Healey took a sip of this coffee. "Hunh, for a granola bar this place has pretty good coffee."

Dan smiled as he swallowed a mouthful of fruit smoothie. "See? Told ya."

Clearing his throat, Healey looked down at the table then back up. "Listen, Dan, I wanted you to hear this from me. The brass have asked me to step into Mike's position on an interim basis, until he's, ah, well, until a decision is made on his future." He paused; they both knew what he meant. "It's gonna be a couple of months at least until a final decision is made, and of course it's gonna be Mike's call, but until then they need someone to run the department."

Healey sounded so apologetic that Dan felt sorry for the man. "Dan, it's okay, I understand. You taking over makes total sense – you're a lieutenant now, you have tons of experience, most of it in homicide – you're the perfect choice."

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Besides," Dan continued, "the guys in the squad know you and like you, so it's not like they're parachuting someone in from another department. Mike would approve."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too, so that's why I accepted it," Healey confirmed with a slight nod. "But, ah, but that's not the main reason I wanted to talk to you. It's Norm."

"What do you need?"

"Well, I know I shouldn't be doing this, and it could come back to bite me on ass later on, but now that you're back, I want you to team up with Norm on the Mike shooting investigation."

"Me?"

"Yeah, now I know it's not a Homicide matter, and thank god for that, but nobody's said anything about Norm as the lead on this so I've been letting him work on his own and do what he wants to get this kid. Trouble is, he's hit a dead end and it's really starting to take a toll on him, I think. The last time I saw him he wasn't the old Norm Haseejian we've all come to know and love – he's turned into this angry, obsessive zealot that I don't even recognize anymore."

"What do you want me to do?" Dan asked cautiously.

"I want you to be his second, but on the sly, kinda. I'm gonna tell Norm that you're back on board and you really want a hand in nailing Mike's shooter, but you know that Norm is the lead on this and you'll do whatever he asks. What I want to you do is keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, anything that'll risk his career, or possibly his life. You know what I'm saying?"

Dan nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do. But, ah, what if he doesn't want me anywhere near him?"

"Let me handle that. I'm gonna tell him it's Mike's wish that you get involved. That'll persuade him, I'm sure. We just have to make sure that if Norm goes to visit Mike, none of this gets talked about, which is another reason I want you watching him. So, you up for this?"

Dan leaned back in the chair. "You bet. I really want to get this Stanton kid too; you have no idea. I have just as much stake in this as Norm, maybe more, right?" He smiled. "Thanks, Dan, I appreciate this, I really do."

# # # # #

Steve walked into his office, took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. The essays were still on his desk, exactly as he had left them. He smiled and shook his head; was that actually only five days ago? Dropping into the chair, he ran his hands over his beard then up through his hair, an old habit.

He sat there for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts, plotting his next moves. He opened the top right drawer and took out a medium-sized leather journal. He flipped it open and scanned a few pages before settling on the one he wanted. With his finger on the page, he picked up the receiver of his black desktop phone and dialed.

Fifteen minutes and two calls later, he hung up, picked up his pen and bent over the desk, closing the open essay and starting to read it again from the top.

He was almost finished when a discreet throat clearing once again caught his attention, and he looked up with a smile. "I was wondering how long it was gonna take you to find out I was back."

Professor Carleton walked into the room, a grin splitting his face. "Am I to assume from your presence here that Mike is on the mend?"

Steve's smile got even wider as he sat back and tossed the pen on the desk. "You can."

"That is wonderful news, my boy." Carleton sat in the guest chair and crossed his legs, a sign he was going to stay for awhile. "I know you were worried."

"Yeah, it was pretty scary there for a bit. He was hit three times in the chest." Carleton winced. "He didn't come out of it completely unscathed, but he's alive and he's going to be okay so that's everything we could've hoped for, right?"

"Precisely. So, am I to take it from your return that you are now back amongst us on a more permanent level?"

Steve laughed; Carleton had a way of putting things that always made him smile. "Yes, I would think so. As a matter of fact, it was Mike that ordered me back to work, so you know he's got to be getting better." He paused. "Listen, ah, what's the feeling around here as to what went on with Moscone and Milk last week?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I haven't had a chance to follow much of it, but what's the 'word on the street', so to speak. Are they labeling this a gay murder, a political murder or what?"

"Ah, that, well, Milk's homosexuality has definitely been a talking point, that's for sure, and Dan White has always come across as someone who is, how shall I put this, homophobic, but from what I am hearing, this was a political act, pure and simple. It seems after White resigned in a huff a few weeks ago, he started having second thoughts and went to Moscone to try to get his seat back. But Milk had headed up that drive to rezone the districts in San Francisco and eliminate White's district."

"And White figured he could get his job back at the point of a gun?" Steve asked rhetorically with a resigned sigh. "I do know the police department and the fire department are a little ashamed that he was a member, even though he quit both of them."

"Well, that's neither here nor there for us, Steven." Carleton rose to his feet. "I'll leave you to it, my boy," he gestured towards the stack of essays, "and welcome back."

# # # # #

It was early that evening when Steve pushed open the heavy wooden door expecting to see Mike and Maggie sitting in the armchairs. Instead, he found a very tried-looking Maggie sitting beside the bed, holding Mike's left hand. He was in the bed, eyes half-closed, pale, sweaty and semi-conscious.

Maggie turned towards the door, smiling in relief when her eyes fell on him. "Steve, I'm glad you're here.

"Maggie, what's going on? What's wrong?" Steve asked quickly, his heart suddenly constricting.

She looked back at Mike. "They tried to get him off the morphine and onto a drug called oxycodone, but he didn't react to it very well. He was dizzy and nauseous and he threw up a couple of times." She choked up and stopped for a second. "He was in so much pain. They finally decided to try Demerol instead and he's doing a lot better but he's still fighting the effects of the oxycodone." She looked at Steve again and sighed sadly. "It's been a really rough day."

Steve had come up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She could feel his fingers digging in and she knew he was as worried as she was. He patted one shoulder and bent over so his mouth was close to her ear. "He'll be okay," he whispered, then moved beside her to get closer to the bed. "Where's Jeannie? Shouldn't she be here?"

Maggie smiled. "She is – has been all day. She's down in the cafeteria right now getting some ice chips." As Steve studied his friend's ashen face, she added, "He's doing a lot better, really – you should have seen him a couple of hours ago."

"You should've called me," Steve said over his shoulder.

"Mike wouldn't let us," she said softly, "he didn't want to 'disturb you'." When he turned to look at her, she shrugged. "You know what he's like…"

"Yeah, I do," Steve said quietly, putting his hand on Mike's sweaty forehead. "Hey, Michael, I'm here. I heard you've had a bad day," he said lightly with a smile as he stroked his friend's damp hair.

Mike tried to open his eyes wider and he moaned; Steve could see his lips turn up in a weak approximation of a smile. "Here," Maggie said, handing Steve a damp towel and he took it gratefully. He gently patted the sweat from Mike's face and neck.

"That feels good," Mike whispered and Steve and Maggie exchanged surprised looks.

Still holding his hand, she stood and moved closer to the bed, smiling. Mike's eyes slid in her direction. "Can one of you get the room to stop spinning?"

Maggie gasped in relief and Steve chuckled. "See, I told ya he's gonna be okay. Maggie tells me you've had it pretty rough the past few hours."

Mike stared at him as if trying to remember then he nodded slowly and carefully. "I'd make a terrible drug addict," he said with a tiny smile, "they make me throw up."

"That's not a bad thing," Maggie said with a laugh, then said quickly, clarifying, "the 'not able to be a drug addict' thing, not the 'throwing up' thing."

Both men laughed, then Mike moaned. "Close your eyes," Steve instructed, "that'll help the spinning."

They heard the door behind them open. "How is he?" Jeannie asked as she hurried into the room, a cup of ice chips in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other. "Oh, Steve, hi, I'm glad you're here," she said quickly when she saw him.

"Hi, and he's doing better," Steve answered with a grin and took a step back to she could see her father.

Mike kept his eyes closed but smiled. "I'm fine, sweetheart."

Crossing to the bed, she heaved a sigh of relief, turning to Maggie questioningly. "The Demerol seems to have kicked in and he's not reacting to it," Maggie explained, holding up her right hand with her fingers crossed. "He's still a little dizzy."

Jeannie leaned over the bed and kissed her father on the cheek. His smile widened. "I have some ice chips, do you want some?"

"Sounds wonderful," he murmured.

"Okay, give me a second," she said as she changed hands with the cup and spoon.

While Jeannie fed her father the ice chips, Maggie pulled Steve aside. Remembering that Mike had overheard them the last time, she asked him in a very soft whisper, and with a lot of hand gestures, if he had done anything regarding the man in the camel sportscoat she and Jeannie had seen outside the café.

'I've made some calls,' he mouthed, miming putting a phone to his ear. She put her hand on his forearm. 'Thank you,' she mouthed back, squeezed his arm then went back to the bed.

Steve watched the women as they cared for the most important man in their lives, and he smiled appreciatively. But as he watched, a new reality sunk in and the smile disappeared. There were too many things being withheld from Mike right now, he thought. And a nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him this was not going to end well.