Olsen cleared his throat and glanced away. "Why don't you lie all the way down before you fall down and I'll try to get you together with Mike when you've had some sleep. How does that sound? Do you have any sleeping pills?"

Steve had started to shake his head just after the captain began talking. "No, no, Rudy, I'm not taking a sleeping pill and I'd really like to talk to Mike sooner than later."

Stalling, it was Olsen's turn to shake his head. "That's not going to happen until you get some sleep. 'Cause you're gonna have to go over to his place and I don't think you're capable of climbing all those stairs in the condition you're in right now." His eyebrows rose slightly; he realized he had said something he probably shouldn't have but he hoped the younger man was too exhausted and distracted to realize what he had just been told.

"I don't have any sleeping pills, Rudy, I never use them," Steve said with a tired sigh, curling up vertically on the sofa as he tried to keep his eyes open.

Olsen picked up the phone from the end table and held it on his knee, putting the receiver over his shoulder as he started to dial. On Steve's inquisitive frown, he raised his eyebrows as the line connected, nodding to the younger man to hold his tongue. "Roy? Yeah, it's Rudy. Can you do me a favour? I need to get Steve some sleeping pills…. Yeah… Yeah, that would be great. Okay, thanks… Yeah, see you soon." He hung up and put the phone back on the end table before looking up. "Roy's gonna get them over here as soon as he…"

Olsen's voice trailed off. Steve was staring unblinkingly at him under a furrowed brow; he looked worried and upset. "Why do I have to go to Mike's, Rudy?" he asked levelly.

"What?" Olsen asked, hedging, hoping Steve wasn't asking what he was asking.

"Why do I have to go to Mike's? He's up and about, isn't he? Why can't he come over here? Doesn't he want to see me?"

Sensing an out, Olsen asked quickly, "Well, you haven't seemed to want to see him for the past two days. What makes you think he's that anxious to see you? You've pushed him away, haven't you? Because of the nightmares."

Steve looked away, guilt suddenly flooding his face, and he slumped in the armchair.

"Look," the captain continued gently, "why don't we wait for Roy to get here, you take a pill and get some sleep – hopefully nightmare-free – and then when you're feeling, and looking, better, then maybe I'll take you over to Mike's and you guys can talk, okay?"

The younger man had been looking down, listening. Without raising his head, he began to nod slowly. If truth be told, it was a relief to have someone else making the decisions right now. He was so damn drained he knew he wasn't thinking straight; he desperately needed sleep but was loathe to close his eyes and relive those terrifying moments in the Kentucky woods. "Okay," he whispered, acquiescing, and Olsen smiled; it seemed Steve hadn't noticed the 'maybe' in his assurance.

He was well aware he would need to talk to Murchison about making any promises. With both partners obviously battling emotional issues, it would be up to the psychiatrist to outline the best plan of attack to get them through this and out the other side the same men that left on the Kentucky road trip less than two weeks before.

The older man got up, patting Steve's knee as he crossed into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. He handed it to the young inspector then sat close by him on the sofa.

"These, ah, these nightmares you're having…? Are they, ah, from when that Scobie guy was standing over you with the rifle?"

The older man watched as Steve, holding the water glass in both hands and staring into the middle distance, nodded slowly. He put a hand on the young man's knee and squeezed in sympathy and understanding.

"Yeah, and, ah, and later," Steve said softly, "um, when they pulled Mike out of the pick-up and put him on the ground… I was so sure he was dead… he was dead and it was all my fault because I left him behind… he'd been shot and he was bleeding… and I left him behind…" Unnoticed tears began to slide slowly down his cheeks.

Olsen increased the pressure of his hand on Steve's knee and leaned closer. "He's not dead, Steve, you know that. He's not dead. He's all right. He's home recovering, just like you are. He doesn't blame you, Steve, and you know that. He doesn't blame you for anything, and the decision to stay behind was his, and you know that too. None of this is your fault, Steve. Everything that happened, happened to you, not because of you."

Steve was nodding slowly, still staring unfocused towards the floor. Gradually his head came up and his eyes met Olsen's and his brows knit. "Rudy, why do I have to go to see Mike? Why can't he come here?" He sat back slightly and his voice got stronger. "He's not all right, is he? Something's wrong. I'm right, aren't I?"

# # # # #

Murchison glanced at his watch again. It had been over three hours since he'd begun his vigil and Mike still showed no sign of waking up. The small knot in the pit of his stomach had begun to get a little bigger. With a final quick glance at the bed, he got up and left the room, jogging down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Taking quick stock of the percolator, familiar with this particular make and model, it didn't take him long to find the stash of filters and coffee and, after plugging it in, heading back up the stairs. He had just settled into the armchair again when Mike began to stir. From long experience, the psychiatrist knew it would take the older man several minutes to become aware enough of his surroundings to be able to talk. Not wanting to startle the gradually awakening man, he got up and moved away from the bed.

Eventually Mike's eyes opened slowly and he stared straight ahead, blinking heavily. After several long seconds, his head turned towards the bed table and as his eyes settled on its contents, they widened slightly as he froze.

"Are you looking for these?" Murchison's soft voice wafted across the room from the far corner, as he took a step towards the bed and held up the pill bottle.

Mike's eyes sluggishly refocused on the doctor, his face expressionless. "What are you doing here?" he asked thickly, still obviously in the grip of the Valium.

With a wry smile, Murchison crossed to the bed. "Your friends have been worried. They haven't heard from you in a couple of days. They asked me to check on you."

"You don't have a key."

"Ah ha, you're right, but Rudy does and he let me in."

Mike's eyes circled the room slowly. "Where is he?"

The doctor sat in the armchair but kept the pill bottle in his hand. "He's spending some time with Steve." He took a deep breath, deciding to jump into the deep end of the pool. "Seems he has some issues too." Mike's eyes narrowed but Murchison could see he was still having trouble focusing. Before the older man could say anything, he held up the Valium. "What the hell is this all about, Mike?"

"I'm in a lot of pain," he said flatly, still slurring his words.

"These aren't pain pills and you know it. What's going on?"

Mike stared at him, then leaned back and closed his eyes. "I'm all right; I don't need your help. Why don't you get out of here?"

With a sardonic chuckle, Murchison shook his head, leaned back in the armchair and crossed his legs. "Well, that's not going to happen, and we both know it. I'm here for the long haul, whether you like it or not." He waited, and when there was no reaction, he continued, "Mike, you do know eventually you're going to have to go through me to get back to work. Why don't you get a head start on all that right now?" He watched as Mike took a few deep breaths, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

He leaned forward and patted Mike's left forearm. "I've just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. I'll go get us a cup. Be right back." He got up and crossed to the door. Before exiting the room he looked back; Mike still had his eyes shut but tears were slowly coursing down his cheeks.

# # # # #

"Rudy, you didn't answer my question. Is Mike all right?"

The captain looked down, knowing he was caught out. Steve was obviously more mentally astute, despite the lack of sleep, than he'd thought. Making up his mind, he raised his head and looked the younger man straight in the eye. "No, he's not. He's taking this about as well as you are right now." The words stung, and he knew it, but he was getting tired of beating around the bush.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked softly after a few seconds of stunned silence, the fear rising like bile in the back of his throat.

Realizing he should have kept his mouth shut, Olsen leaned forward and hung his head, taking a deep breath.

"Rudy…?"

"He's, ah, he's not having nightmares, if that's what you're thinking. He's, well, he's avoiding his demons by trying to sleep through them… He's taking sleeping pills, a lot of them –"

"Overdosing?!"

"No. No no no," Olsen assured him quickly, "he's just taking enough so he sleeps all the time… That's what I meant… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I'm sorry." This was rapidly getting out of his control; he wished Murchison were here to step in. "He's just, ah… sleeping a lot," he finished lamely, wishing he hadn't broached the subject at all now.

Steve's focus turned inward and he took several deep breaths. "Does, um, does he want to see me?" he asked quietly.

Olsen looked up then shook his head. "I don't know. Lenny's with him. I'm gonna let him make the decision." He looked away, gathered himself, then snorted mirthlessly. "God damn it, Steve, if I'd know this was going to happen to the two of you, I'd've never sent you there, you have to know that."

There was so much desperation in his voice that Steve looked up and smiled almost consolingly. "You know this wasn't your fault. Are we gonna have to get Lenny to talk to you too?"

Olsen chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I know, but just let me, ah, you know, wallow for a bit. It actually makes me feel better."

Steve smiled, nodding. "Yeah, I understand." He sighed and inhaled raggedly, looking down. He looked so young and fragile and damaged that the older man's heart ached for him. Suddenly Olsen brightened and sat up a little straighter.

"Hey, I remember my daughter saying something once about some, oh, herbal tea or something… ah, what is it? Camel..? Caramel…?" He looked at Steve for help.

"Chamomile," came the quiet chuckle.

"That's it! Isn't it supposed to help you sleep or something like that?"

"That's the rumour."

Olsen waited for Steve to continue but when he didn't, prompted, "Well? Do you have some?"

Steve smiled enigmatically. "You mean, because I'm young and went to Berkeley and live in San Francisco…?"

"Yeah, all that stuff," Olsen laughed. "So, do you have some?"

Letting the older man wait while he pretended to think, enjoying the spontaneity of the moment, Steve let his smile grow a little wider. "Yeah, in the small cupboard over the counter on the left."

With an enthusiasm so reminiscent of Steve's partner, Olsen shot to his feet. "I'll find it. You just sit there and relax; try to fall asleep if you can. I'll be right back with the tea." He was already near the kitchen door. "You got a kettle, right?" he called over his shoulder as he disappeared. "Oh, there it is – found it!"

Steve's smile faded slowly. Would he ever share a moment like this with Mike again? Had their ordeal in Kentucky changed their relationship forever? Had it changed him forever? He held his right hand out; he knew he couldn't hide, or even stop, the shaking. The hole he was in right now seemed so deep he couldn't even begin to imagine how he was going to climb the slick, steep walls. And if he did, would Mike be there at the top to help him out?