(Chapter 10. October 26. CGH physical therapy room.)
Steve looked down the length of the parallel bars. Two weeks ago, when Olivia had removed the cast, she explained that the fixator needed to stay on for a while longer. His right leg still hadn't quite grown back to the length of his left. None of that had mattered to him, though. He was too excited about walking again to care. Today it was another story.
The other end of the bars seemed impossibly far away. He knew he had regained his great upper body strength during the first phase of his rehab, but now he felt weak all over. Davis had spent days working on his now free legs, helping him with strength-building exercises and bending and stretching them to help him regain flexibility. It had been a pain like none he'd ever known, but he had endured, knowing it was necessary if he was to walk again.
Just this morning, Davis had explained carefully exactly what he needed to do to get up, travel the length of the bars, turn around, and sit down again, but Steve was afraid to try. He started to shake.
The room was cold. Since normal clothes wouldn't fit over the fixator, he was wearing nothing but a hospital gown and a bathrobe, and his dad, Jesse, Amanda, and Olivia were all there to watch him embarrass himself. He took a deep breath, and levered himself up out of the chair. Waiting wasn't going to make it any easier. Davis stepped behind him and helped him balance himself. At least if he fell, there would be someone there to catch him.
He took one slow, shuffling step and felt pain shoot through his body. The next step forced tears to his eyes. He was already breathing hard and trembling. He never imagined it would be this hard. Another step, and another, and he paused for breath. He vaguely heard his dad and friends cheering him on but the sound of the blood rushing in his ears and his own heavy breathing drowned out their words. He was drenched in sweat.
He'd only walked a third the length of the bars. He saw Olivia bring his wheelchair around. He was going to make it. He had to make it. He tried another step, and felt his left knee buckle. Hell! He was going to go down right there, before God and everyone. No, wait. He didn't hit the floor. Davis was still supporting him.
"Ok, dude. Let's just stop here for a minute and let you catch your breath."
Steve stood there, partly supporting himself, but mostly letting Davis hold him up. "Davis, I'm never going to make it to the end," he whispered. "Have Olivia bring me the chair, please."
"No way, man. You're going to finish this."
"Davis, I can't."
"You will."
Steve knew he wasn't going to win the argument. He hated to be seen like this. He felt so weak and afraid. "This sucks," he told Davis, trying to keep the whine of frustration from his voice.
"Yeah, but you'll manage." The two men stood there a few more moments, Davis supporting and encouraging Steve as Steve struggled to regain his composure. Finally, Davis told him, "Now get moving."
Steve took another step and moaned in pain. Tears of agony came streaming down his face. "My God, this is worse than being shot."
He took another step. "Aaah!"
Both knees gave out. He couldn't support himself any more, and Davis couldn't quite hold him up. He had to let Steve slip gently to the floor.
"You punked out on me, Sloan. You gave up."
"Go to hell!" Steve shouted in a surge of temper. He was humiliated in front of his father and his friends. He'd done his best, and he couldn't make it. The floor was cold on his bare legs and bottom. He started to sob. "My God, this is awful." At the edge of his vision, he saw his dad coming toward him. Then he saw Olivia holding him back, and he realized he wasn't going to get any help from them.
Davis was in his face now, taunting him quietly. "What's it gonna be, Sloan? Sit on your ass and feel sorry for yourself, or get up and finish what you started?"
"Damn you!" Steve screamed, and took a swing that Davis easily avoided. Steve had put so much into the punch, that it upset his balance and he fell over. He curled up on the cold floor in despair and wept.
Davis was immediately at his side, hand on his shoulder, speaking in a low, steady voice. "Your old man and your friends and your girlfriend are right here watching this, Steve. They are not going to help you. This is something you have to do for yourself."
Steve writhed on the floor. "Get away from me!" he yelled.
Davis would not be moved, he just continued talking, "You've got stones, man. Brass balls. Think about how you got here in the first place. Your partner and Doc Regis told me all about it. That creep shot you six times. Six times, Sloan. He blew your leg apart! One of the bullets went clear through you and wounded another cop. What did you do about it, Sloan?"
Steve was hearing him; Davis knew that. When he didn't get an answer, he asked again, "I said, what did you do about it?"
Steve choked out his answer. "I got him."
"I can't hear you. What did you do about it?"
Louder, Steve said, "I got him."
"That's right, Sloan," Davis continued. "You stood your ground and you...got...him. If you give up now, it doesn't matter. Don't let that scum get the best of you. You get up off this floor and you walk, dammit. Walk to the end of these bars and sit down with some dignity."
A moan tore itself from Steve's throat as he sat upright. "That's it, Steve," Davis encouraged him quietly.
He cried out again as he grabbed one of the bars and pulled. "All right, man!"
With Davis's help, he stood up again and turned to face the wheelchair. "Do it, brother, do it!" Davis was cheering him on every move he made.
He took a step. "Yeah, man!"
He took another step, and another. "Almost there!"
One more step. He was at the end of the bars. "You got him, Steve! You got him again!"
Steve turned around and sat heavily in the waiting wheelchair. He was shaking and soaked with sweat from fear or exertion, he knew not which. His breath came hard and fast. Tears were streaming down his face, and he didn't know why. His whole body was tingling, and he hurt everywhere, but he had made it. He looked around. His dad and Jesse were both on the verge of tears. Amanda was weeping unashamedly, and Davis was cheering him like he had just won the Super Bowl.
Then he saw Olivia, standing several feet away from the others, staring off into nothing. Her face was serene. She had her arms wrapped around herself, and she was rubbing her shoulders as if trying to ward off a chill. Steve swore he saw her mouth the words, "Thank you." Then she met his gaze, focused on him, and slowly, softly, she smiled at him and nodded. There would be no emotional outburst, no weeping or cheering from her, just a smile and a nod. Suddenly Steve understood. She knew. She was the only one who really knew, and had known all along, that he could, and he would, walk again.
He rested, and waited for his breathing to slow down. When he could speak comfortably, he said, "I'm done. I'm all done in. Take me back to my room, please."
With some surprise, Mark said, "But son, you just got started."
"And I'm finished, Dad," Steve insisted. "I can't do any more today. I won't. I am not going to perform on command." He shook his head and was about to continue when Olivia rubbed his shoulder gently.
"It's ok," she said to Mark. Then to Davis, "Will you please help him get settled in his room?"
"Sure thing, Doc."
"But, Steve..."
"Dad, leave me alone."
"Mark," Olivia interrupted as he moved to follow. "I need to talk to you."
As Steve was wheeled out, Mark continued, "Olivia, he just got started. He needs to keep working if he's going to get better."
"One more day won't make any difference," Olivia told him. "He's done enough for now, Mark. It was enough to prove to himself that he could. He earned his rest."
She motioned Jesse and Amanda over. "I need to talk to all of you and you're not going to like what I have to say."
Three concerned faces looked to her for an explanation. "I don't want you to come here again until I say so."
"Now, Olivia, he's my son, and I will see him," Mark insisted.
"I know, but I don't want you, any of you, to see him here."
"Why, Liv?" Jesse wanted to know.
Olivia spoke directly to Mark, but she answered Jesse's question. "Your son is a very proud man. It cost him a lot to let you see him struggle that way. It may actually have been more difficult than the physical exertion. I let you all stay, just today, so that he could show you and himself that he could do it. Now I'm asking...telling...you to keep your distance from this place."
"But, Olivia, we're his friends, his family," Amanda said. "We want to be here for him."
Olivia continued speaking only to Mark. She knew that if she could get him to understand, Jesse and Amanda would follow his lead. "You can give him support and encouragement and you can spoil him with love," she said with a smile, "but not here. He needs this to be a safe place."
"Safe?" Jesse echoed.
Olivia nodded to Mark. "Safe for him to lose his temper, and get discouraged, and hate the world. Safe for him to take risks and say unkind things. He needs to know there is some place where, no matter how bad it gets, he can show what he really feels and know that no one will care. He needs to know that when he's through feeling sorry for himself and being angry, someone will be there to tell him to stop whining and get back to work."
She could see that Mark was beginning to get the picture. "You all are too close to Steve. He doesn't want you to see him in pain. He doesn't want you to see him suffer, and he doesn't want to lash out at you when he gets frustrated. If you're here, he'll hold back."
"To spare us," Mark said.
Olivia nodded. "If you're here, you'll only hinder his recovery. He needs someone to be tough on him, now. Davis can do that, but not if we're here."
Mark ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. "Ok," he agreed. "We'll stay away."
"Thank you, Mark. I knew you'd understand. I'll check on him every day, and I'll ask every day if you can come by. As soon as he says yes, I'll let you know."
Mark nodded, "You just be sure you take good care of my son."
"You know I will, Mark. I promise."
Steve was resting when Olivia walked into his room. The TV was on, but he was sitting up in bed with his head back and his eyes closed. She took a seat in the chair beside the bed.
"Hey, Liv."
"How did you know it was me?"
Steve's smile was tired when he said, "You always smell like lavender."
Olivia chuckled, "Ok, if you say so."
There was a companionable silence for several moments before Olivia broke it. "You did it, Steve."
"Yeah, but you always knew I would, didn't you?"
"Well, I wasn't surprised when you did."
"Everyone else was."
"Steve, I think they were just really happy for you."
Steve finally opened his eyes and looked at her. "You never lied to me before, Liv. Don't start now. It's unbecoming. You were the only person in that room who thought I could do it."
"Davis wouldn't have let you try if he didn't think you could make it."
Steve swallowed and looked away. "He didn't believe in me, Liv. I could hear it in his voice. He was astounded that I made it to the end of those bars. He believed in you. He trusted your judgment about me."
Steve let his eyes close. His mouth became a tight line and his brow furrowed. His face became a mask of pain, emotional or physical, Olivia couldn't tell. She moved from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. Taking his hand and stroking his arm, she said, "Talk to me, Steve."
He took a shaky breath and said, "I don't know if I can go through that again tomorrow." A tear slowly made its way down his cheek. "I don't know if I can face that kind of pain again now that I know it's waiting for me."
Olivia smoothed his hair, wiped away the tear, and told him, "Rest now. You will go back tomorrow, because now you know you can. You'll go back the next day, too, and the next and the one after that, and before long, you'll be well again. Today will just be a painful memory. Then it will be forgotten. I promise."
Olivia sat there for several more minutes, stroking his hair and whispering encouraging words until Steve fell into a sound sleep. When she was sure he would not wake, she stood and gave him a tender kiss on the forehead. "My darling," she whispered, "You will be strong again, sooner than you might think, and when you are, I will still be beside you."
Steve looked down the length of the parallel bars. Two weeks ago, when Olivia had removed the cast, she explained that the fixator needed to stay on for a while longer. His right leg still hadn't quite grown back to the length of his left. None of that had mattered to him, though. He was too excited about walking again to care. Today it was another story.
The other end of the bars seemed impossibly far away. He knew he had regained his great upper body strength during the first phase of his rehab, but now he felt weak all over. Davis had spent days working on his now free legs, helping him with strength-building exercises and bending and stretching them to help him regain flexibility. It had been a pain like none he'd ever known, but he had endured, knowing it was necessary if he was to walk again.
Just this morning, Davis had explained carefully exactly what he needed to do to get up, travel the length of the bars, turn around, and sit down again, but Steve was afraid to try. He started to shake.
The room was cold. Since normal clothes wouldn't fit over the fixator, he was wearing nothing but a hospital gown and a bathrobe, and his dad, Jesse, Amanda, and Olivia were all there to watch him embarrass himself. He took a deep breath, and levered himself up out of the chair. Waiting wasn't going to make it any easier. Davis stepped behind him and helped him balance himself. At least if he fell, there would be someone there to catch him.
He took one slow, shuffling step and felt pain shoot through his body. The next step forced tears to his eyes. He was already breathing hard and trembling. He never imagined it would be this hard. Another step, and another, and he paused for breath. He vaguely heard his dad and friends cheering him on but the sound of the blood rushing in his ears and his own heavy breathing drowned out their words. He was drenched in sweat.
He'd only walked a third the length of the bars. He saw Olivia bring his wheelchair around. He was going to make it. He had to make it. He tried another step, and felt his left knee buckle. Hell! He was going to go down right there, before God and everyone. No, wait. He didn't hit the floor. Davis was still supporting him.
"Ok, dude. Let's just stop here for a minute and let you catch your breath."
Steve stood there, partly supporting himself, but mostly letting Davis hold him up. "Davis, I'm never going to make it to the end," he whispered. "Have Olivia bring me the chair, please."
"No way, man. You're going to finish this."
"Davis, I can't."
"You will."
Steve knew he wasn't going to win the argument. He hated to be seen like this. He felt so weak and afraid. "This sucks," he told Davis, trying to keep the whine of frustration from his voice.
"Yeah, but you'll manage." The two men stood there a few more moments, Davis supporting and encouraging Steve as Steve struggled to regain his composure. Finally, Davis told him, "Now get moving."
Steve took another step and moaned in pain. Tears of agony came streaming down his face. "My God, this is worse than being shot."
He took another step. "Aaah!"
Both knees gave out. He couldn't support himself any more, and Davis couldn't quite hold him up. He had to let Steve slip gently to the floor.
"You punked out on me, Sloan. You gave up."
"Go to hell!" Steve shouted in a surge of temper. He was humiliated in front of his father and his friends. He'd done his best, and he couldn't make it. The floor was cold on his bare legs and bottom. He started to sob. "My God, this is awful." At the edge of his vision, he saw his dad coming toward him. Then he saw Olivia holding him back, and he realized he wasn't going to get any help from them.
Davis was in his face now, taunting him quietly. "What's it gonna be, Sloan? Sit on your ass and feel sorry for yourself, or get up and finish what you started?"
"Damn you!" Steve screamed, and took a swing that Davis easily avoided. Steve had put so much into the punch, that it upset his balance and he fell over. He curled up on the cold floor in despair and wept.
Davis was immediately at his side, hand on his shoulder, speaking in a low, steady voice. "Your old man and your friends and your girlfriend are right here watching this, Steve. They are not going to help you. This is something you have to do for yourself."
Steve writhed on the floor. "Get away from me!" he yelled.
Davis would not be moved, he just continued talking, "You've got stones, man. Brass balls. Think about how you got here in the first place. Your partner and Doc Regis told me all about it. That creep shot you six times. Six times, Sloan. He blew your leg apart! One of the bullets went clear through you and wounded another cop. What did you do about it, Sloan?"
Steve was hearing him; Davis knew that. When he didn't get an answer, he asked again, "I said, what did you do about it?"
Steve choked out his answer. "I got him."
"I can't hear you. What did you do about it?"
Louder, Steve said, "I got him."
"That's right, Sloan," Davis continued. "You stood your ground and you...got...him. If you give up now, it doesn't matter. Don't let that scum get the best of you. You get up off this floor and you walk, dammit. Walk to the end of these bars and sit down with some dignity."
A moan tore itself from Steve's throat as he sat upright. "That's it, Steve," Davis encouraged him quietly.
He cried out again as he grabbed one of the bars and pulled. "All right, man!"
With Davis's help, he stood up again and turned to face the wheelchair. "Do it, brother, do it!" Davis was cheering him on every move he made.
He took a step. "Yeah, man!"
He took another step, and another. "Almost there!"
One more step. He was at the end of the bars. "You got him, Steve! You got him again!"
Steve turned around and sat heavily in the waiting wheelchair. He was shaking and soaked with sweat from fear or exertion, he knew not which. His breath came hard and fast. Tears were streaming down his face, and he didn't know why. His whole body was tingling, and he hurt everywhere, but he had made it. He looked around. His dad and Jesse were both on the verge of tears. Amanda was weeping unashamedly, and Davis was cheering him like he had just won the Super Bowl.
Then he saw Olivia, standing several feet away from the others, staring off into nothing. Her face was serene. She had her arms wrapped around herself, and she was rubbing her shoulders as if trying to ward off a chill. Steve swore he saw her mouth the words, "Thank you." Then she met his gaze, focused on him, and slowly, softly, she smiled at him and nodded. There would be no emotional outburst, no weeping or cheering from her, just a smile and a nod. Suddenly Steve understood. She knew. She was the only one who really knew, and had known all along, that he could, and he would, walk again.
He rested, and waited for his breathing to slow down. When he could speak comfortably, he said, "I'm done. I'm all done in. Take me back to my room, please."
With some surprise, Mark said, "But son, you just got started."
"And I'm finished, Dad," Steve insisted. "I can't do any more today. I won't. I am not going to perform on command." He shook his head and was about to continue when Olivia rubbed his shoulder gently.
"It's ok," she said to Mark. Then to Davis, "Will you please help him get settled in his room?"
"Sure thing, Doc."
"But, Steve..."
"Dad, leave me alone."
"Mark," Olivia interrupted as he moved to follow. "I need to talk to you."
As Steve was wheeled out, Mark continued, "Olivia, he just got started. He needs to keep working if he's going to get better."
"One more day won't make any difference," Olivia told him. "He's done enough for now, Mark. It was enough to prove to himself that he could. He earned his rest."
She motioned Jesse and Amanda over. "I need to talk to all of you and you're not going to like what I have to say."
Three concerned faces looked to her for an explanation. "I don't want you to come here again until I say so."
"Now, Olivia, he's my son, and I will see him," Mark insisted.
"I know, but I don't want you, any of you, to see him here."
"Why, Liv?" Jesse wanted to know.
Olivia spoke directly to Mark, but she answered Jesse's question. "Your son is a very proud man. It cost him a lot to let you see him struggle that way. It may actually have been more difficult than the physical exertion. I let you all stay, just today, so that he could show you and himself that he could do it. Now I'm asking...telling...you to keep your distance from this place."
"But, Olivia, we're his friends, his family," Amanda said. "We want to be here for him."
Olivia continued speaking only to Mark. She knew that if she could get him to understand, Jesse and Amanda would follow his lead. "You can give him support and encouragement and you can spoil him with love," she said with a smile, "but not here. He needs this to be a safe place."
"Safe?" Jesse echoed.
Olivia nodded to Mark. "Safe for him to lose his temper, and get discouraged, and hate the world. Safe for him to take risks and say unkind things. He needs to know there is some place where, no matter how bad it gets, he can show what he really feels and know that no one will care. He needs to know that when he's through feeling sorry for himself and being angry, someone will be there to tell him to stop whining and get back to work."
She could see that Mark was beginning to get the picture. "You all are too close to Steve. He doesn't want you to see him in pain. He doesn't want you to see him suffer, and he doesn't want to lash out at you when he gets frustrated. If you're here, he'll hold back."
"To spare us," Mark said.
Olivia nodded. "If you're here, you'll only hinder his recovery. He needs someone to be tough on him, now. Davis can do that, but not if we're here."
Mark ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. "Ok," he agreed. "We'll stay away."
"Thank you, Mark. I knew you'd understand. I'll check on him every day, and I'll ask every day if you can come by. As soon as he says yes, I'll let you know."
Mark nodded, "You just be sure you take good care of my son."
"You know I will, Mark. I promise."
Steve was resting when Olivia walked into his room. The TV was on, but he was sitting up in bed with his head back and his eyes closed. She took a seat in the chair beside the bed.
"Hey, Liv."
"How did you know it was me?"
Steve's smile was tired when he said, "You always smell like lavender."
Olivia chuckled, "Ok, if you say so."
There was a companionable silence for several moments before Olivia broke it. "You did it, Steve."
"Yeah, but you always knew I would, didn't you?"
"Well, I wasn't surprised when you did."
"Everyone else was."
"Steve, I think they were just really happy for you."
Steve finally opened his eyes and looked at her. "You never lied to me before, Liv. Don't start now. It's unbecoming. You were the only person in that room who thought I could do it."
"Davis wouldn't have let you try if he didn't think you could make it."
Steve swallowed and looked away. "He didn't believe in me, Liv. I could hear it in his voice. He was astounded that I made it to the end of those bars. He believed in you. He trusted your judgment about me."
Steve let his eyes close. His mouth became a tight line and his brow furrowed. His face became a mask of pain, emotional or physical, Olivia couldn't tell. She moved from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. Taking his hand and stroking his arm, she said, "Talk to me, Steve."
He took a shaky breath and said, "I don't know if I can go through that again tomorrow." A tear slowly made its way down his cheek. "I don't know if I can face that kind of pain again now that I know it's waiting for me."
Olivia smoothed his hair, wiped away the tear, and told him, "Rest now. You will go back tomorrow, because now you know you can. You'll go back the next day, too, and the next and the one after that, and before long, you'll be well again. Today will just be a painful memory. Then it will be forgotten. I promise."
Olivia sat there for several more minutes, stroking his hair and whispering encouraging words until Steve fell into a sound sleep. When she was sure he would not wake, she stood and gave him a tender kiss on the forehead. "My darling," she whispered, "You will be strong again, sooner than you might think, and when you are, I will still be beside you."