"Look at that bruise! It still seems to get betting worse."
Jeanie had barely given him a chance to walk through the door before starting back up on her all-too familiar doting. And as much as he loved his daughter and her mother-henning, there were some things he had to figure out for himself after a day such as this.
Accepting an ice filled dish towel from Jeanie, he leaned back in his rocking chair, one eye on the 49's game in the background, the other one on his glass cabinet holding cherished knickknacks and memorabilia of a lifetime serving the public of San Francisco and all the accolades that came with it.
It was a depressing thought at best to think that Jeremy probably had a similar assortment of medals and letters from the top, thanking him for standing up to the oath they'd all sworn to enforce.
Jeanie had noticed his deep brooding after they finished dinner, and busied herself with dishes and reading books throughout much of the evening.
And honestly, Mike felt bad for his sour state of mind. As much as he wished to consider it nothing but a fleeting mood brought on by a stressful office day, he knew in his heart that it was far more than that.
Jeremy's death may have been the conduit, but his doubts about the longevity of a career in the police force, the very realistic awareness of the risk they all took each day…these were all worries that had been circling around in his head for a long time.
And while he had a little over a decade before seriously considering retirement, Mike couldn't shake the demoralizing thought that a damn good cop was dead, and his killer would walk the streets again soon, all the while being hailed a hero by a bloodthirsty, propaganda spewing, police-hating media.
"Are you gonna spill the beans or what?"
Jeanie had stepped in between him and the TV, a warm smile on her face as she handed him a fresh cup of coffee. Mirroring the gesture, Mike took a sip, then cringed at the heat, before attempting a half-hearted smile.
"There's nothing to spill, Sweetheart. It's just been a tough few days, that's all."
His attempts to assuage her instincts failed miserably when Jeanie shook her head decisively, before sitting down on the couch across from him.
"That's not true and you know it, Mike. You haven't been yourself since I got here before Thanksgiving. Something is eating you up bad. Is that what you and Steve talked about the other night? That…that shooting?"
Cursing his daughter's bloodhound instincts, Mike nodded slowly, his hands holding on to the warm cup with the gentlest of pressure, as if it was the Holy Grail.
"I can't help but wonder if the worth of a cop's life is turning into nothing more than a…a number, traded as if it was part of the commodities exchange."
His solemn words made his daughter fall quiet, her warm brown eyes glancing down at the carpet as if she was hoping to find her answers there.
"But you're not a number. Steve and Roy and all the others…they aren't just numbers. You are heroes. You stand between evil and the rest of society."
Nodding faintly, Mike pursed his lips, trying to swallow the emotions of a difficult and emotionally charged day that was quickly getting the better of him.
"It's not us as a person, Sweetheart, it's what we stand for. You see, there's a war going on out there. And it's growing more powerful by the day. And it's not fought with weapons by any means of the imagination, oh no. This war is fought with half-truths…and it's fueled by hatred for the police force and the laws we are enforcing to keep people safe. Some argue that these laws infringe on their personal freedoms, others…well…others just use the opportunity to weigh in on their hatred for the police. They use incidences like the lies surrounding Jeremy's death as a diving board for their personal agendas. But no matter how the cards fall, in the end, too many officers are getting killed in the line of duty…and the frightening thing is that so many of these murders could be prevented. But violence against law enforcement is growing more volatile by the week it seems. Decades ago, it used to be a remote chance that you'd get killed in the line of duty. Now, it's not remote at all. And after seeing my partner nearly get killed in the safety of the bullpen today, I guess…I guess the question isn't so much whether or not we get killed in the line of duty, but when? And worse yet, whether it is worth all that trouble we go through just to get gunned down in cold blood, and ridiculed after the fact?"