Devitt pushed the door open and stepped quietly into the private room, letting it close softly behind him. A white gauze bandage wrapped around his head, Steve Keller was lying quietly on the partially raised bed, his eyes closed.

Suddenly uncertain, Devitt reached for the door handle again and began to pull it open.

"Hey," Steve's soft voice reached his ears. "Roy… it's okay, I'm awake. Come on in."

The older man smiled warmly as he approached the bed. He gestured with his head. "So, ah, what's the verdict?"

Steve reached for the hand control and raised the bed so he was sitting up a little higher. "Well, my jaw is just badly bruised, which is good news, but I do have three cracked ribs and they put six stitches in my head. But I don't have a concussion and, other than a few deep bruises, no internal injuries. I guess I got off lightly."

"Well, that's good news." Devitt's smile got a little wider but in the ensuing silence he glanced away, guiltily Steve thought, and swallowed nervously, clearing his throat.

Steve frowned. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked tentatively, almost apprehensively. Devitt looked at him, brow furrowed, and inhaled deeply. "What… is it something about Mike?"

The lieutenant knew Steve was still confused and concerned as to why his partner hadn't shown up to see him in the hospital.

"He was stabbed, wasn't he?" It was more a statement than a question. Devitt nodded slowly and reluctantly. "And he is here, isn't he? They've admitted him. Am I right?"

Devitt cleared his throat and shook his head. "They didn't have to admit him, he already has a room," he said lightly then realized the tone was inappropriate, "but he's fine, he's doing all right…. Look, uh, he was brought here the night of your bar fight – that's why we're all up here, Norm and Dan and me - and he was here until this morning, when he went with us to the Crocker ranch… to look for you… He was supposed to stay in the car…"

Steve was breathing heavily through his nose, staring at the lieutenant angrily, but Devitt wasn't sure if the fury was directed at him or at Mike. "How bad?" he asked curtly.

The lieutenant cocked his head. "What do you mean…?" he asked hesitantly, frowning.

"When they brought him in after the bar fight… how badly was he hurt?"

"Oh, he, ah… the right side of his face was badly bruised and his eye was swollen shut… and, ah, he had several perforations in his belly… from a beer bottle." Devitt gestured vaguely at his own stomach. "There were pieces of glass in his, ah, intestines and a lot of damage to the abdominal muscles, of course… but they got everything out and sewed him up and he was doing great, the swelling around his eye is almost gone…"

"What happened today?"

Devitt's eyes widened slightly and he shrugged in frustration. "You saw him… he was the one that found the trapdoor down to that… dungeon you were being held in… He, ah… he overdid it, I guess, and ruptured some of the stitches and started bleeding again. But like I told you, he's fine. They've sewn him up again and now he's resting. You'll be able to see him tomorrow morning."

Steve was staring at him as if not quite believing what he was being told. "Why can't I see him now?"

"Well," Devitt began slowly, "you're here… and he's… there…" He knew it wasn't a good answer and he shifted uncomfortably. Under a withering glare, he relented. "They're keeping him sedated until tomorrow morning so he can get some sleep… he's, ah… he didn't get much rest while you were… you know…"

Steve's stare finally softened and he looked down, as if not knowing quite how to react.

Devitt waited. When no response was forthcoming, he cleared his throat slightly. "Listen, uh," he nodded over his shoulder towards the door, "they told me you can eat… and I've got nothing to do right now. You, ah, you want me to go out and get you something to eat… something's that not hospital food?"

Finally Steve looked up, but his expression was wooden, distracted. He looked at Devitt for several seconds without moving then nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure…"

Devitt smiled. "Great. Ah, so what do you want?"

Still unresponsive, Steve shrugged slightly. "I don't know… maybe some pasta…"

Nodding and smiling encouragingly, Devitt took a step towards the door. "I'll ask around and see if any of the staff here can recommend a place nearby. I'll be back as soon as I can." Moving a little faster than was warranted, he opened the door quickly and stepped out into the corridor.

Steve needed time, he knew, to process what he had just learned; hopefully by the time he returned, the young man would have begun to work through the obvious worry and guilt in which he seemed to be mired.

# # # # #

"So, do you guys want to come with us to arrest Lassiter?" Sheriff Manley asked, unable to mask his grin.

Haseejian looked up from the paperwork he was reading and laughed. "You're enjoying this too much, I think."

"Yes, I am," Manley said with a deep, satisfied chuckle. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time, probably ever since I started to hear the rumors he was a dirty cop. So, yes, I am enjoying this."

Healey got up from the desk he was sitting on and slapped the sheriff on the shoulder. "John, nothing would please us better, believe me, but we really need to check on our guys…"

Sobering, Manley nodded. "Yeah, I get ya. Look, ah, you'll let us know what's going on as soon as you can, okay?"

"You bet."

"Everybody ready?!" Chief Ryan almost shouted as he strode into the Crocker Police Department bullpen, clapping and rubbing his hands together in a gesture so reminiscent of their hospitalized colleague that both SFPD sergeants smiled. "I just got confirmation that Lassiter is at home; we've got people sitting on him, so he's not going anywhere. This'll be like shooting fish in a barrel."

The others nodded. None of them had seen the Eureka chief so animated. It seemed the almost flawless and successful raid on the Crocker ranch that morning was more than enough to fuel his almost contagious optimism.

Haseejian explained what he and his partner were going to do and Ryan concurred. Wishing them well, they headed out on their separate tasks. The long morning was turning into a long day.

# # # # #

Devitt pushed the heavy wooden door open slowly, a large paper bag in one hand, a tray with two Styrofoam cups in the other. "Dinner – lunch – whatever - is served," he chuckled as he stepped into the empty room and stopped short. Frowning, he glanced towards the bathroom but the door was open and the small room was empty.

He backed out into the corridor and let the door close. It was a short walk to the nurse's station and he waited till its one occupant got off the phone.

"Hi," he said with a smile, "do you have any idea where Steve Keller is… Room 332?"

She frowned momentarily then grinned. "Oh, the cop? Yes, he asked for a wheelchair and took himself to another floor, I think. He said he wanted to visit someone."

Devitt's smile wavered slightly then came back. "Ah, okay, great, thanks. I have his… dinner," he said vaguely, raising his hands slightly to emphasize his point. "Lasagna."

"You want to leave that here until he comes back? We have a stove in the nurses lounge and we can keep it warm if you like?"

Hesitating only briefly, Devitt nodded. "Sure, thanks. That's perfect. But I'd like to track him down. Can I just leave it with you?"

"Sure," she said with a chuckle, reaching for the bag and the tray.

"Great," he grinned, handing them over, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

# # # # #

He opened the door quietly, stepping silently into the room. Under a beige and white flannelette blanket, Mike was sleeping soundly in a supine position between the raised sidebars of the hospital bed, an IV line in his left arm and an oxygen cannula under his nose.

Steve was sitting in the wheelchair close to the bed, his back to the door. He didn't move when he heard the door open and close. Devitt saw him raise his right arm, running the back of his hand against his cheeks under his eyes. He heard a soft, almost embarrassed sniff.

The lieutenant waited, but when there was still no sign that the younger man was going to turn or acknowledge his presence in any way, he offered, quietly and lightly, "I told you he was okay."

Steve still didn't move, as if he hadn't heard; Devitt knew he had. Shuffling uncomfortably, the lieutenant cleared his throat slightly, "Ah, I got you something to eat. It's in your room." He watched as Steve nodded slowly, finally responding. Heartened, he continued, "Come on, let's head back down there, okay?" He turned to the door and began to open it. A soft voice stopped him.

"Roy, can I tell you something?" Steve's request was offered so quietly that Devitt took a step further into the room to make sure he could hear.

"Sure," he said equally softly, suddenly knowing that the poised and extraordinarily likable young man was in an emotional quandary that needed to be addressed.

Steve took a deep breath; he continued to stare at his injured partner in the bed. When he finally began to talk, his voice was soft and faraway.

"I, ah, I don't know how much you know about my background… it doesn't really matter," he said with a slight, self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm from Modesto… and you really can't be more small town than that in California. My Dad was in the army… a career soldier. He was posted overseas a lot. I didn't really know him… but maybe that was for the best… We really didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things… especially the war…"

He stopped talking and Devitt watched him raise his right hand again to take another swipe at this eyes. He could feel his own throat tighten and he bit his bottom lip.

"I was too… liberal for my Dad, I guess. He even called me a 'Commie pinko' once, when I had the nerve to join the voter registration marches in Selma. When I went to Berkeley, he pretty well disowned me."

He paused, and Devitt could see him shudder before he seemed to collect himself, determined to continue.

"My Mom wasn't any help. I mean, she meant well but their marriage… there was no love lost there. She found solace in the bottle, I guess. Half the time I don't think she even knew I was there.

"I really don't know why I wanted to become a cop. I went to Berkeley to study law, but I dropped my major for criminology. I'm not really sure why. It could've been I just wanted to piss off my Dad… I don't know…

"But out of the blue it just seemed right, you know?… it seemed like all of a sudden, I was where I was supposed to be… the Academy, patrol, and then when I went to Vice… it seemed a perfect fit… It felt like I belonged there somehow… I was happy, I was contributing….

"And then I got the word… from Homicide. Lieutenant Stone was looking for a new partner… I really didn't think I had a chance so I didn't give it much thought." He chuckled dryly. "I was shocked when I got his call… I really was. And then when he picked me…" He stopped talking, inhaling with a heartbreaking gasp.

Devitt held his breath.

"He didn't care about where I came from or what my politics were… or who my father was… he cared about how I did my job and how I treated the victims and the suspects… He's never made me feel like I wasn't part of the team… or that I wasn't his partner… I've learned so much from him already… and it hasn't all been about becoming a better cop…"

Steve exhaled loudly. "He risked his life for me today… He could have died today…" His voice was unsteady, and Devitt could hear the strangled breaths. Steve raised his hand to his eyes again. "No one's ever cared for me that much before…" His voice grew increasingly faint and Devitt could hear his unsuccessful struggle for composure.

"No one has ever loved me like he loves me… Never…"