Disclaimer: The characters of Mark Sloan, Steve Sloan, Amanda Bentley, Jesse Travis, Cheryl Banks, Randy Wolfe, and Captain Newman do not belong to me but to CBS, Viacom et al. All other characters and entities are wholly fictional and belong to me; and any chance resemblance to any living person or entity is purely accidental. I made 'em up.

"Seen any good mimes lately?"

Startled, Mark Sloan looked up from the medical records he had been studying to see a beautiful woman leaning in his office doorway. "Randy!" he exclaimed, jumping up to give her an enthusiastic hug. "How was New Zealand?"

"Oh, that's long done. I just got back from a stint as activities director on a cruise ship - nice long vacation, and I got paid for it too," she smiled. "And since I had an errand in California, I had to come see you."

Mark smiled back at her warmly. "I'm glad you have. How long are you going to be in town?"

"At least a week or so. I need to do some research and make some calls before I go upstate."

The wheels in Mark's brain whirred into action. Steve was still on partial disability following his knee surgery, and seemed to be tolerating his forced vacation with poorly concealed impatience and irritation. A few days of Randy Wolfe, Mark thought gleefully, might be just what the doctor ordered.

"My dear," he said wickedly, "why don't you join us for dinner tonight?"

Limping into the kitchen, Steve Sloan glanced over at his father, who was industriously chopping vegetables. "Something special tonight, Dad?"

Mark briefly contemplated a radish before hacking it into a miraculously precise rosette, then favored his son with an inimical stare. Although Steve had responded very well to the initial physical therapy, and his other injuries from the car accident had healed fairly quickly once the lunatic experimenting with staph bacteria at Community General had been caught (literally by Steve's flinging himself out of his hospital bed and falling on top of the hapless miscreant), his progress since being released to come home had not been as good. Impatient to get back to work, Steve had insisted he could manage, but the long-suffering Captain Newman had finally put his foot down and ordered the recalcitrant lieutenant to stay home until he could walk reliably. He was unmoved by Steve's insincere promise to use the cane, and threatened him with a month of desk duty once he was cleared to come back if he didn't do as he was told. As things stood, Mark had already had to alternately coax and bully his son through two episodes of overconfidence and subsequent frustration, not to mention outright crankiness. Watching his son carefully, he was relieved to see that Steve was using the cane tonight without waiting to be nagged.

"Oh, I figured I might as well experiment on Jesse and Amanda too, so they should be here shortly. Why don't you get a beer and enjoy the sunset?"

Steve raised an amused eyebrow at his father. "Cramping your culinary style, Dad?" He lifted an arm in mock terror as his father brandished a large wooden spoon threateningly. "Okay, okay, I'll get my beer and hobble outside to await your summons."

Laughing, Mark flung a radish at his tall son as the latter edged out the door to the deck.

Mark had succeeded in subduing the salad and was working on his special recipe garlic bread when the doorbell rang. Waving a dismissive hand at his son, who was struggling to get up, he hastened to the door and threw it open, to see a smiling Randy, who was clutching an armful of wine bottles. "You didn't say what you were cooking, so I brought one of everything."

"Come in, come in," Mark said happily, attempting in vain to remove one or three of the more precariously positioned bottles, but Randy shook her head at his efforts and sailed towards the kitchen with her cargo. Mark gave up trying and followed her. "Amanda and Jesse are on their way, and Steve will be delighted to see you."

"Delighted to see whom?"

Having succeeded in rising, Steve was limping toward the kitchen. Unfortunately, he was still looking down rather than where he was going after negotiating the short step from outside, and was unprepared for the figure which suddenly appeared in front of him. Unable to stop or move the cane quickly enough to keep his balance, he had time for only an instant of startled, horrified recognition before the cane went one way, his good leg another, and the bad knee selfishly refused to single-leggedly provide enough support to keep him from crashing headlong to the floor.

With enviable speed and precision, Randy deposited her burden, intact, on a counter and knelt next to his recumbent body. "Oh, Steve, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed.

Dazed, Steve blinked up at her with an ominous feeling of deja vu and said the first stupid thing he could think of. "But -- you're in New Zealand --!" he stammered, uncomfortably aware in a small corner of his brain that he sounded like a complete moron.

Randy decided it wasn't the best time for lengthy explanations. "Yes, but I came back," she said soothingly, helping him up with small hands which were surprisingly strong.

His own hands firmly planted on the cane, more for reassurance than balance, Steve eyed her warily, unsure of how enthusiastic he felt about the reunion. Their history had been brief but eventful, and had involved his receiving frequent minor physical injuries whenever she was around, as well as being dragged into one of the weirder cases of his career. He had reacted with natural resentment, only coming to finally, grudgingly, admit that, however screwy her thought processes, she certainly had brains, and she was pretty cute as well. By the time he had reached that enlightened state, however, the Feds had left, the mime's murder was no longer a mystery, and Randy had smiled at him, kissed him, and blown out of town, leaving Steve to wonder if he should spend the next several days, weeks or months kicking himself. Hard.

He sorted mentally through several possible things to say, discarding all of them as either too brusque, too fatuous, too rude, or just plain idiotic. His father, usually only too willing to butt in, had, inexplicably, disappeared. The silence lengthened until even Randy, usually so supremely confident, began to wonder if her visit had been such a brilliant idea. She had hoped to enlist the Sloan men to help her find out what had happened to her sister, and, although she wasn't sure she wanted to admit as much to the handsome owner of the deep blue eyes regarding her with a tinge of ice, she had definitely looked forward to seeing those gorgeous eyes again, not to mention the rest of him. They stared at each other, both still silent, each reluctant to speak first, until an exasperated Mark strode back into the room and took each one by an arm, saying, "Alice, pudding. Pudding, Alice."

He was rewarded with an affronted glare from his son and a gasp, followed by a giggle, from Randy, which only deepened Steve's scowl. Irritably, Steve started to turn away, but the sudden lack of amusement on his father's face stopped him cold. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I seem to have left my good manners with my other cane."

Randy opened her mouth to say something, but Steve shook his head. "Randy, I am sorry. No reason for me to take my bad temper at my own clumsiness out on you." Steeling himself for what he was sure he would see in her eyes, he took a deep breath and declared, "Dad's right, of course. I really am delighted to see you." Encouraged by the fact that he had incurred no additional injuries so far, and emboldened by the beginning twinkle in her eyes, he blurted, "Will you let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night?"

There was another short silence, while Steve felt a growing chill in his chest. Then Randy smiled that incredible smile at him, took his hand, and beamed, "Absolutely, Steve."

Mark had managed for the most part to deflect Jesse's natural and persistent (not to mention occasionally tactless) curiosity as to why Steve and Randy kept surreptitiously giving each other goopy looks, helped by Amanda, who had no compunction about giving her good-natured compatriot a good hard pinch when warranted. They had worked their way in a rather leisurely fashion through one of Mark's gourmet Italian dinners, accompanied by one of the excellent wines contributed by Randy, and had uttered the obligatory oohs and aahs at the exquisite precision of Mark's vegetable creations. They were now relaxing on the deck enjoying coffee, the evening air, and the pleasant company. The would-be lovebirds were sitting as close to each other as possible without being excessively obvious, although Steve's hand kept wandering up to touch Randy's hair, until Jesse caught him at it and broke into gales of laughter. When the others turned inquiring glances on him, Steve affected an innocent look, hoping for once they'd cut him some slack.

Tempted, Mark contemplated his long-suffering son appraisingly, then decided to take pity on him. He turned to Randy. "Not to necessarily mix business with pleasure, dear, but what does bring you back to California?"

Randy had been debating with herself for the last several minutes as to just how she wanted to broach the subject. She definitely wanted their help, and she found that she had to know just how mutual her attraction with the younger Sloan was. Strangely, though, her customary supreme self-confidence had deserted her, leaving her unsure of how best to ask, not to mention worried about how she would feel if they refused. But, since it was Mark who was asking with that singularly charming smile, she knew she had to be as straightforward about her problem as possible. Hoping for the best, she put her cup down and leaned forward slightly.

"I'm trying to find out what has happened to my sister, and I --" she started, only to be interrupted by the person whose opinion, she realized, would affect her the most.

"Need us to help you," finished Steve, somewhat startled to hear the words coming out of his mouth instead of his father's. Before he could talk himself out of it, he captured her hands with his and gave her a devastating smile. "Of course we will -- "

Jesse couldn't restrain himself. "Man, Steve, you must have really banged your head hard when you hit the floor!" he laughed. "Hey! Stop that!" he groused, rubbing his arm where Amanda had just pinched him with more force than usual. Resigning himself to more black and blue marks, Jesse delivered another zinger. "Better bring Kevlar and a helmet!"

Face red, Steve growled, "You're lucky I'm too comfortable to get up and you're out of cane range, Jess." Jesse's retort went unnoticed as Randy cried, "Oh, Steve! I forgot about your leg!" Distressed, she continued, "I can't possibly ask you to get involved in something right now -- "

"On the contrary," Mark interjected. "I think a little low-level investigation might be just the ticket, as long as you promise to keep the bizarre Randy-related injury level at a bare minimum."

Steve ignored his father's wisecrack and gave him a long, level look. "You don't object?" he asked pointedly, his tone somewhat chilly.

"Nope," Mark answered equably. "I would hope that, if things start to get too complicated, or require more resources, you involve the department, but, depending on what Randy has to tell us, I think you'll be much happier with something to do, and that knee may get a chance to heal yet."

From the somewhat mulish expressions shared by father and son, Randy suspected they were heading for dangerous waters. Better get the discussion back to the issue at hand. "Well," she started, "my sister, Ariel --"

Mark smiled at her. "Let me guess. Miranda, right? The Tempest?"

Randy smiled back at him. "My parents were English majors and Shakespeare fanatics. Ironically, they got us backwards; Ariel has always been a proper, good little girl, and I was the flighty, adventurous one -- she's five years younger than me." She paused, shrugging. "I guess I've always felt a bit responsible for her."

Steve's thumb was stroking her hand, apparently of its own volition. "I take it she's disappeared?" he asked.

She nodded. "I got a letter from her about two weeks ago." She looked crestfallen for a moment. "Actually, she wrote it over three months ago, but it took that long to catch up to me."

A weird feeling overtook Steve. How it happened, he didn't know, but suddenly he wanted to be the one to take care of her, defend her, slay dragons right and left for her. He shook himself mentally. They hadn't even had a proper date yet, and here he was indulging in wishful fantasies like a teenager. Besides, he still didn't know if he could survive a single evening with her unscathed!

"And?" he prompted gently.

"She told me all about this wonderful guy she had met," Randy said flatly. At the lack of reaction from her listeners, she continued, "Ariel met this guy, married him, and dropped off the face of the earth, all in only three or four months."

"Excuse me?" said Amanda. "She did what?"

Randy sighed. "She got involved in this spooky new sect, where she met the man she married. Her letter referred to some sort of mass wedding. And then she and this guy she married stayed at their center upstate, but when I tried to contact her there, they told me she'd never been a member, hadn't ever visited the place even!" Her voice and hands became more agitated, reminding Steve uncomfortably of previous occasions when he'd narrowly avoided permanent injury or maiming. With some effort, he captured both flying hands and held them in his large, capable ones. "Randy, let me do some checking on this place before you try to do anything drastic -- some of those folks are pretty strange. What's it called?"

Randy made a contemptuous sound. "Enlightenment Ranch. Talk about imaginative."

"Okay. I'll look into it. See who the principals, owners, are, what they're about."

Mark had been listening intently. Now he turned to Randy and said quietly, "There's something else, isn't there."

She sighed. "Yes. What's really bothering me is that, as I said before, this is totally unlike her. I'm the one who does crazy things at the drop of a hat, not her."

"People do funny things sometimes, you know," Amanda pointed out gently.

"Maybe," Randy responded, "but she still wouldn't walk off without letting someone know where she was going. And, even though we don't see each other very often, we stay in touch. The last time I talked to her was only a month or two before she met her husband, and she didn't sound like she was planning to go off the deep end. I just know something bad has happened to her."

"Don't worry, Randy," Jesse chipped in. "We're a lot smarter and faster on our feet than we look -- well, some of us," he laughed, easily dodging the pillow thrown by his annoyed business partner.

Mark scratched his mustache. "Well, I suggest we get some rest tonight. Randy, you'll stay with us, of course?"