I typically don't post two stories at the same time but I have been excited about this one for a while. I wrote it last fall when things slowed down a bit and it's been sitting on the back burner since. This plays late in season 3. Enjoy.
"You are late. Again."
The bellowed reprimand carried all the way through the bullpen, causing a handful of worried stares and the occasional giggle from the surrounding detectives as Steve slowly meandered through the glass-walled vestibule and toward his desk, not a care in the world it seemed.
Knowing that his relaxed demeanor gnawed on his partner's nerves more than Mike cared to admit, the young Inspector threw him a cheery smile, the San Francisco Telegraph under one arm, balancing a Christmas gift and to-go coffee in the other.
"Say, isn't this the one week out of the year you're supposed to be nice to me?", Steve teased from the safety of his desk, carefully setting the coffee and present down, then throwing the newspaper on his chair before proceeding to take off his beige overcoat, "How else are you going to get anything for Christmas?"
Treating himself to a brief sip of coffee, Mike shook his head defiantly, carrying on the good-natured charade of mutual teasing they had both grown so fond of, especially during hard times.
And this year, if anything, had been a tough one.
Early spring had started out with an unnerving uptick in homicides, straining resources to the max, keeping the City by the Bay on high alert for eight endless weeks, until all serial killers, vengeful fiancés, hired killers and power-hungry mobsters had been put behind bars, making room on the front page of the Telegraph for something besides the daily violent death count.
Summer had nearly eaten a hole into his stomach when on a sunny June afternoon, he received a call at work from a sobbing Jeanie, pleading for his understanding and forgiveness when she admitted that her, and that long-time boyfriend Eric, had managed to get pregnant, without the slightest plans of a wedding in the near future.
Although he was clinging strongly to his faith, and social norms dictated that a relationship sealed by a mutual child ought to be sealed by marriage also, they'd smoothened out those frayed edges over the course of the following weeks, making the best out of a chaotic situation and setting up for a new, albeit somewhat scary future.
Mike had just about gotten used to the idea of welcoming his first grandchild and enjoying the sound of baby giggles in a house that had grown heartbreakingly quiet over the past six years, when another devastating phone call derailed his year.
It had turned into a particularly dreary day for the Homicide Department when Mike received word that Art Sekulovich had suffered a major heart attack while booking a murder suspect downstairs; the long-time Sergeant's life being saved by the quick actions of the by standing officers who threw him in the back of a squad car and rushed him to Franklin Hospital, where he underwent triple bypass surgery the same morning.
Mike had just returned from the ER to share the news of his Sergeant's chance of a full recovery when his phone rang again, the sheer noise making him tremble. Upon lifting the receiver and hearing his daughter's painful sobs on the other end in lieu of a cheery greeting, he felt his heart sink when confronted with the news that Jeanie had suffered a miscarriage, having been admitted to the hospital for observation. Although the doctors reassured them that miscarriages early on in a pregnancy were a common phenomenon and that Jean would be fine and still be able to carry an unborn child in the future, the news had felt like a tsunami devasting everything in its path, all their hopes and dreams, its wake to be felt for a long time, that much he was sure of.
After the day from hell that early August, Mike had grown anxious at work, barking orders instead of giving them, resorting to unnecessary hovering when it came to his detectives for fear of everyone in his social circle being part of some horrible streak of bad luck bestowed upon them, all their fates lying in the crosshairs of their relationship with the seasoned Lieutenant. As usual, Steve had taken the brunt of it, absorbing the cantankerous spirit and ill-tempered outburst with his amicable kindness and good-natured teasing as best as possible.
And so, for a few short months, life seemed to return to normal, a new normal.
Art was back at his workstation by the Telex machine, still on limited duty for another couple of weeks, twenty pounds lighter and decidedly too pale for Mike's liking, but back nonetheless.
Jeanie and Eric had moved on from the tragedy, undoubtedly a lot wiser and more mature. Hopefully mature enough to consider marriage before pregnancy next time, or so he hoped deep within.
The final straw came eight weeks ago, after a press conference praising the hard work of the Homicide Department in an undoubtedly challenging year, the accolades being followed by the ominous notion that the holidays in and of themselves would bring on another wave of crime and death, whether it be killing from robberies gone bad, domestic disputes, questions of murder versus suicide and the usual violent deaths stemming from tempers flaring more than normal over what was supposed to be a cheery season.
All color had drained from his face when a severely distraught Steve had disrupted the conference, urging Mike to follow him to a nearby hallway where he informed him that Tanner had been injured during what was supposed to be a routine witness interview turned suicide-by-cop nightmare. While the details remained sketchy for a long time, one thing was for certain; the African-American inspector had been shot in the chest point-blank, the bullet damaging his left lung, putting his life on the knife's edge. Once again, Mike had found himself, along with half the department, pacing the busy floors of Franklin's ER, waiting for the emergency surgery to be completed, relieved when he finally received news that Tanner did have a fair chance of survival and full recovery.
It had been the proverbial nail in the coffin to start up a new wave of anxiety-driven mood swings, nightmares and angry outburst, making Mike fear what terrors and heartaches each remaining day of this horrific year might have in store for them. In return, it had turned the atmosphere in the bullpen into that of tension and nervous energy, much of the previous lightheartedness gone after a year of endless drama, each detective going about their business quietly, hoping not to upset the scales of cosmic misfortune that had been in their favor for a long time.
Swallowing the unwelcome memories down once again, he glanced over at Tanner, grateful more than ever to see the African American Inspector working away on some report, tied to desk duty for another month-and-a-half pending the all clear from his doctor.
Somebody had gone through the trouble of attaching personalized Christmas stockings to each work station and filling them with an assortment of candy, oranges and nuts, Mike's stocking even including a bottle of beer and a lottery ticket. It was a kind-hearted attempt to bring a small measure of joy to a department that had been put through the wringer more than any other this year.
With all his remaining staff accounted for, Mike's eyes drifted back to Steve, whose valiant efforts to keep the peace during rough times deserved a commendation, but at this point, were irritating him regardless of the young Inspector's noble intention.
As slow as possible, he watched his partner pour himself a cup of coffee, taking a sip, hesitating a second, then add some sugar, taking another sip, then nod self-righteously, before deciding to meander into the inner office, greeting Mike with a passionate back stretch, then smiled broadly.
"Well good morning to you as well!"
"Good morning, he says…", Mike growled, then pointed his chin at the young Inspector's desk, "Why is it you can't arrive on time at least once a week? You had time to grab yourself one of those fancy coffees? And now you're drinking another one. Has the thought of doing some work every once in a while ever crossed your mind? Do you ever wonder how it is that you are always the last one to arrive here in the morning?"
With a cheeky grin, Steve treated himself to another sip of coffee, relishing the taste, before shaking his head.
"If I didn't do all these things, you wouldn't have anyone to yell at, now would you?"
Drawing in a deep breath, Mike forced himself to remember that Christmas was only a day away and that none of his detectives had been immune to the stress and concern that had befallen the Homicide Department this year, most of all his partner.
As such, he smiled wearily, shaking off the agitation for the time being, ready to send Steve back to his desk when he noticed the rest of his detectives hesitantly circle in to join them.
"The coffee is for you, actually. Gourmet blend, extra cream and sugar. That was my idea and I will take full responsibility for the love it will plant in your soul with each sip to you take.", the young Inspector explained proudly, his warm eyes beaming in delight as they were surrounded by a dozen smiling faces, "And to answer your question, I was late because I got you a Christmas gift. From all of us."
"You what? What are you talking about, Buddy Boy?", Mike asked sheepishly and got up from his desk, meeting the cheerful faces of his many detectives and colleagues, "You guys didn't have to do that."
"Don't say that till you open it!", Hassejian's deep voice bellowed from somewhere in the back, as the small box with the candy-striped wrapping paper traveled through the crowd, before ending up on his desk.
Next to Steve, Lessing appeared from the crowd, sporting a Santa hat and depositing a freshly-made fruitcake on Mike's desk, before retreating amongst the safety of numbers once again.
"It's not every day we survive a year like this and still have our LT right here in the office instead of Murchison's Psych Ward!"
"Well, Lenny knows I don't go crying to him about my worries, that's what you guys are for, right…?", Mike countered facetiously, subtly biting the inside of his cheek to stop the plethora of heartwarming emotions from making his eyes tear up, "This is…this is a nice surprise. I appreciate it, guys."
"Better open it before the phone rings again, Mike, you know it's just a matter of time…", Tanner nudged, his genuine smile lighting up the entire office.
Under the watchful eyes of his squad, Mike inspected the package, shaking it once and noticing the light weight, the sound that of an envelope sliding back and forth inside.
Fighting through two layers of wrapping paper, much to the entertainment of his audience, he finally opened the box, then pulled out the envelope hidden inside, immediately recognizing the neat handwriting in which his name had been added to it.
Glancing up at his men once again, Mike shook his head faintly, trying not to let the emotions overwhelm him but having an increasingly hard time.
His hands began to shake when he pulled the sleeve of the envelope open, his fingers tracing the thick paper of a gift certificate, the name "Bay Side Cruiselines" the first thing he read as he pulled it out.
"You guys wanted to get rid of me so you chipped in to send me on a cruise to nowhere?", Mike laughed, hearing faint chuckles coming from the back rows in response.
Reaching for the black-framed reading glasses still resting on his desk and putting them back on his face; his eyes widened at the dollar amount listed on the gift certificate, then carefully read the included itinerary.
"Guadalajara? Puerto Vallarta? All inclusive? For two weeks? Are you guys nuts?"
"We figured you could use a break from the daily grind and ordering a bunch of unfortunate guys around like an angry Army Sergeant.", Sekulovich chimed in, chuckling, "I know we could…"
"You almost had to be content with a cabin in the engine room. It's all we could afford even after we pooled our money. But then loverboy over here spent two hours on the phone getting you upgraded to a cabin with a window somewhere near the waterline. I am sure by now they think you're some international war hero or Hollywood Star. And Steve, he might be engaged, we don't know yet, a lot of that got lost in translation toward the end…whatever you do, make sure to take that vacation soon. We all need a break from you!"
Haley's comment made them chuckle, as the group wished him a collective Merry Christmas, before slowly scattering back to their respective desks, leaving an awestruck Mike behind, and his partner who was grinning ear to ear.
"This was…not necessary…", the Lieutenant mumbled, this time his voice beginning to quiver, "You know that, right?"
"You had that coming for a long time, my friend…", Steve said in return, an overabundance of love and admiration radiating from his green eyes as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, before pointing his chin back at his desk, "Oh, and don't forget your coffee. You want to drink it while it's still warm."
Putting the gift card down and walking up to his partner, Mike sighed, then wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders, before squeezing the nape of his neck.
"Why did you organize this? I thought you don't like Christmas, Buddy Boy?"
Meeting his steel-blue eyes guardedly, Steve smiled, then reached for the wrist holding onto him.
"It's a good thing I like you then, eh?"
Not mustering the strength to answer, Mike gave his partner's neck another tight squeeze, running his thumb along his cheek for a brief second, both of their eyes filling in the gaps that words couldn't, before letting his hand slide back to his shoulder, never losing the physical contact.
"Listen, ehm… when you are…when you are all settled in, let's go over the holiday schedule this week. Without a case of our own, we can use the time to help out the other guys, see if we can tie a few more loose ends before the end of the year. Sound fair?"
"Whatever you say, Kemosabe."
With a cheeky grin, Steve nodded amicably, patting his partner's shoulder before turning to walk back to his desk.
Drawing in a deep breath, Mike closed the door to his office, then turned to look out his window, watching the comings and goings down below as he disguised a tear rolling down his cheek.