"Seems to me that there were no winners in this case at all…"
Limping down the long hallway of the hospital, Steve crossed his hands behind his head, grunting in frustration. Flanking him and feeling the exact same way, but unwilling to let the melancholy take over his senses that night, Mike wrapped a strong arm around his partner's shoulders, squeezing them tightly.
"That happens sometimes, you know, Buddyboy."
"Yeah…", Steve answered curtly and slowed down as they approached the elevator, "I just can't seem to shake my anger about it."
Reaching forward to push the down button, Mike kept his outstretched arm firmly in place, holding his partner close, showing physical support where words failed to reach their target.
"It just means you care."
As the doors opened with a dull-sounding ring, they entered the cart and selected the underground garage, before leaning against the paneled sides in sheer exhaustion.
"I can't seem to stop wondering what Roberts would have done next. Murder his son…then his wife…who next? The neighbor? Some kid on the playground down the street? The mail man? And why all that anger?"
Staring straight ahead, Mike let his partner's concern sit out in the open for a moment, knowing that he'd shared the same frightening thoughts. And many years on the job put that fear in colorful images too horrible to express out loud.
As the elevator slowly descended, its quiet humming lulling the tired detectives into a false sense of tranquility, it was Steve who spoke up again.
"I guess we'll never know now."
"Mhm.", Mike muttered and patted his partner's shoulder one last time, as the elevator doors opened again, giving sight of the barren garage that early in the morning, "And maybe that's just as good, Buddyboy. Some horrific truths are best left buried in a…a very deep grave."
