Her arms laden, Maggie pushed the heavy wooden door open with her shoulder, then smiled in relief and delight; Mike was sitting in the armchair, staring at the door and grinning. "Hi, gorgeous," he said with a loving chuckle, his eyes warm and bright.
"My god, look at you," Maggie sighed happily, as an equally burdened Jeannie came through the door behind her, her own face alight. "You look wonderful."
"I guess they found the right drug," Mike said with a laugh as Maggie put her packages on the bed. "And see what else I can do?" he announced as he raised and opened his arms as high as he could. He gestured with his fingers for her to come closer; she leaned over, slipping her arms around him as she felt him gather her in a careful embrace. They both closed their eyes, and Jeannie found herself turning away and biting her lip.
Maggie pulled back and Mike lowered his arms with a grimace. "You okay?" she asked and he nodded quickly.
"I'm terrific," he said with a smile, and she gave him a quick kiss on the lips.
Jeannie had put her bags on the bed as well, then crossed to her father and bent down to give him a buss on the cheek. "Good morning, Daddy. You look so much better than yesterday."
"I'm feeling a lot better, that's for sure."
"We bought you some things," Maggie said, standing by the bed. "After yesterday's little episode, Jeannie and I realized you need more than one pair of pajamas, so we got you a couple more pair," Jeannie pulled them out of one of the bags, "and I had a look at that dressing gown of yours at home – and really, Mike, how old is that thing? You need a new one, so I got you one of those this morning too." She pulled a stylish burgundy velour robe with gold piping out of another bag and held it up.
Mike's eyes grew wide and his head went back slightly. "That's beautiful," he said in awe and Maggie grinned.
"So you like it?"
"Of course I like it. Why wouldn't I?" He reached out to feel the material.
"I already talked to the nurses, and they said I could help you get into them," Maggie said with a humorously suggestive leer and Jeannie rolled her eyes theatrically and laughed.
"And that's my cue to get out of here," she said. "Let me know when you two are finished." She looked back at the door, laughing at their surprised stares, and she was still chuckling when she started down the corridor toward the elevators.
"Oh, Miss Stone! Jeannie!" A voice from behind caught her attention and she turned.
Dr. Webster was striding towards her, his brow furrowed, and she felt panic rising.
As he got closer, her took her elbow and whispered quickly, "Could I talk to you for a few minutes?"
"Is Mike okay?" she asked, trying to keep the worry from her voice.
"What?" He looked at her confused, then shook his head and smiled. "Oh, ah, no, he's fine, really, he's doing a lot better. The Demerol is working like it should and he's back on track." She relaxed and he smiled apologetically. "No, ah, what I want to talk to you about is, well, I made a mistake this morning when I was examining him, and I wanted you and Steve to know about it."
# # # # #
Steve glanced at his watch again. The morning was just dragging by, he thought. He looked up from the essay he was reading and cocked his head. The building was deserted; true, it was a Saturday morning just before exams, but the silence was almost oppressive.
Jeannie had called earlier, letting him know that she and Maggie were heading to the hospital. He had decided to spend the morning at the university catching up, and he'd head over to the hospital towards the middle of the afternoon. But he had made Jeannie promise him that she'd call if something was amiss.
He was just about to pour another cup of coffee from his thermos when the phone rang. "Keller, Criminology," he answered.
"Steve, it's Jeannie," she said quickly, realizing he would panic when he heard her voice, "Mike's okay, but there's something I have to talk to you about, right away." She heard the release of a held breath on the other end of the phone and she could picture Steve closing his eyes in relief.
"He's really okay?"
"Yes, he's sitting up in the armchair and smiling, and he could even raise his arms a bit to give Maggie a hug. But Steve, I just had a talk with Dr. Webster…and, well, Mike knows."
"He knows…?"
"He knows about his lung."
Steve exhaled loudly. "How did he find out?"
Jeannie told him what Webster had said, how Mike had caught him listening to breath sounds in only two places on his right side. "He doesn't miss a beat, does he?" Steve said with a heavy sigh when she finished.
"The thing is, he's acting like nothing's changed, at least as far as I can tell right now. I was only in there for a couple of minutes."
"Ah, why only a couple of minutes?"
"Oh… um, Maggie and I bought him some pajamas and a new dressing gown this morning, and she's helping him get into them and…." She trailed off, letting him finish the end of that sentence in his mind.
"Okay, I get the picture," Steve stepped in with a laugh.
"What do you think we should do?" she asked quietly.
"Look, ah, I'll talk to him about it. I have some experience with life-changing injuries, right?" he asked somewhat rhetorically with a sardonic chuckle. "At the very least, I have an idea of where his head is right now and what he is going to go through. But there's a big difference between us, though – I'd already made the decision to leave the force before I was shot; he's got to make that decision, or have it made for him, after he was shot."
He heard her sigh on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, I just feel so sorry for him, none of this has been his fault. It's just not fair."
"It never is, Jeannie, it never is." Steve paused. "Do me a favor, will you? Find out from the nurses if he can eat anything he wants? I'll bring dinner for both of us tonight and talk to him then."
"Oh, I already talked to them – he's okay to eat anything, so go ahead. But I think it should be something soft and easy to digest; his system is still a little out of whack after yesterday."
"Yeah, good idea. I'm thinking pasta. Okay, so tell him I'll be there for dinner, and you and Maggie have a good visit with him. And don't let on that you know he knows, okay? Leave that to me. Oh, and I'll give Dan a shout and keep him in the loop too."
"Perfect. Thanks, Steve, you're the best. Oh, Maggie's signaling me from the door – I better get back in there and see how Mike looks in his new pj's!" She finished the call with a laugh, and he hung the phone up with a smile.
# # # # #
It was pitch dark by the time Steve got to the hospital, even though it was only early evening. It had taken him a little longer than anticipated to get across the bridge and then pick up dinner. He pushed the hospital room door open with his elbow, smiling to himself to see Mike seemingly asleep in the bed, wearing dark blue pajamas under a warm and handsome burgundy robe.
As he put the two heavy paper bags down on the bedside table, Mike opened his eyes. "How are you feeling?" Steve asked with a grin as Mike shook his head slightly to wake himself up.
"Uh, I must have fallen asleep. Um, I'm fine, I feel great. Ooo, that smells good," he said, smiling and carefully sitting up a little straighter. "I'm starving."
Chuckling, Steve started to take the cardboard covered aluminum trays out of one of the bags and set them on the overbed. "Ravioli from Emilio's. He even threw in some of his famous garlic bread and tiramisu for dessert. Oh, and he said to 'get well soon'."
"Ah, that's sweet of him. His will be the first place I take Maggie to when I get out of here," Mike said with a smile and a chuckle.
Continuing to grin, Steve reached into the second bag. "Look what else he sent – real plates and cutlery! He said if this is your first decent non-hospital meal, it's got to be 'consumed in style' is exactly how he put it."
Mike was chuckling carefully as he watched Steve set out two place settings on the overbed. Steve was eyeing him surreptitiously, and he could see the lines of tension in his former partner's eyes that someone else might not have noticed. He decided to take things slow and easy. "I'm liking the new wardrobe. Very stylish."
Mike opened his arms, showing off the robe. "Beautiful, isn't it? I gotta tell you, the women in my life have got great taste," he chuckled with affection and Steve nodded with an approving grin. Mike looked back at the plate before him. "Thank you for this," he said, suddenly serious, and Steve looked at him in alarm.
"You okay?"
Mike nodded, blinking quickly. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, really," he smiled somewhat unconvincingly. "It's, ah, it's just been a hell of week, right?"
"Yeah, it sure has," Steve said haltingly as he transferred the ravioli to their plates. When he had finished setting everything up, pouring a ginger ale for Mike and a Coke for himself, he sat in the armchair and balanced his plate on his knees. He raised his plastic glass. "Bon appetit!" He took a sip then put the glass on the floor at his feet.
Mike chuckled as he speared his first ravioli and popped it into his mouth. He closed his eyes and sighed, moaning in ecstasy, and Steve laughed. "Good, hunh?"
"Good? Good, you ask? This is heaven."
Steve smiled warmly. He had missed this, the easy familiarity he had shared with Mike over the six years they were partnered. He knew Mike had too, even though it had never been expressed. They ate in silence for a while, then Steve said quietly, not looking up, "You know, don't you?"
Mike's hand, which was halfway to his mouth with another ravioli he had speared, stopped and a sudden, sad, distant look overtook his features for a split second. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
Steve continued to stare at him, not giving quarter. It had to be now or never, he knew. "Dr. Webster. I know he told you this morning. You didn't give him any choice."
Mike stared at his plate, but he had stopped eating. He took a deep breath, and Steve could see a slow, ironic, wistful smile building. Mike put down his fork with studied deliberateness and his breaths became deeper and longer. When he finally looked up, his eyes were moist and his expression was both apprehensive and resigned.
# # # # #
Dan reached for the glass of wheatgrass juice as he pored over one of Haseejian's files at his desk. It had been a long day, but it felt good to be catching up on what the Armenian detective had pulled together involving Mike's shooting.
He glanced over his shoulder; Haseejian was huddled over his own desk, his phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, making notes on a yellow legal pad. Dan couldn't resist an appreciative smile; the sergeant's bulldog dedication was incredible.
Dan heard the phone cradled and Haseejian called to him, "Nothing there. Kurt's still working his sources but so far nothing."
The young inspector nodded. He was about to reply when Haseejian's phone rang again and the sergeant snagged it before the first ring died. "Homicide, Haseejian."
"Norm, it's Gary Newman from Narcotics," came a quick voice at the other end of the line, "look, we got somebody down here we think you should talk to. Patrol nailed a guy earlier tonight, high on PCP or something, and before he zoned out, he ranted something about 'that little shit that shot the cop'."