Steve had been meaning to finish his day several hours ago, about the time he noticed the darkness slowly falling over the City by the Bay.
The evening had been a lot quieter than last night's, and yet, it hadn't deterred the assortment of news vans parked below from waiting for any signs of Chief Conden or Captain Olson, both of whom they deemed would have the answers to their wide array of questions regarding the nightclub massacre.
Just like each time something horrible happened, the city paused for a few brief moments, then continued on, time passing by unrelentingly fast, putting fresh wounds into a neat envelope labeled "yesterday's news", then preparing for a new day of business, pleasure or homicide.
Steve's occupation had him living in the past, mostly other people's past, digging up carefully hidden secrets, unearthing shocking truths or heartfelt memories.
And so many aspects about that viewpoint resonated with him tonight, making him feel helpless when it came to changing the future, preventing crimes rather than just solving them, down to longing for a way to psychoanalyze those on the abyss of misery and crime to see if there was a way to stop any bloodshed before it could happen.
Yet, it seemed that no matter how many circular conversation he had with himself over the past few hours, nothing really changed the fact that he felt awful about yesterday, that a part of him resented the stoolie waiting so long to tell them about Vargas' plans, the other part trying to retain his sanity by looking at things from a centered approach; the one being that there wasn't a single thing Mike and he could have done to prevent the massacre.
Mike…
The seasoned Lieutenant was the second item on his agenda of things to brood about this evening.
Not a single word from his partner all day besides the message he'd relayed through Tanner; along with the ominous wording that he was tending an emergency down in Burlingame.
Steve had exhausted his mental databank trying to come up with names or locations his best friend might have mentioned over the years when it came to the town south of San Francisco, but his search had remained frustratingly unsuccessful.
Heck, he didn't even know who to call down there to keep an eye out for Mike and see if he needed any help. It seemed as though whatever the Lieutenant was handling had to do with some past business or friendship Steve wasn't aware of, and as such was being kept out of the loop.
Tell that to his upset stomach that had turned into a swampland of bubbling acid from all his brooding, the fourth cup of coffee this early evening doing absolutely nothing to change that issue.
With his eyes growing dry and starting to burn, Steve checked his wristwatch once more, making one final attempt to leave even though there was nothing but solitude and quietness awaiting him at home.
Part of him wanted to hang around in case Mike showed up; then again, the Lieutenant might be home already, lying in bed and getting some rest. Would it be worth doing a quick drive-by at the DeHaro house? If nothing else to see the beige Fairlane parked down below, a surefire way to settle his frayed nerves and possibly get some sleep this time around?
Somewhere in the back of his busy mind, mixed in the cacophony of troubling thoughts that clouded his sense of reality that evening, Steve had missed the pings of the elevator stopping at the fourth floor, followed by a set of weary steps approaching the bullpen.
He finally snapped awake when he heard the door to the glass-walled vestibule open, the figure he'd been longing to see all day stopping next to him with a quiet sigh.
Steve glanced up, trying to disguise his previous worry beneath a half-hearted grin and stood up, welcoming Mike with a slap on the shoulder, careful to work around the banker's box of files in his arms.
"I was beginning to worry about you.", the young Inspector admitted, then accepted the heavy box, turning around to carefully place it on his desk, "What's in there?"
"I just had some personal business to attend…", Mike countered cryptically and entered his office, pausing a moment to take off his overcoat and fedora, symbolically rolling his shoulders to get rid of some sore muscles, before reappearing in the bullpen, "And this right here is a new case. New to us anyways."
Frowning, Steve waited until his partner had a chance to help himself to some stale coffee, then sat down in the guest chair by his desk with a disheartening sigh, the hand he was using to rub his tired eyes shaking slightly.
"Early this morning, I received a phone call that a friend of mine, Alex Sabatino unexpectedly committed suicide two days ago."
Putting a hand in front of his mouth, Steve gasped, slowly sitting down next to Mike, his warm green eyes never leaving his partner.
"I am so sorry about your loss…", he stammered, at a lack of ideas on what else to say to soothe the battered soul of a man who cared so much about his friends.
"I know you are…", Mike countered and reached forward to grasp his wrist, squeezing it tightly for a moment before leaning back in his chair again.
"Alex wasn't the suicide type when we last spoke. No way…", the Lieutenant continued, his gaze lowered to the ground as he shook his head, "He was a pretty centered kind of guy, even after he joined Homicide. He understood that the things he would see weren't for the faint of heart. He had a great family, a wonderful support network, decent colleagues…"
When his voice began to break, Steve reached over, placing a hand on his best friend's forearm, and leaving it there in unspoken support.
"That happens sometimes, you know. Even in the best of circumstances, people sometimes decide that suicide is the only answer…"
"I just don't understand. When I first called the bullpen and talked to his colleagues, they said that he'd been struggling for a while but didn't know why. Of course today when I went there, nobody was willing to discuss mattes with me except the Captain. First thing this morning, I spent several hours talking to Francis, his wife, trying to see if there'd been warning signs. Something…anything that could have indicated that he was thinking of ending his life. But I found none. She told me about that case he'd been working on and gave me all the information he had taken home with him. I let his Captain give me the jest of it and then went through the whole box, top to bottom in the parking lot of the police station, seeing if there was something in there."
With his lip quivering slightly, Mike clenched his jaws and swallowed hard before continuing.
"I am not saying that this case would be solely responsible for what happened, but after going through the file, I have to admit, what happened in that small house in Burlingame shook me to the core."
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