Mike smiled warmly. "You look great," he said carefully, trying not to wince. He closed his eyes with a slight moan. "God, how long did I sleep? I feel worse now than I did before." When Steve didn't answer him right away, he opened his eyes again. "What?" he asked, noting his partner's quizzical expression.

"You don't remember what happened?" Steve asked gently, trying not to sound alarmist.

It was Mike's turn to frown. "What happened?"

Steve smiled and swallowed, suddenly not sure how he was going to explain the last thirty-six hours. He sat on the side of the bed and put a hand on Mike's forearm. "The reason you feel so crappy is because you're been sedated for the last day and a half." He paused to let the implications sink in.

"What?"

Steve nodded. "Yesterday morning, just after I left to get my jaw unwired, you had what they called a 'cardiac episode'…"

"I had a heart attack?" Mike asked anxiously.

"No, no, no," Steve assured him rapidly, tightening his grip on Mike's arm. "It wasn't that at all. They explained it as a bleed into the sac around your heart, which caused your heart to stop beating. They said it happened fast, so you probably weren't even aware of it." He could see the apprehension growing in the older man's eyes and he decided to skip to the end and fill the details in later. "You're okay. They got you into the OR quickly and they drained the blood and your heart started beating right away. They kept you sedated because of the discomfort. You're fine, really, you're okay."

He finished in a rush, hoping his words had had the desired effect. Mike was just staring at him, seemingly overwhelmed. After several seconds he asked, his voice low and full of trepidation, "How did they get the blood out?"

Steve cleared his throat, "Well, they used this big needle and they –"

"Okay, okay, ah, maybe when I'm feeling a little better," Mike cut him off, exhaled loudly and closed his eyes, but he was smiling slightly and Steve relaxed.

He turned when he heard a discreet throat clearing from behind. Doctor Nugent was in the doorway, and the older doctor smiled as he entered the room. "Is our patient awake?"

Steve nodded as Mike opened his eyes.

"Ah ha, he is," the grey-haired physician chuckled as he approached the bed. "Mike, I'm Doctor Nugent, I looked after you yesterday. Did your partner explain to you what we had to do?"

"Uh, yeah," Mike said vaguely, glancing at Steve.

"Good for him. I just want to reassure you that you're doing very well, and you'll be out of here in no time. But until then, we want to make sure everything continues to go according to Hoyle, as they say. So, if you'll allow me," he looked pointedly at Steve, who quickly got up from the bed, "I'm just going to give you a quick once-over to make sure everything is on the up-and-up. Is that okay?"

"And I'll get myself a coffee," Steve announced quietly as he backed away from the bed with a smile and turned towards the door. He glanced back to see Dr. Nugent removing a stethoscope from his coat pocket and putting the tips in his ears.

# # # # #

Dan Healey angrily tossed the pen onto his desk and sat back with a frustrated sigh. Haseejian glanced over, sitting back in his own chair. "Wanna talk?"

"About what?" Healey snapped. "About how we've all been raked over the coals for the past twenty-four hours, treated like suspects by our own, and now we're all shackled to our desks until they figure this out?" He snorted. "No, not really."

Haseejian sighed wearily, got up and walked to the coffee pot. "Gee, it's good to know you're not upset over it," he drawled sarcastically as he poured two cups of black coffee and crossed back to Healey's desk, holding one cup out.

Accepting it, Healey chuckled mirthlessly. "Sorry. I just pisses me off that they are so quick to not believe anything we tell them when it comes to something like this. So much for innocent until proven guilty, right?"

Haseejian half-sat on the desk, taking a sip of coffee. "So, you know what we have to do, don't you?" On Healey's raised eyebrows, he continued, "Look, you know they're gonna keep working on making the case that either you or Bill did this, right, so that means Lee and I are gonna get 'absolved' and free to get back to work. So, what say you put all that mental energy you're storing up, the same stuff that uncovered Madsen just days ago, and try to figure this out as well."

Healey sat up a little straighter and the angry frown started to disappear.

Smiling, Haseejian went on "You know that you and Bill are innocent, so then you also know that someone else did it. Do you think IA is going to put as much effort into finding out who really killed Garrity as you would?" He shook his head. "So," he said slowly, as Healey gradually leaned over the desk, a smile starting to build, "why don't you let Lee and I do all the legwork, like getting whatever information you need, and you just stay shackled to your desk here and figure it out; get your own ass out of the frying pan, so to speak?"

Healey looked up at his partner, an appreciative grin now plastered across his face. "You know, sometimes you can be a real mensch, you know that?" Haseejian grinned back and saluted with his cup. "But we really should run this past Rudy first, don't you think? I don't wanna do anything that'll get him into anymore hot water than he already is."

"Good point. Come on," Haseejian stood up, putting his coffee cup on the desk, "let's go see him."

The two homicide detectives turned into the busy corridor leading to their captain's office. Ahead of them, a door opened and a group of people exited into the corridor, one of them Rudy Olsen. His visitors, an older woman and two men, and a younger man and woman in their twenties, turned and started towards them down the hall.

Suddenly the older woman stopped and her eyes widened. She raised her right arm and pointed towards the two homicide detectives. "You!" she screeched. "It was you! You killed my Patrick!"

Haseejian and Healey stopped in their tracks, as did everyone in corridor. She continued to move slowly towards them, her finger still accusing, her shrill voice getting louder and louder. "You killed him! You killed him! You killed my Patrick!"

Her two older male companions crossed to her quickly and took her arms, trying to pull her back. "Maureen, Maureen," they heard one of them intone over and over, trying to get her attention as they almost lifted her, propelling her back down the corridor.

As the small party disappeared, her enraged voice continuing to carry over the sudden babble that erupted in the hallway, Haseejian and Healey approached an obviously upset Olsen. "I guess I don't have to tell you that was Garrity's wife," he said with an angry sigh. "Come on," he gestured towards his office, and the three were relieved to get away from the prying eyes that followed them.

# # # # #

"They told me you're cleared to eat and drink whatever you want," Steve said with a smile as he put a plastic cup on the table, keeping another in his hand as he sat on the side of the bed. "I brought you back a lemonade; I thought you might like to drink something other than water for a change."

Mike smiled. "Thanks." Trying to stifle a pain-filled groan, he leaned forward slightly and Steve held the cup, with a bent straw, so he could take a sip. Finished, he laid back. "That's really good, thanks."

Steve put the cup on the table and picked up his own. "So, what's the verdict? You gonna live?" he asked with a chuckle then took a drink, his eyes laughing over the rim of the cup.

Mike's smile widened and he nodded. "Yes, unfortunately for you, I'm gonna be around for awhile yet. Doctor Nugent, that is his name right?" Steve nodded. "He said everything's great, but they want to keep me for a couple more days just to be sure."

"I don't have a problem with that." Steve's grin disappeared briefly, remembering what Olsen had said about things going so badly so fast.

"I agree," said Mike cautiously, "but, that being said, I don't want you sleeping here anymore, okay? I'll feel a lot better if you go home and get some real sleep, 'cause as great as your new jaw looks, the rest of you looks like hell." He started to chuckle then stopped, catching his breath and wincing. He put his right hand over his heart and closed his eyes.

Steve watched him closely, relaxing when Mike started breathing normally again and opened his eyes, though his hand lingered on his chest.

"Still hurts like hell, hunh?" Mike nodded. "Just keep remembering it could have been a lot worse."

"Hey, don't change the subject – will you go home?" Mike stared at him.

Eventually Steve smiled. "Yes, I promise, I'll go home. But not for a couple of hours, okay? You haven't been very talkative for the past day or so, you know," he chuckled. "And I bet you're hungry. So, I'll make you a deal – tell me what you'd like to eat, and I'll go out and get it, and something soft for me, of course," he sighed dramatically, "and I'll pick up the papers from the last couple of days. Then while we have dinner, I can read you the box scores. What do you think?"

Mike's grin got wider. "That sounds like a perfect afternoon."

# # # # #

A little more than two hours later, both hands holding large paper bags, Steve re-entered the ICU cubicle. His short journey past the nurse's station had caused a lot of heads to turn, and he chuckled. He was leaving a mouth-wateringly delectable trail behind him.

One glance at the bed told him Mike's eyes were closed and he was probably asleep. He stopped just inside the cubicle and with his foot tried, unsuccessfully, to kick the infrequently-used glass door shut. Frustrated, he crossed to the bedside table, put the bags down and returned to the door, finally getting it closed.

He crossed back to the bags, glancing at the bed; Mike's eyes were still closed. He reached into one bag, took out a folded stack of newspapers and tossed them on a nearby chair. Then he reached back into the bag and took out napkins and cutlery. He was just about to lay them out on the overbed table when Mike said quietly, "Emilio's."

Steve froze in mid-motion and grinned, looking at his partner. "Well, there's sure nothing wrong with your nose!" he laughed.

Mike opened his eyes and smiled. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Shaking his head in wonder, and continuing to lay out the cutlery, Steve admitted, "I'm in awe. I should enter you in a contest or something." He started to work on the overbed, lowering it so Mike wouldn't have to reach up very high to eat his dinner.

"Wise guy. But it does smell great and, oh, I really need it," Mike sighed happily. "Hey, I meant to ask earlier, what happened to the guys? You haven't said a word about them. They give up on me, did they?"

Momentarily startled, Steve snorted derisively. "Give up on you? Why, the effrontery!" he scoffed jokingly, trying to find an excuse that would seem plausible, kicking himself that he hadn't prepared an answer, knowing full well that Mike would notice and ask. "Naw, something came up at work, some kind of robbery-homicide overlap on a case and they were all called in for some huge departmental meeting. They expected to be at it all day, but I'm sure one or two of them at least will be by tomorrow." He winced internally, not knowing how plausible it sounded.

"Hunh, I wonder what that's all about," Mike ruminated, and Steve could tell that already he was pining to get back to work.

As he took two cardboard-and-aluminum food containers out of the second bag, Steve said pointedly but sympathetically, "You do know it's going to be quite awhile till they allow you back on the streets, you know? They're not going to take any chances with your bruised heart, you know that, right?"

His eyes travelling slowly from the food containers to his partner, Mike sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I know," he said quietly. "I hope they let me go into the office at least. I'll go nuts sitting at home for that long."

"Well, let's leave that for another time – because dinner is served!" Steve announced with a little more force than necessary, hoping to change the subject. With a flourish, he took the cardboard tops off the two aluminum containers. "Ta-da – Emilio's famous ravioli. For both of us – it's soft enough for me and tasty enough for you."

Mike chuckled carefully, looking up at his partner with warmth and affection in his eyes.

"And that's not all," Steve continued theatrically as he reached back into the first bag and produced a squat bottle filled with a purple liquid, and a sleeve of plastic wine glasses. Quickly biting off the end of the sleeve, he pulled out two wine glasses and put them on the overbed. Then he picked up the bottle again and, like a sommelier, held it out for Mike to see. "One of our most popular grape juices, monsieur, vintage, ah," he glanced quickly at the label, "1975. Would you care to try some?"

Trying not to laugh too hard because of the pain, Mike nodded with a grin, which was quickly matched by his partner.

Their laughter seeped through the glass walls and door of the cubicle and, across the way, the nurses at their station looked up and smiled.