Mike stared at the top of his partner's downturned head for several long silent seconds as the implications of the words just spoken hung in the air. Not trusting his voice, he prompted quietly, "So what did you do next?"

Steve looked up slowly, his eyes haunted, as if he was reliving the worry and anxiety that had been coursing through his mind and body that night. He swallowed heavily. "I, ah… well, I knew I couldn't get through the front door, unless I broke the glass - and that was counter-productive. My goal was to get into the building silently in case… well, in case Carol was still in there… with you…" He shrugged slightly, a sad and guilty smile briefly flashing across his face.

The older man stared back expressionlessly, struggling to remain neutral, silently giving his young partner permission to tell the story in his own time and in his own way. He allowed himself a barely perceptible nod and watched as Steve's lips formed a taut line as he blinked slowly in acknowledgement.

"There's an alley behind the bodega… I figured I could maybe get in from that way, maybe through a window on the second floor if there was access."

Mike remembered hearing something about a ladder but he said nothing, partly because he wanted Steve to continue uninterrupted, and partly to see if his partner would be completely honest with him.

"There were windows - small windows that could be opened - on either side of the picture window in the living room but there was no way I could get up there. So I took a walk further down the alley and managed to find an old wooden ladder." He smiled briefly, still somewhat in awe of his good luck.

Mike's eyes softened and the corners of his mouth curled; inside, he relaxed as a wave of pride and relief washed over him. "A ladder?" he managed to echo without his voice cracking.

The younger man nodded. "Yeah, an old extension ladder. Who'da thought, right?" He chuckled ironically. "And I even managed to carry it down the alley without hitting anything and without my back seizing up…" He had looked down, squirming slightly under the intense scrutiny, and now looked up guiltily into the very concerned blue eyes staring at him. He tried to smile reassuringly. "It didn't, by the way," he added hastily, "it didn't hurt me at all." The stare didn't waver. "Anyway, I managed to get it up against the wall without alerting any of the neighbors, thank god, and my luck held as the window wasn't locked. I managed to get it open wide enough to crawl in without making too much noise."

"Did you have a flashlight?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. I'd gone back to the car and got the one out of the glove box. I remembered how dark it was that one time we went up there with her…" He smiled perfunctorily then continued. "There was nobody in there. The place was deserted, and I was moving from room to room… looking for you," he cleared his throat softly, looking down, "or some sign that you were still there. I couldn't find anything." After a brief pause, he looked up. "I saw the closet, and the lock, but it didn't register with me… at least not then…"

He sounded almost apologetic, and Mike smiled softly, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him, to make the physical connection that would let the young man know he had nothing to regret.

"So, ah," Steve continued, his voice a little stronger, "I had worked my way to the bedroom opposite the kitchen when I heard what I thought was the front door opening downstairs." He looked at his partner and raised his eyebrows. "It was. I guess from what Watson and Kendall said, Carol had gone to get her brother 'cause she didn't know what to do with you." He looked at Mike for a long beat, debating whether or not to tell him what had happened next. Then he looked down and snorted softly. "She fought for you," he said softly then paused again.

"What?" Mike asked quietly.

The green eyes rose slowly to meet the blue ones. "Carol. She fought for you… with her brother. She told him you were a nice man and she liked you."

"What did he say?"

"He said she should've thought of that before she hit you, and that they didn't have a choice anymore."

Mike looked down at the coffee cup in his hands, and he nodded gently. "So where were you hiding?"

"Well, there weren't too many places, and I never had the chance to get back to the ladder and get out of there. Besides," he said with a soft smile, "I knew you were there somewhere… and that they were going to kill you…" His smile got a little wider and he shrugged. "What choice did I have?"

Mike stared at him for a long unmoving beat before looking down again, blinking quickly. Then he swallowed self-consciously.

Steve chuckled softly and wryly. "Anyway, ah, I was hiding behind the door in that first bedroom. I was hoping they would overlook me until I could get the drop on them… but I made a mistake…"

The older man's head snapped up and he frowned.

"I left the window open," Steve shrugged. "In the living room. Sykes sent her in there to get a large tarp they'd stored there and she saw it… and the ladder, I'm assuming… and the jig was up." He tried a guilty, apologetic smile but wasn't entirely successful. "After that it was only going to be a matter of time till they found me… and it was…" With another soft shrug, he stared at his partner with a genial inevitability written all over his face, as if the rest of the story really didn't need to be put into words.

Mike waited just the right amount of time before he asked matter-of-factly, "Why was your gun found in another room?"

Steve's face fell. "What?"

"Rudy told me that your gun was found in another room. Didn't you try to use it, or was it knocked out of your hand before you had the chance?"

This was another test of trust and honesty, and both men knew it. Steve stared at his partner without expression, this man whom he had grown to love and respect more than anyone else, a man he would give his life for, and a man he knew would do the same for him.

After several long seconds, he dropped his eyes and a soft sigh escaped his lips. "It fell out. I'd unsnapped my holster but didn't take it out. I didn't want to…. I honestly thought I could subdue him without having to resort to … deadly force…" He looked up and shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I guess I was wrong…"

"He almost killed you…" Mike offered quietly.

"I know…"

"If Watson and Kendall hadn't gotten there when they did -"

"I know," Steve interrupted more forcefully and Mike paused, staring at the younger man without blinking, not knowing if he was more angry at the mistake or relieved by the outcome.

"They would've killed you," he continued, trying to control the tremor in his voice, "and then they would've killed me…"

"I know…" It was a very soft whisper.

Mike let the silence settle for several long seconds. He exhaled loudly before he asked, "Why didn't you want to use your gun?"

Steve dropped his gaze again, staring at the couch cushion for a long beat before he took a deep breath. "I don't know… it just didn't feel… appropriate…"

"Appropriate? You were trapped in a building with two people you knew had killed at least three others." Mike's voice was eerily calm and even.

Steve nodded softly. "I know…" He took another deep breath, trying to put himself back in the bedroom, back into the dark and terrifying situation on the upper floor of the abandoned bodega. He raised his eyes and looked into the blue ones that seemed a lot more understanding than he had anticipated. "It was so dark… and I didn't want to fire indiscriminately and just hope I hit someone…. I didn't want to kill someone if I didn't have to…" He looked down again and took another deep and pointed breath, as if hoping his feeble explanation would be enough to satisfy the man sitting on the other end of the couch.

After what seemed like the appropriate amount of time, Mike asked quietly, "Is this going to be a problem from now on?"

Steve's head snapped up, his eyes betraying his flush of anger, but the face staring back at him was warm and empathetic. The back of his throat tightened and he tried to swallow past the lump. He shook his head slightly. "No, I don't think so -"

"Do you think you should talk to Lenny?"

The head shake got a little more animated. "No. No, I don't think so…"

Mike stared at him for a long beat then nodded once; he didn't look completely convinced.

The younger man stared back; an acknowledging smile began to build. "Don't worry," he said softly, "I'm not going to let anything happen to me… and I'm definitely not going to let anything happen to you…"

Suddenly self-conscious, Mike looked down at the coffee cup in his hands. After a long beat, he raised the cup to his lips and was about to take a sip when he stopped abruptly. "Oh, yuck…" he chuckled, pulling the offending mug away from his mouth, "it's cold as ice." He looked across the couch at Steve's untouched cup on the coffee table. "Here, give me yours and I'll get us a refill while you let Norm and Dan in." He chuckled as he got to his feet, reaching for the other cup as Steve held it out. "They must be half-frozen out there tonight."

Laughing, Steve got to his feet. As Mike disappeared into the kitchen, he headed towards the front door. He pulled the large wooden door open on the two sergeants huddled together on the top step, their collars up against the brisk wind blowing in off the Bay.

"Finally!" Haseejian huffed as he got stiffly to his feet, his teeth chattering as he bulled his way past Steve, his empty coffee cup clenched in both hands.

Healey glanced at the young inspector as he stepped into the apartment. "It's, ah, it's a little cold out there tonight," he stated flatly, punctuating his comment with raised eyebrows and a facial shrug.

Steve closed the door, trying to mask his smile. Mike was standing in the kitchen doorway, the percolator in his hand. "You guys want a fresh cup?" His dancing eyes were bouncing from one obviously frigid sergeant to the other, not even trying to hide his grin.

"Is it hot?" Haseejian growled, moving closer, his cup in his extended hands.

"Piping."

The Armenian sergeant thrust the mug closer to the lieutenant, who threw an amused glance at his partner before he started pouring. "Here you go."

Healey was looking from one partner to the other, trying to gauge how the heart-to-heart had gone; from what he could tell, things seemed fine, and he allowed himself to relax. He took the few steps closer to Mike and held out his cup, meeting the lieutenant's brief glance with a smile.

Steve wandered back to the couch and sat. "Hey, Dan, you guys did some follow-up work at the bodega, right?"

Healey, on his way into the kitchen to add milk and sugar to his cup, stopped at the door and turned back. "Yeah. Why?"

"Do you now what happened to the ladder?"

Healey froze briefly, frowning, and glanced at his partner before both of them looked at Steve. "The what?"

"The ladder." Steve looked at Mike, who was still standing in the kitchen doorway with the percolator in his hand. "I just want to know if the poor guy I… 'borrowed' it from got it back?"

As Haseejian and Healey looked back and forth between the partners with confused frowns, Mike nodded with a facial shrug and re-entered the kitchen. "Makes sense to me."