Haseejian slammed the receiver down on the cradle. "Yes!" he hissed loudly to himself, then looked up. "Come on, kid, we have to get down to Narcotics. They might have something for us."

Dan, realizing he was being called 'kid' but choosing wisely not to comment on it at the moment, snagged his jacket from the back of the chair as he got to his feet and quickly scrambled to catch up with the already departing sergeant. He fell into step beside him near the elevators and shrugged into his coat. "What's up?"

Haseejian filled him in as they rode down the two flights and headed down the corridor to the Narcotics department. They were just about to go in when the door snapped open and a hassled looking middle-aged man with a pronounced paunch blocked their path.

"Oh, Norm, jeez, glad I caught ya. That guy I just called you about? They just took him to the hospital, seems it's a heroin overdose and they're not sure he's gonna make it."

"Shit!" growled Haseejian, pounding a fist into his other palm in frustration. "Is he conscious at all?"

Sergeant Newman shook his head.

"What, precisely, did he say?"

"It wasn't to me, it was Patrolman Metcalfe. He's gone with the guy to the hospital."

"Which one?"

"Franklin."

Dan glanced at Haseejian; that was the same hospital Mike was in and he knew that fact was not lost on the homicide sergeant.

"Okay, thanks, Gary. I guess that's where we're headed." Haseejian slapped the Narcotics officer on the arm as he and Dan turned and headed back down the corridor.

"Oh, hey," yelled Newman to their departing backs, "how's Mike doing?"

Dan turned his head but kept walking. "He's doing great, Gary, thanks for asking."

# # # # #

"So, you want to talk about it?" Steve asked quietly after he had set the remains of their dinner aside, moving the overbed table away.

Mike, who had been looking straight ahead for what seemed like minutes, waited several seconds before answering softly, "Doesn't seem to be much to talk about, does there?"

"What do you mean?"

Mike finally turned to look at him. He had gotten a grip on the emotions that had surfaced again when Steve brought the subject up, and now his face just registered an intense sorrow. "It's over, Steve. What's done is done, and nothing I can do now, or hope for now, can change that. The regulations are the regulations, and they're not going to revise them just for me."

Steve inhaled deeply. He knew Mike was right; he just didn't think he'd have come to that conclusion so quickly and so passively. "So you're just gonna give up without a fight?"

The angry flash in the blue eyes was exactly what Steve wanted to see. Their stares lengthened, then Mike blinked, snorted dryly and dropped his eyes. "You still know how to push my buttons," he sighed with a chuckle, bringing a hand to his face and rubbing his eyes.

Smiling, Steve adjusted his chair, pulling it closer to the bed, and dropped a hand on Mike's forearm. The older man looked away. "You forget, I've been here too, remember? I think I know what you're going through. Mike, this is going to be one of the hardest thing you'll ever have to do in your life, but you're not gonna be doing it alone. You know that, right? You've got me, Jeannie, Dan…and now Maggie."

At the mention of the last name, Mike smiled and started to nod slowly. Then the smile disappeared. "Steve, I can't start over again. I'm not a kid anymore. The only thing I've ever done, the only thing I ever wanted to do, was become a cop. I did that – and then I became a detective." The smile briefly reappeared. "And not just a detective, a homicide detective. And I was good at it," he chuckled, almost self-deprecatingly, "I am good at it."

He felt Steve's hand squeeze his forearm and a comforting warmth flooded over him.

"I can't sit behind a desk, Steve, I just can't. It may be a job someone else can do, but it's not for me. If I can't be out on the street…" He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"So…what are you gonna do?" Steve asked cautiously, amazed at how much thought the older man had put into this already. But Mike had always been a quick study, one of the many traits that Steve had always admired in the man.

Another head shake, a shrug and a heavy sigh. "I know I have some time," he said slowly, "I don't have to make any decisions right now. I'll talk to the brass, see what they offer, I guess. Keep my options open, as the kids say," he chuckled, and a bit of a twinkle came back into his eyes.

Steve looked at him with warm awe, once more impressed. "That's, ah, that's a great idea," he said slowly, trying not to let his own unraveling emotions colour his tone.

Mike looked at his young friend kindly then flashed a quick grin. "Don't be fooled, I'm not really taking this as well as I seem to be," he said with melancholic irony, "I've been lying here most of the day going through the five stages of grief."

Steve smiled back. "What stage are you on?"

"Acceptance, I think – grudging acceptance. But I don't think that's going to last, I can feel myself sliding back into anger." The grin disappeared and he swallowed hard; Steve's grip on his arm tightened.

# # # # #

"I'm worried about your father," Maggie said with a heavy sigh as she put the plate she had just dried into the cupboard.

Jeannie, washing the dishes in the sink, glanced over her shoulder. "So am I. But if anyone can talk to him about all this, it's Steve."

Maggie turned and leaned against the counter. "Have they always been that close?"

"Mike and Steve?" Jeannie asked as she blew a stray lock of hair out of her face, not wanting to touch it with her rubber-gloved hands. "Yeah, I guess they have." She paused for a few seconds, a dirty pot in her hands, and stared into space. "I think almost from the first time they met. I mean, my Dad had always gotten along with all his partners over the years but with Steve, it was just different."

"How so?"

Jeannie chuckled. "Well, for one thing, Steve was by far the youngest partner Mike ever had – well, except when Mike was the younger partner way back when, but that was 'before my time', so to speak. I always remember Mike's partners being about the same age as he was.

"Until Steve… Of course, I noticed that right away – all my raging teenage hormones kicked in the first time I laid eyes on him," she chuckled fondly, remembering, and Maggie laughed as well.

"I can see that, my dear, I can definitely see that. What did Mike say about it?"

"Oh, he invoked the Stone Golden Rule – 'My daughter will not date a cop'."

"And you obeyed him?"

Jeannie nodded. "I was never one of those rebellious girls that disrespected their parents. I loved my parents and I wouldn't do anything to disappoint my Dad. So, yeah, I did as I was told."

"Wow, good for you, kiddo. I don't know if I could have been so…easily dissuaded, shall I say?"

Jeannie chuckled. "Well, you didn't have Iron Mike for a father either."

"Iron Mike?"

"Oh god, please don't call him that; he hates it."

Maggie chuckled evilly. "Hah, finally I have something to lord over him at the right time and place."

Jeannie laughed. "Just don't tell him you got it from me, please? Woman to woman?"

"Your secret is safe with me; my lips will never tell."

"Thank you," Jeannie sighed, lifting the heavy pot from the sink and placing it in the dish rack. "Anyway, I think right from the very first moment they became partners, they had this special…quality, I don't now how else to describe it. They became so at ease with each other and they worked together perfectly, like yin yang.

"I know Mike loved Steve to death, and over the years I came to realize that the feeling was mutual. They've always been so incredibly comfortable with each other. It's been wonderful, really, and I'm so happy for my Dad that he has someone like Steve in his life."

Maggie had picked up the pot and was drying it slowly. "Mike must have taken it pretty hard when Steve retired."

Jeannie looked at her. "He was devastated. I've never seen him so torn apart. I mean, he fell apart when my Mom died, but her death was expected. What happened with Steve – well, that just tore my Dad to pieces. As upset as he was that Steve left the department, he did realize that at least Steve was still alive and still a part of our lives. And that gave him some kind of consolation. But still…it was an awful time for all of us."

Maggie looked at her fondly. "Your father is loved by a lot of people, isn't he?"

Jeannie stopped cleaning out the sink, staring into space for several seconds. Then she smiled warmly and proudly. "Yeah, I think you're right. He is well loved. That's something pretty special to say about someone, isn't it? That they are well-loved."

Laughing gently but affectionately, Maggie nodded. "It sure is."

# # # # #

"Patrolman Metcalf, Sergeant Haseejian and Inspector Robbins, Homicide," the Armenian detective announced as they approached the uniformed officer, flashing their stars. "I hear you were the one that took a statement from that heroin addict you brought in here about 'the little shit that shot the cop'."

Metcalfe, not much older than Dan, nodded at them both. "Yeah, that was me."

"What, exactly, happened and what did he say?"

"My partner and I found him lying against a wall in an alley off Market; he was already pretty out of it but he was talking, sort of. He had his package of goods with him so we brought him to Narcotics 'cause we found some little bags of heroin speedballs in his pocket.

"I had him in the back of our car and he was drifting in and out, but as we got closer to the station, he started to realize we were arresting him and he started mouthing off louder and louder. And one of the things he said was that he thought there was a reward out there for 'that little shit that shot the cop' and that he knew where we could find him. But then he passed out before I could get anymore info out of him, and when he surfaced again a few minutes later, he couldn't remember what he was talking about."

"But you're sure he said 'that little shit that shot the cop'?" asked Dan.

"Absolutely. I mean, we've all been on the lookout for that kid, so when he said that, all the bells and whistles went off for me. And just so ya know, Sergeant," Metcalfe turned to Haseejian, "after we dropped the junkie off at Narcotics, my partner and I went back to where we picked him up and we started going through all the flop-houses in the neighborhood, in case the shooter was nearby. I mean, you know these junkies don't stray too far from their squats. But nothing, sorry."

"Don't be," said Haseejian, "you and your partner have done a hell of a job here. Thanks. So, anyway, what's the news on our little junkie friend?"

Metcalfe looked behind himself towards Emergency with a frustrated sigh. "Heroin overdose, and a bad one. He's unconscious and on life support and right now they're saying fifty-fifty. It could be over twenty-hours, and possibly longer, till he's lucid enough to talk, and that is if he doesn't die first…"

Haseejian shook his head. "Shit," he said quietly. "Thanks, Patrolman, you've done tremendous work here. We'll take over now. And thank your partner for us too, okay?"

"Thank you, sir."

As the officer moved away, Haseejian turned to Dan. "We wait again, I guess."

Dan nodded. "Yeah, but at least this time we have something substantial to hold onto, right?"

With a tired and frustrated sigh, Haseejian nodded, plodding slowly towards the waiting room.