"The reason we got to you as quick as we did was, well, there are a lot more… cart paths, I guess you could call 'em - they certainly aren't roads - through those woods than you think. That's how we got you out so fast too, but you probably don't remember that." Caudill was cutting his steak, glancing up at his table companions, Steve in front of him, Olsen and Pierce on either side.

Steve nodded, swallowing a roast potato. "No, wait, I remember…" His fork hung in the air for a second. "Yeah, I vaguely remember someone, I think it was Lonny, saying something like that when they were carrying me out of the bush."

Caudill nodded back. "Right. We knew what was going on and high-tailed it up that cart-path hopefully to get at least abreast of you guys. We got lucky and we did, then we had to drop back and get behind the Scobies. It was tricky; we knew we couldn't tip our hand, but those dogs were barking so loud they covered any noise we made pretty good." He chuckled, and Steve nodded knowingly.

Olsen and Pierce exchanged confused looks. They were not as familiar as the inspector with the goings-on in the hollers and felt a little left out. They were also hoping their colleagues would fill them in on the finer details on the trip home.

Caudill cleared his throat and looked down. "But, ah, things kinda spun outa control real fast. I'm just glad we got to you when we did… but, ah… not soon enough. Rutter would still be alive if we'd gotten to you even thirty seconds earlier…" He pushed the food around on his plate. "That's gonna haunt me for the rest of my life…"

Olsen, staring at the trooper's profile intensely, glanced at Steve then reached out and laid his hand gently on Caudill's forearm. "I do know how you feel, son, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but you did save Steve here, and I can tell you for a fact that there is an entire police department back in San Francisco that will be eternally grateful to you for that." He hesitated, glanced once more at Steve, and lowered his gaze slightly. "And there's a man in a room upstairs who almost gave up but who's alive right now because this young man is still with us. So... you saved two lives that night, and don't you ever forget that."

Caudill nodded slowly, gratefully, continuing to stare at his plate. Steve, who had focused on the trooper as Olsen spoke, dropped his head and took a deep breath. "Daryl, I… I haven't had the chance to thank you for what you did –"

"And I don't want you to," the trooper said sharply, looking up and meeting Steve's eyes. "I was doing my job… let's just leave it at that, okay?"

As the two younger men continued to stare at each other, Olsen glanced from one to the other. Then he suddenly seemed to make up his mind. "Okay, that's it, it's getting a little too maudlin at this table." He reached for the glass of amber liquid on the table above his plate. "I think it's time we made a toast." He turned to look for the waiter.

"Rudy, I can't drink –" Steve began.

"I know that," Olsen growled, catching the waiter's eye, "you stick with your water. The rest of the grown-ups are drinking the real stuff."

Steve frowned with a smile and a chuckle as Caudill's head came up. "Ah, Captain, I'm on duty –"

"Not tonight you aren't," Olsen almost snapped, then said to the waiter, "Please bring us another bourbon," and gestured towards the uniformed trooper. The waiter's eyebrows rose but he smiled, nodded and hurried away.

"But, sir –"

"Tonight, I'm your boss, all right? And this boss says we need to make a toast, and unless you're on antibiotics like this one here," he pointed vaguely towards Steve, "you're drinking the real thing." Olsen's craggy face finally split into a smile. "Besides, if one drink puts you under the table, we're all in trouble," he finished with a laugh that the others joined.

The waiter returned with a bourbon glass on the small tray and put it down in front of Caudill. The others picked up their glasses. Olsen cleared his throat. "I'm not much for making toasts, and I really don't have much of a way with words." Steve smiled to himself and looked down. "But Trooper Caudill, you are the one here with us right now representing all the fine men and women who have helped my men during this, ah… most unfortunate series of events. And on behalf of the San Francisco Police Department, I want to thank you for everything that all of you did. Because of your skill and dedication, we're bringing both our men home, alive. And I can't thank you enough for that. So, ah, Trooper Caudill, thank you, thank you very much."

The Kentuckian had stared at the captain as he spoke, and now he dipped his head and swallowed hard. Pierce said "Here, here" quietly as he lifted his glass a little higher. Steve's eyes had grown brighter and there was a lump in his throat he tried to clear.

Smiling, Olsen lifted his glass a little higher then drank, the others following suit. All reacted to the potent liquor in their own way: Steve with a cough and a smile, Pierce with wide eyes and a grin, Olsen as if he drank bourbon all the time. They put their glasses on the table and sat back, smiling.

Caudill looked at Olsen warmly. "Thank you, Captain. I appreciate everything you said, and I'll make sure that everyone gets the word." He looked at Steve. "And believe me, no one is happier than me to see everyone going home in one relative piece," he said with a smile.

# # # # #

Steve tried to open the door gingerly but the tumblers made a loud clicking sound in the lock. Grimacing at the noise, he pushed the door open, then leaned back carefully on the crutches and picked up the large paper bag, putting it on the floor just inside the door, then swung into the room and, as quietly as possible with the heavy lock, closed the door.

Picking up the bag once more, he moved deeper into the room, staring at the far bed. It seemed as if Mike hadn't moved since he'd left; his eyes were closed and his breaths were deep and even. Steve put the paper bag on the small table by the curtained window and was just moving away when he heard, "How was dinner?"

He turned as quickly as he could and smiled. "You're awake?"

Mike had opened his eyes and was smiling slightly. "Yeah, I woke up awhile ago but decided to just lie here."

"Good plan," the younger man chuckled as he moved closer to the bed. "How do you feel?"

"A lot better, thanks. It's nice to be on something that's not moving. And the painkiller didn't hurt either. You didn't answer my question – how was dinner?"

"Oh, ah, it was great. The food was excellent and, guess what, Olsen picked up the cheque again!"

Mike laughed. "You're kidding? And I had to miss it."

"Unh-unh, you didn't," Steve said with a chuckle as he turned back towards the table.

"Oh, I thought I smelled something good," Mike smiled. "I'm starving."

"I figured you would be." He opened the paper bag and started to take things out. "Ah, listen, ah, there's someone I want you to meet. And I thought maybe, while you're eating, well, I just thought it would be a good time, seeing as we're gonna be leaving the state tomorrow and all that…"

Mike chuckled. "Would you quit beating around the bush and come out with it!"

Laughing, Steve put a dinner plate with a metal cover on the small table. Then he took out cutlery wrapped in a white linen napkin and a big plastic cup with a lid.

"All right, one of the KSP troopers who's guarding us tonight and tomorrow morning, well, he's also the one who, ah…" he cleared his throat, "who took out the guy who was gonna shoot me." He looked over at the bed; Mike was staring at him, the smile gone. "He's was a sniper in 'Nam. And, ah, and his name is Caudill."

There was a tense silence for several seconds as neither man moved, then Mike's eyebrows rose slowly. "Caudill?"

With a slight smile, Steve nodded.

"Son? Grandson -?"

"Grandson." Steve looked back down at the table and waited.

Finally he heard Mike say quietly, "Well, there's gotta be a story there, right?" Steve looked at him. "I'd love to meet him."

Steve grinned. "Good, good, I kinda thought you would. So, ah, what? Do you want to eat in bed or, ah -?"

"God, no," Mike said with a snort, putting his left hand flat on the bed to push himself up. "Give me a hand, will ya?"

Steve hopped over to the bed; Mike closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and held his breath as, with his partner's help, he succeeded in sitting up and sliding his legs to the floor. Releasing the held breath in a gasp, he hung his head. "God, that hurts," he moaned, then sat there for a few seconds before grabbing Steve's forearm and getting to his feet. Releasing his partner's arm and starting towards the table, he glanced down. "How's your leg doing?"

Using the edge of the second bed to balance himself, Steve followed his partner back to the table. "Slow but sure," he chuckled. They both got to the table and sat. Steve reached for the napkin with the cutlery and was slipping the paper wrapper off when he looked up at Mike and laughed. "We're quite the pair right now, aren't we?"

Mike grinned back and snickered, then he face turned serious. "I'm just glad we're both still here," he said quietly.

Steve's smile disappeared as he bit his lower lip and nodded. "Me too."

They stared at each other for several seconds then Mike looked at the covered plate and grinned. "So, what did you bring me?"

Smiling at his partner warmly, Steve lifted the metal cover. "Ta-da – the best steak they've got. I had one and they're great - melt in your mouth. And with roast potatoes and green beans in lemon and garlic."

"Oh, wow," Mike sighed, staring at the plate, "that looks wonderful. And nothing deep-fried."

"Not a thing. Oh, ah, and a glass, well, container of milk. Sorry it's nothing, um, alcoholic, but we're both on the restricted list…" Steve explained with a comic frown. "I'll cut the steak for you and then go get Trooper Caudill." He chuckled. "I know you guys'll hit it off – he was a Marine!"

# # # # #

"You okay?"

Mike turned away from the airplane window. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, just, ah, thinking about last night. About Daryl and his family."

"Yeah, he has quite a story there, doesn't he? Walking away from your entire family like that but, boy, he sure made something out of his own life, didn't he?"

"I'll say."

The stewardess was coming through the cabin, making sure everyone had their seatbelts buckled before take-off. Steve was in the aisle seat so he could keep his bandaged left leg straight. "Did you take a pain pill this morning? 'Cause you know it's probably gonna hurt during take-off and landing, all that pressure…"

Mike nodded. It was not something he was looking forward to but he was prepared for it. "How are you doing?"

Steve snorted. "Not looking forward to all those stairs back home, that's for sure." He put his head against the back of the seat. He also wasn't looking forward to spending time alone. For the past couple of nights, he'd begun to experience flashbacks: he was on the ground, cold, wet and exhausted, shot and in pain, Alvin Scobie standing over him with the rifle pointed at his chest… He would awaken with a start, breathing heavily, shaking. So far he had managed not to wake Mike; he wouldn't have that problem from now on, he knew, but he also knew the nightmare would not go away on its own.

He glanced at his unnaturally quiet partner, who was staring out the window again. Ever since Mike had reacted with uncharacteristic vehemence to Sheriff Noble's suggestion that they stop and see the ill-fated Galaxie, Steve had kept an eye on the older man. As with himself, there was a lot of extra baggage from this trip that Mike still had to deal with; the trip home was just another step in this unexpected journey.

He wondered how long it would take before the journey would be over.