Chapter 9

The next morning, Amanda showed up bearing breakfast. She had been devastated by the tale Steve and Jesse had told her about Mark's ordeal, and was determined to do whatever she could to help. She wasn't sure how to deal with the fact that Mark wouldn't know her, but she was going to make sure that he knew that he was back among friends who loved him. And she was going to start by making sure he and Steve had a decent breakfast.

As she entered the room, Steve came over to greet her, sniffing appreciatively at the aroma of freshly baked goods emanating from the bags she was carrying.

"Mmmmm, what's all this?" he asked, as she placed the multitude of bags she was bearing on the table.

"Breakfast," she replied as she moved over to the bed, where Mark was sitting up. She sat on the edge of the bed and enveloped him in a big hug.

"Mark, I'm so glad you're back," she said. "We were so worried about you."

Mark felt himself wrapped in Amanda's warmth and obvious affection. He wasn't quite sure how to respond; he knew from what Steve had said that she was a close friend, and he hated to hurt her by his inability to remember her. At least, since Steve had greeted her by name, he knew who she was.

"Amanda?" he said tentatively.

He saw compassion and understanding in her eyes as she gazed back at him.

"It's okay, Mark, I know you don't remember me," she said reassuringly. "But I know you, and you might as well get used to me, because I'm going to be around a lot." She turned and reached for the bags she had brought. "And to start with, I thought we could all have breakfast together," she said matter-of-factly. She started pulling items out of the bags, and Mark raised an eyebrow as she produced a feast of donuts, bagels, cream cheese, jam, and fresh fruit. When she handed Steve a cup of strong coffee, he kissed her on the check.

"Amanda, you are a true friend," he said gratefully. "I was getting pretty sick of the hospital coffee."

They ate and chatted, and if Steve and Amanda did most of the talking, Steve noticed that Mark seemed to be relaxed and content with the situation. As they were eating, Jesse came by and promptly starting whining good-naturedly about them having already eaten all the good donuts. Steve tossed a bagel half at him, and they laughed. Mark took it all in, enjoying the casual camaraderie, knowing that they were including him in that close-knit circle. But he still felt like he was outside looking in, and he wondered when, or if, he would again fit easily into that group, understanding all the underlying jokes and character quirks.

Eventually, Jesse declared that it was time for him to get down to the ER, and he wanted to examine Mark before he went. So Amanda gave Mark another quick hug, and went down to the pathology lab, leaving Jesse to check Mark out.

Jesse was quite pleased with the results of the exam, and decided it was time to get his friend up and walking. Mark was rather unsteady at first, the week-long stint of total immobility, poor nutrition, and general stiffness from his various bruises all taking their toll. He leaned heavily on his son in the beginning, wryly remarking, "So, now you're propping me up physically, too!"

Steve smiled back at him encouragingly. "You don't need much propping. You're finding your feet nicely already." He hadn't missed the implicit reference to the emotional support he'd been trying to supply, and knew that his father would realize he was responding to that as well. He was, in fact, somewhat surprised at his certainty that his father would understand. It was pretty amazing, he reflected, how quickly their emotional rapport was reestablishing itself even without the return of Mark's memory. He found that very comforting.

After a few minutes, Mark felt fairly stable. He noticed that Steve stayed close beside him anyway, ready to provide support should it be needed. By now, he didn't find this at all surprising. What he was surprised at was the speed with which he was learning to understand this son of his. He knew that when he was ready to try a foray out on his own, Steve would stay back without needing to be told. He was also certain, he reflected with a glint of humor, that Steve would worry about him until he was safely returned.

Mark was finding his stroll through the corridors to be beneficial in many ways. For one thing, the sensation of being mobile again was helping to counteract the feeling of helplessness that he had been experiencing. With the return of independent motion came a realization that he was no longer physically dependent on others for his care or basic transportation. There was also the fact that just about everyone he passed smiled and greeted him by name, seeming genuinely pleased to see him up and about. Many took a few moments to stop and chat, welcome him back, or wish him a speedy recovery. He recalled what Steve had said to him the previous night about the many friends he had, and realized with gratification that it seemed to be true. It was very reassuring, not just in its verification of Steve's veracity, but in its indication of the type of man he must be.

Steve noticed the effect the walk was having on his father, and mentally blessed the hospital staff for the warmth that they were displaying. It pained him to think of the searing loneliness that his father must have endured during the past week, and he was devoutly grateful for anything that helped to dispel it. He didn't miss the slight increase in confidence his father was exhibiting, either. He felt distinctly more hopeful as they returned to Mark's room.

Once Jesse had approved Mark's release, Steve was anxious to get him home as soon as possible. The first order of business was to get him some clothes. He didn't want to waste time going home to pick up fresh clothes, and he was determined not to have him wear the ones he had worn from the Institute. He didn't want to see anything associated with the Exeter Institute anywhere near his father – for his own sake as well as Mark's. The memory of his first sight of his father, slumped in that wheelchair, drugged, confused, looking old and neglected, was burned painfully into his mind; he didn't need any physical reminders of that image. Jesse remembered that Mark usually kept a spare sweatsuit in his office for emergencies, and went off to retrieve it.

Once Mark was dressed, an orderly brought the wheelchair that was the standard mode of transportation for a departing patient. Steve noticed that his father hesitated, staring reluctantly at the chair and the orderly.

"I suppose I couldn't just walk out?" Mark asked, keeping his voice light.

"It's just routine, Mark," Jesse replied before Steve could say anything. "All our patients get a nice ride out of here."

Steve took the chair from the orderly, telling him that he would wheel his father down. Given what they knew about Mark's experiences with at least one orderly at the Institute, he thought he could understand his father feeling a trifle wary, as well as his reluctance to get back in a wheelchair. The orderly left, and Steve wheeled the chair closer to the bed, but made no move to rush his father into it. After a brief pause, Mark sighed and got up, allowing Jesse to help him transfer to the chair.

As they moved through the halls to the elevator, Steve pushing the chair and Jesse chatting away, they heard the sudden 'Code Blue' announcement that indicated a patient in cardiac arrest. Jesse abruptly left to respond to the call, as other staff hurried through the halls as well. Steve was about to wheel the chair over to the side of the corridor to get out of the way, when a young nurse with a crash cart rounded the corner at top speed, plowing into Steve and breaking his hold on the wheelchair, impelling the chair rapidly down the hallway. With a breathless apology, the nurse hurried on.

Steve recovered his balance quickly and, in a few long, rapid strides, reached the chair, grabbing it before it hit anything. Somewhat surprised that his father hadn't braked the chair himself, he looked down to see Mark's eyes closed, his hands tightly gripping the arms of the wheelchair, knuckles white, tension in every line of his body. Alarmed, Steve dropped down to crouch in front of the chair, one hand grasping his father's arm in an automatic gesture of reassurance.

"Dad?" He saw Mark's eyes open and stare blankly for a moment before focussing on him. "What is it? Are you all right?" Stupid question, he mentally castigated himself. He's obviously not all right.

Mark sucked in a steadying breath. "I'm okay," he replied, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice. "I just … I just felt dizzy for a moment."

Steve stared at him in concern, pondering the obvious lie. It didn't take a detective, he thought bitterly, to put this incident together with Mark's aversion to the wheelchair and the orderly, along with some of the bruises they had seen in the ER, and come up with a fair idea of yet another form of abuse that his father had undergone. His heart aching, he gently rubbed his father's arm, unsure what to say.

"I'm fine now," Mark said, not meeting his son's eyes. "Just take me home."

Steve hesitated for a brief moment, but acceded to Mark's obvious disinclination to discuss it at this time. He resumed wheeling his father out, mentally cursing the unfortunate young nurse for not watching where he was going.