenant let the new information sink in for several long seconds. "They could've killed him…"

Olsen nodded again. "If Watson and Kendall hadn't gotten there when they did…" He let the rest of the thought hang and felt Mike shudder under his touch. He squeezed his friend's shoulder once more, patted him a couple of times then dropped his hand, shoving both of them in his pants pockets. "So, you gonna take Sandra Healey up on her offer?"

Swallowing heavily, Mike looked up at his captain and old friend and smiled faintly. "Yeah… yeah, of course. I'm, ah, I'm just a little overwhelmed, I guess… thank you…"

"Well," Olsen shrugged, "don't thank me, it was Dan's idea, and his wife jumped at the chance to help you out again…" He smiled sadly. "Let's face it, you and Steve have had a rough couple of months…"

At the mention of his partner's name again, Mike's demeanour changed in a split second. He looked worried and he reached out with his right hand to grab the captain's sleeve. Olsen pulled his right hand out of his pocket and raised his index finger to stall the questions he knew would be coming.

"Before you ask, let me finish, okay? I literally just came from his room. He's sedated but he's in and out and, when he wakes up, he's surprisingly lucid," he said with a soft chuckle. When Mike's worried frown got deeper, he realized he had to be more upbeat and encouraging; the anxious lieutenant wasn't a good audience for witty observational humour at the moment, no matter how well-intentioned. "And, if you'll ride in a wheelchair like you have to, I can take you to his room right now. How does that sound?"

Mike stared at him silently for a beat then brought his right hand up and covered his mouth. He nodded. "Where's the chair?"

Olsen grinned. "Right outside the door. Give me a second and I'll get it."

# # # # #

The wheelchair turned the corner and started towards the bank of elevators. Mike glanced up as Olson pulled him to a stop and his gaze automatically snapped to the window at the end of the hall. The muted sunlight from an overcast sky was streaming in and Mike twisted slightly to look up at the captain as Olsen leaned forward to push the Up button.

"What time is it?"

Olsen looked at his wristwatch. "Ah, 11:38."

"In the morning?"

Muffling a chuckle, and with his own quick glance at the window, the captain nodded. "Ah, yeah, in the morning."

"We've been here all night?"

"That's right. Now you know why we're all so tired," he chuckled again as the chime rang and the large doors opened. Grinning, he turned and backed the wheelchair into the busy elevator as people moved aside to make room.

# # # # #

They stopped outside a door and Olsen stepped closer to push it open.

"No, wait," Mike stopped him. "I want to walk in on my own… okay?"

Olsen hesitated for a second then nodded. He reached down to lock the wheels then held the chair securely as, one-handedly, Mike slowly pushed himself up. He glanced back at the captain and nodded. "Thanks."

"Take your time," Olsen said quietly. "We're in no hurry."

Mike stared at him for a beat, then nodded gratefully. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and pushed the door open, and Olsen watched as it slowly closed behind him.