"Isn't it ironic that on the day of the chili cookout we finally get the positive ID on our body…", Mike mumbled absent-mindedly, back to tugging on his raggedy clothes, having ditched the aftershave this morning to give himself a more…rustic smell.

Not enough time had passed to grow in a few decent beard stubbles, but nonetheless, the outfit was quite convincing, clean-shaven or not.

Steve had stayed in his spot by the file cabinet, awaiting confirmation from the Patrols Detail on which unit would be stationed where and manned by whom, while the Homicide Department prepared for the proverbial legwork, going over every alley, every fire escape ladder and every nook and cranny a person on the run might hide in.

There was no room for error tonight, for there'd be hell to pay if the investment in time, money and personnel would yield nothing again.

It certainly wasn't the first time they'd stuck their necks out pretty far, but it was one of those times where a positive outcome was beyond vital.

"Do you want me to get you a shoulder holster from downstairs to put under that…that shirt?", Steve asked pointedly as he watched his partner fidget away like an actor before a peak performance.

"No. No, I don't think that will be wise. If we sit close together eating our dinner, I don't want them to feel a bulge anywhere on my body."

Almost immediately, he could see the young Inspector get ready to protest, sucking in a deep breath to reiterate every single reason why his idea was a bad one, how Mike himself had told him to never place oneself in such a dangerous situation and what all could possibly go wrong this afternoon.

So, Mike decided to cut him off beforehand.

"Remember, we are not going in there guns blazing, Buddy Boy.", he cautioned firmly, "This is a…recon mission, so to speak. We're trying to locate Albert and Ricky. And…of course…spread goodwill in the community."

"Goodwill in the community?!", Steve barked back and shook his head in exasperation, "How are you going to spread anything if you get robbed at gunpoint? Or if somebody comes at you with a knife because they recognize you from the office, decide to get even? You gotta have something on you, even if it's only a .22."

"I'll be fine. Don't worry.", Mike countered, unable to hide a faint smile at the thought that they were arguing like an old married couple.

"Don't worry?", Steve continued undisturbed, almost dropping his case file when he spread out his arms in obvious discontent, "Just a few weeks ago you nearly died. You just returned to full duty a day ago and only because you annoyed Olsen enough to finally get him to budge. Now you want to walk into the Lion's Den all over again, completely unarmed, while my team and I are standing back?! This might come as a surprise, but I can't help you from two-hundred feet away if things go awry."

Deciding that it was time to simmer down, Mike took a break from adjusting his wardrobe and slowly walked toward his partner, whose nerves clearly had taken a beating over the last few days and whose frantic breathing reverberated through the entire inner office.

"Stop your fussing, I will be fine.", Mike once again reassured and placed both of his hands on his partner's shoulders, weighing them down gently, "This isn't our first barbeque. We have everything planned out to the last detail. I will be fine. And if all goes well, we're going to have a long night ahead of interviewing our prime suspects…"

He could tell that Steve wasn't the least bit satisfied with his answer, that busy mind working overtime ahead of their event, insecure green eyes searching his for reassurance. As such, Mike gave his partner's shoulders a tight squeeze, hoping it would be enough to settle his nerves, before tapping his cheek in unspoken appreciation.

"Hassejian just got back, double-check to make sure everything is clear on his end. We've got two hours before we head out. Let's make the most of it."