Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to CBS and Viacom. This is a piece of fan fiction, written for pleasure and not for profit. The characters are borrowed for the purpose of the story.

Authors' Note: Even though Ellen has never been our favorite match for Steve, evidently Barry Van Dyke liked the character since he wrote "Dance Of Danger," where Ellen was first introduced. Regardless of how you feel about her, she has been a fun person to write, and even if she is not your favorite either, we hope that you give the story a chance.

We hope that you have as much fun reading this as we did writing it.

I, Steve, Take You, Ellen

By Sally and Lisa

Chapter 1 – To Be My Wedded Wife

The phone rang, breaking the quiet serenity of the night, and a woman's hand slowly stretched out in the darkness, felt around for a minute, and by the third ring had located and picked it up. She brought it to her mouth and, in a very sleepy voice, said, "Hello."

"I'm sorry to disturb you at such an early hour, Ma'am," the voice on the other end announced, "but I need to speak with Lieutenant Steve Sloan."

With a small groan of disgust, she plopped the receiver down on what she hoped was the middle of his chest, she didn't really look, and then she snuggled back down under the covers.

Steve moved the phone so that he could speak into it. "Sloan, here." He wasn't fully awake, but he had a feeling he soon would be.

"Lieutenant Sloan, this is Officer Roberts. I'm sorry to bother you, Sir, but there's been another murder with the same MO as the dumpster killings, and you're the lead investigator."

Steve was already sitting up, and he reached over and flipped on the small lamp on his nightstand. "What s the address?"

"8674 West Monroe Drive." Steve repeated it and wrote it down. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Have you called the CSU?"

"Yes, Sir. They've been notified."

After a few pleasantries and another apology from the younger officer for waking him, the conversation was over. Steve turned around and a smile came to his face as he looked at his bride lying in the bed. He leaned over her, gently moved a lock of her blonde hair off of the side of her cheek, and left a soft kiss in its place.

In a very quiet voice, he informed her, "I have to go."

"I know, I heard." She didn't open her eyes. There was a time when she might have jumped out of bed and tried to follow him to the crime scene, but since she wasn't even attempting to move out from under the blankets, he wasn't worried.

"Ellen." He looked at her in the dim light. "I love you."

A wide smile appeared on her face, and she opened her eyes to meet his. "I know. Be careful, ok?"

A passionate kiss followed, and then he suggested, "Why don't you go back to sleep? I'll call you later."

Steve turned off the bedside lamp and reluctantly made his way into the bathroom, wondering why it was that dead bodies seemed to always be discovered in the middle of the night.

After quickly getting dressed, Steve took one last glance at his wife of less than a year and then, with a deep feeling of contentment, he headed out the door. He had to admit that he was truly enjoying married life.

He and Ellen had worked through most of the minor problems all newly wed couples encounter without difficulty, but one issue seemed to push their relationship to the limits, the conflict between their careers. There had been many heated discussions in which both of them clearly showed how stubborn they could be. But one day, when Ellen received a call from the Los Angeles Chronicle asking if she would like to be a free-lance writer reporting human-interest stories, the topic seemed to become less explosive. She found herself busy doing her own investigating and no longer found it necessary to sneak out to all of his crime scenes.

Steve had wondered if his dad had something to do with Ellen getting the job, but he had never worked up the courage to ask him, especially since Mark seemed to be her biggest fan. His dad had always made it a point to read all of her stories, even when they appeared in The National Scoop. Steve wanted to support her career, although he found it hard to take anything seriously that the tabloid had to offer. He had always thought that Ellen was a talented writer though, and so he chose to believe it was his wife's talent that got her the job.

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"As you can see, Sir, all of the evidence seems to match the MO of the dumpster killings." Sergeant Roberts had guided Steve to the body as soon as he had arrived. The area was flooded with lights making it appear as if the sun were shining brightly, but the chill in the air reminded them all that it was still night.

Steve nodded his agreement. He was tired of seeing the ugly murder scenes. With the discovery of the third body two weeks ago, the case had been declared the work of a serial killer, and with the addition of each new victim, the pressure on Steve to solve them grew stronger. Another name being put on the list was certainly not going to make his superiors any happier.

Whoever was committing these murders seemed to choose their victims at random. So far, Steve couldn't find any connection between the six people. They were all attacked from behind and then brutally beaten before their bodies were unceremoniously left with the garbage in one of the city dumpsters. Two were women, four were men, each a different age, having different occupations, living in different neighborhoods, and having different backgrounds. The murder weapon was never found, nor was any other helpful evidence.

"Do we know who he was?"

"Yes, Sir. His wallet was found on him." The younger officer handed it over to Steve. "His name was Mitchell Sowers. According to his driver's license, he's 35 and lives on the east side of town."

Steve took note of the information as he pulled his jacket collar up a little higher around his neck. He would much rather be back home, snuggling with Ellen in the comfort of their bed.

Home. The thought of it warmed him. He and Ellen had bought a small house in a quiet neighborhood and had started to fix it up to their liking. Steve was actually amazed at her domestic talents, but he was also glad she had them. It was a nice feeling to know that at the end of his days he had a place to go where he could escape the stress and horrors of his job, mainly because of the beautiful woman who would be there waiting for him.

It was two hours later when the coroner had the body of Mitchell Sowers ready to transport to the pathology lab, and Steve could leave. He grabbed some breakfast on his way over to the precinct and was pleasantly surprised to find that Captain Woodruff wasn't in; he really didn't want to sit through a lecture that he could quote by heart.

"Lieutenant Sloan." The captain would always begin, emphasizing the word lieutenant, as if silently making the point that it was a part of his name that could be changed at any time. "Have you made any progress on the dumpster killings?"

Steve always thought that was a ridiculous question, because if he had made any progress, the Captain would be the first to be informed. "No, Sir, I'm still working it."

What followed had a bit of variety to it, but no matter what words were used, there was always the underlying dissatisfaction that the case remained unsolved.

As Steve sat down at his desk, he decided to take advantage of his few spare minutes and make a call.

"Hello, Sloan residence," a happy voice answered.

"Hi." Steve had been feeling a little dreary, but the sound of his wife's voice cheered him.

If he could see her face, he would have seen a bright smile. "Hi. Got anything you want to tell me about your case?"

There was something in Ellen's voice that let him know that she wasn't serious, but he felt like he needed to say it anyway. "You know I can't do that."

"Can't or won't?" she quickly asked.

He had to chuckle. "Both," he stated. "I can tell you that I have to visit the next-of-kin and then go by the hospital and get the autopsy report from Amanda, but I was wondering if you might be free to meet me for lunch?"

"Sure, I can do that. The only thing on my agenda is to see how the opening of the new library is progressing, you know, the new story that I've been assigned, but I'm sure I'll be done by noon."

"Good, how about we meet at Romero's?"

"That sounds good."

"The Captain just came in; I've got to go."

"I love you," she told him.

"Me, too. Talk to you later."

As Ellen hung up the phone, she sighed deeply. She was sitting in the kitchen and as she looked around she noticed that it was a little messy, but that was just fine with her. It was, after all, her kitchen and having to clean up a few dirty dishes this morning was a small trade-off for ignoring them the night before to spend a thoroughly enjoyable evening with her husband.

She really did love Steve, and she knew that he loved her. She had been so thrilled when he had finally asked her to marry him, but after a few days the initial excitement had worn off, and she decided that she needed to talk to him about the incident. There were too many questions and doubts that kept forming in her mind. Things like why did he wait to propose until she had started walking away? And when he did propose and she asked him to repeat what he'd said, why did he deny that he had told her he loved her and wanted to marry her? She didn't want to enter into a marriage if she wasn't absolutely sure that it was the right thing to do. They had scheduled a date to go to dinner and Ellen had decided that she would use that opportunity to discuss her concerns.

Steve had made reservations at an elegant French restaurant. After they were seated beside each other in a private area and placed their orders, Ellen got ready to begin the conversation. But before she could say anything, Steve surprised her.

He gently took hold of her hand, looked directly into her eyes, and said, "Ellen, I sort of botched this the first time, and you deserve better, so tonight, I want to do it right." Then, without a single stammer, he proclaimed his love for her and delivered the perfect marriage proposal.

She was so surprised it left her speechless, something that rarely happened.

Steve was delighted with her reaction and gently pulled her close to him to kiss her. When he finally pulled away, a bright smile appeared on her face and her eyes were twinkling in the romantic candlelight. All of her doubts disappeared. "Yes, I would love to marry you."

It had been a perfect evening, and every time she thought about it, she realized anew that even though her husband wasn't a man who often showed his emotions, he did love her.

Ellen brought her thoughts back to the present and started to clean up the dishes, but a report on the early morning news suddenly caught her attention.

"The body of Samuel Hackett, known among the organized crime world as Sammy the Hatchet', was found early this morning in one of the apartments in this building behind me." A perky young reporter was standing in front of a somewhat older apartment complex that looked very familiar to Ellen. "Police are releasing very few details, except to say that Mr. Hackett was apparently beaten to death some time yesterday afternoon."

Ellen left the dirty dishes where they were, quickly got ready, grabbed her keys, and hurried out the door.

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As soon as Cheryl reported in, Steve recruited her to accompany him to visit the newly widowed Mrs. Mitchell Sowers. Even though the couple had been separated for over three months and were currently seeking a divorce, Mrs. Sowers had been shocked to hear the news of her husband's death. They stayed with her, asking her the normal questions, and when she assured them that she would be all right, they left her home and drove to stop Community General Hospital.

"Hi, Amanda," Cheryl greeted her friend as she and Steve entered the pathology lab.

Amanda looked up from her work. She was dressed from head to toe in blue scrubs, obviously in the middle of performing an autopsy. "Hello, the report is over there." She nodded in the direction of her desk.

Steve, who never really liked to know the details of Amanda's job, walked over to pick up the file, while Cheryl wandered closer to her friend. "Who's this?"

"Samuel Hackett."

"Oh, I heard about him. The man who could supposedly kill anyone in a single shot, for the right price that is, got taken down himself," Cheryl commented.

"Yeah, and by a baseball bat."

Steve's interest was piqued. "A baseball bat?" He approached the examination table.

"Yeah, he was hit from behind, right here, that rendered him unconscious. Then it was this blow," she pointed to another spot on his head, "that actually killed him. There were wood splinters that matched a bat found in his apartment. The lab took it to check for prints."

"Well, I'm just glad it's not my case." Steve stated. "The press will be all over it, and I've got enough headaches with the one I have." He had been scanning the report as they talked. "It looks like there is nothing new with Mitchell Sowers."

"No, Steve there isn't. It's the same as the others. I'm sorry." Amanda knew how discouraging it was to have a case with no leads.

"Well, thanks, Amanda. Something will turn up." And then looking at Cheryl, he said, "We'd better get back to the precinct."

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As Steve entered the squad room, he sensed that there was something off. His fellow officers seemed occupied as they normally would be, but even so, the atmosphere was abnormal for some reason, but he couldn't quite decide what was wrong. He continued toward his desk and sat down, and the picture of Ellen that he kept on it brought a smile to his face. He glanced at his watch, noting that in about 30 minutes he would be able to actually be with his wife, instead of just look at her photo. He opened the autopsy file on the latest victim, Mitchell Sowers, to begin to read it in more detail, but was interrupted by a very nervous looking colleague, Brett Collins, who was approaching his desk.

"Um, Steve, could I speak with you for a minute?"

"Sure." Steve laid the folder down and gave Brett his full attention. "What can I do for you, Brett?"

"Um," the man stuttered. He wasn't really sure how or where to begin. "I was on duty and took the call for Samuel Hackett."

"Oh, I heard about it," Steve replied. Brett had been in the homicide division for a little over five years and had an excellent reputation, so Steve wondered why he was seeking his advice.

"Well, we have a suspect in the interrogation room and well, I was about to question the suspectbut the Captain thought that I should"

Steve was sure that the confusion he was feeling was written all over his face.

"Umif you would just come with me." Brett started to move toward one of the interrogation rooms and motioned for Steve to follow. As they walked, Brett continued to speak. "The suspect had opportunity, confessed that they were in the apartment yesterday, and the fingerprints on the murder weapon are a match."

"Did the suspect have a motive?" Steve asked. He'd never seen Brett act like this and he also thought it was odd that the suspect' didn't seem to have a name or a gender.

They had almost arrived at the interrogation room, but Brett quit walking. "Umyeah, there was a motive."

"Then why don't you place the suspect under arrest?"

Brett scrutinized his shoes, and then took a deep breath before raising his head and looking directly at Steve. "I just thoughtmaybe you would" They were just off to the side of the two-way mirror that separated the hallway from the interrogation room. Instead of saying anything else, Brett merely pointed for Steve to look through it.

Steve moved over and was more than surprised to see that the occupant of the room was his wife.