Nighttime had come sooner than he'd hoped for.

Carelessly stripping out of his black overcoat and fedora; Mike dropped the .38 and handcuffs into the otherwise empty drawer by his stationary desk, before making his way to the kitchen fridge for a cold beer to finish an undeniably confusing day.

After dropping Steve off at home and cautioning the young Inspector to keep his nightly endeavors to a minimum in preparation of their postponed road trip first thing tomorrow; he'd stopped for a quick bite to eat and catch up on the baseball scores, before returning to the solitude of the DeHaro house.

Staring at those quite walls and rooms that used to be filled with giggles and warm, caring voices; Mike hesitated briefly, one hand holding onto the neck of the beer bottle, as he allowed his weary mind to drift back to those days of utter love and carelessness.

The days before he became a single parent raising a child who deserved to have both parents by her side as she grew up.

Trying to shake off the melancholy, Mike closed the fridge door again and grabbed a bag of potato chips out of the closet, before dumping a couple handfuls into a nearby plastic bowl.

As he headed back toward the living room, his eyes fell on the couch his partner had slept on the other evening. And just like every time Steve spent the night at the DeHaro house; the wool comforter Mike had draped over his sleeping partner had been neatly folded up into a compact square and placed on the right side of the seat cushions, ready to be used again if the opportunity arose.

Smiling at Steve's idiosyncrasies, Mike sat down on the couch, still smelling the faint scent of his partner's expensive aftershave on the arm rest, as he placed the chips and beer on the table, before getting up one last time to turn on the TV, grateful that he would catch the end of the Giant's game against the Phillies.

And yet, no matter how much he tried to concentrate on relaxing, hoping that the beer and TV would soothe his troubled mind that evening, Mike couldn't stop his eyes from drifting back to Helen's picture.

Tucked in between his book shelves and plant stands, he'd found that special place for one of the last memories he had of his late wife. A spot in his living room where he could see her beautiful face from every angle imaginable.

Chuckling, Mike wondered what she'd say if she saw him now.

Upholding the empty nest while Jeanie was off to college, well on her way of becoming an adult, while he was left behind in the hustle and bustle that was San Francisco, spending a large portion of his day with a partner young enough to be his son.

As his chuckle turned into a sudden, unexpected sob, Mike reached up to wipe the rogue tear off his cheek, biting the inside of his lip to bury the overwhelming emotions rushing to the surface. Emotions that were too raw to bear tonight.

Glancing over at his phone, he toyed with the idea of calling up Steve, hoping a quick session of their friendly banter would drown out the heart-wrenching melancholy that had befallen him tonight.

Then again, when the nearby clock reminded him that it was going on 11, Mike thought better of it, hoping that his partner had yielded his well-meaning advice and would be fast asleep by now.

Jeanie mentioned that she'd be busy on a project for her architecture class and gone for a few days, leaving him with limited options to soothe his tormented soul.

Eventually, Mike resorted to watching the rest of the game in subdued silence, letting his thoughts drift to Jeanie here and there, and keeping his right hand on Helen's comforter he now reserved for his young partner.

And somewhere, in between all the pain and the grave changes that happened in his life over the past few years; Mike found peace in the fact that for a lonely old widower, he was lucky enough to have two people in his life that filled his heart with more love and joy than anyone could even imagine.

In retrospect, that made him one lucky old widower.