"Your lungs are sounding a lot better already…", Doctor Simmons noted and wrapped the stethoscope around his neck once again, before running his experiences fingers along the underside of Mike's jaw.

"Are you having any more trouble breathing? Any residual discomfort?"

Sitting through the follow-up exam with the patience of a four-year-old waiting to return to the playground; Mike shook his head hastily.

"Just a bit of irritation when I smell smoke. The coughing is gone now."

"Well, I am glad to hear that, Mike. You gave us all a heck of a scare." Simmons said with a genuine smile before shoving his hands back into his doctor's coat.

Swallowing the remark about his apprehension when it came to the danger being far from over, the Lieutenant remained silent, hoping to get the exam done with in order to receive the all clear for work.

As he glanced down at the white gown covering his bare upper body and his exposed left hand still bearing witness to the fire; he sighed quietly, completely unaware of the prying set of brown eyes observing his peculiar behavior.

"Mike ehm…how is…how is everything else going? Besides the burns getting better and everything? How are you handling things? Everything okay between you and Steve?"

"Yes…of course.", he said too fast and glanced back up, "I am fine. Just keeping up my guard. Until we have proof that the body we found is indeed our arsonist, I won't stop looking for him."

"I thought I heard on the news that he was identified?"

"That's what Conden wants the citizens of San Francisco to believe. We have yet to ID the body. I refuse to go by circumstantial evidence in a case as…as terrifying as this one."

An oppressive silence spread between them for many long moments. Eventually, the blonde doctor drew in a deep breath and motioned toward the nearby clock.

"How well have you been sleeping since the fire?"

"Me?", Mike muttered, not having anticipated the question and being caught off guard, "Well…good, for the most part."

"The most part? What do you mean by that?"

Swallowing hard, Mike tried to smile, knowing that the gesture did little to get Dr. Simmons off the trail of blood he was smelling.

"There's been a few nights where I didn't sleep well. That's nothing unusual in our profession."

"I can believe that.", the other man countered and pulled the medical stool closer, before sitting down for the first time since the beginning of the exam, "What I worry about is how this…this fire may have affected you. This was a very traumatizing event; almost losing your life and your partner. Combined with the stress caused by the uncertainty of the outcome…it…I guess it has me worried about your mental health. Both your blood pressure and heart rate are up. You're not sleeping well. You're not your…your jovial self. I guess what I am trying to say is that you should consider the possibility of talking to a psychologist about this situation, get a handle on it before it gets worse."

Trying to disguise an angry outburst behind a deep frown, Mike scoffed.

"A shrink? I said I am fine."

With an all-knowing headshake, Doctor Simmons rolled a couple inches back, his nervous feet doing a tap dance against the linoleum floors.

"You are physically fine, and that's what I am going to put into the report for Conden. But off the records, I really feel that you should consider talking to somebody about what happened. The nightmares won't go away on their own, you know."

Pursing his lips, Mike grunted in discontent.

"I didn't say anything about nightmares."

Simmons nodded, his genuine brown eyes tracing him worriedly.

"I know, Mike."