"Goddamn it!" Steve muttered under his breath as he slammed the door then crossed to look out the front window. The street was empty and quiet. He glanced up the stairs; he knew Mike would have heard the commotion and would be beside himself with worry, trying to figure out what was going on. He headed for the stairs, knowing he had to get up there before the older man would try to get out of bed.

He was right. As he hit the top step, he could hear the pain-laced grunts. "Don't move!" he almost shouted at he bolted into the room to find his partner sitting up, trying to pull the blankets off his legs.

Mike froze mid-motion, shooting a look towards the door that was half anger, half worry. "What the hell was that all about?!" he demanded, still holding the blanket in his left hand.

"The press," Steve spat out angrily.

"What?"

The younger man shrugged. "Well, I think it was the press."

"Didn't you look through the peephole like I told you?"

"Yes!" shot out, a little more sharply than intended. "It was a uni. At least I -"

"A uni?" Mike echoed in surprise.

Steve gritted his teeth, growling softly in anger, partly at not being able to continue without interruption and partly in embarrassment. "I thought it was a uni…"

"You thought?"

"Would you let me finish!" The outburst surprised them both and Mike actually shrunk back a tiny bit. Taking a deep breath to gather himself, Steve let his glare dissipate slightly and he bobbled his head. "The uniform looked genuine, at least through the peephole," he raised his eyebrows in emphasis. "And when I opened the door he asked for me by name."

Mike frowned. "But he was a reporter?"

Steve bobbled his head again. "No, ah… he was a big guy… and the reporter… or photographer, I'm not sure which… was hiding behind him, with a camera. He took my picture with one of those… those power winder things…"

"The ones that take more than one picture at a time?"

"Yeah, those… and then they bolted down the stairs and jumped into a waiting car and shot up the street."

"A waiting car? Was it running?"

Steve nodded. "With the doors open."

"That means there was a third person."

"Right."

"What did the car look like?"

Steve's gaze unfocused and he shook his head slightly, concentrating. "Ah, Monte Carlo, '71 or 2, dark blue. Couldn't get the plate." He shrugged.

Mike stared at him for a couple of very long seconds, breathing through his nose as deeply as he dared, his lips pursed. Steve knew that expression well; his partner was not in the least pleased with what had just transpired, and this time with good reason he had to admit.

"Get on the phone to Rudy," Mike finally said, his tone low and even in an attempt to keep a lid on his anger, "and get him to arrange for a patrol car to sit outside, twenty-four hours a day until things quiet down. Tell him we're not moving to an 'undisclosed location' - use me as an excuse if you have to." He paused and sighed softly. "I honestly thought the stairs would be a deterrent but I guess I was wrong." He leaned back against the pillows. "The neighbors are going to love this…" he exhaled with a dry sarcastic chuckle.

Steve waited a beat then said quietly, "Mike, I'm sorry -"

The older man raised a hand to cut him off. "Don't apologize," he snapped then paused, his hand staying up. "Your head's not in the game right now… and that's to be expected. But you can't forget all your training and you can't make excuses for any lapse in procedure or protocol, or this is going to get a lot worse." He look the time to take several slow, deep, calming breaths, and eventually his expression softened.

"Look, ah," he said eventually, his tone mellowing as he carefully leaned back against the pillows, "maybe we should take a break for a little while. I'm getting tired and a little sore… and I could use a nap." He saw the tension ease ever so slightly in the young man's strained features and he knew he had struck a chord. "So listen, ah, after you talk to Rudy, why don't you spend some quality time in the kitchen whipping up a batch of those chocolate chip cookies Jeannie wants you to make."

Steve stared at him expressionlessly for several long beats then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea," he said softly, longing for the solace of an empty kitchen right now after making such a rookie mistake.

Mike smiled encouragingly, trying not to wince as he settled deeper into the bed. "Ah, shut the door, will ya?" he requested as he closed his eyes, the smile lingering momentarily.

Still nodding, Steve snapped off the ceiling light as he backed out of the room and softly pulled the door shut behind him. He looked out the front window again before heading into the kitchen, hesitating before he lifted the receiver from the wall phone and started to dial, pausing for several long seconds before his finger spun the dial for the last number. He leaned against the kitchen counter, his head down, counting the rings as he waited for the line to connect, part of him hoping it wouldn't. "Olsen," came the gruff voice on the other end and his head came up.

"Ah, yeah, Rudy, it's Steve," he began, trying to sound casual.

"Anything wrong?" came the swift response. The captain hadn't been too happy to discover that Mike had, literally, checked himself out of the hospital and he wasn't reluctant to make his opinion known.

"No," Steve answered quickly, "no, we're fine here, it's just… well, Mike thinks it's a good idea if maybe you posted a black-and-white outside the house here for a couple of days…"

There was a long beat of silence then, "Why would he think that? Did something happen?"

"Well, ah, well, we just had a visit from a reporter -"

"A reporter! What reporter? They came to your door?" The captain was speaking so quickly it was hard to tell what he was actually saying.

"Yeah, ah, some guy dressed like one of ours rang the bell… well, let's just say there's going to be an unflattering photo of me floating around out there somewhere."

"A photographer…?" Olsen sounded incredulous. "You're telling me you let a photographer take a picture of you at Mike's house?"

"Ah, yeah, they sort of… ambushed me -"

"Ambushed you?" Steve could hear the astonished anger loud and clear. "What the hell…?!"

"Look, Rudy, Mike's already torn strips off me -"

"I bet he has."

"He thinks it may be wise to -"

"Put a car in front of the house… yeah," the older man finished the sentence for him. "All right, consider it done." There were a couple of loud deep breaths then a quieter, "Are you okay?"

Steve smiled slightly to himself. "Yeah… yeah, I'm okay."

"How's Mike doing?"

"He's, ah, he's taking a nap right now but he's doing okay too."

"Good." A loud sigh drifted over the line. "Okay, so, ah, I'll get a car there as soon as I can."

"Thanks."

"But for god's sake, be careful, will ya? This is already a departmental nightmare, let's not make it any worse."

"I hear ya…"

"All right," Olsen said softly, well aware of what the young man was going through. "Is there anything you need from me?"

Steve snorted gently. "Find Nicole Sanderson…?"

The captain laughed. "I wish I could, Steve, I wish I could…. Listen, ah, give my best to Mike when he wakes up and you two take it easy, okay. I want both of you back at work, the sooner the better."

"Yeah, me too…"

"Okay, well, ah… keep an eye out for the cruiser."

"I will. Thanks, Rudy."

"Yeah, ah, you're welcome." Olsen hung up without saying good-bye, which was not unexpected. With a wry smile, Steve slowly replaced the receiver then exhaled loudly. He ran both hands over his face, his gaze unfocusing, as waves of hopelessness washed over him. It seemed he couldn't catch a break lately, no matter what he did.

His fingers still pressed against his mouth, he turned his head slightly to look at the stack of ingredients and cookware on the counter. He took a step closer, his eyes falling on the sheet of foolscap filled with Jeannie's pleasingly cursive hand. A soft smile curled his lips and he chuckled to himself as he stepped to the sink to wash his hands.

# # # # #

He was cradling the large silver bowl in the crook of his left arm, stirring the chocolate chips into the batter when the phone rang. With an annoyed growl, he dropped the bowl onto the counter and wiped his hands on the apron tucked into his pants as he crossed the kitchen and snatched the receiver.

"Hello."

"Is this Steve?" came a voice he thought he knew.

"Yeah, who's this?"

"It's Phil. Sorry, I didn't recognize your voice."

"Me too. What's up?"

"Well, just so you know, I still haven't managed to snag you a criminal defence attorney yet, but I'm talking to a guy later today that might take your case."

"Oh yeah? Who's that?"

"Martin Pollard. He used to clerk for Judge Blevins before he passed the bar. He's young but he's good and he knows his way around a courtroom, or so I've been told."

"So you don't know him?"

"Not personally, no. But I know a bunch of people who do and word's out he's the judicial equivalent of you." There was an unexpected insouciant tone in Baxter's voice that caught Steve off-guard.

"What?"

The PBA lawyer laughed. "I mean he's really, really good for his age, that's all. So listen, you want me to try to talk him into taking your case. I think he can be persuaded."

"Ah, yeah, please. Appreciate it."

"Good," Baxter said quickly then paused, and Steve could feel an unexpected tension over the line. "Ah, listen, ah, there's something else…"

"What?" Steve's heart began to pound.

Baxter exhaled loud enough to set off more alarm bells in the cop's head. "I just got a call. They've set a date for your trial." He paused.

"And….?" Steve prompted when Baxter stayed mum.

"Six weeks, Steve," he said softly, almost apologetically.

There was a pause. "Six weeks…?"

"Yeah."

"That's, ah, that's soon…"

"It's very soon. Too soon, if you ask me. But Judge Robertson wants to get things over and done with, from what I've heard; word has it he's been getting pressure from City Hall to move quickly on this so it's not fresh in everybody's minds when the elections roll around."

"So I've got to pay the price for other people's political ambitions?" Steve was having a hard time keeping his anger under control.

"It's pretty shitty, I'll give you that. But we're just the pawns in this cosmic chess game, Steve. It's out of our hands so, to mix a metaphor, we've got to play the hand we're dealt. That's why I want to talk to Pollard this afternoon and get him on board as soon as possible." When there was no immediate response, he continued, "So, ah, if he wants to meet you before he decides one way or the other, could I bring him by tomorrow?"

"Ah, yeah… yeah, that would be fine." Steve took a deep breath. "Thanks, Phil… I mean it. Thanks a lot."

"You're welcome. And listen, ah, hang in there. The boat's taking on water but we're not sinking yet. There's still a lot of guys out there beating the bushes. Keep the faith, man. They'll dig up something."

"Your lips, man," Steve managed to chuckle.

"You got that right. Take care, talk to you tomorrow." The line went dead.

Steve cradled the receiver, staring into space for a few long seconds. He closed his eyes and sighed. Then, glancing over his head in the direction of the second floor, he picked up the bowl and went back to work.