Chapter 12

While Steve was out running, Mark woke up from his nap, feeling a bit fuzzy and confused. He had been dreaming, and he was pretty sure Steve was in it somewhere. But as is often the case with dreams, the memory of it vanished when he awoke – leaving him with a teasing sensation of being on the brink of remembering something, only to have it snatched away just beyond reach. He finally gave up the effort to recapture the dream, and went over to the edge of the deck to look out over the beach.

Mark stood at the railing, taking in the sun-drenched scene before him. The ocean was relatively calm, the sound of the surf lapping up on the shore rhythmic and soothing. There were few people in sight at the moment, and the only sounds beside the breaking of the waves were the occasional drone of a passing boat and the call of the gulls as they swooped down and up around the beach. Mark drew a deep breath of the salt air, soaking up the brightness and beauty of the scene, marveling at the sudden change in his fortunes. To have been suddenly plucked from the dingy dreariness of the Exeter Institute, with its smell of antiseptic overlaying other, less savory odors of sickness and despair, and to find himself transplanted here was like being transported from the gates of hell back to the garden of Eden. And the extreme change in the physical environment was matched by the extraordinary difference in the emotional atmosphere. The loneliness, abandonment, and confusion he had felt for the last week were fading away in the warmth, caring and love he was being surrounded with by a son and friends that he didn't even know he had.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with both a profound sense of gratitude and an intense desire to know more about these people and what part they played in each other's lives. Now that his mind was no longer clouded by drugs, perhaps he could piece together some sense of his life and relationships from the evidence provided by the pictures and momentos acquired over the years. With that in mind, he turned and headed back into the house.

As he opened the door to the house, he saw the note taped to it, and smiled slightly at this further evidence of Steve's obvious concern for him. He was both deeply grateful for and deeply intrigued by this son of his; he wanted to find out all he could about him. In the meantime, he was glad that Steve was getting a chance to do something to take care of his own well-being. Exercise was just thing, Mark thought, to let out some tension and take advantage of those mood-enhancing endorphins. Steve was obviously accustomed to regular exercise; it was good for him to resume a regular activity after the stress-filled, emotional period he'd been going through.

Mark entered his study, determined to take advantage of his temporary solitude to do some exploring. With the comfort of knowing that Steve would be back, and that he wouldn't be faced with any major problems that he wasn't quite ready to deal with yet, he found that he quite liked the idea of being alone for a while. He suspected that perhaps he actually enjoyed periods of solitude normally.

He sat at his desk and opened drawers, looking through the contents. He really had an enormous assortment of papers, albums, pictures, and momentos of various kinds, he noticed. I think I must be something of a pack rat, he reflected ruefully. I'm obviously not a compulsive thrower-outer! He started browsing through some of the letters and photo albums he found. Steve was, of course, heavily featured in the more recent ones, but they included pictures of friends as well, including many of Amanda and Jesse. He pored over them for a while, trying to get a sense of what his life was like.

Obviously, his sense that Steve, Amanda, and Jesse formed quite a close-knit group was correct; there were pictures of birthday parties with a young boy, apparently Amanda's son – his godson, he remembered Steve telling him, social functions, various outings, what seemed to be the grand opening of the restaurant Steve had told him they owned – as if living together, solving crimes together, and socializing together wasn't enough, they were also business partners together?! – and many others. Mark found himself fascinated by one series of pictures of what he had first assumed to be CJ's birthday at a place called 'Pony Land'. There were several pictures of two young boys having pony rides, as well as several of the usual gang of himself, Steve, Jesse, and Amanda – nothing unusual there. What did seem a bit unusual was that the pictures also included several of Steve on one of the ponies, under a big banner that read 'Happy Birthday Steve'. Smiling at the sight of the very large Steve on the small pony, Mark wondered what was behind the selection of such a venue for an adult party; he'd definitely have to ask Steve about that one.

Mark continued going through assorted albums and momentos. He found everything from letters and postcards from various people – some of them thanking him for his help in various matters – to a file on 'interesting crimes' that contained newspaper clippings about unusual criminal activities or mysterious occurrences. What particularly drew his attention, however, was an album containing various news articles and clippings about Steve. He spent a considerable amount of time leafing through the write-ups, many of them detailing high-profile or otherwise newsworthy cases in which Steve had been involved. He was pleased to see these indications of Steve's success in his career, and no less pleased to see that apparently he was sufficiently proud of his son to keep such a record.

Mark found himself wanting to know more about the exact nature of his relationship with his son. Obviously theirs was a close relationship – they lived, worked, and, if the pictures were to be believed, frequently socialized and vacationed together. And nothing spoke more tellingly of that closeness than his son's continued support and understanding throughout this current ordeal. What Mark didn't know, however, was his own role in this relationship. Did he give back to his son the same degree of love and respect he obviously received? Was he a supportive parent? Did he take his son for granted? Did Steve live with him because he felt obliged to or because he couldn't afford otherwise? Mark was surprised by the intensity with which he hoped that was not the case. The problem was, of course, that these weren't exactly questions he could ask Steve; he would have to feel his way, and try to infer the answers from his son's behavior and the tidbits of information he could piece together. So far, he thought, the signs were reasonably positive. While there were plenty of instances of grown children who continued to cater to and try to please unappreciative parents – and how come he knew that when he knew nothing about himself and his own life? – Steve certainly didn't seem like that type of person. Nor did the emotional atmosphere, so to speak, have that feel to it. He felt a wave of frustration at his inability to remember even this basic and important aspect of his life. Despite the knowledge that he obviously had so much to be grateful for, he couldn't help feeling depressed by the loss of all the memories and relationships that made up his life. He looked around at the abundance of memorabilia and wondered if he would ever reconnect with the memories they represented.

Returning from his run, Steve took the stairs up to the deck from the beach. Finding the deck empty, he quickly entered the house, hoping that his father hadn't become anxious at awakening alone. He was reassured when he saw Mark sitting at his desk, surrounded by papers and albums.

"Hi, Dad," he said, coming into the study.

"Hi, Steve," Mark replied, trying to shake off the despondency that was threatening to descend upon him. "How was your run?"

"Fine. I see you found the photo albums."

Mark smiled. "Along with a bunch of other things. I seem to be something of a collector."

Steve grinned back at him, perching on the edge of the desk.

"Wait 'til you see your office at the hospital," he warned. "It's getting so cluttered, there's barely room for you!"

Mark smiled back; only to have a sad, wistful look return to his face a moment later. Steve felt his heart drop. Jesse had warned them that mood swings weren't unexpected after the drugs Mark had been on, not to mention the experiences he'd been through, and Steve could certainly understand the tendency to feel depressed. But he felt so powerless to help his father; he couldn't even be sure when a chance remark or event would trigger a flashback to his experiences at the Exeter Institute or the onset of depression.

"What is it, Dad?" he asked gently, hoping that Mark would talk to him about what he was feeling, hoping that, somehow, he could find a way to help his father.

Mark shrugged slightly, shaking his head without speaking. He saw disappointment in Steve's eyes, and suddenly realized that shutting him out wasn't making it any easier on him. But Steve didn't say anything, obviously willing to let his father decide how much he was ready to share.

"It's just … all these pictures and things I've collected," Mark said, struggling to explain the sense of emptiness that had suddenly engulfed him. "A lifetime of memories and treasured moments … all wiped away. I've lost them all."

The uncharacteristically forlorn note in his father's voice broke Steve's heart. He leaned forward and gripped Mark's shoulder.

"You'll get them back, Dad," he said, his voice gentle and reassuring. "It may take a little time, but we'll work on it together. And we'll make plenty of new memories to go along with them."

Mark gazed at his son through slightly misty eyes, once again deeply touched and grateful for the love and understanding Steve displayed.

"I just hope that when I had all my wits about me," he said somewhat gruffly, "I had the good sense to recognize the kind of son I have."

Steve smiled at him affectionately.

"Don't worry," he replied lightly, "I always remind you if you look like you're in danger of forgetting!"

Mark smiled back at him and pulled himself together. Really, he thought, I've got to stop coming apart like this. It only makes it harder on him. He patted Steve's arm, saying, "Go on and get yourself cleaned up. I'm going to go see if I can remember how to make a cup of coffee."

Steve got to his feet, but stood looking down at his father uncertainly for a moment, not sure if he should leave him alone. Mark saw the hesitation, and smiled reassuringly.

"Go on," he urged. "I'm pretty sure I can handle the coffee maker. And if I can't," he added with a touch of humor, "I'll just boil water for tea." He paused and raised an inquiring eyebrow. "At least – I assume we do have tea?"

Steve smiled slightly. "Yeah, we have tea, Dad. In the canister on the counter near the stove."

"Good." Mark stood up. "Now you go ahead and get dressed, and by the time you get back, I'll have something ready. I'm not sure what, but something!"

Steve watched his father head for the kitchen, feeling slightly reassured by the re-emergence of Mark's sense of humor. He went back down to his apartment, this time showering and changing as quickly as possible.