Mike felt some of the stress and tension leave his body as he made his way up the stairs to Steve's apartment.

In the mid-afternoon hours, the sun felt warm and comforting for once, trying to lull him into a more relaxed state of mind. Glancing down at the few cars making their way along Union Street, he fished for the apartment keys in his coat pocket.

Upon entering, he found a half open case of beer sitting on the kitchen counter and the door to the patio partially ajar. Working his way up the stairs to the sunny balcony above the apartment, Mike couldn't help but smile at the sight of his partner.

Stretched out on a gray lounger, Steve was dressed in nothing but dark blue swim trunks. Holding a beer in his good hand and wearing aviator sunglasses, the young detective seemed to have found the level of relaxation Mike so desperately craved after their latest case.

"I knew it.", Steve pointed out, as Mike made his way across the balcony, feeling the small pebbles crunch underneath his feet. Sitting down slowly on a second lounger nearby, the Lieutenant took off his fedora and blinked against the sun for a moment.

"I knew you couldn't stay away for more than two days. It's only been 40 hours!"

Steve turned around to face his partner and grinned jovially. Mike returned the gesture, before letting his eyes drift over the bruises on Steve's shoulder and chest. Only a couple of days had passed since the accident, but some of the dark blue and purple areas seemed to fade away slowly.

"Your ribs are looking much better. How is your shoulder doing?"

"Not too bad.", Steve breathed before taking another sip of beer, "I figure if I work on my suntan, it'll be barely visible in a few days."

"Sun tan? What sun tan, Inspector? You've only got the week off. Before too long, you'll be back at your desk putting in overtime to help me solve murder cases. There won't be any time for sun-tanning."

They shared a hearty laugh, when Mike fell silent again and pointed at the cast on his partner's left hand.

"How is it feeling? Are you taking your pain meds? Did you make an appointment yet to have the stitches removed?"

Steve was growing visibly tired of the one-sided fretting and reached to his right for a can of beer out of a small cooler.

"Michael, would you relax? I told you I am fine. The only thing this hand is currently preventing me from doing is typing up reports. But thankfully I can rely on my partner's unmatched eloquence to write up all my reports for me so that my desk is clean when I get back in next week."

Smiling, Mike accepted the beer before stripping out of his black overcoat.

"Well don't you worry, Buddy Boy. There'll be plenty of reports for you to write when you get back. I already spoke to Rudy and you're off the streets for at least three weeks, no exception.", when Steve scowled in dissatisfaction, Mike pointed at the road below, "Speaking of which…you're not supposed to be driving. What were you doing at the courthouse this morning?"

"Seriously? Mike! Isn't there any place in this city I can go without you knowing?"

Smiling in self-righteous satisfaction, Mike opened his can of beer before taking a long sip.

"You're lucky I didn't put out an APB on your Porsche."

Steve chuckled and shook his head as he leaned back in the lounger.

"I sat in on the preliminary hearing on Chantal's case. I just wanted the judge to understand that I am behind her, even though it's out of our jurisdiction now."

Mike nodded knowingly, as his fingers played with the cold can of beer.

"Gerry said they're going to try hard to get that manslaughter charge thrown out. Even the judge is against it. That poor girl has been punished enough."

"She has…", Steve sighed before finishing his beer and tossing the can to the ground. Mike looked down and found two other empty containers by the cooler, "So you've talked to Gerry…What about the Johnsons? They're just going to let them run free like nothing ever happened? Because this state obviously doesn't care about children who are beaten by their parents on a regular basis …"

"Easy now.", Mike tried and put a reassuring hand on his partners shoulder, careful to avoid the bruises, "I feel the exact same way, but we're in a legal bind. Seems that Henderson has done a fine job convincing the media outlets that we're two vindictive detectives on a rampage against African Americans. Rudy is scared out of his mind at the possibility of a civil suit and Gerry says we don't even have enough evidence to look at Harry Johnson cross-eyed. And Lenny thinks we're both close to a complete mental breakdown, which isn't helping our case one bit."

Steve grunted, as his nervous fingers played on a seam of his swimming trunks.

"Maybe they're all wrong. Maybe we can shake Doloris Johnson some more. I had her close to the breaking point. And with Chantal's testimony-"

"It's a no-go.", Mike reiterated and squeezed his partners shoulder a bit tighter, "I already tried that. Unless somebody who actually witnessed Harry beating his daughter comes forward, we're not getting anywhere. That's the bad thing about crimes committed at home. What happens behind closed doors rarely makes it out to the rest of the world…these are Sandra Orellis words. And she's right unfortunately…Say, you and Chantal really clicked. I was glad you were around for the interview to get her out of her shell. Do you guys share some similarities in your past? The whole wild child thing got you going?"

Mike's had tried hard to make his comment sound casual, but he could tell that his partner instantly clammed up. Clenching his jaw, Steve swallowed hard before staring towards the San Francisco skyline.

"No, Michael…I don't think my past had me eating houseplants as a source for survival."

"That's not what I am saying.", Mike tried before resting his elbows on his thighs, "The past is the past, but whatever happened affects all of us differently."

Growing suspicious, Steve turned to look over at his partner and frowned.

"What are you getting at?"

Knowing that Steve losing his cool was an imminent threat, Mike cleared his throat, before attempting a reassuring smile.

"Well, let's just say that on my way out of the office, I heard your phone ring and I took the call. It came from Modesto."

Mike knew he'd stepped on the proverbial landmine the moment Steve's eyes clouded over with anger.

Leaning back into the lounger and staring straight ahead, the young Inspector stayed perfectly still for a moment, and then exhaled slowly, as if to force himself to remain calm.

"And naturally you stayed on the line and busied yourself hashing out some old heartbreak with my mother."

"My…did I just find your trigger or what?", Mike said worriedly when he noticed Steve's hand starting to shake, "Did you really think I would do something like that? Come on now, Buddy Boy. I am your partner. I respect your privacy more than that."

"So, what did she want?"

"She was just being a worried mother. She saw the newspaper article in the San Francisco Dispatch. It wasn't your most flattering picture, as you know. She just wanted to make sure her son was alright. I told her you were a bit battered and bruised, but that was it."

Steve nodded in dissatisfaction but stayed quiet otherwise.

"When was the last time you saw your parents?"

"Why?"

"Just a caring question from your partner…You know, I couldn't wrap my mind around what could have happened for a bright young man with such a shiny disposition to hold a grudge for so long."

Mike could tell that Steve was getting worked up, but their relationship of mutual respect and trust was strong enough to keep the young Inspector's emotions contained.

After a few brief moments of tense silence, Steve leaned forward, before pointing at a spot on his lower back right below his ribcage.

"You see this scar?"

Mike looked at the six-inch-long scar apprehensively. He knew from the looks of it that it wasn't an old wound. Definitely less than a decade.

"Yes. The paramedics asked me about it when they stripped you out of your shirt. What happened?"

"A cop happened.", Steve growled and laid back down, "We were attending a Free Speech March near campus. I think the patrols just had time to kill and a really bad attitude. A bunch of squad cars came shooting around the corner to break up the protest and things turned violent in an instant. My friend Eric and I tried to get everybody to relax, but the patrols descended upon us. Eric lost a couple teeth getting his face slammed into the hood of a cop car, and I was thrown through the glass window of the bus station. I felt a burning sensation in my back but I didn't put two and two together until I saw the puddle of blood form underneath me. Eric screamed for the cops to stop, but they just kept beating up on me. I could literally see my own blood splatter against what was left of that glass wall. Somewhere in all that I recognized one of my father's friends. He recognized me too, I saw it in his eyes. But then I blacked out and when I came back to, I was in the hospital and had a misdemeanor charge dangling over my head."

Mike pursed his lips as he looked down, trying to get the disturbing scene out of his mind.

"So naturally my father shows up a couple days later to give me a piece of his mind about all these, quote on quote, nonsense voter registration demands and peace protests. How I shouldn't be wasting my time at Berkley advocating for FSM protests, how I am an embarrassment to the family and will never amount to much. I told him what his friend had done, and that it had been the patrols that caused the protest to escalate, but he wouldn't hear any of it. In fact, he said if I kept pushing for a charge, he'd testify against me in court because his friend was the trustworthy guy with the badge and the judge would never believe a hippie like me. He actually laughed at me when he said that, Mike. I swear he was disappointed I didn't get hurt worse."

"Steve…", Mike tried, only to watch his partner shake his head.

"No, let me finish…so, for a couple of weeks, I tried to press charges against my dad's friend but nobody would do anything about it. They just thought I had a chip on my shoulder about the whole incident. Imagine my surprise when he showed up again at the next march Eric and I attended. By now, I swore he had it out for us. As the squad cars pulled in, I never even got a chance to surrender. Three guys body-slammed into me and pinned me to the ground, while they threw Eric against the wall and worked him over with their nightsticks. I tried to help him, but they handcuffed me and tied my legs together, so I had to watch the whole scene unfold. I think they were making a statement, because Eric was one of the group leaders and yet they left me practically untouched, because…well…they weren't going to hurt Marty Keller's kid again. By the time they were done, there wasn't much I could do to save him. Eric died from internal injuries on the way to the hospital. The media kept quiet about it because of political instability, as they called it. They didn't want the barrel of TNT surrounding the war protests to go up. I tried to press charges again, but nothing came of it- again. Everybody knew that these cops had abused their badges and killed somebody…and yet nobody did a damn thing about it. The value of a human life, the very thing we were advocating for, was thrown away for political filibusters. I knew that if my dad could support this kind of behavior, that the hero I saw in him when I was a kid never really existed. If he was willing to help silence what happened to Eric, then his previous actions and his badge…were worthless."

"I take it your mother isn't entirely aware of that whole situation?"

"You did talk to her at length!", Steve argued, but Mike raised his hands in defense.

"She was just upset that you and your father don't talk, that's all…Steve, you have to remember that after everything is said and done, she's still your mother. She worries about her child."

"I tried to explain it to her but she backed my father…Mike, my mother is an Interior Decorator. She gets terribly upset about somebody having red furniture in a cream-colored room with a two-tier chandelier. But she doesn't understand the concept of what a badge stands for…and the responsibility that comes with it. I got tired of trying to explain it to her. It seemed to make more sense to stop talking and start doing something about it."

"So, you decided to become a cop and right that wrong ever since…decided to better the breed in your own way, eh?"

Steve swallowed hard when the painful emotions threatened to reemerge. Mike got up from the lounger and opened another beer for his partner, offering support when no words in the world could undo the damage.

"And yet it keeps happening, Mike. Look at this case. We all know that Johnson is guilty. And yet, he's getting off looking like a victim and we're the ones getting lynched by the media."

"And it's frustrating, I know, Buddy Boy, believe me, I do. But what are you going to do about it? Yell at somebody? I already yelled at everybody I could and nothing came of it. Do you want to hold another grudge? Be mad at the world each time something terrible happens that's out of your control?"

When Steve didn't answer, Mike sat back down on the lounger and weaved his hands in his lap.

"See, that'll give you an ulcer in no time…At the very least, it will give you a bad attitude."

"My attitude has nothing to do with this."

Glaring over at his partner, Steve huffed in frustration before swallowing hard.

"What am I supposed to do? Just let little bits and pieces of injustice slide here and there? I mean, what's the worth of a human life after all, right?"

"So you are getting bitter on me now…Getting all pissed at the world and everybody who stands in the way of your noble crusade for global justice.", Mike mused disappointedly.

It was enough to make Steve back off and take a deep breath.

"Listen to me, Steve…I know it's hard, but you can't let everything that goes wrong make you bitter. It's a dangerous road to take and the outcome is never good. You can't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, nobody can. What happened to your friend Eric, whatever made your father choose the wrong side of that thin blue line, whatever caused Harry Johnson to abuse his daughter enough to push her into a situation that got her killed…those are tragedies outside of your control. Countless things in our line of work are out of our control and it can be heartbreaking and frustrating. Holding a grudge for every awful thing that's happened will only make you bitter. And no matter how bitter you are, no matter how angry you are at the world, it won't change the outcome one bit. The only one affected by your bitterness is you, Steve…And you don't deserve that."

"Did my mom ask you to say this?"

Mike shook his head with a weary smile, before taking another sip of beer.

"She didn't have to. I see it in your eyes. I see your faith in humanity crumble every single time we are confronted with a terrible situation. And it worries me, because society isn't going to change, you know. But do me a favor…right now, while your mind is all worked up about the Johnson case and you're ready to lash out at everyone in your path, I want you to look at your cast. Look at that drawing Chantal did."

Motioning at the peaceful beach scene, Mike pointed his finger at the small badge the teenage girl had drawn next to the larger stick figure.

"Bitterness is a state of mind, and a crippling one at that. It doesn't take much effort and it stops you from making a difference. And maybe you can't change the whole world, but you have the ability to change the people around you. You've got a fourteen-year-old girl with a horrific past looking up at you, Steve. No matter what happens in her future, whether she gets married and has a family, or goes to college and moves out of state…whatever happens to her, she will always remember that one young cop who cared enough to be there for her when she was scared. That is how you make a difference. So, the next time you get all hung up about the past, when you want to get upset about something that happened six years ago…well, you just remember that your time to move on has come now. Two years ago, when I took you on, I took on a brilliant young kid. But a kid. After what you did in that interrogation room Tuesday, I realized that this kid has turned into a man now. And a very good one at that. A very caring one. Somebody I am proud to call my partner. All I ask is that you refuse to let what happened in the past turn you bitter…and continue to make a difference in people's lives, just like you did with Chantal. Because she is looking up at you now, Steve. And don't you ever dare to let her down."

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