Part 20 Emotions
Amanda left Jesse's room for the second time to check on a commotion in the corridor. She was confronted by four people again. This time the two police officers were having a 'discussion' with two gentlemen in suits. The older of the two was doing most of the talking the younger, who looked like he had been in a fight, stood slightly behind and remained quiet. The discussion was a little less heated than earlier but Amanda had still been able to hear it from inside Jesse's room and was worried that it would wake him.
After his brief return to consciousness, Jesse had remained asleep for most of the afternoon and Amanda had brought her reports down to finish off so that she could sit with him. She had been working quietly when the noise outside had disturbed her.
This time she did not need to shout or push to make herself heard. As she approached the older of the two men turned to look at her and nodded his head in acknowledgment. There was definitely something to be said for the old school of manners.
"Ah doctor," he read the name from her badge, "Bentley, perhaps you can help us. We need to get in to interview the man in that room but these officers don't seem to want to let us in."
"And you gentlemen are?"
"Forgive me I'm agent Dobbs and this is agent Steele. We work for the NSA. I believe you've met our colleague Agent Harris." He turned to look at the officers again. "I've explained that we have permission from Captain Newman but they still refuse."
Amanda turned to look at the officers. The same man who had spoken earlier replied to her unspoken question. "Dr. Parker asked us to make sure no one came to interview the prisoner until he had given him the all clear. I've explained to these gentlemen that they will have to wait but they don't seem to want to take no for an answer."
"Please understand doctor," Dobbs was being at his most diplomatic, "We only want to talk to the man. He may hold vital information in an investigation. Every minute that we waste may be important."
Amanda looked at him, much as she did not like the NSA at least this man seemed more reasonable than the belligerent agent Harris and, as agent Harris had pointed out, she did have a vested interest in finding out what the injured man knew. "All right," she said, "but this is not my patient, the best I can do is to page Dr. Parker and see if I can get you permission to see him. In the meantime perhaps you'd like to go and get a coffee. I'll send someone to get you when I have an answer."
"Thank you," Dobbs said and motioning to his partner to follow he turned and headed off down the corridor without further argument.
The door to the BMW opened and every muscle in Mark's body tensed. His hand tightened on the grip of the pistol.
The man who stepped out of the car was just a little younger than Mark. His hair was the same soft white but he had not been as blessed in holding on to all of it as Mark had, so the center was completely bald. He was also heavier set and slightly shorter and Mark recognised him instantly as his friend Carl Milford.
The relief was tremendous as Mark let out the breath he had been holding and his muscles relaxed. So pronounced was the change that Mark had to lean against the frame of the window whilst he regained control of his limbs, his mind rapidly assessing the situation. Carl was the lawyer in charge of probate on the will for Van Heus, the will Mark was executor on, of which the property he now stood in was a part. He quickly headed for the door to intercept his friend before he entered. There was no way that he would be able to explain away his injured son or the signs of the makeshift operating theater which still remained in the living room.
Mark hadn't quite acknowledged his state of mind until he almost walked out of the door to greet his friend with Steve's gun still in his hand. As he opened the door, however he noticed the glint of sunlight on metal and quickly concealed the offending article in his pocket. "Carl," he greeted loudly and affably as he moved out on to the porch.
Carl Milford had been standing by his car looking across at the cabin, having arrived he had been unsure of what to do. On spotting Mark a huge, relieved grin, covered his face. "Mark," he returned the greeting, moving forwards to meet his friend half way. "It is you, I'd come down here half expecting the cabin to be overrun by squatters. You should have let me know you were coming out here."
"Yes, Carl, I'm sorry, I just came up here on a whim." Mark replied, doing his utmost to sound his usual relaxed and friendly self, which, given the maelstrom of emotions he had experienced in the last twenty four hours was not easy.
He spent the next fifteen minutes chatting to his old friend. He managed to persuade him, making it sound like an off the cuff idea, that it was a beautiful day for a short walk in the woods thus neatly avoiding having to explain why he wasn't inviting him inside.
By the time they returned to the front of the cabin, Mark had managed to reassure the lawyer that he had just decided to take the opportunity to get some fresh air, taking advantage of the fact that the cabin was empty, and he had promised not to do anything like this again without remembering to call first and let him know.
For his part Carl had assured Mark that it was no trouble, as he was heading out of town himself for a few days and had just called on his way.
"We'll have to get together when I get back," Carl said as he climbed into his car.
"Yes, I'd like that," Mark replied, "I'll give you a call." He helped shut the door and stepped back to wave his friend off.
There were three things that surprised Steve as he slowly returned to consciousness. The first was that he had returned to consciousness at all. The way he had felt the last time he had been lucid and awake, he had genuinely believed that he might never wake up again.
The second thing that surprised him was that he felt a little better, which wasn't to say that he didn't feel awful, but, since he had passed out the day before, every time he had woken he had felt progressively worse, as the pain in his shoulder had increased and the fever had begun to take hold, but now the pain had receded to a dull ache and both the fever and the accompanying headache did not seem as bad.
The third thing that surprised him was the unmistakable sound of his father's voice as it drifted in through the open window.
Steve forced his eyes open and tried to focus. "Dad?" he whispered the question out loud as he looked round and tried to make sense of his situation. He was still on the couch in the living room of the cabin but the furniture had been rearranged slightly. He caught sight of the IV line coming out of the back of his hand and followed it up to the bag hanging from a standard lamp that was serving as a makeshift stand. So, that explained, at least in part, why he was feeling better.
There was no sign of Emma in the room. He shifted his position slightly so he could get a better view and instantly regretted it as the pain from his shoulder and his ribs intensified in protest at being asked to move. He drew in a sharp breath between clenched teeth and waited for it to pass. Then he strained again to listen for his father's voice but there was nothing.
He lay back on the pillow concentrating on ordering his memories and sorting the reality from illusion, fully aware that the fever he had could cause him to hallucinate.
If his father was there it would certainly explain the drip and why he felt so much better than previously, in fact why he was waking up at all. Mark must have somehow figured out where he was and come to help him.
But if his dad had found him, why wasn't he lying in a bed in Community General? Why was he still here? One thing Steve knew about his father was that he would move heaven and earth to get people to hospital where they could get the care that they needed. If his father had found him, then surely the first thing he would have done was call an ambulance. So it couldn't have been him, could it?
He had just about convinced himself that hearing his father's voice must have been an hallucination when he heard it again, faint at first but then growing stronger. It was definitely his dad and he appeared to be talking to someone outside.
Steve listened as he heard a car door shutting and an engine starting up and he suddenly realised that if that was his father, he did not want him to leave without having a chance to talk to him. The experience of coming so close to dying, and the relief at realising that he hadn't, made him want, need to see and talk to his father.
If that was Mark leaving then he had to stop him. Gritting his teeth against the pain he started to push himself to a sitting position and then swung his legs around. He shifted to the edge of the couch so that he could get the maximum leverage and started to shakily push himself to a standing position.
Mark stood and watched the BMW drive away. He kept up his act until the vehicle was out of sight, smiling and waving to his departing friend, but as the vehicle disappeared from view, his smile disappeared too, his hand fell back to his side and his shoulders visibly drooped. He let out a long sigh but made no move to go back inside.
That had been a close call, if Carl hadn't accepted his explanation as to why he was there, and had insisted on going inside, he would have had a lot of explaining to do. He did not like lying to his old friends like that but he had little choice. The less people knew where he was the less danger he, Emma and, most importantly at the moment, Steve were in.
Mark had been quite relieved when Carl had told him he would be going out of town for a few days, as there was a good chance that his highly public 'abduction' had made the local press, it would have been awkward trying to explain that away if Carl had gone back to town and read about it.
Having taken a couple of minutes to recover from this latest stress, he turned wearily to make his way back inside. As he opened the door he was not expecting the sight that greeted him. Instead of being peacefully asleep as he had left him. Steve was sitting up on the couch and trying to stand.
"Steve," Mark called sharply, in the same tone that he had used when Steve was a child and he had caught him doing something wrong. "Steve," he repeated, "Don't try to get up. What are you doing?"
Steve had been focusing all of his powers of concentration on getting himself to his feet. He was still feeling groggy, worse since he had tried to get up So he needed to concentrate for simple tasks. His thoughts weren't that coherent either. He just knew that he needed to stop the car driving away, to stop his father leaving.
He had just about managed to push himself to a shaky standing position, when Mark's cry drew his attention from his task. He looked up momentarily confused by the fact that his father was not in the car that he had heard beginning to depart. "Dad? I..." he began but did not get to finish as his loss of concentration made him begin to lose his somewhat tenuous balance.
Fortunately Mark's long stride had him across the room in seconds and he was able to support his son's descent back on to the couch "Come on, you're in no condition to be moving around yet," he said softly as he very gently helped him settle back down on the pillows.
Reassured by his father's presence, Steve allowed himself to be helped to lie down, talking as he did so. He was still not thinking clearly and his speech was hesitant as he tried to fit his cascading thoughts into some sort of order.. "Sorry dad I thought you were leaving.... the car.... I didn't want you to go." He said, trying to explain his actions. "Not that I knew you were here, I just thought I heard, " Steve paused. Mark had just about managed to get him settled back again, when he started to try to sit up as a new set of questions crowded his thoughts "Why..." he began. " How did you get here?" Not leaving time to reply he pressed on. "Did you..."
"Steve," Mark interrupted, pushing him gently but firmly back down against the pillows "You need to lie back and rest son, One question at a time and I'll answer as well as I can."
Steve looked up into his father's eyes and let out a long sigh relaxing back on to the pillows and allowing some of the tension to drain out of him. He drew in a deep breath to replace the expelled air and made a conscious effort to calm himself. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"It's all right." Mark replied, checking Steve's IV, then turning his attention fully back to his son. He sat down and placed his hand on his arm. "You have nothing to feel sorry about." He cast a critical eye over Steve's pale complexion "How are you feeling?"
Steve watched his father's appraisal of him, Mark's expression a mixture of deep affection and concern as his eyes swept up and down assessing every detail of his son's condition, the blend of professional doctor and concerned father never more evident than in that action. Finally he met Steve's gaze.
"I'll be OK don't worry," Steve replied, his voice dry and husky from lack of moisture. Having rested back and allowed his breathing to settle, Steve's thoughts were beginning to clear.
"Do you realise that's the answer you have given me virtually every time you've hurt yourself since you were six, and trust me that means its had a lot of use." Mark smiled as memories of his six year old son, picking his bike up and heading back to the house insisting that he was fine, even though he had just fractured his wrist in the fall, flashed through his mind. Steve hadn't changed since then, except for the fact that his injuries were usually worse. "And," he continued, "I know you too well to believe you."
"Dad," Steve ignored the query. He had too many questions of his own. "What are you doing here?"
Mark sighed inwardly, he might as well ask his son how many grains of sand were on the beach as ask him how he was feeling. He was likely to get just as accurate an answer. He thought about the question and decided that he needed to be blunt if he was going to get anything from his son. "Saving your life apparently."
A guilty look crossed Steve's face as he caught the mixture of pain and fear that accompanied the statement. "Dad I..." he started another apology, but Mark had opened an emotional floodgate and the next words left his mouth unbidden.
"You almost died Steve. I nearly didn't make it in time." There was a pause before Mark could continue tears welled up in his eyes. "You walked out of the hospital with a bullet in you. What were you thinking?"
Steve was momentarily taken aback as he watched the emotions intensify on his father's face, his sense of guilt at the effect his actions must have had grew as he considered how worried he would have been if his dad had disappeared in similar circumstances. He tried the apology again. "I'm sorry dad... I didn't mean..." Somehow it seemed inadequate. He needed to try to explain his actions. "I just had to..." He shifted slightly on the pillows as he tried to find a more comfortable position and winced at the sharp waves of pain that rippled out from his shoulder.
Mark hadn't meant to apply any emotional pressure, Steve was not strong enough yet to be anything other than calm and he instantly regretted the effect his words had had. Steve had a very high threshold for pain, he had demonstrated that many times so the fact that he was showing such a visible reaction must mean that it was bad. "I'll give you something for the pain," he said getting up to get his medical bag.
"No," Steve replied sharply. Mark turned back to look at him. "Please I need to keep a clear head. There are some things I need to explain."
Mark sat back down.
"But first I need to know how much you know all ready. So how did you get here?"
Mark took a deep breath and explained how Emma had arranged the meeting in the shopping mall, how careful she had been to make sure that there was no one else involved and that she had tried to ensure that he did not get into trouble by making it seem like an abduction. He did not mention the shooting and tried to keep his tone as light as possible, the last thing Steve needed was any more emotional upset.
Steve listened quietly to his father's description of events. They were so close that he picked up on the emotional stress that he must have caused even though his dad was doing his best to cover it, but he let it pass without comment. The best way he could deal with this was to try to give reasons for his behaviour.
"And then we arrived here." Mark was coming to the end of his narrative. "I treated your wound." It sounded so simple when he said it like that, "and then we both got some rest." Mark continued glancing across to the door of the bedroom as he spoke "Emma's still sleeping." He looked back at his son. "We talked a little about where and when you two met. I wasn't trying to pry but.."
"That's OK dad, you had every right to be curious," Steve interrupted. He was quiet for a moment trying to decide where to start. "I've put you through a lot the last day or so and I'll try to explain although I'm not sure I fully understand myself."
Steve found it difficult at the best of times to verbally express his feelings, preferring to be introspective. When he did talk, however, it was almost always to his father, yet another sign of their strong relationship, but of all the conversations of this type that he had had in his lifetime he knew this would be one of the most difficult. He was dealing not only with emotions that he had kept bottled up inside for the last thirty years, he was also trying to explain why those feelings had overridden everything else including his instinct for his own survival. Still, he owed this explanation to his father, who had been put through so much stress and worry himself in the last couple of days.
There was a long pause whilst Steve once again tried to decide how to begin his explanation. Mark sat quietly and patiently realising how difficult this was for his son.
Eventually Steve swallowed hard. "Do you remember telling me about how much you loved Mom and how you hoped that one day I would find someone that I would feel that way about?"
Mark was taken aback by the question but answered quickly. It was a long held hope for his son that he would find the happiness that he had enjoyed with his mother. "Yes."
"Well I think I did once, a long time ago."
"Emma?" Mark asked already knowing the answer
"Yes," Steve's reply was quiet, he had moved his gaze away from his father and now stared down at the blankets that covered him. "From the moment I saw her, I knew there was something and the more I got to know her the more perfect it became. She was like..." he paused trying to find the right expression. "Like finding a missing part of myself ." He turned to look back into his father's eyes. "She was the one true love that I have had."
Mark could see the pain in his son's eyes, not physical pain but emotional. "You never said anything."
The pain deepened. Steve's voice caught as he spoke. "I couldn't, didn't want to admit..." a pause, "I lost her." Another pause slightly longer. "I loved her and then I lost her." The emotional response to the memory was enough to make a single tear roll down his cheek. He made no attempt to wipe it away.
He continued with his explanation, unwilling to dwell on emotions which if he did not keep a tight control on them, he knew would overwhelm him.
"When I heard her voice, saw her again on Saturday night, it was like nothing had changed, even after all this time. I had to help her whatever it cost, whatever she had done. I wanted to, I needed to protect her." His eyes searched his father's expression. "I hope you can understand that." He looked down again "I'm just sorry that it affected you as well."
Mark squeezed his son's arm offering reassurance in the gesture. He watched as his son fought to keep control of feelings which were clearly deeply routed in his psyche. How well he understood the compulsion to protect those that you loved. He thought of his wife and of how he would have done anything in his power, up to and including sacrificing himself, if he had thought that it would save her from suffering. "It's OK son," he said quietly "I understand."
Steve raised his eyes meeting his father's and for a few moments they just sat in silence, each lost in a maze of emotional experience.
Steve broke the silence with a slight cough, enough to pull his expression into a grimace as the pain once again lanced up from his shoulder. Mark wasn't having any protests this time. He moved to get his medical bag.
Jesse had finally woken properly around 4 p.m. and was sitting up in bed chatting to Amanda, who in an attempt to divert his attention from Mark's absence, and the subsequent questions that would bring, was describing in detail CJ and Dion's latest antics.
Amanda had managed to arrange for Dobbs and Steele to get in to interview the shooting suspect and they had spent about ten minutes with him before Nathan had arrived with Agent Harris to take over.
Nathan had popped in to see how Jesse was before joining Agent Harris in the next room, by the time he got out on to the corridor having had a brief chat with Amanda, Dobbs and Steele were just passing him, having clearly been dismissed by Stephanie. He caught a brief snippet of their conversation as they passed by.
"I'm telling you, if she pulls that, 'I'm taking over, you go do something less important' routine on me again I'll..." Dobbs was saying, he did not finish verbalising the threat.
"I know, what you mean, she is pushing it. If I could..." Steele replied and then they were past him and out of earshot. So Stephanie had been using her charm and diplomacy on her coworkers again, Nathan reflected as he pushed through the door into the hospital room.
Meanwhile Jesse and Amanda received another visitor. There was a light knock on the door, interrupting Amanda's tale of Dion's over successful attempts to teach CJ how to climb trees. Resulting in one very stuck, very frightened child halfway up an oak tree in the park. Climbing down again had apparently not been part of the lesson.
"Come in, " both Jesse and Amanda said simultaneously and the door opened, to reveal Alison Porter
"Hi," she said forcing a smile, "I hope you don't mind me showing up again, but there really is nowhere else I could go and I needed someone to talk to."
Amanda stood and gestured her into the room pulling up another seat. "No of course not we're happy to have you."
Alison sat, "It's just I've not been in LA that long and apart from Steve I don't really know anyone that well and with what's happened to Steve and now Mark."
Amanda realised moments too late that the topic she had been avoiding discussing with Jesse was not going to be avoided any longer. With no chance to warn Alison that Jesse did not yet know, she now had to think fast about what she was going to say, as Jesse looked first from one to the other then asked the obvious question.
"What's happened to Mark?"
Alison realised her mistake at the same moment and looked apologetically across at Amanda.
Amanda let out a deep sigh. "Well when..."
At that moment the door flew open and a rather flustered looking Nathan shouted "Amanda we need you next door now."
Recognising the urgency Amanda did not hesitate as her professional instincts cut in. She jumped from her seat and headed out of the room leaving Jesse and Alison to watch and wonder what was happening.
Jesse knew in that moment that, whatever the risks, he had made the right decision, to have the surgery. The desire to jump up and run after Amanda, to be part of the action was such a strong instinct within him that he almost went to follow. He managed to restrain himself but knew that he would have regretted it for the rest of his life if he had denied himself the opportunity to work in the ER again.
He turned to look at Alison. She was the first to speak. "I guess I'd better try and tell you what I know about Mark." She began and proceeded to explain what she knew about Mark's abduction.
It was a good fifteen minutes before Amanda returned to the room by that time Alison had completed her explanation and she and Jesse were discussing their fears for their friends. They stopped speaking as Amanda came back in and dropped wearily into the chair. "He died," she said. "The shooter from the mall this morning." She looked across at Jesse it was clear from his expression that he knew who she was talking about and she surmised that Alison had filled him in during her absence. She continued the dejection clear in her voice. "He was the only lead that might have helped us find Steve and Mark and he's dead."
Amanda left Jesse's room for the second time to check on a commotion in the corridor. She was confronted by four people again. This time the two police officers were having a 'discussion' with two gentlemen in suits. The older of the two was doing most of the talking the younger, who looked like he had been in a fight, stood slightly behind and remained quiet. The discussion was a little less heated than earlier but Amanda had still been able to hear it from inside Jesse's room and was worried that it would wake him.
After his brief return to consciousness, Jesse had remained asleep for most of the afternoon and Amanda had brought her reports down to finish off so that she could sit with him. She had been working quietly when the noise outside had disturbed her.
This time she did not need to shout or push to make herself heard. As she approached the older of the two men turned to look at her and nodded his head in acknowledgment. There was definitely something to be said for the old school of manners.
"Ah doctor," he read the name from her badge, "Bentley, perhaps you can help us. We need to get in to interview the man in that room but these officers don't seem to want to let us in."
"And you gentlemen are?"
"Forgive me I'm agent Dobbs and this is agent Steele. We work for the NSA. I believe you've met our colleague Agent Harris." He turned to look at the officers again. "I've explained that we have permission from Captain Newman but they still refuse."
Amanda turned to look at the officers. The same man who had spoken earlier replied to her unspoken question. "Dr. Parker asked us to make sure no one came to interview the prisoner until he had given him the all clear. I've explained to these gentlemen that they will have to wait but they don't seem to want to take no for an answer."
"Please understand doctor," Dobbs was being at his most diplomatic, "We only want to talk to the man. He may hold vital information in an investigation. Every minute that we waste may be important."
Amanda looked at him, much as she did not like the NSA at least this man seemed more reasonable than the belligerent agent Harris and, as agent Harris had pointed out, she did have a vested interest in finding out what the injured man knew. "All right," she said, "but this is not my patient, the best I can do is to page Dr. Parker and see if I can get you permission to see him. In the meantime perhaps you'd like to go and get a coffee. I'll send someone to get you when I have an answer."
"Thank you," Dobbs said and motioning to his partner to follow he turned and headed off down the corridor without further argument.
The door to the BMW opened and every muscle in Mark's body tensed. His hand tightened on the grip of the pistol.
The man who stepped out of the car was just a little younger than Mark. His hair was the same soft white but he had not been as blessed in holding on to all of it as Mark had, so the center was completely bald. He was also heavier set and slightly shorter and Mark recognised him instantly as his friend Carl Milford.
The relief was tremendous as Mark let out the breath he had been holding and his muscles relaxed. So pronounced was the change that Mark had to lean against the frame of the window whilst he regained control of his limbs, his mind rapidly assessing the situation. Carl was the lawyer in charge of probate on the will for Van Heus, the will Mark was executor on, of which the property he now stood in was a part. He quickly headed for the door to intercept his friend before he entered. There was no way that he would be able to explain away his injured son or the signs of the makeshift operating theater which still remained in the living room.
Mark hadn't quite acknowledged his state of mind until he almost walked out of the door to greet his friend with Steve's gun still in his hand. As he opened the door, however he noticed the glint of sunlight on metal and quickly concealed the offending article in his pocket. "Carl," he greeted loudly and affably as he moved out on to the porch.
Carl Milford had been standing by his car looking across at the cabin, having arrived he had been unsure of what to do. On spotting Mark a huge, relieved grin, covered his face. "Mark," he returned the greeting, moving forwards to meet his friend half way. "It is you, I'd come down here half expecting the cabin to be overrun by squatters. You should have let me know you were coming out here."
"Yes, Carl, I'm sorry, I just came up here on a whim." Mark replied, doing his utmost to sound his usual relaxed and friendly self, which, given the maelstrom of emotions he had experienced in the last twenty four hours was not easy.
He spent the next fifteen minutes chatting to his old friend. He managed to persuade him, making it sound like an off the cuff idea, that it was a beautiful day for a short walk in the woods thus neatly avoiding having to explain why he wasn't inviting him inside.
By the time they returned to the front of the cabin, Mark had managed to reassure the lawyer that he had just decided to take the opportunity to get some fresh air, taking advantage of the fact that the cabin was empty, and he had promised not to do anything like this again without remembering to call first and let him know.
For his part Carl had assured Mark that it was no trouble, as he was heading out of town himself for a few days and had just called on his way.
"We'll have to get together when I get back," Carl said as he climbed into his car.
"Yes, I'd like that," Mark replied, "I'll give you a call." He helped shut the door and stepped back to wave his friend off.
There were three things that surprised Steve as he slowly returned to consciousness. The first was that he had returned to consciousness at all. The way he had felt the last time he had been lucid and awake, he had genuinely believed that he might never wake up again.
The second thing that surprised him was that he felt a little better, which wasn't to say that he didn't feel awful, but, since he had passed out the day before, every time he had woken he had felt progressively worse, as the pain in his shoulder had increased and the fever had begun to take hold, but now the pain had receded to a dull ache and both the fever and the accompanying headache did not seem as bad.
The third thing that surprised him was the unmistakable sound of his father's voice as it drifted in through the open window.
Steve forced his eyes open and tried to focus. "Dad?" he whispered the question out loud as he looked round and tried to make sense of his situation. He was still on the couch in the living room of the cabin but the furniture had been rearranged slightly. He caught sight of the IV line coming out of the back of his hand and followed it up to the bag hanging from a standard lamp that was serving as a makeshift stand. So, that explained, at least in part, why he was feeling better.
There was no sign of Emma in the room. He shifted his position slightly so he could get a better view and instantly regretted it as the pain from his shoulder and his ribs intensified in protest at being asked to move. He drew in a sharp breath between clenched teeth and waited for it to pass. Then he strained again to listen for his father's voice but there was nothing.
He lay back on the pillow concentrating on ordering his memories and sorting the reality from illusion, fully aware that the fever he had could cause him to hallucinate.
If his father was there it would certainly explain the drip and why he felt so much better than previously, in fact why he was waking up at all. Mark must have somehow figured out where he was and come to help him.
But if his dad had found him, why wasn't he lying in a bed in Community General? Why was he still here? One thing Steve knew about his father was that he would move heaven and earth to get people to hospital where they could get the care that they needed. If his father had found him, then surely the first thing he would have done was call an ambulance. So it couldn't have been him, could it?
He had just about convinced himself that hearing his father's voice must have been an hallucination when he heard it again, faint at first but then growing stronger. It was definitely his dad and he appeared to be talking to someone outside.
Steve listened as he heard a car door shutting and an engine starting up and he suddenly realised that if that was his father, he did not want him to leave without having a chance to talk to him. The experience of coming so close to dying, and the relief at realising that he hadn't, made him want, need to see and talk to his father.
If that was Mark leaving then he had to stop him. Gritting his teeth against the pain he started to push himself to a sitting position and then swung his legs around. He shifted to the edge of the couch so that he could get the maximum leverage and started to shakily push himself to a standing position.
Mark stood and watched the BMW drive away. He kept up his act until the vehicle was out of sight, smiling and waving to his departing friend, but as the vehicle disappeared from view, his smile disappeared too, his hand fell back to his side and his shoulders visibly drooped. He let out a long sigh but made no move to go back inside.
That had been a close call, if Carl hadn't accepted his explanation as to why he was there, and had insisted on going inside, he would have had a lot of explaining to do. He did not like lying to his old friends like that but he had little choice. The less people knew where he was the less danger he, Emma and, most importantly at the moment, Steve were in.
Mark had been quite relieved when Carl had told him he would be going out of town for a few days, as there was a good chance that his highly public 'abduction' had made the local press, it would have been awkward trying to explain that away if Carl had gone back to town and read about it.
Having taken a couple of minutes to recover from this latest stress, he turned wearily to make his way back inside. As he opened the door he was not expecting the sight that greeted him. Instead of being peacefully asleep as he had left him. Steve was sitting up on the couch and trying to stand.
"Steve," Mark called sharply, in the same tone that he had used when Steve was a child and he had caught him doing something wrong. "Steve," he repeated, "Don't try to get up. What are you doing?"
Steve had been focusing all of his powers of concentration on getting himself to his feet. He was still feeling groggy, worse since he had tried to get up So he needed to concentrate for simple tasks. His thoughts weren't that coherent either. He just knew that he needed to stop the car driving away, to stop his father leaving.
He had just about managed to push himself to a shaky standing position, when Mark's cry drew his attention from his task. He looked up momentarily confused by the fact that his father was not in the car that he had heard beginning to depart. "Dad? I..." he began but did not get to finish as his loss of concentration made him begin to lose his somewhat tenuous balance.
Fortunately Mark's long stride had him across the room in seconds and he was able to support his son's descent back on to the couch "Come on, you're in no condition to be moving around yet," he said softly as he very gently helped him settle back down on the pillows.
Reassured by his father's presence, Steve allowed himself to be helped to lie down, talking as he did so. He was still not thinking clearly and his speech was hesitant as he tried to fit his cascading thoughts into some sort of order.. "Sorry dad I thought you were leaving.... the car.... I didn't want you to go." He said, trying to explain his actions. "Not that I knew you were here, I just thought I heard, " Steve paused. Mark had just about managed to get him settled back again, when he started to try to sit up as a new set of questions crowded his thoughts "Why..." he began. " How did you get here?" Not leaving time to reply he pressed on. "Did you..."
"Steve," Mark interrupted, pushing him gently but firmly back down against the pillows "You need to lie back and rest son, One question at a time and I'll answer as well as I can."
Steve looked up into his father's eyes and let out a long sigh relaxing back on to the pillows and allowing some of the tension to drain out of him. He drew in a deep breath to replace the expelled air and made a conscious effort to calm himself. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"It's all right." Mark replied, checking Steve's IV, then turning his attention fully back to his son. He sat down and placed his hand on his arm. "You have nothing to feel sorry about." He cast a critical eye over Steve's pale complexion "How are you feeling?"
Steve watched his father's appraisal of him, Mark's expression a mixture of deep affection and concern as his eyes swept up and down assessing every detail of his son's condition, the blend of professional doctor and concerned father never more evident than in that action. Finally he met Steve's gaze.
"I'll be OK don't worry," Steve replied, his voice dry and husky from lack of moisture. Having rested back and allowed his breathing to settle, Steve's thoughts were beginning to clear.
"Do you realise that's the answer you have given me virtually every time you've hurt yourself since you were six, and trust me that means its had a lot of use." Mark smiled as memories of his six year old son, picking his bike up and heading back to the house insisting that he was fine, even though he had just fractured his wrist in the fall, flashed through his mind. Steve hadn't changed since then, except for the fact that his injuries were usually worse. "And," he continued, "I know you too well to believe you."
"Dad," Steve ignored the query. He had too many questions of his own. "What are you doing here?"
Mark sighed inwardly, he might as well ask his son how many grains of sand were on the beach as ask him how he was feeling. He was likely to get just as accurate an answer. He thought about the question and decided that he needed to be blunt if he was going to get anything from his son. "Saving your life apparently."
A guilty look crossed Steve's face as he caught the mixture of pain and fear that accompanied the statement. "Dad I..." he started another apology, but Mark had opened an emotional floodgate and the next words left his mouth unbidden.
"You almost died Steve. I nearly didn't make it in time." There was a pause before Mark could continue tears welled up in his eyes. "You walked out of the hospital with a bullet in you. What were you thinking?"
Steve was momentarily taken aback as he watched the emotions intensify on his father's face, his sense of guilt at the effect his actions must have had grew as he considered how worried he would have been if his dad had disappeared in similar circumstances. He tried the apology again. "I'm sorry dad... I didn't mean..." Somehow it seemed inadequate. He needed to try to explain his actions. "I just had to..." He shifted slightly on the pillows as he tried to find a more comfortable position and winced at the sharp waves of pain that rippled out from his shoulder.
Mark hadn't meant to apply any emotional pressure, Steve was not strong enough yet to be anything other than calm and he instantly regretted the effect his words had had. Steve had a very high threshold for pain, he had demonstrated that many times so the fact that he was showing such a visible reaction must mean that it was bad. "I'll give you something for the pain," he said getting up to get his medical bag.
"No," Steve replied sharply. Mark turned back to look at him. "Please I need to keep a clear head. There are some things I need to explain."
Mark sat back down.
"But first I need to know how much you know all ready. So how did you get here?"
Mark took a deep breath and explained how Emma had arranged the meeting in the shopping mall, how careful she had been to make sure that there was no one else involved and that she had tried to ensure that he did not get into trouble by making it seem like an abduction. He did not mention the shooting and tried to keep his tone as light as possible, the last thing Steve needed was any more emotional upset.
Steve listened quietly to his father's description of events. They were so close that he picked up on the emotional stress that he must have caused even though his dad was doing his best to cover it, but he let it pass without comment. The best way he could deal with this was to try to give reasons for his behaviour.
"And then we arrived here." Mark was coming to the end of his narrative. "I treated your wound." It sounded so simple when he said it like that, "and then we both got some rest." Mark continued glancing across to the door of the bedroom as he spoke "Emma's still sleeping." He looked back at his son. "We talked a little about where and when you two met. I wasn't trying to pry but.."
"That's OK dad, you had every right to be curious," Steve interrupted. He was quiet for a moment trying to decide where to start. "I've put you through a lot the last day or so and I'll try to explain although I'm not sure I fully understand myself."
Steve found it difficult at the best of times to verbally express his feelings, preferring to be introspective. When he did talk, however, it was almost always to his father, yet another sign of their strong relationship, but of all the conversations of this type that he had had in his lifetime he knew this would be one of the most difficult. He was dealing not only with emotions that he had kept bottled up inside for the last thirty years, he was also trying to explain why those feelings had overridden everything else including his instinct for his own survival. Still, he owed this explanation to his father, who had been put through so much stress and worry himself in the last couple of days.
There was a long pause whilst Steve once again tried to decide how to begin his explanation. Mark sat quietly and patiently realising how difficult this was for his son.
Eventually Steve swallowed hard. "Do you remember telling me about how much you loved Mom and how you hoped that one day I would find someone that I would feel that way about?"
Mark was taken aback by the question but answered quickly. It was a long held hope for his son that he would find the happiness that he had enjoyed with his mother. "Yes."
"Well I think I did once, a long time ago."
"Emma?" Mark asked already knowing the answer
"Yes," Steve's reply was quiet, he had moved his gaze away from his father and now stared down at the blankets that covered him. "From the moment I saw her, I knew there was something and the more I got to know her the more perfect it became. She was like..." he paused trying to find the right expression. "Like finding a missing part of myself ." He turned to look back into his father's eyes. "She was the one true love that I have had."
Mark could see the pain in his son's eyes, not physical pain but emotional. "You never said anything."
The pain deepened. Steve's voice caught as he spoke. "I couldn't, didn't want to admit..." a pause, "I lost her." Another pause slightly longer. "I loved her and then I lost her." The emotional response to the memory was enough to make a single tear roll down his cheek. He made no attempt to wipe it away.
He continued with his explanation, unwilling to dwell on emotions which if he did not keep a tight control on them, he knew would overwhelm him.
"When I heard her voice, saw her again on Saturday night, it was like nothing had changed, even after all this time. I had to help her whatever it cost, whatever she had done. I wanted to, I needed to protect her." His eyes searched his father's expression. "I hope you can understand that." He looked down again "I'm just sorry that it affected you as well."
Mark squeezed his son's arm offering reassurance in the gesture. He watched as his son fought to keep control of feelings which were clearly deeply routed in his psyche. How well he understood the compulsion to protect those that you loved. He thought of his wife and of how he would have done anything in his power, up to and including sacrificing himself, if he had thought that it would save her from suffering. "It's OK son," he said quietly "I understand."
Steve raised his eyes meeting his father's and for a few moments they just sat in silence, each lost in a maze of emotional experience.
Steve broke the silence with a slight cough, enough to pull his expression into a grimace as the pain once again lanced up from his shoulder. Mark wasn't having any protests this time. He moved to get his medical bag.
Jesse had finally woken properly around 4 p.m. and was sitting up in bed chatting to Amanda, who in an attempt to divert his attention from Mark's absence, and the subsequent questions that would bring, was describing in detail CJ and Dion's latest antics.
Amanda had managed to arrange for Dobbs and Steele to get in to interview the shooting suspect and they had spent about ten minutes with him before Nathan had arrived with Agent Harris to take over.
Nathan had popped in to see how Jesse was before joining Agent Harris in the next room, by the time he got out on to the corridor having had a brief chat with Amanda, Dobbs and Steele were just passing him, having clearly been dismissed by Stephanie. He caught a brief snippet of their conversation as they passed by.
"I'm telling you, if she pulls that, 'I'm taking over, you go do something less important' routine on me again I'll..." Dobbs was saying, he did not finish verbalising the threat.
"I know, what you mean, she is pushing it. If I could..." Steele replied and then they were past him and out of earshot. So Stephanie had been using her charm and diplomacy on her coworkers again, Nathan reflected as he pushed through the door into the hospital room.
Meanwhile Jesse and Amanda received another visitor. There was a light knock on the door, interrupting Amanda's tale of Dion's over successful attempts to teach CJ how to climb trees. Resulting in one very stuck, very frightened child halfway up an oak tree in the park. Climbing down again had apparently not been part of the lesson.
"Come in, " both Jesse and Amanda said simultaneously and the door opened, to reveal Alison Porter
"Hi," she said forcing a smile, "I hope you don't mind me showing up again, but there really is nowhere else I could go and I needed someone to talk to."
Amanda stood and gestured her into the room pulling up another seat. "No of course not we're happy to have you."
Alison sat, "It's just I've not been in LA that long and apart from Steve I don't really know anyone that well and with what's happened to Steve and now Mark."
Amanda realised moments too late that the topic she had been avoiding discussing with Jesse was not going to be avoided any longer. With no chance to warn Alison that Jesse did not yet know, she now had to think fast about what she was going to say, as Jesse looked first from one to the other then asked the obvious question.
"What's happened to Mark?"
Alison realised her mistake at the same moment and looked apologetically across at Amanda.
Amanda let out a deep sigh. "Well when..."
At that moment the door flew open and a rather flustered looking Nathan shouted "Amanda we need you next door now."
Recognising the urgency Amanda did not hesitate as her professional instincts cut in. She jumped from her seat and headed out of the room leaving Jesse and Alison to watch and wonder what was happening.
Jesse knew in that moment that, whatever the risks, he had made the right decision, to have the surgery. The desire to jump up and run after Amanda, to be part of the action was such a strong instinct within him that he almost went to follow. He managed to restrain himself but knew that he would have regretted it for the rest of his life if he had denied himself the opportunity to work in the ER again.
He turned to look at Alison. She was the first to speak. "I guess I'd better try and tell you what I know about Mark." She began and proceeded to explain what she knew about Mark's abduction.
It was a good fifteen minutes before Amanda returned to the room by that time Alison had completed her explanation and she and Jesse were discussing their fears for their friends. They stopped speaking as Amanda came back in and dropped wearily into the chair. "He died," she said. "The shooter from the mall this morning." She looked across at Jesse it was clear from his expression that he knew who she was talking about and she surmised that Alison had filled him in during her absence. She continued the dejection clear in her voice. "He was the only lead that might have helped us find Steve and Mark and he's dead."