"Do you really think you're up for it?" Steve asked, moving closer to the bed, his brow furrowed.

Mike raised his eyebrows with a slight smile. "Well, I'm expecting you to do the 'heavy lifting' part of this investigation while I just lie here and do the thinking… Is that all right with you?"

After a beat, the younger man snorted with a soft chuckle and an affectionate smirk. "And that would be different from the way we usually work… how…?" He stared at his partner with smug expectancy.

Mike narrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "Ha ha," he intoned slowly, reaching out for the envelope, trying not to wince at the discomfort the simple act engendered.

Knowing his partner was a long way from being healthy enough to conduct an investigation of any kind, and in reality shouldn't even be out of the hospital, Steve pulled his arm back, moving the envelope further away. Mike tilted his head and sighed in annoyance, allowing his hand to drop back to the bed.

"Well, if I'm the one doing all the grunt work on this, then I'm the one that gets to open the envelope," Steve said simply as he sank into Jeannie's vanity chair, which had been brought into the room that morning.

"We're going to need a table," the older man observed quietly as he watched his partner slip a finger under the lip of the thick envelope and tear it open. "Maybe a bulletin board… or a blackboard…"

Steve glanced up with a slight smirk and shook his head almost imperceptibly as he slipped the thick manila file folder out of the envelope.

"Wow," Mike breathed softly, "that looks like they did a lot of work."

Nodding, Steve opened the file. There was a small clear plastic bag paperclipped to the top; he slipped it free and held it up. "The cassette of her phone call reporting the gun shot."

Mike raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I want to hear that. Jeannie has a portable cassette player in her room."

Nodding again, Steve put the plastic bag on the bedside table and started to rifle through the paperwork, all photocopies. Mike waited silently but rapidly lost his patience when the younger man didn't say anything and didn't seem in any kind of hurry to share what he was looking at.

Rolling his eyes towards the ceiling in frustration, Mike pointedly cleared his throat.

"Hmmmh?" Steve grunted, his attention focussed on the file. Mike waited another beat then cleared his throat again. This time the younger man looked up, frowning. "What…?"

"I know I don't have anywhere to go… or anything to do… but still…" He glared at the file.

"Oh!" Steve snorted, belatedly realizing what his partner was driving at. "Sorry. Ah, looks like they have my statement, yours, the first two uniforms on the scene, lab and forensic reports… just like Norm said, everything."

"Good. Look, ah, why don't you go downstairs and bring up a couple of those TV trays in the basement, and I've got a couple of legal length pads in that drawer of there," he pointed towards his bureau, "and a couple of pens… and then I want you to sit down and tell me everything you remember from the moment you got home that night right up to when they arrested you…" He paused, closing his eyes briefly as the ache in his chest momentarily got the better of him. When he opened his eyes again, he smiled sadly. "Dan told me what you went through, what Nicole put you through in that garage, but I need to hear it from you… in your own words. And in detail. Everything you can remember, even if it seems like it doesn't matter. I want to hear everything, and I don't care how long it takes." He snorted softly. "I have nothing but time right now… and so do you…"

Steve had been staring at him without expression. When Mike finished with a gentle and careful shrug, the younger man's expression softened and he smiled slightly. "I'll go get the TV trays," he said matter-of-factly, standing up and putting the file on the blanket over Mike's legs before leaving the room.

Gritting his teeth against the pain he'd been trying to hide, Mike reached for his glasses on the bedside table, putting them on before opening the folder. He started to leaf through it quickly. Steve hadn't mentioned anything about the investigation he'd conducted on Linda Zhao, something he knew he had to come clean about; he wasn't sure if Steve knew about it and was just too respectful to mention it.

He had managed to paw through the entire file before he heard footsteps on the stairs and flipped back to the first page when Steve walked into the room carrying two folded TV trays. The younger man set up the trays, one beside the bed, one in front of the chair, while Mike continued to browse through the file. Steve stepped to the door. "I'm going to fill the percolator so we can have some fresh coffee. You want anything?"

Mike looked up over the glasses and shook his head. "No, I'm fine thanks. Still full from breakfast," he smiled, returning to the file.

With a nod, Steve left the room. Frowning, Mike took off his glasses. He wondered why Healey and Haseejian hadn't included his report; he knew they had it. He glanced at the phone, wondering if he had time to make a quick call before Steve returned then thought better of it. He thought he might wait until Steve had told him everything he could remember and then come clean about his investigation into their accident and Linda's possible involvement, hoping that Steve would believe that his professional curiosity had been sparked from a true condern that she had been a part of a conspiracy to murder, if not seriously injure them.

Steve came back into the room with a half-smile on his face. "Jeannie left me a recipe for chocolate chip cookies," he chuckled, "and the directive to make them this afternoon so we have something to eat with our coffees the next few days." He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "I think she might have more faith in my cooking than I do."

Mike chuckled. "Well, you won't know that until you try, right? So let's get started, shall we, then we can take a break while I get some rest and you try out your baking skills…"

"Or lack thereof…"

"You're gonna have to let me be the judge of that… I know what a good home-made chocolate chip cookie should taste like." Mike smiled encouragingly. "And if you follow her recipe to the letter, that shouldn't be an issue." He nodded at the file. "Can you do me a favor and put this on the table," he indicated the one beside the bed. "It's a little too heavy for me to lift right now."

Steve frowned as he stepped to the bed and picked up the folder. "Are you sure you're up for this right now?"

"I'm just going to lie here and listen to you talk. I may even take a couple of notes… but I'll be honest with you, the second I feel like I'm losing concentration or I'm too uncomfortable, I'll stop you… satisfied?"

The younger man smiled. "Very… thank you." He crossed to the bureau, opened the top drawer and took out two yellow legal-length pads and a handful of Bics. "You want one of these?" he asked, holding up the pads then bringing one over when the older man nodded. "I'll go check on the coffee." He left the room without another word.

Mike stared at the empty doorway after Steve disappeared. He knew the young man was reluctant to relive what he had gone through, especially when it came to what had happened to Linda, but it was essential that Mike hear the story first hand. He knew Steve so well he was sure he could bring out things that his partner had unconsciously suppressed, and that might well be the key, the one thing that could prompt the D.A. to dismiss the charges.

Even though he hadn't spoken to Gerry O'Brien in person, Mike was pretty sure that the A.D.A. would be looking for any legitimate excuse to take to his boss and demand that the murder charge against the respected inspector be dropped. A reasonable doubt was all they would need, and Mike was determined to find it.

He leaned back against the stack of pillows and closed his eyes. He was in a lot more pain than he'd allowed his daughter or his partner to see, pain that the Demerol was only partially able to control. But he would honour his promise to the doctor and stay in bed, no matter how much he wanted to get more involved in the quest to clear Steve's name and reputation.

It was almost ten minutes later when Steve climbed the stairs with two mugs of steaming fresh coffee. His eyes on the tops of the cups to make sure he didn't spill anything, he glanced up just inside the door and came to an abrupt but surprisingly smooth stop. Mike's eyes were closed and he looked asleep.

Tiptoeing deeper into the room, he set both mugs on the closer TV tray then stared at the bed again. There were definite lines of pain visible on the older man's face, even in sleep. With a worried shake of his head, Steve slipped the small plastic bottle of Demerol out of his shirt pocket and set it on the tray.

He studied his partner for several long seconds then took the file from the tray beside the bed and sat in the chair. He leaned back, opened the folder, balanced it on his knee and reached for his cup of coffee.

# # # # #

The ache on the right side of his chest woke him up. He opened his eyes slowly, momentarily surprised to find himself in his own room, then allowed himself a brief, ironic smile. Though the curtains were drawn, the room was still fairly well lit from the bright sunlight. He tried to turn his head far enough to see the clock/radio but his ribs protested and he stopped. He took a couple of tentative deep breaths then looked towards the door. On the tray beside the bed, and within easy reach, was a glass of water and an open pill bottle. Despite the discomfort, he smiled.

With the realization that any further movement right now was going to cause even more pain, he gritted his teeth and reached out to grab the pill bottle. He had managed to shake a single pill out onto the table and pick it up when he heard footsteps on the stairs and his eyes refocused on the door.

Steve's face lit up when he stepped into the room. "Here, let me help you with that," he said quickly as he crossed to the bed, picking up the glass of water and holding it so Mike could take it to wash the pill down. "Are you sore?"

Nodding, Mike closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows again. Steve put the glass down, hovering over the bed worriedly. The older man eventually opened his eyes and tried a smile. "I'll be okay, just need to take it really easy for awhile."

Nodding softly, Steve sank into the nearby chair. "Sure…" he said quietly.

Mike turned his head carefully, looking straight into the concerned green eyes. "Look, ah, before we go any further with this," he gestured vaguely in the direction of the folder on the tray, "there's something I think you should know." He paused and swallowed heavily then took as deep a breath as he could. "I, ah, I've been keeping something from you. I investigated Linda… I thought she might have something to do with our so-called accident… I'm sorry…"