Olsen was sitting on the sofa, doing his best not to fall asleep. His wife had warned him about napping while the oven was on and, like a dutiful husband, he was trying to heed the spousal advice. But it was getting more and more difficult.

Shaking his head vigorously, he glanced at his watch as he got stiffly to his feet. 11:54 pm. Good god! He had been at the Keller apartment over twelve hours now, and it was well past his bedtime. Since his promotion to captain, and more administration paper-pushing than actual detective work, his regular bedtime was now at a more reasonable hour. With a quiet chuckle, he wondered how Mike still managed the long days and sometimes nights, and with as much vigor as he always had.

He tiptoed up the stairs to the bedroom and looked in again, a ritual he was performing almost once an hour, it seemed. Steve had been asleep for almost eight peaceful hours now, for which the older man was profoundly grateful. The undisturbed rest was the best thing for the troubled young man, but Olsen wasn't looking forward to the anticipated conversation when he awoke. This was Lenny Murchison territory, he knew, but the police psychiatrist had his hands full, at the moment, with Steve's partner. There was no telling when he would be free and, until then, the distressed inspector was his concern.

Olsen was turning away from the open door when the rustle of material caught his ear and he stopped, looking back. Steve's legs were moving under the covers and as the older man watched, his eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling then let his eyes slide towards the door.

Olsen smiled as Steve's eyes widened. "Well, you seem to have had a good sleep. How do you feel?"

Blinking slowly and stretching slightly, Steve inhaled deeply. "Good, I feel good. Guess I needed that," he said languidly as Olsen nodded in agreement. "Oh god, what time is it?" he asked as he glanced at the curtains, noting the absence of sunlight around the edges.

Clearing his throat lightly, the captain said vaguely, "Ah, it's, ah, around midnight."

"Midnight?" came the startled response, and the older man nodded with raised eyebrows. "Oh, god, Rudy, what are you still doing here? You didn't have to stay." Steve started to push himself up, suddenly feeling guilty.

Stepping quickly into the room and shaking his head, Olsen said soothingly, "Relax, relax, I've been taking some catnaps, I'm fine. Besides, this brings me back to my days on the streets, so to speak, all those long days and nights that you and Mike seem to take in stride. About time I had one or two of those just to keep my hand in, so to speak, you know?" He sat on the chair beside the bed. "But seriously, how do you feel?"

Steve looked at him thoughtfully, appreciating the effort the captain was putting in, and the genuine concern he was showing. "A lot better, thank you. I really needed that."

"No nightmare?"

"No nightmare."

"Good." Olsen smiled, then looked down and swallowed nervously. "Listen, ah, I know I told you neither of us was gonna leave this room until we got to the bottom of what's giving you those nightmares and I think - "

"You never said that," Steve said quietly, interrupting.

"What?" Olsen asked, confused.

"You never said we wouldn't leave this room until we 'got to the bottom' of whatever was giving me nightmares."

Olsen's brow furrowed. "I didn't?"

Steve shook his head, eyebrows raised. "No, you didn't."

"Oh, well, I guess maybe I said that to myself… anyway, that aside," he said, waving a hand dismissively, trying to regroup, "I am gonna let us out of this room. I don't know about you but I'm starving. There's a little something staying hot in the oven downstairs. Hungry?"

With a gentle, slowly growing smile, Steve nodded. The captain was impressing him at every turn, it seemed. He had never seen this side of his boss and it was humbling and gratifying at the same time. "As a matter of fact, I am," he chuckled, knowing there was a hard road ahead but suddenly realizing that tonight at least he would not be walking it alone.

"Great," Olsen said with brisk nod, and he reached down to pick the crutches off the floor near the bureau. He put them closer to the bed. "Why don't you get yourself up, do what you have to do, and I'll go down and put our supper out." He had crossed to the door before he turned back, almost as an afterthought. "Oh, I hope you like roast chicken and potatoes. I had Marie bring some by." And with that he was gone, heading down the stairs.

With a chuckle, shaking his head, Steve got out of bed.

# # # # #

"Your wife is an amazing cook, Rudy, really. This is wonderful, and just what I needed. Thank you." Steve wiped his lips with a napkin and sat back, satiated.

Grinning, Olsen pushed his plate away. "I will definitely pass along your compliments. She's always been an amazing cook. So was her mother. I used to spend many a night at her parents place before we got married. Hmm, that may be the reason I always had to work out a little more than Mike did to stay in shape, I guess."

They chuckled companionably, but at the mention of his partner's name, Steve sobered quickly. He looked down and cleared his throat. "Have, ah, have you talked to Lenny in the last few hours?" he asked guardedly.

"Ah, no," Olsen said quickly, "no, I haven't. I know he took Mike out for a walk and dinner, but I haven't heard from him since."

Steve nodded slowly, still looking down. "I, ah, that's good news, right? He's got Mike up and out."

"I think that sounds like great news. Mike's gotta be doing better. So, ah, so now we have to get you back, right?"

Steve looked up at the older man but didn't say anything. "Rudy," he said finally, "you don't have to do this, you know, it's really not –"

"It's not my specialty, I know," the captain cut him off gently, "but I happen to kinda know what you went through, and as a former street cop, like you, I might know just a little better than Lenny what exactly you experienced back there." He shrugged. "So why don't we give this a try, Steve, and see where it gets us. And if we find out I can't help you the way Lenny could, then we wait for him. How does that sound?"

Steve nodded slowly with a slight, warm smile. It just might be easier talking to someone who knew firsthand the fears and uncertainties a cop lived with, and someone also familiar with the strong bond shared between partners.

Buoyed by the fact that the younger man didn't object, Olsen sat back. "In that case, why don't I pour us a couple of fresh cups of coffee, we retire to the more comfortable confines of your living room and, ah, we let, ah, well, you know…." He shrugged uncomfortably with a frown and dry chuckle as he stood and crossed to the counter.

# # # # #

Steve, still in his pajamas and bathrobe, his hands wrapped around the burgundy mug, was curled up in the armchair. Olsen had piled a couple of throw pillows against the end of the sofa and was stretched out, his cup on the coffee table. Neither had said anything for over a minute, both unsure of where to begin.

Olsen cleared his throat. "So, ah, that nightmare you've been having, Scobie just about to shoot you… um, what, specifically, other than the obvious, I mean, scares the crap out of you?"

Steve snorted, trying not to laugh at the captain's choice of words, and he covered with a look down and a clearing of his throat. "Um, well, I guess that's pretty… obvious, I guess. I really didn't know anybody was following us, I mean other than the Scobies with their dogs, and honest to god, I had time to look into his eyes as he started to point the rifle at me… Rudy, I really thought…" he snorted self-consciously. "I really thought it was the end, I really did. And I know he was shot before anything could happen, but I still see those dead eyes, looking at me like I wasn't a person, I wasn't a living being that he cared in the slightest about… I was just something that stood in his way and had to be taken out…" He looked up into the older man's sympathetic eyes. "I think that's what bothers me most about that moment… the fact that I meant absolutely nothing to him. Just something to be killed and tossed aside… I've never felt that before… it was…" he shook his head slowly, "it was like my life meant nothing…"

Olsen let a few silent seconds pass before he asked softly, "Do you remember what you were thinking about in those seconds?"

Steve's eyes drifted away and unfocused. He began to nod almost inadvertently.

"Yeah… Mike…"

Olsen started slightly then hoped that the younger man hadn't noticed. He realized that they had already jumped to the next level he had intended to take them to – the guilt that Steve still carried over the decision to leave his wounded partner behind.

"So, ah, so why did you think about Mike?" the older man asked hesitantly, not knowing what kind of answer he would receive but assuming it was the question that Murchison would ask at this point.

There was another mirthless snort then Steve said softly, "Because when I left him, shot and bleeding, under that tree, I promised I'd come back for him… and I wasn't going to be able to…" His voice petered out with a heavy sigh.

Even from his position on the couch, Olsen could see the tears well up in the younger man's eyes. Steve's left hand had found its way to his mouth and he rubbed his fingers absentmindedly across his lips, looking down. The older man gave him a few seconds to collect himself then said quietly, "He's okay, Steve. He's fine, remember?"

The inspector nodded, preoccupied, then took a deep breath before saying softly, "But I didn't know that then, Rudy. We'd heard those shots… before… the shots in the distance. Donny Lee had told me they weren't from where Mike was, and I wanted to believe him…. but I thought maybe he was just trying to… I don't know, spare me… " He stared into nothing, reliving those moments.

Olsen sat up slightly. "Rutter was dead by then, wasn't he?" he asked gently and watched as the younger man's eyes closed slowly and he nodded. "How did you feel about that?"

"Devastated…" Tears had begun to slide down his cheeks. "He didn't have a chance, they just cut him down, right in front of me… He'd helped me, he'd helped Mike, he put him someplace safe… We were responsible for him and we couldn't save him, we couldn't protect him… I couldn't protect Mike…" He inhaled raggedly. "We were all going to die and I couldn't protect any of us…"

Olsen got up quickly and leaned forward, putting a gentle hand on Steve's knee, hoping the touch would impart some small measure of comfort. He waited a few long moments before saying softly, "But you did protect Mike. You and Donny Lee, you hid him away where the Scobies couldn't find him. You saved him… And there was nothing that you, or Mike, could have done to save Rutter. Nothing you did contributed to his death. Nothing." He paused for a few seconds to let his words sink in. "You and Mike are still here, Steve, you're both still alive. And that's the best outcome all of us could have hoped for. Am I right?" When there was no immediate response, he asked again, "Am I right?"

Steve was looking down, the tears slowly dripping unnoticed from his chin. He nodded slowly.

"Trooper Caudill and Sheriff Nobel, they got there on time, didn't they? They saved you, didn't they?" There was another tentative nod. "And Mike, the Caudills found him; it wasn't the Scobies, was it?" One more nod. "It's over, Steve, okay? That part of your nightmare, you can put it to rest. You survived, Mike survived. You have to acknowledge and believe that. Or you're never going to get past this. Trust me."

Olsen held his breath. He had seen other officers collapse under the weight of a guilt that was unearned and undeserved.

Eventually there was another nod and the older man closed his eyes briefly in relief. He patted the younger man's knee and sat back slightly. They had a ways to go yet, but he felt confident that they were on the right track, and he was heartened that maybe, just maybe, he was doing more good than harm here.

"So, ah, you said earlier that you were having trouble dealing with, ah, with…" he cleared his throat and looked away, taking a deep breath, "when you went to exchange the Caudill boys for Mike." He looked up, waiting for Steve to meet his stare.

It took awhile, but eventually the bright green eyes met his; the pain they reflected was heartbreaking. "He was dead, Rudy… I was sure of it… He was dead and it was all my fault…"