Murchison lingered getting the two cups of coffee, giving Mike more time to pull himself together. Tray in hand, he entered the bedroom with his head down, clearing his throat. "I'm not sure how you like your coffee so I brought some milk and sugar," he said conversationally as he put the tray on the armchair, then turned to the bed.
Mike's eyes were open but he was staring straight ahead. There were no traces of the tears that had been streaming down his cheeks when Murchison had left the room earlier.
"So," the psychiatrist continued in the friendly tone, "how would you like your coffee? Black? A little milk? A little sugar?" He had picked up one of the mugs and now stood patiently beside the bed. When Mike didn't respond, he said again, "You want it black?"
Mike's head inclined a little as he blinked and turned slightly. "A little milk," he said softly, and Murchison swallowed his relieved smile, quickly biting his lips before turning to the tray.
"A little milk it is," he said as he poured, knowing that the floodgates had opened a crack. Now he had to carefully find a way to open them all the way. When he turned back to the bed, Mike had his left hand up. "Here, are you okay handling that?" he asked as he put the cup in the older man's hand. Mike nodded then lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip. Murchison watched, smiling softly, then returned to the tray and fixed his own cup. He put the tray on the floor before he sat.
Taking a sip, he grinned, "Say, that's pretty good, if I do say so myself." He looked at Mike, but the lieutenant still hadn't looked his way. As the silence stretched out between them, a plan began to take shape. When his cup was half empty, he sat forward and put it on the bed table with a noticeable thump.
"So, I think you've gotten enough sleep for awhile, and you must be hungry. I have an idea. Let's get you dressed and I'll take you out for something to eat and we can go for a walk."
Mike shook his head. "I don't feel up to it, Lenny." His voice was low and flat.
"Nonsense. I talked to your doctor and he said you're just fine. You're going to be in some pain for a bit still, because that's just the nature of a broken collarbone. But he's all for you getting out and starting to get some exercise. As a matter of fact, he recommended it." He stood. "So, let's get you up, and while you do whatever it is you have to do to get yourself ready, I'll go downstairs and call the office – my office – and tell them I'm tied up for the rest of the day. How does that sound?"
When Mike still didn't react, Murchison sighed heavily. "Look, Mike, I'm not going to pressure you. You don't have to talk to me… Let's just go out for a bit, get something to eat and some fresh air. We can talk about, oh, the Giants, or how well you think the Niners are going to do this year… the weather… you know, anything you want…"
Mike had finally turned to face the overly enthusiastic psychiatrist. From past experience, he knew Murchison wouldn't take 'No' for an answer. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, he knew he needed to get out of bed. He was embarrassed and ashamed of what he had been doing since his return, but the depth of his fear and guilt had been too overwhelming. And, circumstances being what they were, he had been denied the opportunity to ruminate on what he had gone through with the one person who could fully understand what he was experiencing.
But he also knew he couldn't confront Steve in the state he was in; he knew his partner was suffering as much, if not more. At this precise moment in their lives and relationship, it would only do more harm than good, he realized, if they were face to face. He had to pull himself together, overcome his own doubts and fears then hopefully be able to help Steve do the same.
He stared at Murchison without expression, then nodded slowly. "I am a little hungry," he agreed quietly, concealing a smile when he saw the psychiatrist almost collapse with relief. "But don't you have to go home at some point?"
He was rewarded with a wide, relieved smile. "Oh, my wife is kinda used to my, uh, unusual schedule. I do believe she thinks she's married to a cop sometimes, with the hours I keep." He looked at Mike gratefully. "Don't you worry about me." His eyebrows rose. "So, you up for a walk and something to eat?"
With a slight, gentle sigh, Mike nodded. "All right."
"Great, great," Murchison said, taking a step closer to the bed and helping to pull the covers down. He took the mug from Mike's hand and put it on the table. "So, ah, what can I do to help you sit up? Your doctor said standing up and sitting down are when it hurts the most, right?"
Nodding grimly, Mike swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Just let me grab your arm and I can pull myself up." Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut against pain, Mike got to his feet, swayed slightly then caught his balance and released his grip on the doctor's forearm. He nodded with a slight smile. "Thanks, I can take it from here," he said, breathing in short gasps trying to control the discomfort.
"Are you still taking pain pills?"
"Yeah, they're in my shirt pocket." He nodded to the clothes thrown haphazardly over the foot of the bed. Murchison rifled through the shirt and slipped the bottle out of the pocket.
"How many?"
"Two."
Putting two pills on the bed table and keeping the bottle, Murchison nodded. "Well, take your time, I'll be waiting for you downstairs." When he got to the door, he glanced back at Mike, who was picking up the pills and his coffee cup, and smiled. Nodding but not saying anything, he closed the door behind himself as he started down the stairs.
# # # # #
Olsen started awake, cleared his throat and looked around the dark room in confusion. Then it all flooded back. He was lying on the couch in Steve Keller's living room. The bright afternoon sunshine was seeping around the edges of the dark curtains, reminding him that it was only just late afternoon, though for some reason it felt like the middle of the night.
He froze, listening for a sound, but other than the normal hum of household appliances, there was, mercifully, nothing.
Roy Devitt had dropped off the package of Valium tablets while he and Steve had been enjoying a steaming mug of chamomile tea. It was the first time the older man had indulged in the 'hippie brew', and he was honestly quite surprised. It wasn't as foul as he had assumed it would be; though he wouldn't admit it, he actually found it quite soothing.
With only a modicum of resistance, he had managed to cajole the younger man into taking one of the sedatives, with the caveat that if he continued to have the disturbing dreams, the sleeping pills would be discontinued. That was four hours ago, Olsen smiled as he looked at his watch. So far, so good.
Getting up slowly and quietly, a little stiff from lying on the living room sofa for so long, he tiptoed up the stairs and looked through the open door of the master bedroom. He could see the outline of the young man in the bed and hear the reassuring measured cadence of his deep, restful breaths.
With a grateful sigh, Olsen turned and slowly crept back down the stairs. He crossed into the kitchen and took the receiver off the wall phone, trying to dial quietly. He stepped deeper into the kitchen, trying to get as far away from the upstairs bedroom as possible.
"Marie," he whispered loudly when the phone was answered, "darling, I need you to do me a big favour."
# # # # #
Despite the brilliant sunshine, a brisk wind was whipping in off the Bay. Tourists riding the Powell Street cable car could be seen turning up their collars and retreating inside the car to get away from the biting chill.
Mike had his left hand and the cuff of his empty right sleeve in his windbreaker pockets, head down, looking at the sidewalk, slumping as much as he could with the thick bandage holding his shoulders back. His eyes were shaded by the brim of the fedora.
Murchison, behind dark glasses, was trying to make eye contact with everyone they passed. He didn't get out as often as he liked and was reveling in this unusual opportunity. "What a gorgeous day," he sighed, glancing at his companion for confirmation that wasn't forthcoming. "It feels good to be outside, doesn't it?"
They had shared a quiet meal of lasagna and garlic bread in a small bistro on Maiden Lane, and were now walking slowly around Union Square, bustling with tourists and natives on their way home after work.
Murchison looked obliquely at the quiet man beside him. "So, ah, why don't you start by telling me what happened in Kentucky? You don't have to get into specifics; just, you know, give me an idea of what you and Steve went through, how does that sound?"
Mike kept walking, seemingly oblivious to the doctor's proposal. Murchison cocked his head and snorted. They walked on in silence.
"Not here," Mike said suddenly, still looking down, and the other man hesitated slightly, a hitch in his stride.
"Okay," he said slowly, carefully, "so… where?"
"Let's go back to my place."
Nodding, a slight smile curling his lips, Murchison said calmly, "Great."
They both turned in the direction of the car.
# # # # #
Olsen kissed his wife then stood back with a wide smile. "You're a life-saver, my dear, you really are."
She smiled back. "Well, I just hope he eats something. From what you said, it sounds like he's in a miserable place. I feel so sorry for him."
"So do I," Olsen admitted.
"Do you think it's wise to keep him away from Mike right now? It certainly sounds like they need each other, doesn't it?"
"Well, that's what I thought too, but I talked to Lenny just awhile ago - he's with Mike, like I said – and it's his professional opinion that they should both confront what's bothering them and get some kind of… control over it before they have to deal with each other. And I can kinda see his point."
Marie Olsen put her hand on her husband's chest. "They both sound like they're in so much pain."
"They are. Believe me, they are. And I feel responsible for that, I really do."
"Oh, Rudy," she sighed sadly, reaching up to pull him forward for another kiss, "if they don't blame you, and I'm sure they don't, then please don't blame yourself. Just be there for them. Help them like you're doing. You're a good man, and I love you very much. Remember that, okay?" She finished with a chuckle and another kiss.
He sighed heavily. "I will. I love you too. Well, I better get up there and see how my patient is doing. Thanks again, darling. Drive safe. And, ah," he shook his head with another sigh, "I have no idea when I'm gonna get home."
"Don't worry about it. Just take care of our boys, okay?" she said with one final kiss as she stepped out onto the stoop in the fading daylight.
As he closed the door behind his wife, Olsen turned and looked up the stairs. The enticing aroma of roast chicken and potatoes, staying warm in the oven, filled the air and he smiled to himself. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and resumed his vigil beside the bed of the still peacefully sleeping young man.
It was going to be a long night, he realized. He knew at his core that he couldn't let them leave the room until the demons had begun to be put to rest, no matter how long that took. There was more than one heart and soul at stake here, and two remarkable men to put back together.