Author's Notes: Warning for some angst. I am grateful to my betas, nos4a2no9 and keerawa, for their insightful comments and suggestions.

The Inuvik Centennial Library was wrapped in afternoon quiet. Fraser could hear only two middle-aged women, talking in the hushed tones that libraries seemed to inspire in most visitors. Or perhaps, he thought as he inadvertently overheard snatches of what they said, it was in their particular case due to the nature of their conversation, which seemed to concern the latest gossip in town. The only other sound was the soft clatter of the keyboard as Fraser cataloged the latest books acquired by the library. It was routine work, but it was, at least, not required to be done in triplicate.

Sometimes, shelving books in some corner of the library, he felt (or imagined) the ghost of his grandmother looking over his shoulder. He imagined that she would not be displeased with how his life had led him back here, to perform the same service to the community that she and George had made their lives' work. Their traveling library had been integrated into the main library in Inuvik when they retired, and Fraser had found their old card system in the file cabinets standing in the back room. It was still meticulously in order, and reading the entries in Martha's bold handwriting and George's even, slanting one gave him an oddly satisfying sense of continuity.

Fraser hadn't seen his father's ghost since the mine shaft where Muldoon had been captured, but he rather thought his father would not have been as pleased with him. Well, it was his life, not his father's, and Fraser had made his peace with what had happened, even if it had taken him years.

"Hi, Uncle Ben!" Fraser looked up to see the freckled face of Sam, Maggie's eldest girl, and he smiled at her.

"Okay, I'm finished with these," she said, unloading a pile of books from her backpack onto the counter.

"How did you enjoy the Jules Verne book?" Fraser asked while scanning the books and placing them in the shelf for returned books.

"It was cool. Especially the fight with the giant squid. Um, do you have Lord of the Rings in? Because I want to reread it."

Fraser checked the entry in the library database. "It should be in; just check the shelf."

"Thanks!" Sam went jogging off toward the "T" shelf. She knew her way around the library like the back of her hand, and although Maggie complained about her obsessive reading habits, Fraser secretly encouraged her. Not that she needed it.

Mike Kailek had come out from the back office, the laugh lines fanning out from the corners of his dark brown eyes as he smiled at Sam's retreating back. "She's really something, isn't she?"

"Oh yes," Fraser smiled back. "In some ways, she reminds me of myself at that age."

"Yeah, I was a bookworm, too. I guess that's why we're librarians." Mike leaned against the shelf of returned books. He was wearing the old wool sweater he always kept around the library. It wasn't really cold, so Fraser assumed he wore it more because it was comfortable than for warmth.

"I suppose so, yes." Of course, Mike actually had an education as a librarian, unlike Fraser, who was just using the skills he had picked up from his grandparents. Although some aspects of library science were surprisingly like working in the RCMP--administration was the same everywhere.

"Weren't you supposed to get off at five?" Mike indicated the clock on the wall, which was on twenty past five.

"Well, yes, but I thought I'd finish the cataloging first. There isn't much left."

"Oh, you workaholic," Mike said, shaking his head, but he was smiling.

"I don't mind, really," Fraser said mildly.

"I'll take over that, and you go on home." Making shooing motions with his hands, Mike took over the chair at the computer and adjusted it to fit his somewhat shorter stature. Fraser stretched his back, which had gotten a little stiff while he sat, and then began to lace his boots.

"See you on Sunday, then?" Mike asked.

"Of course." Fraser nodded at Mike, who raised his hand in goodbye, and then he left the library. Fraser always looked forward to their Sunday afternoon chess matches, which he invariably won. That was not really the point, though.

His cabin was a couple of kilometers easy walk from town, north along the Dempster highway, where he walked in the grass beside the road, keeping some distance from the clouds of dust stirred up when a vehicle drove by. It was the height of the tourist season, such as it was, and occasionally a station wagon or car would pass by on its way to the shack marking the end of the road.

A Jeep pulled up beside him and honked its horn. Marie Latour leaned over, opening the door. "Hey Fraser, want a ride?"

"Thank you kindly." He climbed into the passenger seat, and Marie drove on. There was a whine and a yip from the cage in the back, and he turned in his seat and let the husky sniff his hand through the wire mesh.

"I've been to the vet with Isabelle. She's been having problems, and we finally figured out it was her eyes. She seems to have corneal dystrophy."

"I'm very sorry to hear that. Have you bred her?"

"No, luckily we never did. Wouldn't want to pass that on."

"No, indeed." Fraser frowned. "She's one of your oldest, isn't she?"

"Yeah, we got her just after we moved up here. I hate the thought of putting her down. Ah well, that's life." Marie turned right down a gravel road, navigating around the potholes. "Your Gally is doing fine, though, she's putting on weight now."

"She certainly should, the way she's eating. It's really very good of you to take her on while I work."

"Ah, it's no chore, really. One more doesn't make much difference. Besides, it's good for her to be with the other dogs." Marie turned sharply to park next to her house. By the front door was a neat sign saying "Inuvik Sledding Adventures". A clamor of sharp barks and yips greeted them from the fenced-in yard, and Jean-Louis' dark curly head stuck out through the open window. "Ah, Marie, le diner est bientot pret."

"J'arrive tout de suite!" Marie opened the back door for Isabelle, and Fraser tipped his hat to her. "Merci de m'avoir conduit. Au revoir, Marie."

"Au revoir, Fraser."

When he opened the gate to the fence, Gally came bounding up to him, enthusiastically jumping up to plant her muddy forepaws on his shirt in what was undoubtedly intended as a display of affection. She had been a gift from the Latours and Maggie, who felt that he shouldn't live alone, and they hadn't taken no for an answer.

"Down, Gally. That's terrible manners, you know." Her tail briefly lowered, before she forgot his reproach with the irrepressible good cheer of youth. He shook his head. Perhaps he was too lenient with her.

The last kilometer of the road to his cabin was neglected, the grass growing high between the wheel ruts and small birches taking root among the gravel. He had no car of his own, and his visitors weren't frequent enough to keep the road clear. Mike thought he ought to buy a car, but Fraser didn't see the need. The town was within walking distance, after all.

Fraser only went into his cabin to pack a small backpack with supplies, then closed the door behind him again and set off, Gally beside him. There was a path down to the creek; he had worn it himself over the years. He crossed the slow, green waters on a plank, then looked back to see Gally balking at the narrow crossing. Fraser went back and picked her up in his arms with a grunt of effort, and set her down on the other side.

The sky was clear and his feet felt light. This was a good day--there was only a twinge in his bad leg, and he knew it would wear off as he warmed up. He might be too old now for jumping off rooftops, even if he hadn't lost the heart for it years ago, but he could still walk far into the sunlit summer night. Sparse clumps of birch and black spruce dotted the landscape as he climbed up the gentle slope of the land to the northeast of town. This land had been mauled by ice sheets once, scraped down to the bone and reshaped, but that was long ago now, and the shrubs and trees remembered nothing of it.

The trees grew fewer and more stunted as he reached higher ground. His cellphone rang, and he startled slightly at the unexpected sound. Maggie insisted he carry one when he was out on his own. He pulled the small flat phone from his pocket and activated it with his thumbprint. "Benton Fraser speaking."

"Hi, Ben," said Maggie's somewhat crackly voice.

"Hi, Maggie."

"...ould...inne...ight?"

"Come again? The signal seems to be weak." Through the static, she managed to convey a dinner invitation for tomorrow night, and Fraser accepted.

He soon reached the measurement site that was his first goal. Fraser fitted a small open-ended box to the ground. After ten minutes had passed, he took out a small battery-powered pump from his backpack and used it to fill bottles with the air from the box. He carefully noted the date and site on the bottle. The permafrost had always been partial this close to the warming influence of the Mackenzie River, but lately it had been melting further, probably due to the greenhouse effect. The station belonged to a research project that tried to determine the amount of methane released by the melting permafrost. They'd needed volunteers, and Fraser had been happy to help.

He hiked towards the second measurement site, over springy crowberry brush. Gally shied back with a yelp as she flushed out a duck from a pond. The bird flew off with an aggrieved squawk, and Fraser smiled.

"Yes, you were," he said softly to the half-wolf who was not there. "We have all been that young."

There was no reply, of course, except the wind in the bushes and a remembered nose nudging his hand.

He walked on, Gally running ahead. Perhaps it was time for a break soon--he was beginning to feel hungry. He'd brought some food along for Gally as well; she was still growing and it was important that she eat regularly.

"Gally, come here!" She was ranging on the far side of a patch of boggy ground, probably investigating some scent.

"Gally!" He shouted again, then: "Galadriel!"

Such were the hazards of letting your niece name a puppy.

Gally came loping up at the prospect of food, and they found a little knoll raised above the wet ground. Fraser ate pemmican, dried apples and a piece of bread, and Gally quickly wolfed down her kibble and then followed his every movement. He sighed and relented, giving her a piece of pemmican, then scratched her soft, pointed ears. She leaned into his hand.

There was a small bird flitting in and out of the nearest willow shrub, probably a Lapland longspur, with its black face and chest. Fraser watched it, and its chirps and whistles mingled with the wind in the leaves, in a mesh of sound that was comforting and familiar. There had been times when he envied the birds and animals. He had wanted nothing more than to lie down on the ground and be part of the little lives, be filled with their mindlessness, simply living without thought of past or future.

Gally licked at his hand. Yes, he knew that he was human and had responsibilities. "All right, let's go."

He stopped by the second measurement site, then headed home. The sun was nearly in the north, indicating midnight. Ray had thought...Fraser tamped down the thought out of habit, but then finished it deliberately. Ray had thought there ought to be something special about the midnight sun, some mystical quality that wasn't present during the hours of the day, but that wasn't so, and he'd been disappointed during his first summer here. It was simply sunlight, for days and days on end.

He walked without thinking about it, over dry heath, then through boggy sedge-covered wetlands, the mosquitoes staying away as long as he kept moving. Gally stayed close to him, no longer ranging ahead, and when he carried her over the creek she was a dead weight in his arms. In the cabin, she curled into an exhausted ball of fur, the still too-large paws tucked beneath her. Perhaps the hike had been too much--he ought to be more careful of her.

Fraser sat down in the armchair with a book, making little notes in the margin. It was not cold enough for a fire, but he drew a quilt around his legs, as much for comfort as for warmth. As he grew older, he found that he needed less and less sleep, even more so during the summer.

It was 2:30 am before he slept. He lay on his side, as if curled around the shape of a man who was no longer there, who had, in fact, left many years ago.

***

"Oh, Ben, there you are!" Maggie looked up from tending the grill out on the lawn, and gave him a quick hug.

"Hello, Maggie."

On the grass, her husband David was playing ball with Susan, their youngest, but she abandoned the game as soon as she saw Gally, and they were soon involved in a tugging match over a piece of rope. Dusting off his hands, David left them to it and nodded a greeting to Fraser.

"Can I help you with anything?" Fraser asked.

Maggie put slabs of meat on the grill, dripping with marinade. "Well, it would be great if you could coax Sam out of hiding. I wish she'd spend more time with actual people and not just imaginary ones."

"Well, I can try, although I don't know why you're sending a librarian to convince someone to stop reading."

Maggie grinned. "We've had this argument before, I know."

Fraser found Sam on the second floor, where she was deeply engrossed in The Fellowship of the Ring. She looked up when he approached. "Oh, hi. Mom sent you, right?"

"Indeed, she did. She wants you to come down for dinner."

"She just doesn't understand. I mean, those are her friends coming over for dinner. They're grown-ups, why would I want to sit and talk with them?" She looked remorseful as she realized what she'd said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to include you in that."

Fraser laughed. "That's all right. And I think it's in the nature of parents not to understand."

"Yeah, well, you grew up with librarians, right? I bet they didn't mind you reading."

"They didn't, no. But we found other areas in which to disagree. Tell you what, let's make a compromise: you come down for the actual dinner, but after that, I'll make sure you can slip away."

"Okay, fine. I just need to finish this chapter, and then I promise I'll come down."

"All right, that sounds good." She grinned at him and curled up with the book again.

When he came down, the other dinner guests had arrived. Sergeant Merrill shook his hand briefly and awkwardly. Even though it had been years, he never seemed to know quite what to make of Fraser since he was no longer in the RCMP, and Fraser was just as happy not to socialize with him. Not that he'd been particularly comfortable with having Fraser under his command, either, although there had never been any discrimination that Fraser was aware of.

If the sergeant was taciturn, his wife Dorothy Merrill made up for it in spades. She had her hand in most of the happenings in town, and after inquiring after his and Gally's health, the conversation turned to her daughter's art class, and whether it would be possible to arrange an exhibition of the students' works at the library.

"All right, everybody! The food is done," Maggie announced, lifting the last pieces of meat off the grill. Taking advantage of the summer season, there was also a salad, along with bread and cheese. Susan and Gally abandoned the lawn, both grubby and with remarkably similar expressions of hunger on their faces.

"Hey you, this is human food." Maggie smacked Gally away. Fraser heaped his plate with food and sat down at the table.

"Mind if I sit down?" asked a young woman with straight brown hair in a ponytail. She was the latest addition to the RCMP detachment; Fraser had seen her around town. She seemed very young to him, and even out of uniform she had the kind of posture that only military drills seemed to instill.

"Please do." Fraser moved over on the bench, and held out his hand. "I'm Benton Fraser."

"Yeah, I know. I'm Holly Andersen." He wondered what she'd heard about him--Fraser had no illusions about what some of the townspeople thought about him. But her handshake was firm, and she met his eyes squarely.

They started eating, and made conversation in between mouthfuls. "Is Inuvik your first posting?"

She looked a little rueful. "Is it that obvious?"

"No, not at all. I merely...you seem young, that's all. Or perhaps that's my own age showing."

"Well, I am young, I guess. I graduated from Depot this spring, and I was youngest in my troop." Fraser felt abruptly nostalgic--he had been the youngest member of his troop, as well--but then mentally shook his head. Good Lord, feeling nostalgic over his time at Depot. His younger self would have been incredulous.

"Was this your choice of posting, or were you stationed here?" he asked, curious.

"I was stationed here, though I didn't mind it. I'm from Whitehorse--not as far north as here, but not exactly Toronto, either. I'm just adventurous and like to see different parts of the country, I guess. Always been." She grinned.

"And how do you like Inuvik, then?"

"Oh, fine. It's such a small place, and that takes some getting used to. But the landscape--it's gorgeous." She gestured down towards the river delta.

"Yes, it is."

"Actually, can I..." She trailed off and took a drink of water, then began again. "I've heard a lot about your time on the force, and I know you worked this area for a long time. I thought maybe you had some experience to share?"

"Well, I'd be glad to, of course," Fraser said, feeling unexpectedly touched at her request. "Although I suspect some of my methods are considered old-fashioned. People don't usually patrol using dogsleds nowadays."

"Hey, that's all right. Go on." She had put her cutlery down and was listening avidly.

"I think the most important thing I've learned over the years is the importance of working with a partner." He fought down the vulnerable feeling that she would somehow see through him, would see the history behind those words, and continued. "When I was young, I often went out alone, and while I did get results, it was often by sheer luck, or through danger to myself or others. You need someone at your back, someone you can trust."

She nodded, although he suspected that she didn't truly understand, not yet. Like most young people, she thought herself invulnerable, and most likely, that was the quality she had admired in the stories she had heard about him. Fraser smiled inwardly, and wondered how much the stories had grown in the telling. Perhaps the nuclear submarine was now a full-fledged Russian invasion force.

"Secondly, I believe the use of smell and taste as an investigative method is sadly underrated," he continued, deadpan. She looked at him sharply, and then laughed when he let the corners of his mouth twitch up.

"On a more serious note, I want to emphasize the importance of communication and understanding among different cultural groups. I had the advantage of growing up among Inuit children, but I don't think that's necessary in order to work with these issues. There are deep-seated conflicts here, and the RCMP is rightly criticized for the role they have played historically. But I do believe that much good can be done by talking to people and actually listening to what they have to say." Fraser realized that he had slipped into his lecturing mode. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to preach. No doubt they teach you these things at Depot nowadays."

"Not as much as you'd think. And I don't know this area well--could you tell me more about the situation here?"

"Of course." They launched into an interesting comparison of the Whitehorse and Inuvik areas, until Maggie called out that there was ice cream for dessert. They rose, taking their plates into the kitchen for washing. "Maggie is an experienced officer as well, you know. I think you can learn a lot from her."

"Oh yeah. She's a great colleague, and she's really helped me a lot."

Fraser saw Sam sneaking up the stairs with a bowl of ice cream, and she grinned at him like a co-conspirator. He gave her a thumbs-up.

They went out again into the summer evening. Holly went to get some dessert, but Fraser hung back, leaning against the wall of the house and looking at the people seated around the tables, talking and eating. The next-door neighbors had come over as well, and he listened to the soft chatter of conversation and the clink of knife and fork against porcelain. He looked down towards the river, at the generous green of summer.

"Hey." Maggie nudged him in the side with her elbow, a cup of tea in either hand. "You all right, Ben?"

He took the tea with a nod of thanks and blew on it, then sipped gingerly. "Yes, I'm fine. Really."

She nodded. "Good. What did you think of Constable Andersen?"

"Well, she's young, of course. But I think she'll make a fine officer."

"Yes, she will. Are you staying for dessert?"

"Perhaps."

Maggie frowned at him, and he smiled fondly at her. "I know what you're thinking, but you don't have to worry so much about me."

She smiled back and bumped their shoulders together. "Ben, worrying is what you do when you're family."

They stood in comfortable silence for a while. At the table, there was a crash and the neighbors' boy raised his voice in indignant surprise, and Susan laughed, then broke off with a yelp. Maggie frowned. "I'd better go see what she's up to now."

Fraser drank his tea, cooler now, and thought about sitting down at the table again. He could make small talk, exchange pleasantries with the neighbors. It was the kind of thing he was good at, if he wanted to. But he didn't want to. Quietly, he fetched Gally, who was dozing on the lawn, and slipped away. Maggie would understand.

***

The light streamed in through the western window of the cabin. Fraser was sweeping the floor, and the dust motes stirred up by his broom leapt and danced in the slanting light. The simple, recurring household tasks were like an anchor--this place, this cabin was his home, and he had swept this floor countless times. His hands on the broom handle had worn it smooth.

Living alone was not effortless, it was true; no longer simply the natural state of being, but he had made his peace with it.

Fraser opened the door and dumped the floor sweepings to the side. He glanced at the angle of the light. It looked to be around six; Mike would soon be by and it was time to get dinner ready. Fraser took down the pail he'd placed on a high shelf, out of reach of greedy young huskies, and gutted the trout he'd caught that afternoon by the river. He set the slippery innards aside for Gally, and put rice on to cook. As he took out the frying pan to fry the fish, he heard the rumble of Mike's old Ford coming down the road. The butter was just turning the right shade of golden brown when Fraser heard his knock on the door.

"Come in," he said, putting the first two fillets in the pan. Mike opened the door and stepped inside, taking his boots off and setting them neatly by the door. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt that actually looked new.

"I brought some tomatoes from the greenhouse." Mike held up a bag full of round, red fruits.

"Thank you, that's perfect. I had run out of greens."

Mike moved closer to the frying pan, sniffing appreciatively at the air. "That smells delicious. Have you been fishing?"

"Yes, I was down by the river earlier today." Fraser turned the fillets.

"I'll set the table, all right?"

"Please, do." Fraser had only four plates, and he could hardly remember the last time they were all used at the same time. Mike knew where they were kept, and he took two plates out of the cupboard, along with cutlery and two glasses, which he filled with water, while Fraser finished up with the fish.

"Did you hear that the town council is planning to cut down on the funding for the library?" Mike said as they sat down to eat.

"They are?" Fraser frowned. "We're short on money as it is. Hmm. Perhaps we could organize a petition, and ask library visitors to sign."

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. We can get on it tomorrow." They fell silent for a while, enjoying the food. The tomatoes were sweet and ripe, a luxury Fraser savored. After dinner, they cleared the table and Fraser brought out the chess set that he had carved a couple of years ago.

Mike made the first move, moving a white pawn forward two steps. "I really can't remember when I went fishing last. I hardly know how, I think." He looked thoughtful.

"Really? I'll take you sometime, if you want." Fraser likewise moved a pawn forward. It was more of a russet brown than black, carved from the heartwood of a tamarack, while the white pieces were made of light-colored birch wood.

"Hey, don't smile like that. I know I don't exactly fit the Inuit stereotype. Really, you're more of an Inuit than I am." He certainly looked Inuit where he sat at the table, his hair black where it hadn't yet turned grey, and eyes slightly tilted, although Fraser guessed there were qallunaaq in his ancestry, too.

"Yes, I know you grew up further south." Mike had never volunteered much information about his background, and Fraser hadn't asked. Of course, it wasn't as if Fraser had talked much about his background, either.

Fraser had still been in a bad way when Mike had offered him a job at the library. But Mike didn't ask, just said, when he came to return his loans, that they were looking for someone to work a part-time job, and he'd noticed how much he loved books. Town gossip being what it was, there was no way he didn't know Fraser's circumstances, but he never said a word.

"Yeah." Mike moved another pawn with his solid brown hand, and hesitated. "I was born up here, but my father wanted to move south, so we did." He took a deep breath and continued in a low voice. "He drank a lot, and I think he beat my mother, though she never spoke of it. My mother always wanted us kids to have a better life, and she worked hard so that we could go to school."

There was an unaccustomed note of bitterness in his voice, usually easygoing and full of good humor. Fraser reached across the table to briefly clasp his hand. "I'm sorry."

Mike smiled ruefully. "I guess that's not an uncommon story, is it? Alcohol is a curse."

"Yes, it is," Fraser said softly, looking down at the table.

It had been remarkably easy for him to slip, afterwards. Fraser had never cared much for alcohol, either the taste of it or its intoxicating effects, but he hadn't really known what it could do before. Whole stretches of time, hours, days even, could be rendered mercifully blank and free of pain. The bodily discomfort had been a small price to pay.

Finally, he had chosen not to forget any longer, and it was a choice he still made every day, even if time had made it easier.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to remind you..." Mike trailed off, looking as if he regretted bringing it up.

"No, it's all right. Thank you for telling me about your family."

"Well, I guess I wanted you to know." Mike shrugged his shoulders a little and smiled tentatively.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Fraser offered, to break the slight awkwardness of the moment.

"Yes, thanks." Fraser got up and made them both some tea, steeping birch leaves in two cups. They hadn't touched the game in some time, and Fraser looked at the board. "We don't have to finish the game if you'd rather not."

"Oh, don't worry, it's an old pain. We can go on. If you feel like it?" He waited for Fraser's answering nod, then moved a rook and took out one of Fraser's knights. "Not that I think I'll win this time either. Although I live in hope."

"You're an optimist, Mike. I think it's a good quality." Fraser moved, taking his rook in turn. "What made you move back north? If you don't want to talk about it, I understand."

"Well, I never felt entirely at home there, and I guess I thought I would in the north. But I don't quite fit in here, either. I've been to university, and that made me different." Mike sipped at his tea.

"Yes, I recognize that feeling." Fraser moved his bishop, threatening Mike's king. "Check."

Mike frowned, rubbing his fingers through his graying hair. He made an evasive maneuver with his king. "Anyway. Now that I've been here a while, I've found that I actually like the small town life. People gossip, of course, but there's no real maliciousness behind it. At least, not most of the time."

"I suppose not." Although gossip could still hurt, regardless of intent. He moved again, this time definitely cornering Mike. "Checkmate."

"Ah, I don't know why I come back for this," Mike complained, but his voice was warm, in contrast with his words.

"You're getting better. One of these days you're going to beat me." Fraser looked at the chessboard and their cups of half-finished tea.

"You're just saying that to cheer me up." Mike clasped his sturdy hands on the table, fingers interwoven, and looked down at them, seeming to hesitate. "Do you never get lonely living this isolated? Miss having other people living around you, I mean?"

"No," Fraser said slowly. "Not in that way, at least," he amended.

Mike nodded. "But in other ways?"

Fraser met his brown eyes. "Sometimes. Yes." he admitted.

He gathered up the pieces of the chess set, to occupy his hands with something. Mike must have taken it to mean that the evening was over, because he glanced at his watch. "Well, maybe I should get on home. It's getting late."

"If you want to, yes." There was a silence, as of a breath held back. Fraser looked away, aware that his words could be taken as a question, or an offer. He hadn't planned it that way.

"Unless...I could stay. If you wanted me to." Mike said softly, and reached out to touch Fraser's hand.

The touch was brief, but his meaning was clear. Fraser hesitated. Mike's hand had felt warm on his own, and it had been many years since anyone had touched him with an honest offer of intimacy. The memory of Ray's hands on his body was like the touch of a ghost, and distant with the passage of time. He had thought there would never be anyone else.

Slowly, he reached out for Mike's hand in return.