"How are you feeling?" Steve asked as he slowly walked through the open bedroom door with two mugs of steaming coffee in his hands and the Chronicle under his right arm.

He had been up since before dawn, unable to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time, eventually giving up. He had lain in Jeannie's bed, staring up at the unseen ceiling in the pitch black room, unable to calm his exhausted yet overstimulated brain. In desperation he'd even started counting sheep at one point, giving up with a derisive snort when he'd reached well over a hundred and fifty still wide awake.

Surrendering when he began to see the subtle brightening of the sky through the yellow curtains, he had gotten dressed and descended soundlessly to the kitchen, briefing checking on his sleeping partner on the way down. He made a pot of coffee, retrieved the morning paper, which had been tossed halfway up the outside steps, and tried to take his mind off everything for awhile at the kitchen table.

It was a couple of hours, a fresh pot of coffee and the crossword puzzle finished, before he heard an upstairs door open. He waited until he heard Mike shuffle slowly back from the bathroom before he poured the two cups of coffee and started up the stairs.

Mike had stacked the pillows against the headboard and was leaning against them, his eyes closed and his hands folded over his stomach. He sniffed the air and smiled before opening his eyes and turning his head towards the door. "That smells really good."

Chuckling softly, Steve put the paper and his own mug on the TV tray beside the chair then turned the other one handle out so Mike could take it. The older man carefully raised the mug to his lips and took a small sip. "Mmmm, that's gonna hit the spot." He looked at his companion and smiled. "Thanks, I need this."

"You're welcome," the younger man chuckled as he sat in the chair, picking up his own mug again. "So… how are you feeling?"

Mike shrugged slightly, bobbing his head. "Not too bad actually. Still a long ways from normal but getting a little better." His brows narrowed slightly. "How 'bout you? You get any sleep?"

Looking down and brushing imaginary lint off his pants, Steve cleared his throat slightly. "Well, I've had better nights…"

Mike waited for a beat then said softly, "Yeah, I'll bet. And it's not gonna get any easier… not for awhile at least."

Still looking down, the young man nodded. "Yeah…" he breathed. They both took the time to take a couple more sips of their coffees before Steve looked up. "Ah, what do you want for breakfast?"

With a slight smile, Mike frowned. "What? You mean I can place an order?"

Chuckling, Steve smiled. "It's not like a diner, but I think I can make something more than just cereal or toast. Don't worry, I'm not going to try my hand at pancakes… that's your department. But I scramble a pretty good egg and I can fry us up some bacon."

Mike grinned. "I like the sound of that."

"Great." Steve got to his feet. "You just lie there and enjoy the coffee and the paper and I'll bring breakfast up when it's ready."

"Okay." The older man's smile faded quickly when Steve disappeared through the door. He was more worried than he was about to let on; the case against his partner was stronger than he could have imagined. It would take every ounce of their skill, intuition and luck to find something, anything, that would prove to the District Attorney that Steve's guilt was at least in question.

With a heavy sigh, trying not to wince, he reached for the newspaper.

# # # # #

The bacon and eggs had proved a big success, and Steve was standing at the sink running the plates under the tap when the doorbell rang. Frowning as he put the plate in the rack and turned the water off, he nodded to himself as he wiped his hands on the towel tucked into his waistband and headed for the front door. Mike had asked him last night to leave a message for either Healey or Haseejian to drop off his report on Linda and 'the accident' when they had a chance.

Both sergeants were standing on the stoop when he opened the door, smiling almost tentatively. Healey, holding the file folder, nodded a crisp, "Good morning," as he brushed past the younger man into the living room, Haseejian on his heels.

Steve watched them in surprise, not expecting them to stay but automatically closing the door in their wake. "Good morning."

Healey smiled perfunctorily again, holding out the folder. "Here."

Steve took a step closer and took it. "Thanks." He was frowning in confusion, looking from one colleague to the other.

Haseejian glanced at his partner then cleared his throat. He had a newspaper stuffed under his left arm and he grabbed it and held it out, still folded. "We thought you'd like to see this before the phone starts ringing off the hook."

His frown deepening, Steve stared at the Armenian detective as he slowly opened the tabloid-sized newsprint; it was a local broadsheet called The SF Insider. Three-quarters of the front page was covered by a black-and-white photo of himself from the waist up, frame by Mike's doorway, looking wild-eyed and angry. The headline, in large white letters, was splashed across the top just under the masthead. 'Killer Keller?' It read.

"Oh my god," he breathed as he stared at the paper then almost ripped it open to the article on page three. He read in silence for several seconds, breathing heavily through his nose, trying to keep a lid on his rising anger. He took a deep breath, closed the paper angrily and stood perfectly still with his eye closed for a beat then looked at Healey and Haseejian. "Everybody's seen this, I'm assuming?" he asked quietly and they nodded.

"Oh yeah," Healey sighed. "There's copies all over the office. I'm not sure if Rudy's seen it yet but Roy definitely has." "Yeah, well, Rudy already knows what happened so it won't come as a huge surprise."

"You, ah, you gonna show Mike?" Haseejian asked tentatively.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "I don't think I have much choice, do you?" he asked semi-rhetorically. "Besides, he was here when it happened so…." He shrugged.

Healey nodded at the paper. "They, ah, they kinda make it sound like maybe you shouldn't be here… like it's somehow questionable, and maybe even borderline illegal, that you're 'shacking up' with your wounded partner, when you're the one who's been charged with his attempted murder…" He shrugged in anger and frustration. "Damn muckraking ambulance chasers…"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Steve smiled. "I thought that was sleazy lawyers."

"Works for sleazy reporters too," Healey growled then smiled begrudgingly with a deep chuckle.

Haseejian laughed, his eyes darting from one to the other, finally settling on his partner. "Listen, ah, we better hit the road." He looked at Steve. "How's Mike doing this morning?"

Steve automatically glanced up the stairs. "Oh, ah, pretty good. Still really sore and he's going to stay in bed, but he's getting better. I'll tell him you asked."

"Yeah, thanks." Haseejian stepped to the door. "Remember, just give us a call if you need anything, okay? Groceries, whatever…. And we'll be sure to keep you in the loop if we come up with anything new."

Nodding, Steve opened the door. Haseejian stepped out onto the landing; Healey stopped at the door. "Listen, Steve, I know it seems bleak right now… but hang in there, okay? There's not a person in the department who thinks you did this…" He tried to sound encouraging. "Something'll come up. I know it will."

Steve smiled gratefully. "Yeah, well, it better come up soon, Dan. I got a call from my PBA lawyer last night. He's found a criminal defence attorney for me… who I'm meeting this afternoon… but he also told me my trial starts in six weeks."

"Six weeks!?" Haseejian blurted out, startled. "What the hell's the rush?"

"The election," Steve and Healey said together, the older man shaking his head angrily. Steve nodded in confirmation.

"God damn it…" the Irish detective snorted. "Well, that doesn't give us all much time then, does it?" He looked at his partner. "Let's go." As he stepped over the threshold, he looked back at Steve. "Lee and Bill picked up a case last night - a body washed up near Pier 42. Tell Mike we'll keep him in the loop… if he cares."

Steve smiled with a soft chuckle. "Oh, he'll care. I'll let him know. Thanks, fellas."

"Yeah, you bet," Healey said over his shoulder as the sergeants started down the concrete steps, hearing the door close softly behind them.

# # # # #

Martin Pollard was one of those people who, for better or worse, looked younger than their years and, while that worked for some, for others, like criminal defence attorneys, it could sometimes be troublesome. 'He looks like a teenager,' was the first thought that flashed through Steve's mind when Phil Baxter led Pollard into Mike's living room and made the introductions.

"Ah, would you like some coffee?" Steve offered, gesturing over his shoulder towards the kitchen. "I just made a fresh pot."

Baxter was about to nod with an enthusiastic 'Yes!' when Pollard cut him off with a brusk, "Not right now, thank you. Maybe a little later." Flustered, the PBA lawyer shook his head and shrugged at the same time.

Steve smiled slightly at Baxter's befuddlement, gesturing at the couch. "That's fine," he said affably as he sat in the recliner and leaned forward slightly as Baxter circled the coffee table and sat beside the young attorney.

Already on the couch, Pollard had set his obviously expensive dark leather briefcase on the coffee table, opened it and taken out a thick file that he set on the table, closed the briefcase and put it on the floor beside his feet. He looked up at Steve. "I read through this quickly after I got the call from Phil and I must say, there's a lot here. I want to go through this with you page by page, report by report, note by note, until I know what happened to you in that garage as well as you do. And I don't care how long that takes. Are you willing to do that with me?"

His dark eyes bored into Steve's with a concentration and determination he had only ever seen in his partner, and it both scared and elated him. He nodded. "Yes… yes, of course. Anything you need me to do."

"Good." Pollard straightened up slightly, glancing at Baxter beside him. "I'm going to be completely frank with you. When Phil asked me to take your case, I hesitated. I'd read about what happened in the paper of course, and it seemed pretty cut and dried. But after Phil talked to me, I told him I'd read the file." He paused and leaned forward again, his elbows on his knees. "This will be my first murder case, so it's up to you whether you want me on your team or not."

He tapped the thick file on the coffee table in front of him and looked Steve square in the eye again. "But I'm not going to beat around the bush, Steve - whoever you choose to represent you, this is going to be an uphill battle the entire way, and if it does go to trial, I'm really not sure you're going to be able to win."