Merry Christmas everyone. I hope you will get to enjoy time with your loved ones. Thanks for all the support.
"Still in the old house, eh?"
Mike could hear the melancholy resonate in Bobbie's voice as the tall ex-cop stepped through the door with two suitcases in hand; one of his own, and one containing Mike's belongings during his time in the hospital.
And being home was exactly what his weary body had needed.
After the arduous task of walking up the few stairs, his muscles had grown weak, the strain from too much exertion robbing him of the energy he was so accustomed to. Breathing heavy, Bobbie had helped him sit down in the nearby rocking chair, where he remained seated as his friend grabbed their luggage.
The skull-splitting headache numbed the rest of his injuries but couldn't ward off the fatigue that was draining him physically, and mentally.
"Somehow I feel like I am eighty…", Mike gasped as he watched Bobbie close the door, take off his shoes and head to the kitchen to make an overdue pot of coffee.
In an effort to distract himself from the pain, he grabbed the armrest if the chair tightly, so tightly that he felt his fingernails digging into the fabric until they reached the wood below.
"Well, if you don't slow down, you are going to keep feeling that way until you retire.", the other man scorned amicably as he poured water into the percolator and turned on the stove.
"Retire? As if I plan on doing anything like that soon. And how could I? look at this city. It's overran…by hoods."
He hadn't been able to stop the outburst from escaping, his mind still struggling with focusing on any sort of conversation, much less the depth they were reaching now. Trying to redirect the energy, Mike licked his lips nervously, then shrugged when Bobbie only stared at him insecurely.
"It was just this case…", he justified and looked down at his battered hand, sighing heavily at the damage that was taking a lot longer to heal than usual, his current tension making matters worse by not allowing him to relax. But how could he? A young woman was dead, and he was here holding onto his sanity by the threads of his comfy chair, literally and figuratively.
"Is it? Or is that one of those excuses I keep hearing people say to deflect the obvious…"
Bobbie smiled as he returned to the living room, almost having to duck the doorway. Beneath his squared shoulders, Mike could see the same level of tension, his back hunched over as if the weight of the world had broken his spine.
"But how about you?", the lieutenant redirected skillfully, waiting for his friend to sit down on the couch in front of him, noticing the return of the warm, careless smile that looked to be a lot more forced these days, "About that…that career change. What are you going to do next?"
There was an uncomfortable pause as Bobbie rubbed his hands together, buying himself some time before glancing back up, his brown eyes somewhat distant.
"I have a couple leads that I plan on following up on. Each one could be lucrative. But it's going to be a few more days before I hear back."
Mike wasn't sure why the simple question had warranted the strange behavior but eventually he shrugged it off as stress from being in such an uncertain situation.
With a warm nod, he gestured toward the guest room.
"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you, Bobbie. In the meantime, feel free to stay here as long as you need."