Still unaware of the events at City Hall earlier that day, Steve strode into the waiting room expecting to encounter a sea of uniformed and plainclothes officers. But that thought quickly evaporated when, in the half-filled room of 'civilians', he spotted Dan Robbins sitting alone in a chair against the far wall, his head back, eyes closed, lines of worry and fear etched deeply into his features.

"Dan," he said urgently as he approached; the young cop's eyes snapped open and he scrambled to his feet. Steve pulled him into a quick hug. "How is he?" he asked as they separated and he stepped back.

Dan shook his head. "I still haven't heard anything," he shrugged helplessly, his voice unsteady.

Steve sat, shaking his head angrily. "I don't know how many times I told him to be careful, he's not getting any younger. I even made him promise he wouldn't get himself into any dangerous situations if he could help it."

Dan put a hand on his friend's arm as he retook his own seat. "Steve, he wasn't in a dangerous situation. We'd stopped at Morty's and he went in for a sandwich. From what I know right now, and it's not much, there was a kid in there robbing the place. But Mike saved lives this morning, I do know that. The hostages were on their way out before the shooting started."

With a heavy anguished sigh, Steve dropped his head into his hands. Getting a grip on his roiling emotions, he looked up. "Three times, you said?"

Dan nodded. "I don't think any of them were near his heart, but they definitely hit his lungs; two on the left side, one on the right. He was unconscious when I got to him and barely breathing. Morty helped me try to stop the bleeding before the ambulance got there. They, uh, they intubated him in the ambulance and they were doing chest compressions by the time we got here." His voice trailed off and the silence between them lengthened.

Steve finally looked up. "I need to call Jeannie but I have to talk to someone at the University first. I don't want her alone when I tell her." He got wearily to his feet and crossed to the nurse's station. Dan watched as he talked to one of the nurses, who put a phone on the counter near him. Steve dialed a short number, fished a pad and pen out of his inside jacket pocket and jotted something down. He pushed the switch hook on the phone a couple of times, then dialed again, and Dan could tell from the lengthy number it was a long distance call. Steve glanced over at the young inspector and flashed a quick reassuring smile.

Reaching the party he was hoping to get and, after a somewhat truncated explanation of what he needed, Steve's call was forwarded to one of the university's teachers lounges. When a masculine voice answered the call, Steve asked to speak to a Marion DeJong. Several seconds later, he could hear the receiver change hands.

"Marion DeJong," the pleasant female voice said, "how can I help you?"

"Professor DeJong, my name is Steve Keller, I'm an associate professor of criminology at Berkeley and I need you to do me a really big favour." For the next several minutes, Steve explained to the increasingly concerned and sympathetic scholar the reason for his call.

When he finished, there was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Mr. Keller, I believe I know where Jeannie Stone is right now. Would you like me to put you on hold while I track her down? It might take awhile."

With a relieved sigh, and nodding even though she couldn't see him, Steve replied, "Yes, that sounds like a good idea."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," DeJong continued, adding, "And don't worry, Mr. Keller, I think I know how I can get her to the office without tipping my hand, and just so you know, one of my colleagues is already talking to a travel agent regarding the first flight out."

Dan watched as Steve seemed to finish the conversation, turn to lean against the counter and lay the receiver on his shoulder. The older man's eyes glazed over as he stared into space, and Dan knew where his thoughts were now as well. Dan looked down at the floor and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, fighting the emotional pain. Mike had only been a part of his life for two years; he couldn't begin to imagine what Steve was going through.

# # # # #

Smiling and laughing, a confused but unsuspecting Jeannie followed the professor into the teacher's lounge. She had never been in the cavernous and overly furnished room before and she took it all in as she crossed to the telephone on the desk. She was so impressed with the sight that she failed to notice the many pairs of sympathetic eyes that followed her progress as she picked up the receiver and put it to her ear. "Hello, this is Jean Stone," she said brightly.

After a split second of silence, she heard a familiar voice. "Jeannie, it's Steve."

Instantaneously her smile disappeared and her face contorted in shock and grief. "No, no, no," she started to repeat over and over as Professor DeJong stepped closer and wrapped the younger woman in a tight embrace as Steve's "No, Jeannie, he's not dead, he's not dead…" echoed continuously in her ear.

Eventually his words sunk in and she calmed enough so he could tell her, in very broad strokes, what had happened and what he wanted her to do.

# # # # #

Steve hung the phone up slowly then continued to stand near the counter, using the heels of his hands to wipe the tears from his eyes. He pulled himself together, then turned and walked back across the room, dropping heavily into the chair beside Dan.

"She's taking the three o'clock flight. It's two hours from Seattle so she'll get here around five. I'll go and pick her up." He sighed wearily. "Hopefully, if we're lucky, I'll have something good to tell her by then."

Dan nodded slowly, grateful that Steve had taken on such an onerous task. He had long admired his talented, ambitious and much beloved former colleague, amiably jealous of the ease with which he seemed to deal with any situation.

Suddenly Steve's head shot up. "Oh, I forgot to ask, why are you the only one here? Hasn't anyone been told yet?"

Dan's eyebrows rose slightly and he swallowed hard. He suddenly realized that news of the City Hall shootings probably hadn't filtered through to all levels of the city's denizens as yet, and that most likely on the drive from Berkeley to The City, the car radio had not been on. "You haven't heard?" he asked quietly, knowing that the seemingly innocent question would elicit a visceral response.

"Heard what?" Steve asked sharply as he leaned forward, his own green eyes boring into Dan's.

Dan inhaled quickly, clearing his throat. "Dan White shot and killed Moscone and Milk this morning."

Stunned, Steve continued to stare then he shook he head, blinking rapidly. "What?"

Dan regrouped. "Dan White killed the Mayor and Harvey Milk this morning – he shot them in their offices around 11."

Slowly, like a deflated balloon, Steve sat back in the chair, his stunned eyes traveling down to stare at the floor. "Jesus Christ," he said under his breath, the gravity of this new reality and its implications washing over him. "This city is going to explode," he said quietly, and Dan could only nod in agreement.

# # # # #

A crumpled tissue in one hand and her overnight bag in the other, a red-eyed Jeannie Stone climbed the airstairs and handed the boarding pass to the stewardess. Moving as if in a trance, she found her middle seat and slumped into it, grateful that the window seat was already occupied and she wouldn't have to get up. She stuffed her bag under the seat in front, snapped the seatbelt around her waist, then closed her eyes and bit her lip, trying not to cry.

Successfully able to shut out everything around her, she was only slightly startled when one of the stewardesses sat in the aisle seat and strapped herself in before take-off. As the plane bumped along the taxiway, the blond stewardess, her eyes crinkled in concern, smiled warmly. "You look like you're having a bad day, honey."

Taking comfort in the kindly blue eyes, Jeannie nodded, hoping she wouldn't dissolve into tears once again. Her voice shaking, she said softly, "My dad's a police officer in San Francisco…he was shot this morning…"

"Oh my god," the blond caught her breath, a hand coming up to her mouth, "I am so sorry. Was he at City Hall?"

"No, no," Jeannie said quickly, "he was somewhere else."

"Is he…is he going to be okay?" the stewardess asked softly, her voice laced with trepidation and sympathy.

Jeannie caught her breath before answering. "I don't know," she whispered, her voice cracking, "he's still in surgery I think."

The stewardess put her hand over Jeannie's and squeezed. "Oh, darling," she said quietly, the two women bracing themselves as the plane accelerated down the runway.

Once they had gained altitude and the seatbelt sign was turned off, the stewardess bolted from her seat and entered the business class cabin, shutting the curtain behind her. She emerged scant seconds later and leaned into Jeannie's row, reaching for the overnight bag under the seat.

"Come with me," she said to Jeannie as she picked up the bag, sliding it past the younger woman's legs. "There's a seat open in business class and I want you to take it."

"No, no, I'm okay," Jeannie started to demur, not wanting to inconvenience anyone.

"No, you're coming with me," the stewardess insisted.

Startled but compliant, the distraught young woman undid her seatbelt and got to her feet, following the slightly older blond towards the front of the plane. As they stepped through the curtain and moved towards the empty seat, Jeannie could feel the eyes of the men in business suits bore into her as her bag was placed in the overhead compartment and she slid into the seat.

Trying to stifle her tears, Jeannie looked up at and smiled. With another warm look and an encouraging pat on the shoulder, the stewardess left her alone and went to work.

The flight passed surprisingly swiftly and the plane made a smooth touchdown. Jeannie had spent the time lost in her own world, oblivious of everything and everyone around her, every thought, every breath monopolized with overwhelming anxiety and the terrifying reality that might actually lose her father.

The plane was coming to a stop at the gate when the blond stewardess suddenly appeared in the small, curtained-off cabin and stood at the door. "Gentlemen," she announced, "I would like to ask you all to please remain in your seats and allow this young woman to be the first off the plane. Thank you." She looked at Jeannie and smiled encouragingly.

As the seatbelt sign was turned off, Jeannie stood, grabbed her bag from the overhead bin and walked towards the door. The stewardess and a ground crew member opened the huge plane door and, as Jeannie moved to exit, she stopped in front of the young blond woman and put a hand on her arm. "Thank you," she said, trying to retain her composure. "I'll never forget your kindness."

"You just be there for your Dad," the stewardess said with a sad smile, and as Jeannie started down the airstairs, she could hear behind her, "Gentlemen, thank you so much. You may exit the plane now."

Knowing she looked a mess but not caring, Jeannie stepped into the terminal, her eyes scanning the waiting crowd, looking for a familiar face. Not seeing anyone, she began to tremble, her barely suppressed emotions threatening to boil over. She had only just stifled a sob of despair when a gap opened in the crowd and she saw him.

Their eyes met and locked, and he took his hands out of his beige raincoat as he started towards her. His pace increased as he got closer, and he opened his arms. Dropping her bag, she flung herself towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist, burying her head against his chest. He put his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer, and kissed the top of her head.

They stood that way for a while, gently rocking, holding onto each other for dear life.