"Since when does Roy feed you breakfast?"

Mike glanced over at him in feign anger as they left the Golden Gate Bridge behind, making good headway on their trip up north.

"Well, he was your partner before, he knows how you treat those working with you…", Steve countered with a mischievous smile, a certain lightheartedness in his voice despite his solemn atmosphere spreading like a wildfire inside the police car.

"Is that what this is? My ex-partner and my partner are ganging up against me?"

"You better believe it. It's going to take both of us to outsmart you."

They chuckled for a little while, trying to put their frayed nerves at ease at least until they were back at the old farm house. With any luck, the tow truck containing human blood, according to Ed's latest report, would still be there, allowing them to call in a backup lab crew for an in-depth analysis.

The first leg of their trip however would lead them back to the headquarters of the West Californian Intrepid to meet with Roy Delaney and Andy Williams, both of whom had volunteered to join them on their journey.

It wasn't typical for Mike to rely on civilian support, but with limited backup available from SFPD and Sherriff Watson's obvious disdain, he figured their greatest chance of success would be through a more…unconventional route.

If nothing else, Andy's knowledge of the park might prove worthwhile in sparing them another harrowing trip down some sketchy two-track with a car that wasn't designed for that kind of terrain.

"Jeanie's getting on that bus in Tuscan this morning. Eric is coming with her."

His words made Steve glance over for a moment, flashing a brief smile before shaking his head.

"What's his last name again, Bexley? Jeanie Bexley…it's kinda catchy."

Mike glared back at his partner, grunting angrily, as he sorted the files in his lap.

"You're lucky you're driving."

When his second attempt to get the Lieutenant to relax didn't yield the intended outcome, Steve fell silent again, quietly focusing on the busy road ahead. With a growing sense of dread, he noticed a thick wall of fog moving in off the bay, slowly but surely encapsulating the entire area in a dreary mist.

Although the weather forecast they'd checked failed to mention the pattern moving in, Steve was nonetheless grateful that for the time being, all they had to deal with was fog, not a torrential rainstorm.

"What kind of aftershave did you use this morning? This is overbearing. You're smelling like vandalized perfume store…"

"Yep…I can always tell when you haven't slept well…", Steve responded to the grouchy comment, before ceremoniously running the back of his fingers along his freshly shaven jawline, "It's called Tropical Dream. Helps with the irritation too."

"It's definitely helping to feed my irritation."

"Aw come on now, it's gonna be like this for the next few hours?"

Mike glanced over at him apologetically, before pursing his lips, unwilling to say any more. Even from his distance, Steve could sense the overwhelming tension building up beneath his partner's sullen features.

Shaking off the ill-tempered comment like he always did, Steve moved over into the right-hand lane in preparation to hit the Saint Helena exit. Studying the fog-covered mountains northeast with a foreboding sense of trepidation, he let out a deep shuddered breath and reached for the blinker, before getting onto the exit ramp.

Until he reached the red light at the intersection below, Steve didn't realize that Mike was doing the exact same thing, his mind miles away at a creepy farmhouse that, somewhere in its sinister past, harbored many answers to their current case, and hopefully some survivors too.

Without ever looking over, Mike reached for his cold hand on the steering wheel and covered it with his own, squeezing it tightly. It was the final proof that he wasn't the only one fearing that this trip wasn't going to pan out well.