Steve blinked several times, as if not believing who was standing beside the bed. Her dark eyes traveled over his sheet-covered body guiltily and she swallowed awkwardly before asking in a hushed tone, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

After a beat, looking slightly confused, he carefully shook his head. "No… no, I just hit my head when I fell… uh, after my partner pushed me. You didn't hit me," he said slowly.

She exhaled loudly, relieved, and a quick, disarming smile flashed across her face again. "Oh thank god… I am so sorry… but there was this little dog, you see… and I stomped on the pedal but I guess I hit the gas instead of the brake…" Her words were tumbling out quickly and he reached up and grabbed her forearm. Her eyes widened as her mouth snapped shut; she looked anxious.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling, and she slowly closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, her own smile quickly coming back. "I'm sorry, I become a motor-mouth when I'm flustered…"

He chuckled. "My name is Steve," he said softly, keeping his hand on her arm.

Her smile got even wider, lighting her whole face. "Mine is Linda. Well, that's my American name," she laughed, "you probably wouldn't be able to pronounce my real name." Her smile disappeared again. "Are you sure you're all right?"

He nodded carefully. "I will be." He glanced at the bandage on her forehead. "You?"

She reached up with her free hand to softly touch the white gauze. "I will be too. I hit my head on the steering wheel. Just above the eyebrow. They put in seven tiny little stitches but they say the scar should be covered by my eyebrow." She made a face. "I guess I was lucky."

"We both were."

"How's your friend?"

"You mean my partner?"

She frowned. "Your partner?"

"I'm a cop, a detective. The other guy… my friend… is my partner."

She stared at him in shock and disbelief. "You mean, I almost killed a couple of cops…?" Her voice was breathless.

He grinned and nodded. "Uhm-humh. But you know," he started slowly, a lilt in his voice he wasn't sure she would catch, "you don't get extra points for hitting cops with your car…"

She stared at him in confusion.

He started to chuckle, carefully, and he grinned. "I'm joking. My partner's okay. He just broke his left wrist."

She winced guiltily and he tightened his grip on her forearm in reassurance. "He's okay. He's already gone home."

"Oh god, I almost hit two cops…? Oh, jeez, I feel so bad. I never wanted to hurt anybody -"

"Well, it's not like you did it deliberately," he interrupted with a soft chuckle then allowed his smile to disappear. "Did you?" he asked flatly, taking his hand off her arm.

The question startled her and a stricken look suddenly darkened her features. His sudden broad smile rattled her and she brought her right hand up to cover her mouth as she took a quick half-step back then giggled self-consciously. "Oh my god, you scared me, I thought you were serious."

He reached for her arm again; despite everything, including his still pounding head, he found himself intrigued and disarmed.

The curtains rattled behind her and an orderly stepped into the cubicle. "Oh, sorry," he said as Steve and Linda looked in his direction. He smiled sheepishly. "Ah, I have to get Mr. Keller up to his room…" He shrugged apologetically.

Steve let go of her arm and she stepped away from the bed. "Oh, ah, of course… sorry." She looked at Steve. "I better go."

He reached for her again but she was out of reach. "Listen, ah, can you leave me your number…? I'd like to talk to you again."

She seemed startled for a second then she grinned. "Oh, ah… ah, sure." Flustered, she bent down and picked up the macrame bag she had set on the floor near the bed and fumbled around in it. As the orderly moved to the far side of the bed to undo the caster locks, she found a small notebook and a pencil, scribbled on it, tore off the top sheet and stuffed it in Steve's hand as the gurney was wheeled past her.

All three were smiling, for different reasons, as the gurney disappeared through the curtains.

# # # # #

Mike reached for the door handle with a groan when the maroon sedan rolled to a gentle stop at the curb in front of his house. As he opened the door, Olsen looked cross the front seat and chuckled. "Still happy you bought a house with a view?" the captain chortled as Mike looked up at the stairs he had to climb to get to his front door.

"Don't start," he growled with mock solemnity as he turned carefully in the seat and put both feet on the curb.

"You need a hand?"

"No, thanks," came the curt reply as Mike put his right hand on the doorframe and pushed himself up, trying not to moan too noticeably.

Realizing the lieutenant had left the topcoat on the seat between them, Olsen grabbed it, got out and circled the car before Mike had even closed the door. "Here, don't forget your coat."

Mike looked at him with a heavy sigh, then held his right forearm out. Trying only half-heartedly to hide his grin, Olsen laid the heavy coat over his arm. "You sure you don't need a hand?"

"I'm sure," Mike grumbled as he turned towards the steep flight of stairs and started up painfully slowly, trying to keep the coat from sliding off his arm as he used the railing to pull himself from step to step.

"You might want to think about putting a plastic bag over that cast and taking a bath in epsom salts before you crawl into bed. It couldn't hurt," Olsen called after him.

A brief pause in the ascension was the only acknowledgement of the comment. Grinning broadly, Olsen waited until his old friend was almost at the landing before he circled the car and got back in behind the wheel.

# # # # #

If it was at all possible, Mike felt even worse in the morning. The bruises on his left hip and back were making themselves known every time he tried to move, and the need to keep his left wrist elevated made getting out of bed more of a chore than usual, as was trying to fill the percolator. Any kind of hot breakfast was out of the question, so he settled for plain, unbuttered toast.

For what seemed like the millionth time he looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. He knew Steve was getting another CT scan at 9 a.m. then his status would be re-evaluated. If the scan was clear, he would be discharged. Bill Tanner was on standby to pick him up and drive him home, where Steve had instructions to call his partner right away.

It was only 7:42; it was going to be a very long morning.

# # # # #

"Hello."

"I'm home."

"Oh, thank god. So your scan was clear?"

"That's what they told me. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. So what did they tell you you have to do?"

There was a soft chuckle over the line. "Well, I can't even think about going back to work for a couple of weeks and they want my doctor to check me out before I do. How about you?"

"Oh, I'm okay. I'm just a little stiff. They told me I could go into the office tomorrow if I felt like it but I have to stay in the office for the next week. After that I should be able to use my fingers with no problem so I'll have two hands again."

"Well, that's good to hear. So, ah, I guess we just have to make sure our cases get covered, right?"

"I'm already on it. I talked to Norm this morning; he and Dan are going to take the Wharf case but, god, if the uniforms start working to rule our guys are gonna be pressed to the wall."

"I know but we can't think about that right now, we gotta think about getting healthy again, right?"

The older man snorted. "That's easy for you to say, bud-… smiley. But I'm still in charge of the division, you know."

"So you're going to go in tomorrow, aren't you?"

There was a brief pause. "I don't really have a choice. But I'll stay behind the desk, I promise. So, what did the doctors tell you to do? Are you okay to be alone?"

"Ah, yeah, but I'll talk to a couple of my neighbours and ask them if I can call them if I think I need help; they're only a few feet away."

"You think that's wise… I mean, what if you collapse or something like that?"

A soft, warm chuckle wafted over the line. "Don't worry, I'll be okay. If it'll make you feel any better, why don't I call you every two hours and check in?"

"Yeah, I'd like that a lot. Do that."

"Okay, I will. So are you going to call Jeannie and tell her what happened?"

"I've been thinking about that and no, not yet. Our regular call isn't till Sunday night so I'll tell her then. It's not like it's a huge thing, the cast'll be off before she comes home for March break anyway. If I wanted to, I wouldn't tell her at all but… well, keeping things from her have a way of coming back to bite me on the butt."

They both laughed. "Yes, they do." There was a brief, almost uncomfortable silence on the line. "So, ah, so what are you going to do today, besides rest your aching bones?"

A warm chuckle filled the air. "Rest, I guess. Not much else I can do. I guess I can start reading that book Jeannie got me for Christmas."

"How's the pain?"

"Not too bad. They gave me a couple a Demerol and a prescription for more if I need it, but I haven't even taken one yet."

"That's good."

Several seconds of uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, then, "Listen, ah, I can drive with no problem. Instead of you calling me every two hours, which'll drive both of us crazy, why don't I head over to your place later this afternoon and pick up a pizza on the way and we can have dinner together?"

"You going to be able to handle a big pizza box with only one hand?"

"Oh, yeah… Well, I can get them to put it on the front seat then you can bring it into your place when I get there. So…?"

There was a brief pause. "Sure… sure, I'd like that a lot."

"Good, then it's a deal. I'll see you later. Look, ah, try to get some sleep, call me when you wake up, and I'll be there around five. Is that good?"

"Yeah, that's good. I'll see you later."

Steve put the receiver on the cradle and stared at it for a few seconds. He swallowed heavily and smiled to himself. He could always depend on Mike… for just about everything. Getting up slowly, he crossed the living room to the chair near the door. The jacket he had been wearing yesterday was draped over the back. He picked it up and rooted around in the pockets until he found what he was looking for.

He returned to the phone and sat on the edge of the sofa, unfolding the piece of paper. He stared at it for several long seconds, then reached for the receiver but didn't pick it up. He hesitated again, still staring at the paper, then, after taking a very deep breath, he dropped the paper on the endtable, lifted the receiver and started to dial.