Chapter Eight

"Look, ah, you've been trying not to drift off for the past twenty minutes or so… I'm gonna get out of here and let you sleep for a couple of hours, okay?"

Steve pushed the overbed table, with the remains of their lunch, to the end of the bed and turned to face his partner. Mike had been allowed to eat a bowl of clear broth soup so Steve had made a trip to the cafeteria, returning with a sandwich for himself as well. Sitting up against the raised bedhead and moving with a careful, deliberate slowness, Mike had managed to feed himself, joking that he was grateful he didn't have to chew; it seemed like every move he made amplified the throbbing ache in his skull. "I think that's why they recommended the broth," Steve chuckled, thrilled beyond belief that the older man was actually feeling well enough to crack wise.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, Mike nodded dully.

"You want me to lower the bed?"

Mike started to shake his head then stopped abruptly with a moan, catching his breath. Steve grabbed his arm. "You gotta remember not to do that, right?"

"Unh-hunh," Mike groaned in quiet agreement, keeping his eyes closed. After several long seconds he opened them again. "I'm okay. Leave the bed."

"Okay," Steve nodded, removing his hand and taking a step back. "Go to sleep and I'll be back soon, hopefully before Jeannie gets here."

At the mention of his daughter's name, Mike smiled and closed his eyes once more. Steve stared at his best friend silently as he backed towards the door. Letting it close quietly behind him, he started through the ICU and out into the busy corridor.

He rubbed a hand across his face and through his hair. It had already been a long day and it was just after one. And he knew it was going to get a lot longer. There were so many unanswered questions, about Irene, about the baby, about what had actually happened in that alley, and who was responsible; he had to start getting some answers or he wasn't sure how long he could hold onto his temper, or his sanity.

# # # # #

Bob Wilson threw the door open with a bang and strode purposefully across the tile floor to the glass-walled inner office. Every startled eye in the outer office followed his progress. Captain Ryan Clarke, under whose command the sex crimes unit fell, glanced up from the report he was perusing and froze. "Sergeant Wilson… can I help you?" he asked warily, taking in his visitor's flushed face and audible breaths.

"Yeah," Wilson said coldly, taking a step towards the desk, "you can assign me to my partner's case."

"Ah," Clarke said quietly, looking down and dropping the file to his desk then clearing his throat and looking back up at the obviously agitated Robbery sergeant. "Bob," he began quietly, "you know I can't –"

"Bullshit, you can do anything you want."

"And you know it's department policy that any police officer is excused if the case involves a family member or partner, you know that."

"You can make an exception –"

"I can't make an exception, and you know that as well." Clarke stared into the sergeant's blazing brown eyes. He knew what Wilson was going through; back when he was an inspector, his older partner had been shot in the line of duty and forced to retire. The feelings of helplessness, guilt and inadequacy never go away. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his head into his hand then pushed it up through his hair. "Shut the door and sit down."

Wilson waited a beat before following the quasi-order, staring at the captain the entire time, not willing to let him off the hook.

"Listen, uh, before I say anything, just…" Clarke hesitated and took a deep breath. "How's Irene doing?"

Thrown by the unexpected question, Wilson sat back slightly and cocked his head. "Not good. They messed her up pretty bad… you know, physically and… and emotionally…"

Clarke closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew Inspector Martin well and had always admired his tough, talented and highly accomplished colleague. He looked up at her obviously distraught partner and sighed. "Look, ah, Bob, there might be something I can do for you."

Wilson leaned forward and put his forearms on the desk.

# # # # #

Steve had been cooling his heels in the corridor between the elevators and the nurse's station for about fifteen minutes when the man he was waiting for finally appeared. "Inspector Keller?" the blond white-coated physician asked as he approached with his right hand outstretched. "I'm Dr. Carlysle. What can I do for you?"

Steve pocketed the I.D. and badge he'd held up and smiled as they shook hands. "If you don't mind, Doctor, I'd like to ask you a couple of questions?"

Carlysle glanced at his watch. "I have about ten minutes so, sure, shoot. What's this about?" He gestured to an area a little further down the corridor where they could have a bit of privacy and Steve followed his lead.

"Ah, it's about Inspector Irene Martin. I'd like to get a little information about her, if I can?"

"In what regard?" the physician asked guardedly. "I'm not at liberty to just give out information on my patients without the proper authorization, if at all – I'm sure you're aware of that. And there have already been a number of officers here to see her, so… why do you want to talk to me?"

Steve flashed a grin, realizing that this might take a little more finessing than he had anticipated. "Dr. Carlysle… I'm sure you're aware of the circumstances surrounding the, ah, the incident that brought Inspector Martin here last night?"

Carlysle inclined his head slightly. "Yes, the assault…" His tone was skeptical.

Steve hesitated slightly. "Yes. And were you aware that she wasn't the only person assaulted last night? The, ah, the man she was with was hit over the head with a 2x4 and suffered a fractured skull. He was taken to St. Mary's… something to do with your CT scanner being out of order or something like that?"

His brow furrowed, the doctor nodded. "Yes…yes, it is. They expect it back up and running in a couple of days…"

"The man that was injured, he's her finance. He's going to be okay, but right now, he has no memory of what happened, and he has no idea that she was raped. But he's going to remember." Steve, who had been staring at the doctor while he spoke, dropped his eyes and took a deep breath.

"What has that got to do –?"

Steve's head snapped up. "Doctor, that man is my partner, Lieutenant Mike Stone." He saw Carlysle's eyes widen. "And I am the only person, besides Mike and Irene, who knows that she's pregnant." The doctor froze but when he was not forthcoming, Steve continued calmly and quietly, "Look, I know Inspector Martin is not seeing anyone… she doesn't want visitors right now, and I understand that completely… but he needs to know… he deserves to know…"

Carlysle stared at the young cop without blinking. "Inspector, you know I can't –"

"I know. I know you can't tell me!" Steve snapped, cutting him off. "But Doctor, I have a badly injured man lying in a hospital bed who is going to be asking me a lot of questions very soon, and I just want to know if I can tell him if he's going to be a father or not. That's all I want to know."

Carlysle continued to stare at him and as the seconds passed neither man moved. Finally Steve took a breath. "Look," he said quietly, "I know you can't say it, but…" He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head.

Carlysle's brow furrowed, then he slowly lifted his chin and his features softened. Steve smiled slightly. The doctor glanced at his watch then began to move away. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back and met the young cop's eyes evenly. "What was that question you wanted to ask me, Inspector?" he asked almost conversationally.

A look of profound gratitude flashed briefly across Steve's face and he cleared his throat. "Doctor … can I tell my partner he's going to be a father?"

Carlysle's eyes suddenly became very bright and he bit his bottom lip. He looked away briefly and then back. And he shook his head.

# # # # #

Steve sat in his car in the parking lot across the street from San Francisco General for a long time, trying to come to grips with what he had just learned. In less than twenty-four hours an unanticipated joy had turned into inexplicable tragedy.

He couldn't begin to fathom how Irene was coping, or even if; and how in the world was he going to tell Mike?

Taking a deep breath, he shot his cuff so he could see his watch. He calculated that he had time before Jeannie arrived to make a quick trip to the Hall and find out first-hand what, if anything, had been uncovered so far.

He made the short drive to Bryant Street almost in a trance; luckily rush hour hadn't started yet and the traffic was reasonably light for a mid-week afternoon. He was pocketing the keys as he jogged across the parking lot when the back door opened suddenly and Bob Wilson charged through, looking down and seemingly oblivious.

Steve stopped abruptly to avoid being run into and Wilson's head came up quickly, frowning. "Shit, sorry –" the Robbery sergeant blurted out almost involuntarily, then cut himself off when he recognized his almost victim. "Steve! Holy hell, I've been trying to find you."

Steve eyebrows shot up. "I've been at the hospital with Mike," he explained quickly, "why?" There was a sudden worry in his tone. "Is it Irene?"

Wilson, whose attention seemed far away, looked at his younger colleague sharply. "Ah, no, no," he said quickly, "sorry, no. I mean, she's, ah, she's not great, you know…" The worry and concern in his voice was obvious, as was a trace of guilt that Steve found disturbing. "She's, ah… she's having a hard time." His gaze drifted away.

"I bet," Steve offered softly, then waited while the other man pulled himself together.

Wilson's head snapped up again. "How's, ah, how's Mike doing?"

"Oh, ah, good, a lot better than we thought at first. I mean, he has a hairline skull fracture –"

"Shit, really?!" Wilson sounded surprised. "God, I didn't know that."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, yeah, but he's doing fine, he woke up a few hours ago and he's making good progress already… but, you know, it's gonna take some time…"

"Yeah, yeah," the sergeant whispered, his gaze drifting away again. Then once more his brown eyes snapped back to Steve's. "Look, ah, the reason I was trying to find you…" He hesitated, glancing at his watch. "Listen, do you have time to grab a beer with me? We need to talk."

Steve shook his head. "Sorry, Bob, I've just got a few minutes. Mike's daughter's flying in from Arizona and I want to make sure I talk to her before she sees him. I was just dropping in here to check in with Rudy and Captain Redding, see what's happening."

"That's what I want to talk to you about," Wilson said, taking a step closer and lowering his voice. "You know Captain Clarke, right?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Okay. Do me a favour and don't go see Olsen or Redding, all right? You and I, we've gotta talk."

# # # # #

Steve stretched, trying to work the stiffness out of his back and neck, and glanced once more at the bed. Mike had been asleep when he'd returned and had remained so in the forty-five minutes that had since passed.

There was a soft knock on the door and a nurse stuck her head in. "Excuse me, Inspector Keller? You asked to be notified when the Lieutenant's…" she whispered with a nod in Mike's direction, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Nodding quickly, Steve got to his feet, glancing at the bed, satisfied that Mike was showing no signs of waking before he tiptoed to the door and followed the nurse out into the main ICU room. "Thank you," he said quietly with a smile.

"You're welcome. She's out at the desk," the nurse gestured towards the double doors.

Steve continued on through the ICU entrance. Jeannie, in a turtleneck and jeans, her coat and purse slung over one arm, was pacing nervously, looking down. At the sound of the doors opening, she glanced up and her worried face broke into a relieved grin when her eyes fell on her father's partner.

"Oh, Steve," she cried softly as she crossed the distance between them in a rush. He spread his arms and she wrapped hers around him; he put one hand on the back of her head as she leaned against his chest. She pulled back slightly and looked up at him. "How is he?"

He grinned. "He's awake. I told ya," he laughed and he could feel her relax under his touch. "He woke up a few hours ago. He's talking, he's moving everything; they even gave him a little soup earlier. He's doing better than they hoped, so… it's good, Jeannie, it's really good."

She sighed loudly and hugged him again. He took her upper arms and moved her away slightly so he could see her face. "Look, ah, he's sleeping right now, and I don't think we should disturb him. What say you come in and see him for a couple of minutes and then, ah, then you and I head down to the cafeteria and have something to eat?"

She pulled away from him a little more, her brow furrowing. She nodded slowly.

"Good, good." He sighed and tried to smile encouragingly. "Jeannie, there's a couple of things you need to know before you talk to him."