Thank you everyone, readers and reviewers, who came along for the ride. I am so proud that these characters still resonate with people, even so many years after the show left the airways.
It gives me hope...
The dark blue Chrysler New Yorker came slowly into view, pulling onto the gravel shoulder of the narrow asphalt road and stopping. The engine was turned off and the driver's side door opened.
Steve, in the front seat of the hunter green Monte Carlo, watched as his partner, who had been waiting on a nearby grey marble bench, slowly stood up. The older man was wearing his dark gray suit and fedora, looking very much like Mike Stone the detective; he had insisted on leaving the sling in the car, ignoring his partner's protestations. Bending over carefully, he picked up the large bouquet of red roses before crossing slowly to the New Yorker.
Jerry Renneker had emerged slowly from the Chrysler and met Mike at the driver's door. Even from a distance Steve could see the broad smiles that preceded the handshake that quickly turned into a brief one-armed hug. Renneker opened the back door, leaned in and emerged with a large bouquet of white carnations.
Steve watched as the two men, Renneker leaning heavily on his cane, crossed slowly towards two small identical headstones. They stood there for several very long minutes, sometimes talking, sometimes not. At one point they both bowed their heads and Steve could see their lips moving slightly; both men crossed themselves.
Moving closer to the monuments, Mike removed two of the long-stemmed red roses from the bouquet in his hand and laid them gently in front of one of the headstones; he placed the remainder of the bouquet in front of the other then he stepped back. Balancing on his cane, Renneker did the same with the carnations.
They stood before the headstones for a very long time.
# # # # #
Standing on the narrow shoulder of the cemetery road, Steve turned to look at the man beside him, who was watching the New Yorker slowly crawl up the gravel drive. Even after the big sedan was gone from sight, the older man didn't move.
He opened his mouth to say his partner's name, to get his attention, then thought better of it and checked himself. But he knew if he didn't do it now, the perfect opportunity may never present itself again.
"Mike…" Steve said softly; there was no response. He repeated the name a little louder and watched the fedora-clad head go back slightly and the frowning blue eyes turn in his direction. He waited a beat then asked quietly. "What's going on?"
The frown got a little deeper. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what's going on. You're not yourself, and you haven't been in days. And I have no idea what you talked to Jeannie about last night, but I'm pretty sure it has nothing to do with what's going on."
Mike's frown turned into a self-conscious smile and he dropped his head briefly before meeting the concerned green eyes again. He shook his head slightly. "There's nothing wrong," he said simply as he took a step towards the car.
"Bullshit!" Steve blurted as his hand shot out and grabbed the older man's suitcoat sleeve, pulling him to an abrupt stop. Staring defiantly into the now almost angry blue eyes, he said firmly, "That's bullshit and you know it. And I'm not going to let you just walk away telling me I'm wrong."
The muscles in Mike's jaw clenched as they faced off, neither one intending on backing down. Then, uncharacteristically, the older man suddenly closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. Steve let go of his sleeve then nodded to his right. "Look, ah, why don't we sit down," he suggested softly, indicating the marble bench several yards away.
Looking down, Mike nodded silently and led them towards the bench. He winced slightly as he sat, his shoulder starting to ache but vowing not to give in, not to show his partner any discomfort.
They sat in silence for a couple of longs beats, Steve's eyes roaming over the immaculate green lawns of the well-kept cemetery. Mike was staring straight ahead, unfocused. Eventually Steve turned his head, looking at his partner peripherally. He heard Mike inhale deeply.
"I don't think I can do this anymore, Steve." There was a tone of defeat in the older man's voice that he'd never heard before, and his heart skipped a beat.
"What are you talking about? You're nuts," Steve began, trying to keep the tone light. "You just proved… just a couple of days ago… that you're more than capable of still doing this job." He nodded towards the headstones. "You closed the book on a vey sad, very cold case. You wrote the final chapter in Brigitte Larson's story, and you should be proud of that." Mike had started to shake his head but Steve plowed on. "Hell, you aren't even close to being a hundred percent and you still –"
"I don't mean physically," Mike cut him off, turning his frustrated eyes on his young partner. He took a quick breath and regrouped. "I'm not talking about doing the job physically, I mean mentally…" He paused momentarily, as if he had surprised even himself. "I'm tired, Steve… I'm just tired." He sighed deeply, from the pit of his soul it seemed. "I'm tired of all the cruelty and the sorrow and the pain and the unbearable loss…" He closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still, taking deep, slow breaths.
Steve watched him silently, knowing there was more to come.
Eventually the blue eyes opened, staring straight ahead. "When I landed this job almost thirty years ago, I started out like everybody does… I was gonna make the world a better place, a safer place… for my family, my friends… for everyone… And I felt like I was doing that, that I was putting the bad guys away where they belonged, and it felt good… It still does…" He paused, slumping slightly; he winced, his right hand going to his left ribs, then cradling his left arm to take the strain off his shoulder.
Steve watched him carefully, debating whether he should sprint to the car and get the sling but not wanting to interrupt what he knew was the crux of his partner's deep and unexpected melancholia.
Mike took a careful heavy breath and let it out slowly. "You know, you'd think that after almost thirty years, you'd get used to it… the cruelty, the violence, the unbelievable grief… the total disregard for human life…" He shook his head slowly, staring into space. "But you don't… you really don't… And it's getting worse, I can feel it." He shrugged to himself. "I might be wrong about that… but it sure feels to me like it's getting worse… But maybe it's just me." He exhaled heavily. "And I don't know if I can do it anymore… if I can make a difference… not anymore…"
Steve let the silence that followed his partner's disturbing revelation linger for several long seconds, then he asked simply, "So you're just going to give up? You're going to quit?"
As he had hoped, angry blue eyes snapped in his direction. He met them evenly and anything that Mike was about to say died in his throat. They stared at each other for several long beats, neither moving, then Mike looked away, tilting his head back and blinking quickly. He exhaled forcefully and loudly.
With a slight, sad smile, Steve laid his hand on his partner's back, hoping to say more with the light touch that he could put into words. Mike lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut; his breaths became ragged and shallow. They sat that way for several long minutes.
Eventually Mike sat up a little straighter and took a long deep breath. "I don't know what I want to do… I've never felt this way before… and I don't know what to do…" he whispered, and he felt Steve's hand slide up his back to firmly grip his shoulder.
"Well," the younger man started slowly, "I might be way out in left field here but… I think you need to take a break."
Mike turned his head slowly and looked at him sideways. He snorted mirthlessly. "What? You mean take a vacation?" He sounded dismissive.
"I mean," Steve continued, not taking the bait, "taking a step back, to think about things. Don't make a rash decision quickly, that's all I'm saying…" He stared at his partner with a heartbreaking sadness then he smiled. "Mike, when was the last time you took some time off? And I don't mean a day to spend with Jeannie when she's home from school. I mean a real break."
Mike stared at him uncertainly. He frowned slightly then shook his head with a tiny shrug. "I don't remember –"
"I do," his partner cut him off. "Two years ago, when you went fishing. A week, two years ago. In the four years we've been together, that's the only time you've taken off. I've had way more time off than you have."
After a couple of silent seconds, Mike dropped his head. Steve smiled to himself and patted his shoulder. "You're not a machine, Mike, nobody is. You need to take a break… even if it's only once every three or four years," he finished with a gentle chuckle, not in the least surprise when the blue eyes turned to him once more in anger, which quickly dissipated. The older man snorted a short laugh then dropped his head and ran his right hand over his eyes. He looked tired and drained.
Steve rubbed his back again. "Look, ah, why don't we start for home?"
With a tiny affectionate smile, Mike nodded. He turned to look out over the green expanse of the well-kept cemetery. He sighed sadly. "It's a beautiful place, isn't it?"
"It sure is." Steve looked around, enjoying the spell of the moment. "Helen's buried here, isn't she?" he asked quietly.
Still smiling, Mike nodded. "Umh-humh." He pointed to their right. "Over there, beyond those bushes." He felt Steve's hand tighten on his shoulder.
"I think you should go and talk to her for a few minutes… don't you?"
Mike squeezed his eyes shut, and Steve could see the moisture trying to escape through the lids; his grip on his partner's shoulder got even tighter. Breathing raggedly, Mike nodded.
"You okay to make it there on your own?"
The older man turned to him and smiled. "Yeah… thanks. I'll be okay."
"Okay. I'll wait here… take your time…"
Without looking back, Mike got unsteadily to his feet and started slowly away. Steve watched him go, a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
# # # # #
Steve looked across the front seat. Mike was slumped, his head against the rest, the fedora low over his closed eyes. The left sleeve of his suitcoat was empty, his arm back in the sling.
They hadn't exchanged a word since the Monte Carlo had left the cemetery, both of them lost in their own thoughts. They were driving against traffic and it didn't take long to get to Potrero Hill and luckily there was a parking space right opposite the house.
When the engine shut down, Mike lifted his head. Steve looked over as he took the key out of the ignition. Mike met his eyes with a soft smile. "I've, ah, I've been thinking about what you said…" he began quietly. Steve didn't move. "And I think you might be right." Steve swallowed heavily. Mike snorted softly with a wry smile. "Hell, it's, ah, it's worth a shot anyway… right?"
With a soft smile of his own, the younger man nodded. "It couldn't hurt…"
"Yeah…"
# # # # #
Water. As far as the eye could see…water.
"Oh my god, I am so going to do that!"
Jeannie's delighted squeal assaulted his ears and he managed to smile before he turned to see her nose buried in the in-flight magazine. She pointed to a picture of a young blond girl on a surfboard, her eyes bright with joy when she glanced up at her father. "Do you think I can do that?"
"Well, you can do it, of course, but whether you're able to do it is a totally different matter…" he answered with a twinkle in his eye.
She pulled a face at him. "Ha ha, you know what I mean…" She looked back at the picture. "Oh, that is going to be so cool." She looked up at him again. "You are not getting on a surfboard, whether you want to or not. Not with your arm still in a sling…" She punctuated her statement with one curt nod. "You're going to lie on one of those beach chair lounge thingys and read or tan or whatever it is you like to do on a beach. Me? I'm gonna surf."
Mike laughed, reaching out and dropping his right arm over her shoulders and pulling her as close as he was able. "All right, you do that."
Her attention returned to the magazine and he brought his arm back, turning to look out the small window again. 'I'm finally going to Hawaii,' he mused, but there was no excitement in the reality. There was a lot he had to think about in the next ten days, he knew.
And he had no idea how it would all end.