Entering the confines of the bullpen the next morning felt oddly different. Without Mike by his side, Steve had spent the elevator ride up to the 4th floor of the Hall of Justice building in self-bestowed solitude, pondering on what the week would bring.
By the time he entered the busy office, the strange feeling had returned; stronger this time.
Mike…it was almost as though the lack of a certain bull-headed lieutenant was changing the atmosphere inside the large room, turning it from a well-oiled machine that was operated by the wit and foresightfulness of a seasoned, warm-hearted detective into nothing but a sterile lab.
Subdued conversations and hurried nods overshadowed what he'd come to experience and enjoy- and thoroughly missed now.
Surely, the vicious attack had been a sour reminder that the streets weren't getting any safer, that public hesitation to lay a hand on law enforcement was decreasing at a frightening pace.
But they did survive.
Now all that was left to do was to finalize his report on the incident, go through the motions of showing up at the court hearing and then put the incident behind him. At least that's what Steve kept telling himself as he circled the room before reaching his desk, then slowly draped his beige overcoat across the chair, his eyes moving over to his inbox that had barely seen any activity since his involuntary time-out.
A small card sat next to his pencil holder, carrying his name and with it, quite possibly the sympathy of the department the young inspector had grown so fond of over the past few years.
He'd open it later; once he had had a chance to review everything that would await him on a day without his partner by his side.
Exhaling slowly, he looked over toward Mike's office, the empty chair a solemn token of the bird that was missing a wing. Or so he felt right about now.
Deciding to start diving into his work, Steve ran a hand across his chest, feeling the soft fibers of his wool turtleneck warm his palm. It would be an okay day, he reminded himself, just getting some office work done while he patiently waited for his best friend to recover and once again join him in the war against evil.
Hanging low would give them both time to recover and move on from what happened. After all, the overbearing angst and terror were still as palpable as though it had happened yesterday, slowing his critical thinking to the speed of cold molasses.
All the blood, the pain…the sheer hatred in all of this still disturbed him greatly.
Yes, the teenagers responsible were caught and would be brought to justice. Yes, Mike and he were going to be alright by some insane amount of luck. But what about the senselessness? Purely evil actions without a cause? The fact that the best detective San Francisco had ever seen nearly died at their hands?
Steve came back to when he heard somebody behind him clear his throat.
Startled, it took him a few moments to realize that he'd been tapping his pencil against the edge of his desk in nervous agitation, doing so loud enough to alert the rest of the detectives in the bullpen.
Turning around with an apologetic smile, he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on the here and now, even when his mind threatened to wander. His energy was needed in the present, where it was his job to keep the citizens safe and lock up those who dared to challenge society.
His best laid plans almost came to fruition too. At least until 11am, when his phone rang, the caller on the other end advising him of a body found behind a well-known bar.