DISCLAIMER: "Diagnosis Murder" and the characters in it are owned by CBS and Viacom and are merely being borrowed here for recreational, non-profit purposes.
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: An old enemy returns for revenge against Steve and Mark
--------------------------------------
A NIGHTMARE REVISITED
Det. Lt. Steve Sloan and his partner Cheryl were searching some side streets one evening, having received an anonymous tip about a suspect in a case they were investigating. Suddenly, a man dressed in a dark blue jacket, light pants, and a white cap popped out from behind a doorway, stopped short at the sight of them, and took off. Instinctively, Steve and Cheryl pursued him, calling out "Police! Hold it!" At a corner, the suspect turned and started shooting at them. Steve and Cheryl ducked, pulled their own weapons, and continued the chase. The suspect turned into an alley, and Steve and Cheryl paused at the corner. As Steve peered cautiously around the corner, the man leaned out from behind a dumpster and fired a few more shots, causing Steve to withdraw his head out of the line of fire, behind the corner. He leaned back out a moment later to return fire, just as a man popped out from behind the dumpster again. Steve's shot struck the man in the chest, and he dropped to the ground. Guns still drawn, Steve and Cheryl cautiously approached the fallen suspect. As Steve leaned over the fallen figure to see how badly he was hurt, he froze, recognizing the familiar form.
"Oh God, no!" he croaked hoarsely, dropping to his knees. "Dad!!"
"What??" cried Cheryl. "How can ..."
"Call an ambulance! Fast!" interrupted Steve, gently turning his father over. Horrified at the blood spreading across Mark's shirt, he grabbed his handkerchief and tried to stem the bleeding. Confusion and anguish filled his mind – how could this be his father? He and Cheryl had seen the suspect - certainly well enough to know that it hadn't been his father – who wouldn't have been shooting at them anyway! How had his father suddenly appeared right where the suspect had been barely a moment before – just in time to be shot in the crossfire?
"Steve?" Mark's voice was rough with pain.
"Take it easy, Dad, we'll have an ambulance out here right away and get you to the hospital," replied Steve, his own voice shaky in spite of his attempt to be as reassuring as possible. He glanced up at Cheryl, who had completed the call for assistance. "Make sure that damn gunman's not still around somewhere" he said. As Cheryl moved off to check behind the dumpster, Steve looked back down at his father. Mark was looking up at him, beads of perspiration on his face, as he struggled to remain conscious and talk.
"We were set up ... someone pushed me..." his voice faded.
"Don't try to talk, Dad," Steve pleaded, "just hang on – please!"
Mark coughed weakly, his breathing becoming more labored. "See if you can prop me up," he uttered faintly. Steve slipped his arm behind his father's shoulders and raised him, propping him against his chest. "Better?" he asked anxiously. Mark nodded. Steve knelt, holding his father, overwhelmed by the suddenness and horror of the situation – that he had actually shot his father! God, don't let him die, he begged silently, feeling his father's blood trickling through his fingers as he desperately tried to keep pressure on the wound.
Cheryl returned as the first sounds of the ambulance's siren were heard. "There's a passageway out the back alongside this building," she said. "The dumpster's blocking the view – he must have slipped out that way."
The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics worked to bandage Mark and lift him onto a stretcher. As they loaded him into the ambulance, Steve watched, his face tight with anxiety. Cheryl came over and put her hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you go in with him," she suggested. "I'll check in at the station to file a preliminary report and then meet you at the hospital."
Steve glanced at her. "Thanks," he said, and climbed into the ambulance behind the paramedics. All through the ride to the hospital, Steve watched his father's unconscious face, thinking how much he loved him, how much he would hate to lose him – thinking also of the times he had been wounded himself and how this must be how his father had felt. Except, he thought, his father was at least spared the agony of feeling that it was his fault that his son was critically injured.
When they arrived at the hospital, Steve followed the stretcher in, thankful to see Jesse and Amanda on the scene.
"What have we got?" Jesse asked as usual.
"Gunshot wound to the chest, pulse ..." The medics had barely started to respond when Jesse saw the patient's face. "Oh God, Mark!" He started barking orders to ER staff: "Get him into trauma 2. Set up an IV with saline wide open, and I want 3 units of O-positive blood, and type and cross-match him for more. Get a portable x-ray unit and a crash cart, STAT!" Amanda paused beside Steve to verify that he was uninjured, and to give his arm a reassuring squeeze, before following Jesse into the treatment room. Left alone, Steve paced outside the room where he knew their two best friends would do everything humanly possible to save his father's life.
A short while later, the treatment room door burst open and Steve saw his father being wheeled out into the hallway, Jesse trotting alongside the gurney. Amanda went to Steve's side and held him back as he automatically turned to follow. "They're taking him up to surgery now, Steve," she told him gently. "He's lost a lot of blood, but he's got a good chance," she said in response to the desperately questioning look in his eyes. "You know Jesse will do everything he can," she continued. "He loves Mark, too."
"I know," Steve replied. He covered his face with his hand for a moment. "This is just such a nightmare."
Amanda put her arm around her friend. "Look, why don't we go into the lounge and sit down. It'll be a while before they're done." Steve nodded silently, and Amanda led him into the doctors' lounge and poured him a cup of coffee. He sat silently at the table, staring blindly into space. Amanda settled herself across from him. "What happened, Steve?" she asked. He shook his head slightly and gazed across at her with a look of grief and confusion that she found heartbreaking.
"I wish I knew," he said in an agony of confusion. "It all seems so impossible and happened so fast....." He drew a deep breath and started the tale, reliving it as he spoke. "Cheryl and I were down in the mission area, looking around for someone. Suddenly this guy runs out of one of the buildings, sees us, and takes off. So we call out for him to stop, and he turns and shoots at us. We chase him into an alleyway, and he ducks behind a dumpster, then pops out to shoot at us again. I pulled back out of the way, then leaned back out to return fire. It was getting dark, but it was still light enough to see that the alley was empty – there was only this one guy, wearing a dark jacket, light pants, and a white hat. And when I lean out to shoot, there he is again – one guy, same outfit, popping out from behind the dumpster. So I fire at him – and I hit him." Steve stopped to swallow hard. His voice was perceptibly less steady as he continued. "Only, when I go up to him – it's Dad."
Amanda stared at him, stunned, as the full implications of that statement sank in. "Oh, Steve," she murmured, reaching out to him in sympathy, sharing the horror she knew he was feeling. He looked straight at her for the first time, his eyes full of horror and grief. "Oh God, Amanda, what if I've killed Dad?!"
Feeling helpless in the face of this open anguish in the normally well-controlled Steve, Amanda hugged him, searching for something to say. "He'll be okay, Steve," she murmured, feeling how inadequate the words were to mitigate that pain. "He's a strong person; he'll pull through," she reassured him, hoping desperately that she spoke the truth.
A little while later, Cheryl stopped by to see Steve. "Any word yet on your dad?" she asked.
"Not yet," Steve replied dully, "he's still in surgery."
"I filed a prelim report," Cheryl said. "Although, it was pretty sketchy. I still really don't understand what happened out there. How did your dad get in that alley?"
"I don't know. Before he – passed out – Dad said that we were set up. And it has to have been deliberately managed," Steve continued, his voice hardening as he thought about it. "The guy was wearing the same jacket as Dad, and that's not even one of Dad's jackets. Somebody has to have engineered this – gotten Dad there somehow, and set up the chase and the gun fight, then shoved Dad into the line of fire. Somebody wanted this to happen, and when I find out who did this, I'm going to make him wish he had been shot in that alley!" Steve could feel the rage building up in him, rage at the bastard who'd caused this, who'd maneuvered him into hurting – he couldn't think "killing", he wouldn't believe that yet – his father. He welcomed the anger – it helped counteract the grief and guilt that were tormenting him.
"You have any ideas on who it could have been?" asked Cheryl.
"No, but it would probably be somebody who wanted to get back at me and Dad," replied Steve. "Maybe we should see if there're any of our old 'collars' who've recently been released from prison."
"I'll start checking first thing in the morning," volunteered his partner.
"Thanks, Cheryl."
"Let me know as soon as you know something here," she said, preparing to leave. "And Steve – we'll find this guy."
"You can count on that," Steve vowed grimly. Cheryl placed a supportive hand on his arm for a moment, and then left silently. Steve and Amanda relapsed into silence.
An hour or so later, Jesse appeared at the door to the doctor's lounge, his face lined with fatigue. Steve looked at him and stiffened, his eyes fixed anxiously on his friend. Jesse's face softened as he came over to his friend's side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "He's going to be okay, Steve," he assured him. "It was a bit touch and go there for a while, but he came through the operation just fine." Steve closed his eyes momentarily as the relief washed over him, and Amanda murmured a heartfelt "Thank God!"
"He's in recovery now," Jesse continued, "but they'll be bringing him up to the surgical ward soon."
"Can I see him?"
"Sure. Let's give them a few minutes to settle him in his room, and I'll bring you up."
"Jesse, you look exhausted," Amanda said, eyeing her colleague with concern.
"Well, let's just say that I wouldn't want to do that again," replied Jesse, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Steve looked over at him. "You know, it's bad enough having you rushed in here as a patient, but I'm not accustomed to seeing your dad on the wrong side of the operating table," Jesse said, trying for a lighter touch. "It's disconcerting."
"I know, Jess," said Steve reaching out to clasp his friend's arm for a moment. He knew that Jesse viewed Mark as a sort of substitute father as well as a friend and mentor. "Thanks."
"Well, one thing," Jesse said, still aiming for the light touch, "with the post-op nursing care Mark's likely to get around here, he should be up and out in record time!" Amanda smiled, and even Steve lightened up a bit. Knowing that his friend was anxious to see his father, Jesse finished up his coffee. "Come on," he said, "I'll take you up. He'll still be out of it from the anesthesia and blood loss, but you can at least see him." Once at Mark's room, Jesse tactfully left his friend alone and went back down to talk to Amanda.
Alone with his father, Steve sat by the side of the bed. Mark was very pale, and he looked old and fragile – not normally traits he associated with his father. Again the sense of guilt washed over him, and he found himself thinking of how his father was always there for him, offering strength and support when he needed it, caring for him when he was sick or injured; thinking of the strength of the bond between them. It was inconceivable that he could have almost killed this man he loved so much. "Dad," he whispered his hand on his father's arm, "I'm so sorry ..." He paused, fighting the obstruction in his throat. "You've got to know," he continued, "that I would give anything not to have had this happen. I'd have let him shoot me before I'd do this to you..." He blinked back the tears. "I love you, Dad..." As he looked into his father's face, he saw Mark's eyes open. "Dad -" His father smiled weakly at him, and slid back into sleep. Feeling slightly comforted, Steve sat by his father's side and eventually fell asleep.
Stopping by a while later to check on Mark, Jesse saw Steve asleep in the chair. He'd heard the whole story from Amanda, and knew that his friend was emotionally and physically drained from the stresses of that day. He placed a hand on Steve's shoulder and gently woke him.
"Jesse?" Steve jolted awake. "Is everything okay?" he asked, glancing quickly at the bed.
"Everything's fine," replied Jesse. "Your dad's not going to wake up before morning. Why don't you go home and get some decent sleep." Steve hesitated, looking at his father. "I'll be here all night in the on-call room anyway, since I've got an early shift tomorrow," Jesse reassured him. "And you know how the nurses around here feel about Mark – they'll probably be checking him every hour on the hour." Steve grinned faintly. "So just go home and get some rest or we'll end up admitting you for exhaustion. And then I'll have to deal with Mark worrying about you!"
"Okay, Jess, thanks. I'll see you in the morning."
CHAPTER 2
The following morning, when Steve woke up, the first thing he did was page Jesse at the hospital. "Dr. Travis", he heard Jesse answer the page.
"Jesse? It's Steve."
"Hey, Steve. How are you feeling this morning? Get any sleep last night?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, Jess. How's Dad?"
"He's doing fine. I was just up there checking on him. He's awake and everything looks good. Are you coming in?"
Steve hesitated. "I think I'll go down to the station first to check on what Cheryl's found," he said. "I'll be in later."
"Okay, I'll tell Mark," said Jesse. "See you later."
When Steve arrived at the station, he found Cheryl already there. "I thought you'd be at the hospital," she said in surprise.
"I already called Jesse, and he said Dad was doing fine. I figured I'd come in and see what we could find on any cons with a grudge," replied Steve, not looking at her. Cheryl looked at him curiously, aware that there was something he wasn't telling her, but deciding not to question him about it yet.
"I haven't found much yet," she said. "I haven't been at it very long."
Steve just nodded, and the two of them began to search the computer records and files to see if any of the people Steve and Mark had convicted had recently been released. After a couple of hours, during which they didn't find anyone they felt was likely to try pulling off something like this, Cheryl suggested a break. As they went to get coffee, she suggested that if Steve wanted to go to the hospital for a while, she could continue the search by herself. When Steve seemed reluctant to leave, she finally decided to call him on it.
"What's going on here, Steve? I get the distinct impression you're avoiding going to the hospital."
Steve looked at her and sighed. "I guess I am," he admitted.
"Why?"
Steve looked away. "I guess because I'm not really sure what to say to him. I mean, what do I do, say 'Hi, Dad, sorry I shot you – hope you're feeling better'?" he said bitterly.
"Steve, this wasn't your fault!" Cheryl exclaimed. "You did what any officer would have done – what I would have done if I'd been in the front! There's no way you could have known what would happen. Your dad knows that – he said himself it was a setup!"
"Yeah, well, my head knows that, but I'm having a little trouble convincing my gut," responded Steve. "I keep reliving it, thinking I should have looked closer before I fired, seen something that would have told me that was my father I was shooting at..."
"Steve, you know there wasn't any way you could have known. We saw the shooter in an empty alley, he fired at us, you returned fire – into an empty alley! There was no way you could have known that he had your dad set up to be in the line of fire. Hell, I know it happened, and I still don't believe it, so how were we supposed to think of it in the middle of a shooting chase?!" She gripped him by the arms and looked him straight in the face. "You know your dad won't blame you for this. And you know you want to see him. So just go over there right now and talk to him. You're going to have to get it over with sooner or later, so you might as well do it now."
Steve looked at her and gave in. "You're right, of course," he sighed. "Keep me posted on what you find, okay?"
"You got it. I'll see you later."
When Steve arrived at the hospital, he paused outside the door of his father's room. For perhaps the first time in his adult life, he was hesitant to face his father. It was all very well for him to know mentally that he had responded to the situation in the only way possible, but it was still impossible not to feel guilty. After all the threats and dangers his father had survived, it was his son, the cop – who was supposed to protect him! – who had come close to killing him. Whatever his friends, and his own head, said, he couldn't help feeling that it was his fault his father was lying in that hospital bed. He drew a deep breath and entered the room to see Jesse standing beside the bed, kidding with Mark.
"Hi, Dad," he said somewhat tentatively as he entered.
"Hey, Steve," said Jesse.
His father looked up with a smile. "Hi, Steve! Come on in – Jesse's giving me a hard time." Mark's voice was weaker than normal, he was still very pale, and his smile lacked some of its usual wattage; Steve knew that was all to be expected, but it didn't help him feel any better.
"Hey, it's not often I get to give you orders," cracked Jesse. "I plan on making the best of the situation!" He glanced at Steve and looked back at Mark. "I guess I can finish going over all this stuff with you later," he said. "I'll just check on a few other patients and talk to you later. See ya, Steve." And he left, closing the door behind him.
Steve moved closer to the bed. "How're you feeling?" he asked his father, still feeling awkward. Mark looked at him searchingly as he responded "Pretty good, actually. Jesse did his usual good job."
Steve nodded and searched for a way to begin what he wanted to say. "Dad --" he started, distress apparent in his voice as well as his face.
"Steve," interrupted his father firmly, "you are not responsible for this."
"Dad, I ..."
Again his father interrupted. "Steve, don't. Listen to me. You were manipulated by someone who had this planned down to the tiniest detail." He looked his son straight in the face as he rode over Steve's attempt to interrupt. "Let me tell you just how well this guy had this arranged. I got a message from the switchboard at the hospital last night saying that you had called to ask me to come down to a crime scene you wanted me to look at. So I went down there. I thought it was odd that there didn't seem to be anybody around, but before I had a chance to really think about it, somebody let off a canister of some sort of gas in my face that knocked me unconscious. I don't think I was out very long, but when I came to, I was behind that dumpster, and I could hear shooting. I was just trying to pull myself together and figure out if I should stay where I was or try to find a way out, when this guy comes barreling around the dumpster and grabs me. He leaned out, fired several shots, and then shoved me out into the line of fire, just as you started to shoot. He had the whole thing timed down to the second. There was no way you could have known I was there; you couldn't have done anything but what you did. This is NOT your fault." Mark reached out and grasped his son's arm, gazing intently into his eyes, trying to convey the conviction and reassurance he wanted him to feel.
"The thing we have to do now," he continued, "is to find the guy who planned this and pin the blame firmly where it belongs. So why don't you tell me what happened on your end, and maybe something will strike us."
Steve looked back at his father uncertainly for a moment, then nodded and began to tell him what had happened. "The thing is, we didn't get all that close a look at him," he explained as he reached the point where the shooter ran into the alley. "He had on that dark jacket and a white cap, and I saw him run behind the dumpster. I've got to hand it to this guy," he said bitterly, "he really had the timing perfect – right down to the dim lighting in the alley. He popped out and fired, forcing me to duck back behind the corner, and then when I leaned out to return fire, there was the same figure – dark jacket, light pants, white head…"
"He must have exchanged my jacket for a duplicate of the one he was wearing," interjected Mark, "while I was still unconscious. I had barely gotten around to noticing that when the shooting began."
"Well, anyway, you know the rest. When I ran up to check, and I saw you lying there, bleeding ... God, Dad, I thought you were dead, that I had killed you..." Steve paused, his voice breaking.
"Well, you didn't," asserted his father firmly. "You were a victim of that setup just as much as I was."
"All I could think of in the ambulance was that, with all the dangers you've faced, and all the psychos out for revenge, I was the one who actually..." Steve's voice trailed off as he looked away.
"Look, Steve, that was obviously what this guy intended – he wanted you to feel that pain! It was a masterful plan, and it almost worked, but it didn't quite. I am going to be fine, and you are going to stop feeling guilty about this," Mark declared determinedly. "After all, I'm partly to blame for this too – I should have known better than to believe you'd leave me a message through the switchboard. You never do that." He looked up at his son with affection. "Besides, you've saved my life quite a few times, you know - sometimes even from the consequences of my own recklessness," he added with a hint of the mischievous grin Steve loved, "although I hate to admit it!" That drew a faint responsive grin from his son. "Don't you think you can let up a bit on yourself on this one?" Mark queried, looking up at Steve cajolingly.
Steve gazed back at him, allowing himself to be persuaded, glad for once that he always had trouble resisting his father when he used that tone. "Alright, Dad," Steve said, relaxing into their natural easiness. "I'll try not to succumb to the guilt pangs, if you promise not to trust any more "messages" from me that you don't hear directly from me."
"Deal," agreed Mark. "Now why don't you open that door so Jesse can come back and finish going over his 'orders' with me before all this tactfulness puts too big a strain on him!"
CHAPTER 3
Later that day, Steve, Jesse, and Amanda were grabbing a bite to eat together in the hospital cafeteria while Mark was resting. They were reviewing the list of recently released felons that Steve and Cheryl had found so far.
"None of these guys seem to fit this kind of scheme," Steve was saying frustratedly. "Either they just don't have a grudge big enough to justify something like this, or they don't have the brains to pull it off."
"It certainly sounds like someone who really hates you and Mark," said Amanda. "And it must have taken a lot of planning."
As they were discussing it, Cheryl arrived, looking for Steve. "How are things with your dad?" she asked him. He knew she was asking both about Mark's condition and his own emotional state. He flashed her a rueful smile.
"Looks like everything's going to be fine," he replied, knowing that she would understand that he was answering both questions. She smiled.
"Good. I thought I'd bring the rest of the list of who's been recently released who might hold a grudge against you." She sat down and handed him some papers, adding "The Captain just handed me this last notice as I was leaving - said you should see it right away."
Steve took the notice, glanced over it, and went ballistic. "How the hell did he get out of prison?!" he demanded furiously. "And why wasn't I told immediately?" He turned to Cheryl, who was staring at him, stunned, and snapped out "Call the station and get a couple of uniforms over here right away – I want a man on my father's room around the clock! Starting right now!" he added as he got up and headed for the door fast, leaving his friends gaping at him.
"Steve, what is it?" called Jesse.
"Malcolm Trainor escaped from prison two days ago!" Steve shot at them as he left at a run.
"Oh my God," breathed Amanda, exchanging stunned looks with Jesse. Cheryl looked at them.
"Look, I seem to be missing something here. What's so significant about Malcolm Trainor?"
"That's right, you weren't here then, were you?" said Amanda. "Malcolm Trainor and his brother Ian were responsible for having Steve shot a couple of years back, and while he was in a coma, they framed Mark for murder."
"They did a great job of it, too," Jesse added. "Mark was convicted and spent four months on death row, before Steve was able to clear him."
"Oh yeah, I've heard Steve refer to that case before," Cheryl said, "but he's never seemed to want to talk about it much."
"It was a horrible nightmare for both of them," replied Amanda, her face darkening as she remembered that terrible time.
"How did Trainor get out of jail?" Jesse asked. "I thought he was back on death row for good!"
"I don't have the details," said Cheryl. "It just says that there was some sort of mix-up during a transfer to a medical facility to treat some condition." She got up. "Well, I'd better get hold of the Captain and arrange for that guard detail for Mark. Tell Steve I'll see if I can get some more information on Trainor's escape and start looking for information on his current whereabouts. I'll see you guys later."
Meanwhile, Steve ran up to his father's room, almost skidding to a stop when he entered. He felt a sudden momentary panic as he saw his father lying unmoving, eyes closed, then mentally shook himself as he realized Mark was only sleeping. He stood there, taking in every detail of his father's appearance as he slept - still pale and weak, the lines in his face somehow seeming more apparent than usual. Steve wondered if it were just his imagination or if there were, in fact, more of them. He seemed so weak and helpless, lying there in that hospital bed, with the bandages and IV. Steve remembered all the anguish his father had endured during that ordeal staged by the Trainor brothers. Probably no one but himself had any real idea of just how much that had affected Mark; and Steve knew that even he didn't know all of what his father had gone through. The very fact that his father had never wanted to talk about it much, even to his son, was an indication in itself. Mark never liked to discuss the things that really hurt him -- in this case at least partly, Steve always suspected, because he didn't want his son to have to share the pain. But Steve was well aware that there had been intermittent nightmares for months -- for that matter, he had had a few of them himself. How could he make his father relive that, as he surely would when he knew that Trainor was out and behind this current nightmare?
At that point in his musings, he heard Jesse and Amanda enter behind him. Turning quickly, with his finger to his lips, he moved just outside the door with them.
"He's sleeping," Steve told them. "Let him rest."
"Are you going to wait here until he wakes up?" asked Jesse.
"I'll stay here until an officer shows up to guard the room. I'm not taking any chances with Trainor out there."
"What if he doesn't wake up before you leave?" asked Jesse. Steve didn't reply right away, and Jesse looked at him closely. "You are planning on telling him, aren't you?"
"No."
Jesse and Amanda stared at him incredulously.
"He's been through enough hell on account of the Trainors," Steve said angrily. "He's in no condition to have to go through all that again."
"Steve, it's not the same thing this time! And he should know, be on his guard..."
"He'll be safe here -- I'll have guards here 'round the clock. Nobody'll get to him."
"Don't you think he's likely to figure something's up when he sees the guard?"
"I'll come up with a reasonable explanation. Hell, I was thinking of putting a guard on him, anyway."
"Look, Steve, you know your dad always knows when you're keeping something from him," Jesse said. "And he usually gets it out of you. And if he doesn't get it out of you, he'll probably get it out of me," he added ruefully.
"I'll be out looking for Trainor. And you can just try keeping out of his way if you can't keep your mouth shut," Steve said, anger and frustration causing his voice to rise.
"I'm his doctor," Jesse responded, trying to contain his own frustration, knowing that his friend's manner was due to worry. "How am I supposed to stay away from him?"
"Look, guys," Amanda interjected, "this is ridiculous. Steve, I know you're just trying to spare your father any further stress, but do you really think this is the way to do it? Are you going to avoid him until you find Trainor? What if that takes a long time? Do you really think he won't notice that you're avoiding him? Or that we're hiding something from him or avoiding him too? And when he puts that together with the guard on his door, don't you think he'll figure out there's something going on that you don't want him to know about? He may be injured, but it hasn't affected his brain! And he's going to worry all the more if he figures it's something so bad that you don't even want him to know about it!"
Steve stared at her, frustration showing clearly in his face. Then he let out a long breath. "All right, Amanda, I guess you're right," he capitulated. "It's just that I really hate to have him relive all that right now."
"I know, Steve, but he's a lot stronger than he looks - as you know better than anyone. And this time we'll all be here with him, especially you."
Steve opened his mouth to respond, but just then they heard a voice from inside the room call out weakly, "Hey, if you guys are going to hold a conference, why don't you come in and get comfortable?"
Jesse moved to enter the room, but Steve sent him a silent, but unmistakable message. So he and Amanda just remained in the doorway for a moment.
"Sorry to disappoint you," Amanda quipped lightly to Mark, "but some of us actually have work to do in this hospital!" She smiled at him affectionately, and she and Jesse disappeared, once again leaving Steve alone with his father.
As Steve moved over to the bed, Mark, who hadn't missed the exchange between Steve and Jesse, searched his son's face, recognizing the signs of trouble.
"Hey, Dad, how're you feeling?" Steve asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I'm just fine," his father responded, brushing aside the query. "What's wrong, Steve?"
Steve looked at him with rueful affection. "I never could keep much from you, could I?"
Mark smiled slightly, but just said, "What is it, son?"
"We've found out who's behind this scheme," replied Steve, keeping a close eye on his father. "Malcolm Trainor's escaped from prison." He watched the shock show for a moment before Mark's face went expressionless.
"Well, that fits," Mark said levelly, looking off into the distance.
"We certainly know he's capable of pulling off this type of elaborate scheme," agreed Steve grimly.
"And he holds us responsible for his brother's death," mused Mark. "He blamed us when Ian was killed when they were struggling for that gun when we set them up. No doubt he felt that tricking you into shooting me would be an appropriate revenge." He fell silent for a moment, staring at the wall as if he were seeing that scene from so long ago. Steve, watching his father closely, saw that he had gone paler, saw the tightness around his mouth and the distant look in his eyes, and knew that he had momentarily withdrawn into that nightmarish past; his heart constricted, and he reached out to place a supportive hand on his father's shoulder.
"Dad -"
Mark pulled himself together and returned to the present. He met the concern in his son's eyes, and smiled slightly. "I'm okay, Steve. Do you have any idea where Malcolm is now?"
"No, but we'll find him, Dad. Cheryl's back at the station getting the details on his escape, and we're putting out an APB, of course. And we'll be rechecking the area where the shooter was last night to see if anyone's seen Trainor around."
"He can't have been the shooter, though," said Mark, considering. "I didn't get a very good look at him, but I would have recognized Trainor."
Steve nodded. "We'll be checking into any of his old pals and associates to see if any of them look like likely candidates for that role."
Just then there was a knock on the door, and a uniformed officer poked his head in the room. "Lieutenant?"
Steve waved him in. "Dad, this is Officer Mike Harrison. Harrison, this is my father, Dr. Mark Sloan."
Mark and Officer Harrison exchanged greetings, and Steve told the officer that he'd talk to him outside in a moment. Mark looked at his son.
"I'm putting a guard on your door around the clock until we have Trainor safely back in custody," Steve said firmly. "And I don't want to hear any arguments."
"Okay," Mark said quietly.
Steve stared at him. "'Okay'? No arguments, no 'discussions', that's it?"
His father looked back at him seriously. "Steve, I said before that you were as much the target of this plot as I was - maybe more so. Trainor may be out there right now working on his next act of revenge against you. And we both know that he's extremely intelligent and creative, and therefore extremely dangerous. If you're going up against him, I want you totally focused. I don't want you distracted by worrying about what's happening to me while I'm stuck in here." Father and son exchanged looks silently, each knowing what the other was feeling without needing to say it. Both remembered all too vividly what had happened to Mark when he had been so distracted by Steve's near demise during their previous dealings with the Trainors. Steve patted his father's shoulder.
"Don't worry, Dad. We'll get him," he said, knowing that it was him his father was worried most about.
Mark nodded. "Just promise me you'll be careful, son," he said, his voice slightly deepened, as it usually was when he was being concerned or affectionate.
"I will, Dad." Steve gave his father's shoulder a gentle squeeze and left.
Outside the room, Steve stopped to give Officer Harrison his instructions. Before leaving, he quietly peered back into Mark's room. The look on his father's face, as he stared unseeingly at the wall in front of him, wrenched at his heart. He hesitated, then turned away and went to find Amanda.
CHAPTER 4
Steve found Amanda at her desk in the path lab. "Amanda, are you doing anything critical this afternoon?" he asked abruptly as he entered. Amanda looked up, surprised.
"Nothing I can't postpone if you need me," she replied. She took a good look at her friend's face, and asked in alarm "Steve, what's wrong? Is Mark alright?"
"Oh, he's just fine," Steve said bitterly. "He's just been plunged back into his worst nightmare, that's all."
Amanda got up and went over to him. "Steve, why don't you just tell me what happened," she said gently. "I gather you told Mark about Malcolm Trainor. Was he very upset?"
"About what you'd expect." Steve drew a deep breath and looked over at a corner of the lab. "You know, Dad once told me what his worst nightmare was out of that whole mess - you know what it was?"
"That whole time was just one nightmare after another," Amanda replied. "Was it when you were brought in after being shot?"
"Not even that," replied Steve. "He told me about it - after I found him on the deck one night after a really nasty nightmare. Remember we wondered how he knew about that bomb the Trainors had planted, and he said Malcolm had told him?" Amanda nodded. "Well, apparently, Trainor did more than just tell him about it - he taunted him with it... told him that they had planned it so that I would be killed in the explosion... laughed about it." Steve's voice was hard as he recounted the story, using his anger at Trainor to keep the pain at bay. "Dad said he'd never felt so helpless in his life. There he was, locked in that damn cell, knowing that I was about to be killed, and he couldn't even warn me. He told me he begged the guard to make a call for him - just to warn me, but the guard was apparently friendly with Trainor and wouldn't do it." Steve paused, his mouth set in such a hard line his lips were practically white. "I know some of the guards on death row - they're not exactly nice people. Some of them take a sadistic pleasure in rubbing the prisoners' noses in their condition. I'm sure he did a lot to increase Dad's sense of helplessness and desperation. Anyway, Dad sat in that cell for the rest of the day, picturing me being blown to bits, and knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He said it was the worst day of his entire life. When they came to tell him that you were on the phone – they just told him it was 'the morgue' calling – he was sure that you were calling to tell him I was dead."
Amanda had tears in her eyes as she said, "Oh, Steve, we never knew that - he never told us."
Steve glanced at her, face and voice still hard. "No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't have told me if I hadn't found him when he was still so shaken by the nightmare. The point is, now he gets to relive that same nightmare all over again. He's tied to that damn hospital bed, feeling helpless, worrying about what Trainor's got in store this time - for me. That's why I didn't want to tell him about Trainor until I got hold of him. And this time, I swear, I'm going to make sure he's never going to have the chance to do this to us again."
"Steve, what can I do to help?" Amanda asked. He turned to look at her.
"Stay with Dad as much as you can," he said. "I have to get out there and find this bastard, but if he has you and Jesse around some of the time, maybe you can keep him from worrying as much. And at the very least, he won't feel so isolated and out of everything."
"I'll go right up there. And I'll talk to Jesse, too. Between us we'll do everything we can, you know that. Just keep us posted on what you find out. If Mark feels involved in the investigation, he won't feel so helpless. Not to mention the fact that just hearing from you will reassure him that you're okay."
"Thanks, Amanda, that's a good idea. And just having you guys there will help a lot."
Still misty-eyed, Amanda gave Steve a quick hug. "Just remember that the best thing you can do for your father is to make sure that nothing happens to you," she said. "So be careful!"
"That's the plan."
CHAPTER 5
Steve was getting frustrated; after a long day of searching for leads, it felt like he and Cheryl were getting nowhere. Every time they thought they had something, it seemed to lead to a dead end. Now it was nighttime, and he knew he ought to tell Cheryl to knock off for the day, that they'd start fresh in the morning. But he was driven by a compulsive need to find Malcolm Trainor before he had a chance to pull whatever trick he had planned next.
Finally, it seemed like they might actually have something. A bartender at a bar a couple of blocks from the shooting had thought he recognized a picture of Malcolm Trainor as someone who had been with a man named Joe Louter who was a semi-regular customer. When they checked for any info on Louter, they found that he used to work for Ian Trainor's accounting firm. They also found a picture of him, and realized that he was their shooter. Fifteen minutes later, Steve and Cheryl were at the door to Louter's apartment.
"Open up – police!" Steve shouted. Getting no response, he kicked the door open, and they burst in, weapons ready. At first glance, the apartment seemed empty, but then Cheryl called Steve's attention to something behind the sofa.
"Steve – over here."
Steve moved to her side and looked down to see Louter on the floor, dead. He had been shot through the head.
"Looks like Trainor's up to his old trick of killing off any witnesses," Steve said grimly. They began to search the apartment for any evidence that would tie this to Trainor or any clue to Trainor's possible whereabouts. On a nearby table they found a tape recorder. Using a handkerchief to avoid smearing any fingerprints, Steve pressed the play button.
"So how does it feel to know you killed your old man, Sloan?" Malcolm Trainor's voice taunted from the tape. Steve went rigid, and Cheryl stood frozen in shock. "Did he die right away, or did he have time to suffer first? I wish I had been able to see the look on his face when he realized his precious son had shot him..." Cheryl reached over and clicked off the tape.
"Steve – " she said, laying a hand on his arm. He looked right through her for a moment, his mouth tight, his eyes bleak.
"I'm going to get this bastard," he swore, "and I'm going to kill him." Cheryl gripped his arms and shook him.
"Get a grip, Steve!" she said sternly. "You are not going to let him get to you! That's what he wants, it's part of his game." She saw him focus on what she was saying, and continued. "We'll get him all right. And we'll see that he goes back to prison where he belongs. But it's not going to help if you start coming apart now." Steve looked at her and she could see some of the rigidity go out of him.
"You're right," he said, becoming hard and cold now. "This is the same type of game he played with Dad in prison. But we have the advantage of being able to do something about it. Get the crime scene unit out here and have them go over every inch of this place. I want to go over this tape and see what it can tell us."
"Steve, maybe you should leave the tape to me," Cheryl suggested in concern.
"It's alright, Cheryl," Steve replied evenly. "I need to be the one to do this – there might be some reference in there to past events that wouldn't mean much to you. Don't worry, I've got it under control." He met his partner's concerned gaze straightly, and she relaxed a little. He knew he could do this. He simply shut down any consideration of the emotional context of what was said and concentrated on looking for clues contained in the words, background sounds, or any other aspect of the tape he could identify. It wasn't easy, but he had done it before – like when his father had been kidnapped by the Sweeneys. He would do what he had done then – concentrate on the job itself, and leave the emotional reactions for when he knew his father was safe.
Unfortunately, he wasn't able to glean much from the tape. By the time the CSU had gone over most of the apartment, it was well past midnight, and both he and Cheryl were gritty-eyed with lack of sleep. They finally decided they would stand a better chance of getting some new ideas if they got a couple of hours of sleep and resumed in the morning.
On his way home, Steve decided to stop at the hospital to check on his father. He knew Mark would be asleep, but he just felt the need to see him and verify that everything was okay. As he walked tiredly down the surgical ward towards his father's room, he was startled to realize that there was no guard at the door. Suddenly wide awake and alert, he quickened his pace. He stopped at the doorway and listened, hoping that maybe Mark had called the guard inside for something. There was no sound from the room, however. Steve pulled his gun and entered the room ready for trouble. But there was no trouble – no threat – no patient. The room was totally empty, his father gone. Thoroughly alarmed by now, Steve raced back up the hall to the nurse's station, where two night nurses were conferring about something.
"Where's my father?" he demanded, unceremoniously interrupting them. They looked up, startled.
"He should be in his room," one of them said in surprise.
"He's not there. And neither is the officer who was watching him," stated Steve curtly. "When was the last time you noticed him?"
"Well, I checked on your father about an hour ago, and he was asleep," said one of the nurses.
"And I'm pretty sure I noticed the officer outside his room a little over half an hour ago, when I went to answer the call light from one of the other patients," volunteered the other.
"Didn't either of you see them leave?" asked Steve in frustration. They both shook their heads. "Did you see anyone else come through here, anyone ..."
"There they are!" one nurse interrupted, pointing down the other end of the corridor.
Steve turned to see his father walking slowly up the hall, using his portable IV pole for support, a uniformed officer beside him. He strode quickly toward them. The officer saw him approaching and said something to Mark, who looked over in surprise.
"Steve! What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked.
"What are you doing wandering around the halls at this hour?" Steve retorted. "Are you alright? Is anything wrong?" By this time he was at Mark's side, one hand under his father's arm, offering support.
"I'm fine," Mark responded. "I just woke up and felt like getting a little exercise, so Officer Daniels came along with me."
Steve looked searchingly at his father and relaxed a bit, although his mouth tightened. He could read between the lines of that explanation – his father had probably woken with a nightmare and decided to try to walk off the effects. Well, he had expected that there'd be a recurrence of nightmares over this; his father would hate it if he made any kind of fuss. So Steve just nodded and walked with his father to his room.
"So, did you find out anything?" Mark asked Steve.
"Some," Steve replied vaguely. "We're getting closer anyway. Why don't we get you back to bed, Dad, and I'll tell you about it in the morning."
"As long as you're here, why don't you come in for a few minutes and give me a quick update?" Mark suggested.
"Okay," Steve agreed. He turned to the officer. "Why don't you take a short break and get yourself a coffee or something, Daniels," he suggested. "I'll stay with my father until you get back."
"Okay, Lieutenant. Thanks," responded the officer, and he headed off for the elevator.
Inside the room, Steve helped his dad get out of his robe and back into bed. Soon Mark was settled in bed with Steve in the chair beside him.
"So what have you found out?" Mark asked, his eyes on his son's face. Steve looked at him consideringly, and decided that his father was probably more awake than he was at this point. So he told him the whole story of locating Joe Louter, only to find him dead. "As usual, Trainor's starting to leave corpses lying about to cover his tracks," Steve finished.
"Wasn't there anything in the apartment to tie Trainor to him?" asked Mark.
"Well, he did leave a cassette tape behind," Steve said dryly, "apparently for me to find."
Mark looked at him in surprise. "What was on it? Did you bring it?"
"I have it, but there's not much on it of any practical use. Besides, I didn't bring a tape player," Steve answered, knowing that evasion was undoubtedly useless, but trying to avoid giving his father the details anyway. He noted wryly that his father was now totally focused on the case as a case – his own emotional involvement put aside, at least temporarily.
"I have a portable cassette player here somewhere," Mark said looking around the clutter of flowers and other items that were already accumulating in the room. "Here it is." He leaned over and retrieved the player from the bedside table. "One of the residents loaned it to me today with some music to listen to." He grinned suddenly. "Not exactly my favorite type of music," he said, holding up a cassette of a modern rock band, "but I promised I'd give it a fair shot." He seemed so normal, despite the bandages and IV, that Steve hated to break the mood by having him hear the tape.
"It's probably a lot better than the one I found in Louter's apartment," he commented. "Why don't we just leave it for morning, Dad? It doesn't make very good bed-time listening." He saw his father watching him with that look that saw right through him, and knew that he didn't stand a chance of trying to keep it from him.
"Steve, what's on that tape?" Mark asked quietly.
Steve sighed and gave in to the inevitable. "It's just Trainor up to his favorite mind games," he replied, pulling out the tape. "It's not pleasant, but I guess you're not going to let me get away with keeping it from you, are you?" he said, trying to keep things matter-of-fact. He handed the tape to Mark, who inserted it into the machine, put on the headset, and pushed play. Steve got up and walked over to the window, not wanting to have to meet his father's eyes while he was listening to the tape.
It was a short tape, and Steve was not surprised to hear his father click the stop button shortly after he reached the window. What did surprise him, as he turned to look at his father, was that Mark wasn't looking at him. He was staring intently in front of him and was rewinding the tape to listen to it again. His eyes now glued to his father's face, Steve waited for him to hit stop again, and then spoke. "What? Did you hear something I missed?" he asked.
"You know, Steve, I just may have an idea," his father said, his face wearing the intent look he got when something had occurred to him.
"Well, let's hear it. At this point, I'll consider almost anything," Steve replied.
"How much information about the shooting has made the papers?" asked Mark.
"Not much," Steve answered. "We weren't real eager to give out too many details, as you might imagine. Basically, the papers just have the fact that there was a chase involving gunfire and that you were shot during the incident. We managed to avoid telling them by whom," he added dryly.
"But they did know that I wasn't killed," Mark pointed out. "So Malcolm Trainor must have made that tape before he read today's paper."
"Okay. So what?"
"Well, why didn't he record over this tape with an updated version? Or throw it out?"
"Maybe he hasn't gotten around to it yet," Steve said somewhat impatiently. "What are you getting at, Dad?"
"Well, he obviously made this before he knew the outcome of the shooting. Maybe he even made it ahead of time based on what he had planned. Maybe he didn't bother updating it because he thought it might still come true."
"Dad, I don't know if I'm too sleep deprived or you're on too much pain medication, but I'm not following you here."
"Look, Steve, unless Malcolm Trainor's been camped out here in the hospital, how does he know what kind of condition I'm in? The hospital hasn't given out any information on me, you've had a guard on me, nothing's been reported in the papers. For all he knows, I may be in critical condition." Mark was getting completely involved in this now, displaying that enthusiasm he always got when he was about to propose some scheme to catch a criminal. "I'll bet he's hoping that I won't make it, and that tape will still be accurate!"
"Well, he's just going to have to be disappointed," responded Steve.
"Not necessarily," his father said with a gleam in his eye that Steve knew only too well. "What if we let him think he was going to get what he wanted?" He read protest in his son's face, and hurried to continue. "Look, instead of playing Trainor's game, trying to find him, why don't we make him play our game and come to us?"
"And just how do you intend to accomplish that?"
"By giving him his chance to come and finish me off," Mark replied.
"That's it, Dad, you have been taking too much medication!"
"No, listen," insisted Mark. "A couple of things are very clear on that tape. He wants me dead, he wants to make you feel responsible, and he wants the fun of watching. We can set it up to make him think he can have all that! If we leak it out that I'm in critical condition, but still have a chance, I'll bet he won't be able to resist coming here to try to polish me off personally. And that's when we nab him!"
"If you're supposed to be in such critical condition, why would he take the chance of coming here to finish you off?" Steve objected.
"Because we'll let it be known that I also stand a reasonable chance of surviving."
"So why wouldn't he wait to see if you survive before taking that chance?"
"Think about what he says on that tape. If he can make sure I don't recover, then it will look as though I died as a result of that gunshot wound." It wasn't necessary for Mark to press home the point that this would ensure the maximum amount of grief and guilt for Steve – they both knew that. "It will also give him the opportunity to come and gloat over me," Mark continued matter-of-factly. "I think he'll find that combination irresistible."
Steve just looked at him and reflected that his father would probably always manage to amaze him. Here he was in the middle of his own worst nightmare, barely able to walk yet, having just listened to his worst enemy gloating over his death, and he was actually enjoying hatching a plot revolving around his own demise. Worried as he was, Steve couldn't help relaxing a bit at this sign of normalcy.
"You know, Dad, I hate to dampen your enthusiasm," he said with affectionate skepticism, "but what if he has been to the hospital and has seen you wandering around the hallways?"
"That's okay; Jesse and I will come up with a good medical reason for a setback – pulmonary embolism, ruptured sutures, staph infection – there're lots of complications that can set in within a few days of surgery," Mark said confidently.
"Well, that's a cheery thought," replied his son sardonically.
Mark smiled at him affectionately, and then sobered. He knew, only too well, just how effectively Malcolm Trainor could mentally torment his victims, and he hated to know that his son was suffering this torment on his behalf.
"You know, Steve, I am going to be fine," he declared, his tone gentle, but firm. "Don't let Malcolm Trainor's little mind games get to you. You and I both know who's responsible for this and we're about to pin it squarely on him."
Steve gazed back at him, reading the love and support that his father always displayed for him but rarely talked about. He knew Mark was concerned about him, and he also realized that being in on the planning to capture Trainor was probably the best therapy for his father as well – certainly better than allowing him to remain helpless while Steve was out there searching.
"Okay, Dad," he said, his own tone gentle. "We'll iron out the details with Jesse in the morning. You'd better get some sleep now or you really will suffer a setback or one of those complications you mentioned."
"You too," his father replied. "Right now you look worse than I do!"
"I doubt it," Steve retorted. "Good night, Dad."
"Good night, son."
CHAPTER 6
The next morning, or rather, later that same morning, Steve was awakened from an uneasy sleep by a phone call from Jesse.
"I'm here in your dad's room," Jesse announced cheerfully, "and we thought you should probably come by since he seems to be succumbing to a serious systemic infection."
Still groggy with sleep, Steve's heart skipped a few beats as he jolted awake, before the tone of voice got through to him and he remembered his conversation with his father.
"Very funny, Jess," he grumbled. "I suppose you two are having a wonderful time with this crazy plan. I don't seem to recall actually agreeing to this charade, as a matter of fact."
"Well, you don't have a lot of choice, because we've already got it started," Jesse told him. "So, if you don't want to be left out, you'd better get down here right away!" A click announced that Jesse had hung up, and Steve went to splash water on face and see if he could wake up enough to deal with this.
On his way to the hospital, Steve stopped at the police station to pick up the equipment he knew they'd need. When he arrived at the hospital, he was met by Amanda, who immediately came over to him, a worried expression on her face. He slipped into his own role of concerned son, asking, "Amanda, how is he?"
"He's not doing very well, Steve," Amanda responded. "The infection doesn't seem to be responding properly to the antibiotics."
The two of them hurried through the halls to Mark's room. Steve knew this was all an act, but he found that he couldn't quite suppress the knot that was forming in his stomach. After all, such a scenario was still all too possible in reality. And precautions or no precautions, the idea of using his father, in his current weakened condition, as bait to attract Malcolm Trainor's lethal attentions still made him extremely nervous.
When they entered Mark's room, they found Jesse in attendance, with Mark lying motionless on the bed, eyes closed. Steve's heart lurched uncomfortably before Jesse greeted him and Mark opened his eyes.
"You know, I still think this idea is crazy," Steve said irritably. "I doubt that Trainor's going to fall for it. And if he does, how are we supposed to make sure we get in here before he can do anything? I can't exactly sit in the closet all day."
"No problem," said Jesse breezily. "We made sure the room across the hall is vacant, and you can set up surveillance from there. You did bring the microphone and listening equipment, didn't you?"
"Yeah, but what if Trainor comes in silently and we don't hear him in time?" Steve argued. "I think we should call this thing off."
Mark looked at his son seriously, knowing that his irritability sprang from concern for his safety.
"Steve, you know this is the best shot we have at getting Trainor. I really don't think he'll be able to resist this opportunity. And since part of the attraction is the chance to gloat, I doubt that he'll try to actually kill me before he does so."
"What makes you so sure he'll take the time to gloat?" Steve asked.
"Trust me. He likes to gloat," replied Mark drily, his eyes darkening momentarily. The subtle change in his tone and expression didn't pass unnoticed by his son. Steve silently vowed to get Malcolm Trainor out of their lives for good, whatever it took.
"Amanda and I will keep our eyes open too," Jesse volunteered. "Between the three of us, I'm sure we'll be able to keep Mark covered."
Steve sighed and gave in to the inevitable. "All right," he said, "but just to be on the safe side, I think I'll ask Cheryl to bring over one of the miniaturized cameras. We can hook up a monitor in the stakeout room and that way we can watch what's going on as well as listen."
It felt like a very long day to Steve, and he doubted that it was any better for his father. With Cheryl's help, he set up the room across from his father's as a surveillance area, with both video and audio monitors. They spread the word, using the hospital grapevine and the help of a reporter or two whom Steve trusted, that Mark was in serious condition from a systemic infection resulting from his injury. As they waited and watched, Steve could feel the tension mounting in him. In spite of his precautions, he hated knowing that his dad was virtually helpless if anything should go wrong. It couldn't be much easier on his father, he thought. He knew the stakes as well as anyone, and he also knew better than anyone just how vulnerable he was. And since his part entailed having everyone believe that he was critically ill, he wasn't even permitted the distractions of moving around or talking to anyone other than Jesse, who, as the treating physician, checked in on him periodically to "monitor his condition". There was nothing he could do but lie there and wait for everyone else to play their parts, with lots of time to think and remember the horrors of the last time they had dealt with the Trainors.
It wasn't until the evening change of shift that anything happened. Cheryl had gone on a quick break to get them some coffee and a bite to eat, when a ruckus arose at one end of the hallway. Smoke was pouring out of one of the patient rooms, and the alarm at the nurse's station was ringing. Someone called out that the patient was coding, and there was temporary confusion as medical staff and visitors milled about. The officer guarding Mark's door ran to help as the staff tried to put out a fire in the room and evacuate the patients. Even Steve peered cautiously from the door of the room where he was maintaining surveillance to make sure things were under control. During that moment of distraction, a figure wearing surgical scrubs and mask slipped unnoticed into Mark's room.
Alerted by the commotion in the hallway outside, Mark lay with eyes closed as the intruder entered his room. There was a short period of silence, as the intruder stood staring down at him.
"Well, well, well, Sloan," whispered Malcolm Trainor, "we finally meet again." As Mark still lay silently, Trainor moved to the side of the bed. "Come on, Sloan, wake up," he said angrily, reaching out to shake Mark roughly. "I want you awake to know me and know what's in store for you and that son of yours." Mark gave a slight groan and opened his eyes, apparently groggy.
"You recognize me, Sloan?" demanded Trainor. Mark nodded weakly.
"Trainor," he whispered, "you're Malcolm Trainor…" He let his voice trail off.
"You're going to die, Sloan," Trainor declared vindictively. "And your son's going to know how it feels to have had a hand in the betrayal and death of someone he loves – just like you two did to my brother and I. He would never have died if you hadn't set him up to think that I had betrayed him. You caused his death, and now you will die at the hands of someone you trust. And your son will have to live with the knowledge that he is responsible for your death. I just wanted you to know that before you die." Trainor held up a an empty syringe. "I injected this into your IV – now I just open the valve…" he turned to open the valve releasing the fluid to flow into Mark's vein.
As Mark struggled to pull the IV from his arm, the door burst open and Steve rushed in, gun leveled. "Don't move, Trainor," he ordered through clenched teeth. Just then, Jesse burst through the door – distracting Steve for one crucial second, as Trainor jumped to prevent Mark from dislodging the IV.
"Too late, Sloan," he crowed triumphantly as Steve, afraid to fire so close to his father, leaped to tackle him. As Steve crashed to the floor with Trainor, he was peripherally aware of his father's arm dropping limply and of Jesse rushing to Mark's side. A wave of fury swept over him, and he slammed his fist into Trainor's face, striking him over and over until his arm was grabbed from behind and he heard his partner's urgent voice: "Steve, stop it! That's enough!"
Steve released his hold on Trainor's shirt and let him slump to the ground. He stared at him blankly for a brief moment as the rage subsided, then turned quickly to look at the bed where his father lay.
"Dad?" he queried anxiously.
"He's fine," Jesse replied with a reassuring smile as he moved back so Steve could see where Mark was struggling to raise himself up to look at his son. "He just blacked out for a moment when Trainor banged into his wound. We got the IV out in time."
Steve stood up slowly, feeling limp with relief and reaction. Cheryl and the uniformed officer hauled Trainor to his feet and escorted him out. Scarcely sparing the battered felon a second glance, Steve went over to perch on the edge of his father's bed. Father and son exchanged a long look, and Mark smiled, albeit a bit weakly.
"Well, it worked," he proclaimed with satisfaction.
Steve looked at him. "Barely," he retorted. "He almost succeeded in killing you."
"Ah, but 'almost' doesn't count," his father responded with a twinkle. He gazed up at his son, suddenly serious once more. "What counts is that you got here in time to stop him. You prevented him from killing me and getting his revenge. He lost on all counts this time, Steve."
Steve gazed down at him thoughtfully for a moment. It was beginning to dawn on him that there had been an aspect to his father's plan that he hadn't realized before. By placing his own life in jeopardy as bait to catch Trainor, Mark had given his son the opportunity to save his life – providing him a way of offsetting the sense of guilt he'd been carrying since the shooting. He wondered whether his father had had that in mind when he proposed this scheme, and was only too afraid that he had. Steve was momentarily unsure of whether he was more furious at the dangerousness of such a move or overwhelmed by the love and trust that motivated it. He shook his head helplessly, a look of rueful affection on his face.
"I'd say 'let's not cut it so close next time,'" he said with mock sternness, "but there'd better not BE a 'next time'!" His father just grinned back at him.
"Okay," Jesse chimed in, "I don't know about you two, but I think it's been a pretty long day. And my patient here," he said, nodding toward Mark, "needs his rest. And from the looks of you, you could use some sleep yourself, Steve," he suggested firmly.
Steve glanced at him and nodded. He slid to his feet with a yawn.
"Maybe now we can all get a good night's sleep," he said, smiling down at his father.
Mark looked up and saw that, despite the fatigue, his son looked relaxed for the first time in days. "Good night, Steve," he said contentedly.
"Pleasant dreams, Dad," his son replied.