"Jake!" Hogan bellowed, lunging closer to the bars as he raised his gun. From the corner of his eye he could see Steve reach behind himself and suddenly there were two police specials thrust between the bars, aimed at Chisholm's head. "Jake… put the gun down, Jake." Hogan lowered the decibel level of his voice but not the force of his words. "If you pull that trigger, you're killing an innocent man, Jake. Do you want that?"
They could see the sudden confusion in the old man's eyes.
"You don't want to kill an innocent man, Jake. You want us to catch the man who killed your grandson… and Mike here, Mike didn't do it." Hogan swallowed, taking a breath, knowing his words were very slowly getting through to the distraught grandfather. "Let him go, Jake… let him go so we can reunite him with his daughter and his partner, and he can go home…. He doesn't deserve what you want to do to him, Jake… he didn't kill Johnny…"
Steve had barely blinked, staring over the top of his .38 trained on Chisholm's head. If he had to, any shot he was going to take would be a kill shot, no question about it. His eyes flicked momentarily to his partner's face; Mike had given up fighting against the arm wrapped around him, his eyes were closed, his head against Chisholm's chest. Steve couldn't tell if he was conscious or not.
"Come on, Jake, you don't want it to end like this, do you? If you pull that trigger, it'll be the last thing you ever do, you know that, right? You don't want that… and Steve and I don't want that either…. Put the gun down, Jake… for all of us…" Hogan paused for a beat. "Please… for all of us… put the gun down…"
Chisholm, who hadn't taken his cold hard stare off Hogan's face, suddenly blinked quickly several time and Steve could hear Hogan's nearly inaudible intake of breath. Then, time seeming to stand still as everything moved in slow motion, the barrel of the gun started to move away from the side of Mike's head, Chisholm's finger slid off the trigger and he almost gently laid the black .45 on the concrete floor beside him.
With a quick glance at Steve, who knew exactly what he was being asked to do, Hogan jumped to his feet and hurried to the cell door, quickly finding the key he needed and opening the lock. He crossed the cell in three long strides and, not taking the time to bend over, kicked the gun away, keeping his .38 trained on Chisholm, who was sitting quietly, staring forward vacantly.
Within seconds, Steve was in the cell, slipping his own gun back into its holster as he knelt beside his partner, who still hadn't moved. "Mike… Mike…" he was whispering hopefully as he reached out to gently and carefully lift his injured partner off Chisholm. His eyes still squeezed shut, Mike moaned in pain as Steve lowered him onto his back on the cold floor.
Hogan reached down and grabbed Chisholm's arm, pulling the old man to his feet. Trying to control his anger, the police chief stared into the weathered and hirsute face, his jaw tightening in suppressed anger and his eyes ablaze. He turned Chisholm roughly and stepped behind him, pulling the right arm behind his back. "Jacob Chisholm, you're under arrest for kidnapping and brandishing a weapon, to start with." He snapped a handcuff around Chisholm's wrist then reached for his left arm. The old man didn't resist, continuing to stare straight ahead without expression.
As Hogan led Chisholm away, stopping briefly to pick up the hat as he recited the Miranda warning, Steve leaned over his partner. "Mike, can you hear me?"
Eyes still closed, the older man nodded slowly. He opened his mouth, breathing heavily. "Yeah… yeah…" They were more like gasps than words.
Relaxing slightly, Steve laid a gentle palm on his partner's forehead. Mike opened his eyes. Staring up at his young friend, he breathed, "I thought he was going to kill me…"
Steve snorted softly, trying to smile. "Me too."
Very slowly, Mike's right hand slid across his chest to cover his left ribs. He grimaced in pain.
"Did he hurt you?"
Mike caught a held breath then exhaled quickly. "I'm not sure… my ribs sure hurt a lot more now than they did before." He snorted angrily. "Damn it…"
"Do you think you can get up? I think we should get you back to the cot and I'll rewrap you… see if that helps. What do you think?"
Mike looked at him with a small grateful smile. "Let's give it a try," he snorted with a soft chuckle then winced again.
Steve leaned closer, sliding his right arm under his partner's back as Mike began to sit up, holding his breath. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Hogan propelling Chisholm, hands cuffed behind him, into the other cell then locking the door.
His eyes closed and jaw set, Mike sat up then slowly climbed to his feet with Steve's help. He waited for a beat as Steve shoved the cot back against the wall then shuffled to it slowly and sat with a gasp of pain and a relieved exhale when he was finally down. Steve sat beside him and began to undo his shirt.
His eyes closed and his head slightly raised, his arms at his sides, Mike let his young partner do what needed to be done.
"How's he doing?" Hogan asked as he suddenly appeared in front of them, staring at Mike anxiously.
The older detective opened his eyes slightly. "He's doing fine, thanks for asking," he almost spat out.
Steve's eyes flashed to his partner's face and a smile he couldn't restrain briefly flashed across his face. Hogan's head had snapped back slightly, obviously not anticipating Mike's bitter response, and, flustered, he looked at Steve. "Ah, do you need a hand?"
Trying not to smile, Steve shook his head. "I got this."
"Okay…" Hogan began slowly. "Okay, ah, so, ah, so I'll go ahead and do what we were gonna do before, ah, before this…" he stammered uncharacteristically, gesturing vaguely towards the corner of the cell where the drama had just played out.
Steve nodded. "Good." He had removed Mike's shirt and was starting to undo the tensor bandages.
Hogan hesitated for a moment then, realizing he had been summarily dismissed, turned and left the cell.
After a silent beat, Mike asked quietly. "What was that all about?"
Steve snorted softly. "You have no idea what's happened since last night…. And I'll tell you all about it shortly, don't worry. But all you need to know right now is, it's all over, Mike."
The older man slowly turned his head, his expression confused but heartbreakingly hopeful. "What?"
Steve smiled, nodding. "It's over." He looked down, removing the second tensor bandage and beginning to roll them up. "How do your ribs feel?"
Mike was still trying to process what he had just heard. "What?" he asked softly.
The younger man looked at him with an amused chuckle. "I said how do your ribs feel?"
"Oh, ah…" Mike stammered, raising his left hand to gingerly touch his chest, "sore…"
"Worse than before?"
The older man nodded, frowning, in obvious discomfort. "If they were just… bent before, they may be broken now."
Steve sighed heavily, his stare unfocussed. He was obviously trying to work something out. Suddenly he bent over and pulled the duffle bag out from under the cot and started to rifle through it. He sat up again with a t-shirt in his hand.
"You want me to put that on?"
Shaking his head, Steve put the t-shirt on his lap then folded it length-wise four time so it was about six inches wide. "We're going to use this as a… a dressing, I guess you could call it. To give a little most cushioning to the bandages." He placed it against his partner's still visibly bruised rib cage. "Hold that in place, will ya."
Mike raised his right hand and held the folded tee against his side as Steve started to wrap the bandages around his chest and over his left shoulder again. A quick look at the bullet wound showed it was healing nicely, which was a relief for them both.
"So, ah, what do you mean it's over?" Mike asked again as Steve continued his ministrations.
The younger man chuckled. "I mean as soon as we sort a few things out, and make a few decisions, and get a lot more answers, we can go home."
"Okay…" Mike said slowly. "I've, ah, I've got a lot of questions, and I need a lot of answers… like why the hell I was framed." He turned his head slightly to look at his partner. "Do you know why?"
With a grim smile, Steve nodded. "Umh-humh…"
"And...?"
"And I think there's going to have to be a lot of understanding and forgiving… from all sides…"
With a worried frown, Mike looked away, not sure he liked the sound of what he had just been told.
# # # # #
"How does it feel?" Steve asked as Mike finished doing up the buttons on his shirt. They were still sitting on the cot.
Mike straightened slightly, taking a deep breath. He ran his right hand over his left ribcage and bobbed his head. "Not bad. I'll live." He glared into the other cell. "No thanks to him."
Still handcuffed, sitting facing them on the far cot, Chisholm hadn't made a sound.
With a soft chuckle, Steve reached around behind his partner and grabbed the two pillows on the far end of the cot to stuff them against the bars behind the older man. "You know," he said quietly, humour in his voice and a smug smile on his lips, "you did just get your ass kicked by a ninety-year-old man…" He felt Mike stiffen.
"He's not ninety-years-old," Mike retorted with feigned indignation, gratefully rising to the bait, knowing they both needed the healing balm of a moment of levity.
"Eighty then," the younger man conceded as he straightened up. "Here," he put a hand on his partner's right shoulder, pushing him back gently against the pillows.
Holding his breath until he'd settled against the soft backrest, his eyes closed, Mike smiled slightly. "Well, he wasn't laboring under a handicap," he continued the badinage.
"So that's your excuse, hunh?" the younger man chuckled. He turned to lean against the bars beside his partner, their shoulders touching. "Let's just take a break and sit here for a bit, okay?" he whispered, and Mike nodded softly.
They fell into a companionable silence.
A few minutes later the outer door opened and one of the deputies they hadn't officially met yet strode quickly into the room and up to the door of the other cell. With practiced ease, he snapped open the lock, pocketing the keys as he crossed to the cot. He nodded with a crisp "Would you come with me, please, sir", then leaned forward slightly to grasp Chisholm's right elbow and assist the old man to his feet. As the shabbily-dressed millionaire tried to pull away, the deputy propelled him out of the cell and they disappeared into the station proper.
Steve had watched the byplay with interest, fully aware of what was going on. He glanced at Mike, who hadn't moved, his eyes still closed. The older man was taking deep long breaths; he wasn't asleep but he was trying to get his shattered equilibrium back, Steve knew.
He looked over when he heard the wooden door opened again. Hogan stepped into the room, holding the door open and pausing to glance over his shoulder. Then, slowly, Jeannie followed. With a broad smile, the police chief crossed to the open door of the nearest cell and stopped, his arms wide as if ushering her inside. She nodded to him in thanks as she approached, her gaze sliding towards the cot.
As she stepped into the entrance, Steve nudged his partner and Mike's eyes opened slowly. He stared straight ahead then lifted his head from the pillows and turned slowly towards the cell door. The blue eyes widened as he recognized his daughter.
"Daddy…"
