Mike didn't move. His partner's green eyes continued to drill defiantly into his own, as if daring him to say something. Eventually he closed his eyes and dropped his head as far as he could. He could feel the tears filling his eyes behind the lids and he prayed they wouldn't fall.
With a resigned sigh, his own eyes brightening, Steve 's rigid posture relaxed and he bit his bottom lip, continuing to stare at the older man. "That's what I see," he said quietly, "every time I close my eyes… They're dragging you from the truck… and you're not moving… and I can't see you breathe… and I know you're dead…"
Mike's heart was pounding, in his chest and in his ears. This was news to him; this he hadn't heard before, and he was overwhelmed. He opened his mouth to breathe, to gasp for air, his throat constricting. He couldn't swallow. Pulling himself together, knowing his young partner was watching him closely, he took a deep breath, opened his eyes and looked up. "I didn't know…" he sighed.
Steve, who had leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, smiled warmly, then reached out and laid his right hand on Mike's knee. "I know," he said gently, "I know." He patted his partner's leg. "That's why I'm having so much trouble with all this, Mike… all I knew was – you'd died in those woods, when I left you behind… and they were giving us your body back…" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"You didn't leave me behind, Steve… that was my decision, not yours… you know that." There was a desperation in the older man's voice that was disquieting.
Steve cocked his head. "I could've refused to go, you know. Direct order or not, I could've refused…" There was no sting in the words.
Mike managed a small smile. "You're too good a cop… and too good a friend…" He paused, and the smile got a little wider. "I'm glad you didn't… I was proud of you for that, still am…" He looked down and the smile disappeared. "That was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do… watch you walk away… I, ah, I had the feeling that I wasn't going to see you again, that one of us wasn't going to make it…" He closed his eyes and tears beaded the lashes. "I hoped it was me."
Overcome, Steve leaned forward even more and increased the pressure of his hand on Mike's leg. Words wouldn't come.
"When the dogs went right past me, and then I heard those shots… those two damn shots…" Mike paused, his eyes still closed, and took a deep breath. His left hand covered Steve's and he squeezed. "It was all over for me then…" He was breathing noisily through his mouth, his entire body shaking.
Steve's fingers dug into his partner's leg as he strained to get his own trembling under control. He stared at Mike's downturned face, trying to stop his own tears from falling.
Eventually the older man's breaths lengthened and taut muscles relaxed. The grip on his partner's hand eased. Steve pulled his hand away, reached up and placed it on the back of Mike's neck, squeezing gently.
"I thought they killed you… those two shots…" He cleared his throat, which had tightened as he strained to hold back the tears. "Donny Lee said it wasn't… but I couldn't believe him… I wanted to, but I couldn't… All I could see was you smiling at me as I walked away… and I knew I wasn't going to see you alive again…." He increased the pressure on Mike's neck, being careful of the brace and the fracture.
"When they pulled you out of the truck, I knew… I knew I'd been right… you were gone, and it was my fault…" He took a deep unsteady breath, took his hand away from Mike's neck and sat back, looking away. Very slowly the tears he had been fighting began to slide down his cheeks.
A very tense, very raw silence lengthened. Mike closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his mouth as he tried to calm his pounding heart. Steve let his tears run their course, letting them dry, untouched, on his cheeks.
Mike opened his eyes; he could feel his partner's stare, and looked into the warmly affectionate green eyes. The younger man smiled slightly. "Never in my life have I been happier to be wrong."
Sniffing, with a short chuckle, Mike looked down. He tilted his head. "Me too."
His smile slowly building, Steve reached towards the end table, picked up a box of Kleenex and tossed it onto the coffee table with a low laugh. He pulled a couple of tissues out, leaned back and blew his nose.
Coughing self-consciously, Mike leaned forward carefully and grabbed a couple of tissues as well.
"You know," Steve said as he wadded up the used tissue and got to his feet, "this'd be a great time for a beer if we both weren't still on antibiotics."
Mike laughed, rubbing his left hand over his eyes. "I have three days to go, how about you?"
"Tomorrow." He picked up Mike's now cold cup of coffee. "Here, I'll refresh these," he said, grabbing his own as well.
As best he could, Mike slumped against the couch and closed his eyes again. He was suddenly very drained, mentally and physically. His shoulder was throbbing more than ever. He had to look for his jacket, he thought; he needed to get his pain pills from the pocket.
Steve leaned against the counter and closed his eyes. He was tired, very tired, but the ache in his soul he'd been living with for the past several days was beginning to recede. As much as he had been dreading this day, he was glad it was here and that they were navigating their tentative ways through their respective hells.
He poured the cold coffee into the sink and reached for the carafe on the warming plate. His hand was shaking and he stared at it for several long seconds. He turned to look towards the living room. His heart was still pounding, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache.
Making up his mind, he picked up the carafe and poured the coffee. When he limped back into the living room a minute later with the two fresh cups, Mike was still lying back on the sofa, his eyes closed, his breaths deep and regular.
Hearing the sound of a cup lighting hitting the table, Mike opened his eyes and leaned forward slightly. He cleared his throat. "Oh, ah, thanks, buddy boy." Trying not to wince, he reached for the cup, picked it up and took a sip. He smiled. "Thanks. I really need this."
Steve had sat back down in the armchair, cradling his cup in both hands, taking comfort in the warmth. "You're welcome. Hey, look, ah, I don't know about you but… well, I'm, ah, I'm pretty bagged right now and I wouldn't mind hitting the sack pretty soon. You're staying over, right?"
He knew there had been no discussion of Mike's staying the night up to this point, and he was pretty sure the older man had plans to go home. But suddenly he didn't want to let his partner out of his sight. He knew it was a product of their journey that day, but he was pretty sure Mike felt the same way. He had taken it upon himself to broach the subject first.
Mike shook his head. "I hadn't planned to. I'll call a cab, don't worry about it."
"No, Mike," Steve began quickly then caught himself. The older man looked up at him and he froze. With a self-conscious shake of his head, he sighed, "Look, um, I'd really like it if you could stay…"
Mike could read between the lines, and he smiled fondly, dropping his gaze. "I wish I could, Steve, I do… but I have to sleep sitting up. It's the only way I can get comfortable. Rudy got me this wedge… thing… that I have on my bed now so I can sleep sitting up…"
"You could sleep on this?" Steve said, gesturing at the chair he was sitting in. "I know you've done it before." There was a warmth in the words that Mike couldn't resist. Truth be told, he didn't want to go home to an empty house either, and he needed his partner's company now more than he would ever admit.
Mike nodded once. "All right, you talked me into it."
Steve laughed. "Good, 'cause you weren't gonna win this one. You'd've had to walk out that door dragging me behind you."
Mike's smile wavered. "Could you do me a favor and get the pain pills out of my jacket pocket?"
His brow furrowing as he got up, Steve crossed to the banister knob where Mike's jacket was hanging and slipped the plastic pill bottle out of the left pocket. "How many?" he asked as he limped back to the couch, popping the top off the bottle as he did so.
"Two," Mike said quietly, his eyes closed again and his left hand on his right shoulder.
"Here, hold your hand out."
Mike raised his right hand and Steve tapped two of the white tablets onto his palm. Mike opened his eyes, picked up his cup and swallowed the pills, then put his head back against the sofa again and closed his eyes.
Steve stood over him, brow furrowed. "You okay?"
Mike nodded. "Just sore." He opened his eyes. "How's your leg doing?"
The younger man smiled, his eyes brightening; Mike always diverted the attention from himself. "I'm doing fine. Probably won't be hopping around on it tomorrow as much as today… but it's good. Don't worry about me."
"I'll always worry about you," Mike said under his breath with a low chuckle as he closed his eyes again. "I'll just sit here for a few minutes until those pills kick in, okay?"
"Works for me. I'll just get some sheets and pillows ready for later on. Be right back." With an affectionate backward glance at his lightly smiling partner, Steve carefully made his way up the stairs to the linen closet.
When Mike heard the heavy thud on the coffee table, he opened his eyes. There were four pillows and a couple of sheets in a small pile before him. As he watched, Steve picked up a sheet, snapped it open and began to lay it on the far end of the couch. "I told you, I can't –"
"This isn't for you," Steve cut him off, smoothing out the sheet. "I'm sleeping down here… to keep you company…" He looked at the older man, then gestured at him with a raised thumb. "Up – I gotta make my bed."
Swallowing a self-conscious smile, Mike leaned forward carefully and got slowly to his feet, trying not to groan. He was moderately successful. He crossed to the stairs. "You really have to get a bathroom down here, you know," he grumbled good-naturedly as he gingerly climbed the stairs, his fatigue now very obvious.
"Tell me about it," Steve mumbled under his breath as he put two pillows on the end of the sofa closest to the armchair. He pushed the coffee table out of the way and maneuvered the chair closer to the couch so it was within easier reach.
By the time Mike made it back downstairs, both 'beds' were ready. A sheet was spread over the armchair, another draped over an arm. There was a large rolled up towel on the coffee table.
"Have a seat," Steve instructed, gesturing at the armchair.
Mike sat carefully and leaned back. He looked towards the coffee table. "What's that?"
"Remember that hint they gave us in Kentucky, about using a rolled up towel to help keep your back arched? I figure it could help tonight. Let's try it."
Mike leaned forward slightly and Steve slipped the towel behind his back, lined up with his spine. When he leaned back, a relieved smile lit his face. "That feels great, thanks."
Steve grinned. "You're welcome. Glad it helps. So, you okay?"
Mike nodded, closing his eyes.
"Pills kicking in?"
Another nod, another smile.
"Good. I'll be right back."
Mike listened as Steve climbed the stairs, returning a few minutes later. He heard lights being turned off, then the younger man lie down on the couch and get comfortable. After the long and taxing day, he couldn't find the words to describe how it felt to be where they were right now – laying their demons to rest, back in each others company, getting healthier both in body and mind.
The silence of the room was a soothing balm and he soaked it in.
Suddenly there was a light touch on his left leg, and he felt Steve's warm and gentle hand on his knee. Under the sheet, he snaked his left hand down and slid it lightly on top of his partners. Their fingers interlocked and he squeezed. With a loving smile, he relaxed back into the armchair. For the first time in days, untroubled sleep came to them both very quickly.