Unable to disguise a flinch running through his body, Mike didn't dare to move, tracing every inch of the scene in front of him, looking for a bullet hole in the Galaxie that couldn't be found, then seeing Daley jerk, before he took a step back, the revolver dropping from his hand before sliding off the trunk.
An eerie stillness filled the alley for many long moments until Daley gasped, his eyes rolling to the back of his head before he collapsed to the ground, his dress jacket shifting enough to expose a gunshot wound to his chest, blood quickly soaking his light blue shirt.
With his hand still clenching the revolver tightly, Mike let out a shaky breath, feeling his heart throb incessantly, before lowering his gun.
"Sorry, Mike…", came Hassejian's deep voice from his side, the Armenian detective visibly shaken from being the one who took the shot.
"He didn't give you any other choice…", Mike countered, deciding to bypass any additional pep talk until later.
Then, with a decisive pace he approached the trunk of the Galaxie, his fingers trembling as he dug into latch, feeling the lock release.
Just in case Daley had lied to them all along and killed Steve back at the house, having been caught red-handed as he tried to move the body; Mike positioned himself in a way that it blocked the view for the rest of the crew, fearful of what would await him.
The trunk popped open with a quiet squeak, immediately giving sight of a pair of legs bound together with a thick sisal rope, making him suck in a sharp breath.
"Steve…", he whispered and opened wider, his terror turning into a sigh of relief when he saw a set of frightened green eyes staring back at him.
"Steve!", he said, louder this time, hoping his tone of voice could pass on the message to the others while he was unable to say more, the same holding true for Steve who stared back at him with a mixture of shellshock and utter gratitude.
Not wasting any time, he bent down to untie the tight knots restraining his partner's hands and feet, the rope fighting him for several seconds until he felt it release.
"I gotta admit, I've never been happier to see you…", the young Inspector finally croaked, his voice sounding unusually frail.
Unsure of what exactly Daley had put him through these past few days, Mike couldn't fault him. Another issue he couldn't fault Steve for was the obvious hesitation in the young man's moves, the insecurity about how to approach him, that tall and thick wall he'd built around himself over the course of the past week.
"I owe you a long explanation and an apology…", Mike said when he released the last of the rope, "But for now let's just say that I've been drugged. That's what caused my strange behavior. Not that this is an excuse or could right all the wrongs but that's…that's what happened. And I am truly sorry for anything I might have said to you."
Seeing Steve visibly relax was worth the sleepless nights and he carefully helped the young Inspector climb out of the trunk, offering an outstretched hand when he lost his balance for a moment, then wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders.
"No apology needed. I…I think it's safe to say we both…put ourselves through the wringer these past few days…", Steve began, his slurry speech and groggy demeanor signs of the drugs still prevalent in his system.
Mike felt him hesitate when his eyes drifted to the still form on the ground, the two unis from earlier busy setting up crime scene tape on both sides of the alley.
"I had a funny feeling he wasn't…going to go down peacefully…"
"His sister warned us about him, said he'd been spiraling out of control. His professors said he was a genius. To me…he was a sick, cold-blooded killer and I am glad we stopped him when we did."