"Jeanie let you leave the house without breakfast?"
Steve's earnest question caused Mike to fall quiet as they passed the Golden Gate Bridge, well on their way to Marin County. After a few cloudy days, the sun showed its pretty face for once, causing sparkles to form on the waves hitting the shore down below.
And yet, it did little to lift his weary spirits.
"She actually took the bus down to Los Angeles to meet an old school friend of hers. She'll be back in a couple of days."
Next to him, Steve nodded slowly, careful to keep up his guarded expression; the same one he used each time he was trying to pry into Mike's private affairs in a seemingly crafty fashion.
"What are you going to do without her in the meantime?"
"Since when are you worried about my evening routine and whether or not my daughter is around?"
Mike knew he'd overstepped his bounds when Steve pursed his lips, part of him having expected another vocal onslaught, the other part growing increasingly upset by it.
They both knew each other well enough to sense when things weren't right.
Feelings like anger, despair and worry seldomly made it far before the other partner caught on. As such, Mike knew that Steve was quite aware of his struggles with Jeremy's death, and the implications he felt it had on his own career.
As the seasoned Lieutenant, the leader in their partnership, he always felt that it was his job to keep up their morals and motivation throughout the stormy seas that was Homicide, ensuring that neither one of them forgot why that badge was in their pockets.
And yet, these days, it felt as though he'd traded roles with his young partner and best friend, relying on Steve's unmatched optimism and resilience to make him come back to this job, knowing that at any given day, he could face the same fate Jeremy Hendricks did.
"I began worrying ever since your mood has reached the lowest point it's ever been at.", Steve returned, his voice unusually quiet and trembling, his eyes stubbornly focused on the busy road ahead, "I am not blind, Michael. I know what your friend's death has done to you, the…the doubts it has put in your mind about your job and why you do what you do. I bet it has you waking up in a cold sweat each night wondering what would come of Jeanie if something like that were to happen to you. And I am not discounting that it's a valid concern in our line of work. But that hasn't stopped us before, now has it? We've always come back the next morning, put on that badge and revolver and face those demons. So yeah, I am worried about you…especially the things going on in your mind these days. I am worried about you carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I worry about the guilt you carry around with you like a ball and chain and how it affects your soul. I worry about you calling it quits and me losing the best partner and mentor I've ever had. And if I am wrong, go ahead and yell at me again or tell me to shut up. But otherwise, just let me know what I can do to help you through this. Because I don't want you to question your job or the impact thereof. You yourself said that thinking like that will make you hesitate, that it can get you hurt or killed. And I…I don't ever want to see that happen."
Steve stopped when his voice began to break, those caring green eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses never leaving the road, jaws clenched tightly. From his spot across the front bench, Mike could hear him exhale slowly, then hold his breath as if any undue noise would alter the impact of his statement.
As a tense silence filled the cabin of the Galaxy, Mike swallowed hard, trying to come up with the right thing to say. And yet, with his bottom lip quivering slightly, all he could do was reach over to grasp his partner's tense shoulder, his fingers digging in tightly to underline his answer that needed no words whatsoever.