Thankfully, by the next morning, the building had been declared safe, barring the damaged elevator that would require extensive repairs and partial replacement. But at least the doors to all employees were open again and public access would be granted the following day, once things had a chance to settle down a bit, according got the Brass.
Not a single word had been said about the nature of the fire, the situation treated as tight-lipped as a National Secret, a move Steve wasn't exactly comfortable with, nor did he understand the reason thereof.
If limiting the spread of undue concern was a goal, holding back information and leaving people in the dark wasn't the best idea in his mind.
They'd split up late last night after sharing a burger up the street from his apartment, trying to regain a sense of normality despite the issues thrown their way. He could tell that Mike was going the extra mile in talking through every possible scenario facing them ahead, giving shape to the cloud of uncertainty considering the circumstances while discussing how to deal with each fastball coming at them.
Much of it brought him back to the days at the academy, following standard operating procedure, being able to bury any fear or insecurity beneath the cloak of due process, crowd control and ample of training received during his time on the force.
After talking to Mike, Steve had felt significantly better about the situation, and yet, it seemed ironic that the man who still struggled with the events of the warehouse fire was able to hand out such significant, downright life-saving advice and yet couldn't find it within him to cope with what happened during those tormenting minutes they'd spend surrounded by fire.
In the end, Mike's need and capacity to save everyone seemed to end at himself.
But that's where he came in. And Steve made a point to ensure that his partner would receive all the help he needed, no matter the price.
As he entered the busy bullpen, still taking in the remnants of yesterday's smoke, he cocked his head at a few fellow detectives, then bee-lined for his desk, grateful to see Mike already here, having an engaged phone conversation with somebody about the 49'ers, not sure if it was meant to keep the conversation going or release some pent-up frustration.
After yesterday's events, it was no surprise that his inbox was empty and no missing calls had been noted. That also meant that their APB on both Rick the Raccoon guy and Albert Neville were still out.
With a sigh, he slowly stripped out of his dark gray dress coat, then reached for his coffee cup to start the day on a quiet note, slowly shifting from home life back into detective mode to handle what would await him.
For once, a new pot had been brewed, the aroma of fresh coffee enveloping his senses and giving the place a sense of everyday-routine it dearly needed.
With one ear he tried to listen in on Mike's phone conversation but only picking up bits and pieces here and there. The other one was queued to the rest of the office, particularly a set of determined footsteps echoing across the Terrazzo floor and, unfortunately, heading in his general direction.
"Morning, Steve."
It was Olson's deep voice that appeared next to him in the middle of pouring coffee, the Lieutenant of Homicide sounding unusually drab this morning.
Definitely not a good sign.
"Good morning, Rudy.", Steve returned cheerfully, hoping to sound a little more enthusiastic than his superior, "Want any coffee?"
"No…no, I am good. Thank you though.", Olsen returned, his eyes leaving the young Inspector and wandering over to Mike's office, "Do you think he'll be much longer?"
"Who? Mike? I think he's about done…"
It had been pure speculation at best, but at least it seemed to give the Lieutenant of Homicide enough assurance to settle down a bit, his tense shoulders relaxing as he drew in a deep breath and studied the bullpen.
"Looks like they've done a good job cleaning up the mess from yesterday. Word has it the elevator will be back and functioning in about three weeks. They're waiting on parts."
"Oh. Good.", Steve answered sheepishly, trying to sound casual, knowing his reaction would be put under the microscope as much as Mike's.
"You ehm…you got any weekend plans yet?"
"Work, mostly. I am off Sunday, so I am planning on getting some shopping done. Laundry. My landlord is stopping by to fix the stove. Exciting stuff like that."
"Yeah, that reminds me, I gotta grab some ground beef for dinner. Mindy is thinking of making meat loaf. Or Burgers. I can't remember honestly."
The reprieve to their awkward small-talk came when he heard his partner bid the caller farewell, then drop the receiver back onto the cradle with a quiet thud, a subtle sign that he was dreading to see his latest visitor, or the reason he was here for.
"Rudy!", came the call from the inner office, the cadence in Mike's voice as cheerful as it was unreadable, carefully crafted to pretend neutrality while he studied the situation ahead, then navigated the uncharted waters with incredible skill. Those who knew him well had seen the technique used in interviews to turn witnesses or suspects, taking in confessions and solve cases at a rate no other detective had ever been able to match.
Whether it would work with Olsen that morning was left for them to find out.
"Michael…", Rudy said and turned around, one hand shoved into the pocked of his beige dress pants, "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute?"
The ominous message was received with a genial shrug as Mike gestured toward his guest chair, "Sure. Do you need Steve in on this as well?"
"No. No, just you and me this time."
Feeling his stomach twist three times around, Steve stared at the coffee swirling around in his cup, the slight shaking of his hand sending waves across the black ocean that nearly made it spill over.
When he finally summoned the courage, the young Inspector glanced up briefly, immediately meeting Mike's eyes, seeing the flash of worry and uncertainty in them that his friendly smile and firm handshake with Olsen cleverly disguised.
Then the door was shut and the Lieutenant of Homicide approached the Lieutenant of Inspectors, never sitting down, his shoulders rigidly straight again, towering over Mike by almost a head, as he leaned against the desk and began to talk.
As much as Steve wanted to listen in or follow the conversation, his spot by the coffee machine was too obvious, so he resorted to walking back over to his desk, parking the cup next to the phone while pretending to go browse through a file in the small stack left in his to-do folder, his eyes occasionally drifting back over to Mike's office.
Skillful as his maneuver may have been, it ended abruptly when Hassejian called out for him.
"Steve, you got Bernie on line 3. Says it's urgent. Has to do with the teeth on your stiff. Sounds like he has a positive ID!"
