Many thanks to all those who continue to read, and those who continue to review. Everyone is appreciated. This story has gone on a little longer than intended - I hope I am keeping everyone interested. Not much longer to go, so thanks for hanging in there!

Following the recipe meticulously, Steve managed to make a vinaigrette that was mouth-wateringly delicious, if he did say so himself. And he did, a number of times. Putting a layer of Saran Wrap over the bowl, he set it aside and went back to the recipe to figure out what to do next.

Mike was busy making the dessert, which Steve had quickly discerned to be a crème caramel. He'd had a roommate back in his Berkeley days who'd loved to bake, and had been present a few times when he'd whipped up this delicious confection. It was one of his favourite desserts and he was thrilled that it was on the menu today.

Their conversation had been light but sparse while they both worked away. Mike was still having a hard time shaking the feeling that he was starting to lose what little control he had gained over the feelings of inadequacy and anxiety that had plagued him since their plane had landed at SFO. Deep down, he knew he was being irrational, but he had no control over the emotions that kept surfacing no matter how hard he tried to keep them at bay.

In all his years on the force, and the years he had spent in the Marines during the war, he had never experienced anything even remotely as unnerving as what they had been through in the Kentucky backwoods. And he also realized he was not alone, that his young partner had experienced as much, if not more, than he had, and they needed to be strong for each other, to help one another get through this.

He was stirring the sugar and water in a large heavy saucepan. It was rather awkward using his non-dominant hand, but using the right put too much pressure on his collarbone. He was staring down at the mixture when he felt a sudden weakness in his legs. He raised his right hand and stared at it; it was shaking. His heart began to pound and he felt hot; beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

Trying to keep stirring, he glanced over at his partner, who was busy peeling the small potatoes. Reluctantly, he removed the spoon from the pot and laid it on the counter, snapping off the burner as he reached for the edge of the counter, trying to stay on his feet as he began to breathe rapidly and shallowly through his mouth. Pain shot through his chest and he gasped.

Steve looked up quickly, eyes widening in fear as Mike, his frightened eyes staring at nothing, swayed suddenly and started to buckle. Throwing the paring knife on the counter, Steve took one big step towards his partner and grabbed his arms as the bigger man folded up and dropped heavily to the linoleum floor. Mike's right hand shot to his chest and grabbed his shirt over his heart, gasping for breath.

"Mike, Mike!" Steve yelled, staring at the unresponsive man, kneeling before him with both hands on his upper arms. "What is it?... Mike… Mike… What's going on? Is it your heart?"

His chest heaving, straining to get air into his lungs, Mike's unfocused gaze finally coalesced onto his frantic partner's face. His left hand moved slowly towards Steve's head as it touched his cheek then slowly moved to the back of the younger man's neck and gripped him in that loving gesture that Steve had come to know so well.

And Steve knew.

He smiled slowly, his heart breaking, as he stared into the terrified blue eyes. "It's okay, Mike, I'm here. It's okay… it's all over, for both of us…" He could feel the tears that had filled his own eyes start to slide slowly down his cheeks. "It's over, Mike. It's over… it's over…" He kept his hands on the older man's arms, not trusting himself, knowing that he too had to let out all the pent-up fear and rage that continued to darken his soul.

Closing his eyes, he saw once again his partner's lifeless body lying on the road, felt the overwhelming grief and despair that had coursed through him in those long, agonizing seconds of limbo before Sheriff Noble had grabbed him and told him that Mike was alive.

He opened his eyes. He stared at his best friend's tear-streaked face, at the blue eyes beginning to lose their fear and agitation, hearing the gasps slowly lengthen into deeper breaths, feeling the taut muscles relax. He felt the hot tears dropping from his chin onto his lap.

Smiling encouragingly, he slowly released Mike's arms and sat back on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his upraised knees and dropped his head, his body shaking, letting the tears flow unabated.

Eventually he felt a hand on his knee and looked up. Mike, his own tears continuing to course slowly down his cheeks, had leaned forward slightly, his eyes softer now, having lost most of the apprehension and dread that had clouded them before. Receiving a reassuring smile from his young partner, Mike leaned against the counter and tilted his head back, his right hand now in his lap. He removed his left hand from Steve's knee and rested it lightly atop his right shoulder.

They sat that way for several minutes, each man needing the release, knowing that by giving in to the emotions they couldn't continue to suppress, they were opening the door through which they both needed to pass to return to the lives they once had.

Mike lowered his eyes and stared at the younger man's downturned head. As if sensing the stare, Steve looked up. Mike managed a slight smile. "You okay?"

A tentative but warm grin, accompanied by a gentle nod, was his reward.

"Yeah. You?"

Mike nodded, closing his eyes briefly. They sat quietly for another couple of minutes, almost reluctant to disturb the somewhat awkward serenity that enveloped them at the moment, despite the incongruousness of the setting.

Taking a long deep breath, Mike pushed himself away from the cabinet. He met Steve's frowning eyes with a self-conscious smile and a slight shake of his head. "I, ah, I think we have a meal still to cook…" he said softly, a lightness in his tone that he hoped would act as an apology.

"Yes, we do," Steve agreed with a grin and wide eyes, rubbing his palms over his wet cheeks quickly as he started to get up. On his feet, he reached down, grabbed Mike's left forearm and carefully helped the older man to his feet.

Letting out the held breath as he caught his balance, Mike was about to turn back to the counter when he stopped and stared at the younger man. He reached out quickly with his left hand, planted it on the back of Steve's neck then pulled him forward against his chest. Steve's arms automatically encircled the older man's chest and he tightened his grip, his head against Mike's.

They could feel each other's heart beating as they both closed their eyes. With a final clinch, Steve released his hold and took a step back, as Mike's hand slid from his neck and lingered briefly on his back.

With a quick self-conscious clearing of his throat, Steve, eyes down, moved towards his end of the counter and picked up the paring knife. He looked at the knife, then put it back down and took a step towards the sink. With Mike watching with a baffled smile, Steve picked up the soap and washed his hands. Chuckling, Mike stepped to the stove and turned the burner back on.

They worked again in silence for several minutes, Mike expertly boiling and blending the sugar and water to make the caramel. Steve glanced over from time to time during his persnickety task of peeling the tiny potatoes, impressed.

The caramel now set aside, as Mike dumped the sugar, vanilla and eggs into a mixing bowl, Steve cleared his throat. "Um, you know, we're gonna have to come up with an explanation for all this," he said cautiously.

"An explanation for what?" Mike asked as he rooted around in a drawer for a whisk, briefly anxious he wasn't going to be able to find one then relieved when he did.

Steve pointed vaguely towards the older man's shoulders with the paring knife. "Your brace and my cane. Didn't you say Jeannie's coming home in two weeks?"

Mike stopped moving. "Oh crap," he exhaled loudly, slumping as much as he could, "I forgot about that." He glanced at his companion. "You have any ideas?"

"Well…" Steve sighed, "we can't tell her what really happened, right?"

"Right."

"So, we have to come up with something? I'm thinking… I don't know, car accident, maybe? We would tell her about it this week, assure her nothing is really bad – you know, you broke your collarbone, I tore the muscles in my leg – that sort of thing. So she knows about it but doesn't need to be here, and by the time she does get here, we'll be almost back to a hundred percent?..." He paused. "What do you think?"

Beginning to whisk the ingredients in the bowl, Mike nodded with a facial shrug. "Sounds pretty good, buddy boy. I do have one question, though."

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

Mike looked up. "Who was driving?"

Steve froze. "What?"

"When we had this… 'accident', who was driving?" Mike's eyebrows were raised and he wasn't smiling.

Steve looked away. "Ah… hmmm… good question. Um, well…. ah… " Mike continued to stare. "I guess, ah, well, I guess I was driving… and we were, I don't know… hit at an intersection making a turn...?"

"So it was your fault – making an unsafe left turn?"

"Uh, no… no, wait a minute. Um, let me rethink this…" Steve looked back at the potatoes and frowned. He didn't see the warm, mischievous smile that played over his partner's lips.

Mike had picked the bowl up and was holding it with his left hand. He found if he held the bowl low and kept his right upper arm plastered against his chest, he could stir with his right hand and forearm without much pain. It was certainly easier than trying to get any kind of rhythm going with his left hand. He continued to watch as his partner struggled to come up with an acceptable explanation for their imaginary car accident, one that wouldn't make either of them look like a bad driver.

"We got rear-ended by a drunk driver?" came the hopeful suggestion.

Mike glanced up from the bowl. "Keep thinking," he ordered with a curt nod.

Nodding to himself, smiling ruefully and almost apologetically, Steve continued peeling the potatoes.

Mike swallowed a smile as he looked back at the bowl. He took a deep breath. The black cloud that had started to disburse mere minutes ago was threatening to return. As cathartic as his brief breakdown had been, he thought it might take more than just one such outburst until this was all behind them.

But right now, he hoped, they could finish preparing their meal without further interruption then, maybe later tonight, in the quiet of the evening, they could begin to lay their demons to rest, once and for all.