Chapter 13

Amanda sat with Mark as they waited, as it seemed they had so many times before, for Jesse to return with word on Steve's condition. She brought the older physician a cup of coffee and made him drink it, knowing that the hot beverage would help to warm him, counteracting the coldness of the shock he was experiencing. She wished she could get him to eat as well, but accepted his protest that he wouldn't be able to get anything down. At least a liquid would flow more easily past the tightness in his throat.

Cheryl came by to see if there was any word on Steve, and to update them on the situation with Terri. Knowing that Mark had been too concerned with tending to Steve to have noticed – or cared – about anything else, she gave them a brief synopsis of events. She told them how Terri had, at first, struggled madly, carrying on about how she had to stop Steve from 'finding out about us', how she had to 'protect us' from the 'wickedness' of men. On being overpowered, however, Terri had suddenly collapsed, coming around a moment later, apparently totally confused and unaware of what had occurred. They had arrested her and taken her to a secure psychiatric unit for evaluation.

Mark listened to the tale, trying to concentrate on it, grateful for the mental distraction that allowed him to focus on something other than Steve's uncertain condition. He considered the implications of Terri's reaction.

"It sounds like Terri might have a Multiple Personality Disorder," he suggested thoughtfully. "You might want to talk to her friend Karen and find out what hospital she was in and what she was treated for."

"A split personality?" asked Cheryl, somewhat skeptically. "She claimed not to have any idea of what she did – wouldn't she know what her other personality did?"

"Not necessarily," Mark replied. "It's not uncommon for the separate personalities to have no knowledge of each other. It can also happen that one of the personalities is aware of the other, but not vice versa, especially in cases where the one personality was formed as a defense mechanism against something."

"In this case, the alternate personality apparently thought she was defending Terri," commented Amanda.

Mark nodded. "But it's possible that Terri was unaware of the alternate personality or what she was doing." A shadow crossed his face, as he remembered just what that alternate personality had done to his son. The same thought occurred to Amanda and Cheryl, who exchanged glances. Amanda placed a hand on Mark's shoulder and gave a slight squeeze.

"I'll get hold of this Karen and see what she can tell me," said Cheryl. She looked down at Mark and over at Amanda. "Let me know as soon as you get word here," she said. Amanda nodded, and Cheryl left.

Mark relapsed into silence after Cheryl was gone. He was grateful for Amanda's presence and support, and even more grateful that there was no need to pretend or make conversation with her. He thought of some of the times in the past when he had sat waiting to see if his son would survive, wondering how many more times he could take this. As many times as I have to, he answered himself with sudden, fierce determination. I'd rather sit here, wondering, a dozen times than ever sit through his funeral, knowing he's gone. The thought sent a shudder through him. Please, God, I don't ever want to sit through his funeral! He closed his eyes for a moment, for once feeling every one of his almost 70 years. He heard the door to the lounge open, and looked up to see Jesse entering. Instantly alert, he froze, almost afraid to breathe, his eyes riveted to the young doctor's face as he came across the room to perch on the arm of the couch next to Mark.

"He's going to be all right, Mark," Jesse said, going straight to the point, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "His blood pressure's still low and we'll have to watch out for infection; we'll be keeping a close eye on him tonight, but it looks like he's going to be fine."

Mark felt tears spring to his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, as Amanda turned and enveloped him in a relieved hug. He hugged her back, blinking away the tears he always hated to shed. Amanda had no such inhibitions, and she raised an unashamedly wet face as she leaned over to hug Jesse as well. Mark reached up wordlessly to squeeze Jesse's arm, still too emotional for speech. Jesse smiled back at him.

"By the way," Jesse said lightly, trying to cut through the heavily emotional atmosphere, "I thought you'd like to know that your handiwork was still holding up when we got Steve to the OR." Seeing Mark look up at him questioningly, he added seriously, "You know, Mark, that bit of inspiration is what saved Steve's life. If he'd lost any more blood than he did, we would never have been able to save him."

Amanda gave Mark's arm another gentle squeeze, and looked at him as if to say "See, I told you!" Mark gave her a slight, weary smile in return. The release of the extreme tension and anxiety that had filled him for the last several hours was leaving him drained and exhausted. But overriding the fatigue was the compelling need to see his son.

"Where is he, Jess?" Mark asked. "I want to see him."

"He's still in recovery," Jesse replied. "He'll be there a while longer."

Mark nodded and got up, heading for the door. Before leaving the lounge, however, he looked back at his friends. "Thank you," he said simply. They smiled back at him in perfect understanding, and Mark turned and left to find his son.

Chapter 14

Mark entered the cubicle in Recovery where Steve lay. He moved to the side of the gurney, automatically checking the monitors, and stood looking down at his son. Still suffering from the emotional vulnerability engendered by the crisis, he permitted himself the indulgence of stroking his son's hair, finding comfort in the physical contact and the reassuring warmth of Steve's body. He sat down on the chair to wait for Steve to wake up.

It was a while before Steve started to stir. Mark heard a low groan, and saw his son's head moving restlessly, as if seeking a comfortable position. He leaned over to gently smooth the hair away from Steve's face.

"Steve," he said softly. He watched as Steve came slowly back to consciousness, opening his eyes to gaze around in obvious confusion, disoriented from the effects of the anesthesia. "You're in the hospital, son," Mark told him, trying to reorient and reassure him. "You're going to be fine." He saw Steve blink and focus on him.

"Dad?"

Mark smiled at him, gently patting his shoulder. "How do you feel?"

"Fuzzy," Steve replied, swallowing with difficulty, trying to moisten his dry mouth.

Mark looked around and took the pitcher of ice chips, pouring a few into a cup. "Here," he said, lifting his son's head slightly and putting the cup to his mouth. He slid a small spoonful of the ice into Steve's mouth, and watched as Steve sucked thirstily at the wetness. "Better?" he asked.

Steve nodded weakly. "Thanks."

Mark smiled slightly at him in reply, and tucked the blanket a bit more closely around his son, checking to make sure he was warm enough. With the dark memory of the pain he had had to inflict during their last encounter still fresh in his mind, he was finding it soothing to provide some comfort and reassurance to his son now.

Steve lay back on the gurney, trying to remember what had happened to land him in the hospital once again. He remembered being at Terri's house, and vaguely remembered realizing that his tea had been drugged, and the figure coming after him with the knife…

"Did Terri stab me?" he asked.

Mark nodded.

"She was different somehow," Steve said, trying to make sense out of the confused jumble of impressions he retained.

"She seems to have an alternate personality," Mark explained. "It was Terri's body, but a different person." He looked down at his son, seeing him struggle to follow this. "Just relax now, Steve," he said soothingly. "We'll go over it all in the morning. Everything's all right – it's all over. You just rest."

Steve gazed up at him for a moment longer, then sighed and closed his eyes, surrendering to the drowsiness that still engulfed him.

Mark stayed by his son until they brought him up to a regular room, and then settled down to spend the night there. Jesse and Amanda tried to talk him into going home, urging that he was in dire need of sleep himself after the traumatic events of the evening. But Mark was adamant about staying. He knew that it was still important to monitor Steve's condition closely for the next 12 to 24 hours, and although he would be the first to admit that the staff at Community General were extremely competent and dedicated, he needed to be there himself.

Recognizing that Mark was still feeling the aftereffects of the emotional trauma he had experienced, Amanda pulled Jesse aside and told him that it would probably be better to stop trying to convince him otherwise and just support him any way they could. So they arranged to have a cot placed in Steve's room so Mark wouldn't spend the night sitting in the usual visitor's chair, brought him some coffee, and tried to see that he had everything he needed.

Mark was again grateful for his friends' support and understanding. He knew that he was being illogical about all this. He knew that he should be feeling relieved and happy that his son was going to be okay. But the emotional maelstrom he had been through had left him feeling depressed, with a nagging sense of guilt at having had to hurt his son, even at not having gotten to the house a minute or two earlier so they could have prevented the stabbing altogether. He knew this was unreasonable. He knew he had saved his son's life; he knew that there had been no other way; he knew that he would do it again if he had to – although he prayed fervently that he'd never have to do anything like that ever again; he even knew that Steve would certainly not blame him for what he had had to do. He knew all that – with his head. But there was a limit to even his resilience, and he was still suffering from emotional shock. So Mark sat through the night with Steve, finding reassurance in the steady beeping of the heart monitor and his son's even breathing.

Chapter 15

The next morning, Steve was awakened by the arrival of the lab tech to draw his blood. He lay there, watching her as she finished, giving himself time to become reoriented to where he was and what had happened. As the tech left, he glanced around the room, and saw his father dozing in the chair beside the bed. He looked at him carefully, noticing that Mark was still wearing the clothes he had worn the day before and that there were lines of fatigue deeply etched in his face.

As if aware of Steve's scrutiny, Mark shifted in the chair and opened his eyes. Seeing Steve watching him, he sat up and tried to slough off the sleep-induced grogginess.

"You look terrible," Steve told him.

Mark blinked at him in surprise, and then smiled slightly. "You've looked better yourself," he retorted. "How do you feel?"

"Hungry," Steve answered.

Mark's smile brightened. "Well, that's a good sign," he said. "I'll have to see what we can rustle up for breakfast." He stretched, easing the stiffness in his back and neck brought on by his nap in the chair.

"Did you spend all night in that chair?" Steve asked, frowning.

"No, I spent the night on the cot," Mark assured him, pulling back the curtain that was drawn part way around the bed, exposing the cot that Jesse had had set up. "I just dozed off again in the chair while I was waiting for you to wake up."

Steve was only partially reassured, contemplating the implications of his father having spent the night there at all and Mark's still somewhat haggard appearance. His impressions of the previous night were still pretty vague – the result, no doubt, of being drugged, he thought – but he did remember the grimness of Mark's face, and the pain of whatever his father had done to treat him. On the other hand, although he was extremely weak, he didn't feel like he was in critical condition – he wasn't in the ICU, and his father certainly didn't seem to be as tense and concerned as he normally was when things were that serious. He looked up at Mark questioningly.

"So what's the prognosis?" he asked.

Mark looked down at him, an eyebrow hiked in surprise as he realized that Steve was interpreting his continued presence through the night as a sign that his condition was serious.

"You're going to be fine," he assured his son. "We needed to keep a close eye on you for the first 12 hours or so to make sure everything went well and your blood pressure came back up, and we'll have to keep a watch out to make sure no infection takes hold – although we've started you on a broad-spectrum antibiotic to be safe. But everything looks good."

Steve observed his father closely during this speech, and relaxed a bit. Mark's voice carried conviction, and he met his son's gaze openly.

Their conversation was interrupted at this point by Jesse's arrival. He greeted his patient cheerfully, checking the chart and conferring with Mark. He had barely finished examining Steve when Amanda showed up bearing flowers, followed shortly by the breakfast tray. They sat around while Steve ate, each feeling the relief of knowing that Steve was still with them, taking comfort in the gathering of their familiar foursome. Steve took the opportunity to get the details on what had happened at Terri's house, and they brought him up to date on what Cheryl had told them.

"How did you figure out it was Terri?" Steve asked.

It was Jesse who related the mental trail they had followed, playing up his role in once again providing a clue that triggered the connection in Mark's mind between the prickers near Pete's apartment and the scratch on Terri's arm. He briefly traced their reasoning and the alarm they had felt when Mark was unable to reach Steve by phone.

"It was a good thing for me that you got there when you did," observed Steve.

"Yeah, if Mark hadn't managed to slow that bleeding, you would never have made it," Jesse replied somberly.

Mark, who had been unwontedly reserved during Jesse's tale, turned to the windowsill beside him, busying himself in adjusting the flower arrangement on it. Steve saw Amanda cast a concerned glance at his father and a warning look at Jesse. He sent a questioning glance toward her, but she avoided his eyes.

"Well, it looks like you're coming along fine now," said Jesse, trying to smooth over the moment. "By this afternoon we'll have to get you on your feet for a while and get you moving."

"In the meantime, we'd better let you get your rest," added Amanda, rising. She looked over at Mark. "You should go home and rest for a while, too, Mark," she suggested.

Mark turned back to face them, his face composed again. "I'm fine," he said. "But I'll probably run home in a bit to shower and change."

After Jesse and Amanda left the room, Mark looked over at his son to find Steve watching him.

"What's wrong, Dad?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," Mark replied. "I'm fine – and, more importantly, you're going to be fine."

Steve shook his head, not accepting this. "Come on, Dad, I can tell when there's something you're not telling me. You were awfully quiet during that whole discussion."

Mark gazed back at him, recognizing that Steve wasn't going to let him off the hook. Accepting the inevitable, he gave a small, deprecating shrug.

"I just don't really like thinking about what I had to do to you," he said. His voice was carefully unemotional, but the eyes that met his son's held an unspoken apology.

It took Steve a moment to realize what his father meant. He remembered the pain of the procedure Mark had performed, but he had never questioned for a moment that it was necessary, and, now that it was over, was simply grateful that his father had been there to do what needed to be done. He mentally kicked himself for failing to think about how difficult it must have been for his father.

"Dad, you saved my life," he said, holding his father's gaze. "I think that was worth a few minutes of pain."

Mark nodded, recognizing that Steve was trying to tell him that he understood, that it was okay. But now that they had broached the subject, he found he wanted to be sure that his son understood how much he had wanted to find a less painful way. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Steve, memory darkening his eyes. "I couldn't think of any other way to slow the bleeding," he said, his voice holding a faint echo of the anguish he had felt.

"Dad, I know you did everything you could," Steve responded promptly, placing a reassuring hand on his father's arm. "I know you didn't want to hurt me – you did what you had to to save me. I know it can't have been easy for you."

Mark looked away again. "I think it was the hardest thing I've ever done," he said quietly.

Steve was silent for a moment, searching for an adequate response to that. There really didn't seem to be one. He tightened his grip on his father's arm.

"Dad…" Mark looked back at him. "Thanks," Steve said simply.

Mark held his son's gaze for a moment, reading all the love, gratitude, and reassurance that Steve wanted to project. He felt himself relax, a good deal of the emotional tension that had gripped him dissipating, as if he had received a sudden absolution. He let out a deep breath, smiling slightly.

"You're welcome." The affection in his eyes was reflected in his son's, as Mark briefly patted the hand that still rested on his arm. "Now I think it's time I let you get some more rest before Jesse comes back to make you wander the hallways," he said, with a return to lightness.

Steve grinned in response. "I tell you what," he suggested. "How about you go home and get some rest yourself, and when you come back you can bring me something to wear. I refuse to wander around the hallways in one of these hospital gowns!"