First chap = disclaimers
Thanks to all my patient reviewers!
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Mark Sloan had never had such a harrowing experience in his life. Again and again points were debated and his son's good name was beaten. Over and over lawyers wrangled about a case with no body and nothing but the testimony of a group of crooks. Mark's own testimony might have humanized his son, but it seemed that no matter how he testified, Steve's legacy would be ruined. If Mark had to pay that price, then he wanted that conviction. And, he got it. The details of the case were not strong enough for first degree, but Jarrod had been found guilty of second degree murder. He was sentenced to fifteen years in prison.
His father's heart rebelled against the conviction. That young man had taken away his last child and turned Mark Sloan into a lonely old man. In his head, Mark knew it was the best he could hope for without a body. In his heart, he wailed for the injustice in his life and burned with anger for the injustice in Steve's death.
The conviction had been passed down two weeks ago. It had not brought the closure that Mark sought to his grief, but it did bring a sense of justice. It also brought some tense moments at Community General. Things had not gone well with Jesse after the conviction. It was not a surprise given the younger doctor's feelings on the matter.
Jesse had been removed and detached. The cheerful Jesse had been replaced with the clinical Dr. Travis: professional, polite, and passive. He talked to Mark in the most professional tones and only talked about hospital business. He had avoided anything else.
After about a week and a half of the quiet standoff between them, Amanda had intervened. She had scolded Jesse about the way he was acting. He needed to be Mark's friend. Just because Jesse disagreed with the conviction didn't mean that he had to alienate Mark. They were close; starting a feud over Steve wasn't going to change the fact that he was gone, and they all needed to restructure their lives. A type of truce had been drawn between them neither talked about Steve's murder.
It had worked. The two remaining partners in BBQ Bob's had reconciled. Mark glanced at his watch. It was time to head down to the establishment for lunch.
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Jesse Travis quickly stuffed his folder under the cash register when he saw Mark come in. It wouldn't do to have Mark know that his friend was not giving up on Steve's murder. After some pretty fancy wrangling Jesse had gotten more information about the case Steve had been working on when he died. Jesse was positive that the Garlin murder tied directly into Steve's. The more he saw of Jackson Peters, the more he was convinced that Peters had something to do with it.
Naturally telling Mark about his suspicions would only create problems. Jesse couldn't tell Amanda either. If he told Amanda, she would tell Mark what Jesse told her. So, he was left to work alone, at least until he had some solid evidence to go on.
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Steve sighed as he settled down in front of his small T.V. The warm beer in his hand was not a good substitute for a restaurant and conversation. The one night he went out to dinner with Angel had turned into a weekly affair. Every Tuesday, they would go out to some local restaurant and eat. He didn't think that was going to happen tonight.
Her family had arrived early Tuesday morning. All day Monday, Jim had lectured him on what to do, and what not to do, and who was who. The twenty-year-old peroxide blonde was Evelyn Mr. Thronson's first child from his second marriage. She was likeable enough, but talked incessantly. All you had to do was nod a few times, compliment her acting ability, and walk away.
The two seventeen-year-old boys were Alan and Toby. One couldn't tell what their real hair color was as they had dyed it blue and purple respectively. They too were from Mr. Thronson's second marriage. Their father did not mind their appearance. Apparently, he'd worked in the fashion industry too long to object to any particular trend. When Steve met them, he'd found them garish especially with the vibrant lime green jackets they were wearing. He would never be caught in public like that, but he thought they seemed nice enough. Well, he thought they were nice. He really wasn't sure with all the 'in' lingo they used to talk to him.
The two-year-old was Michael. There wasn't much to say about him. He was a toddler going through his terrible twos. His mother was off in Spain somewhere after getting a healthy divorce settlement. Mr. Thronson paid her well and h e got custody of his son.
Apparently, Mr. Thronson did not learn from his mistakes. He had brought his highly annoying girlfriend with him. Mitzi was twenty-four. Her black hair was perfectly groomed as were her nails. She had a very high pitched voice and whined constantly. Steve personally thought that the only member of the household the woman could actually have a conversation with was the two-year-old Michael.
Mr. Joseph Thronson was a fairly good looking man. Intelligent, wealthy, and had a very short temper. Steve didn't get much time to observe the owner of the house. Steve had retreated very quickly about the time Mitzi decided to compliment him on his muscles. He had the feeling Mr. Thronson was a jealous man.
So, he sat barely watching the program he had on. He was lonely and bored. Jim was busy, and he didn't exactly get along with the stuffy staff that Mr. Thronson had brought along to cook and clean and wait on the family. He sighed as he took another swig of his warm and now flat beer. A glance at the clock told him he'd been nursing it for at least an hour.
Annoyed for some reason that the police drama on T.V. wasn't realistic, he pushed himself off the couch. Maybe he would go for a walk along the beach. A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts. He walked over to the door and opened it.
Angel stood outside. Her purse was thrown over her should and her car keys were in her hand. Instead of her usual tee-shirt and jeans, she was wearing a short, black sundress and high heeled sandals.
"Are you ready to go?"
"I didn't think we were going out tonight. I thought you were going to spend the time with your family."
"Steve, if you had to choose between your company and my family's company, what would you choose? I get to see them all week. They won't even notice I'm gone tonight. Besides, I want to have a nice night out. The weekend is going to be full of social calls and horrid parties."
Steve laughed. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll go change." His eyes looked over her as she sat down on his small couch. "Should I wear something a little better?"
"What? Oh, no, I'm just wearing this because I went with my father to visit a designer friend this afternoon. I had to be 'At least in fashion if not stunning.'"
"I'd hardly call that 'not stunning'."
"That is your concussion talking. Besides, stunning in the current fashion world probably means wearing a tissue box on your head."
Steve walked into his bedroom and changed into something less crumpled.
"So, where are we going tonight?"
"We are going where you want to go. It is your choice tonight, remember Mr. MacTyre?"
"It's my choice? Great, why don't we go to Sal's?"
"Are you going to order ribs again?"
"Are you complaining? It is my choice you know."
"I know that it is you choice. I just hate it when you start to decipher what's in the sauce. For a man who can't cook, you are obsessed about barbeque sauce."
Steve grinned. "Well, you ought to be glad that I like it. Otherwise I'd just postpone this until the hospital cafeteria is open tomorrow."
"Do not remind me that you like hospital food."
"Fine, just don't remind me that you hate boxing."
"You are intolerable."
"No. I'm not. If I was intolerable, you would be spending tonight with them." Steve jerked his thumb at the house as they walked to the garage.
"Alright, fair enough, you win. You are nowhere near as intolerable as they can be."
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Steve was in considerably better spirits than earlier in the evening as they returned from their dinner. There had been one down point in the meal. He couldn't remember what they had been talking about, but all of a sudden, he'd been hit with a flash of memory. Automatically, he'd started to launch into an 'I remember a time when…' story, only to lose it as fast as it had come. He couldn't remember anything from the memory except a particular view of the ocean.
He'd sat brooding for a while before Angel reached over and squeezed his hand.
"Hey," she said "it is okay. Don't force it. You're a great guy as it is, no-one will think less of you for not remembering, no-one important anyway."
Steve glanced over his shoulder as Angel followed him back to his apartment on the pretense of opening his door for him as he carried his to-go container. He knew better. She was simply buying time to keep away from the rather insane Mitzi. Her siblings and father would leave her to her own devices, but Mitzi was a bit too dense to catch the signal.
Steve nodded his thanks as she held the door for him and he switched on the lights in his apartment. He quickly deposited his container on the small counter in his kitchenette. As he turned around to say goodnight, he caught site of her leaning against the doorjamb smiling at him.
"What?" he asked as he double checked to make sure he didn't have anything stuck on his shirt.
"I want to thank you for brightening up my night. You don't know how much it meant to me."
Steve sauntered over to where she stood. "Hey, I'm good at relieving stress. Don't mention it."
"Goodnight, Steve."
"Goodnight, Angel."
Neither moved for a second, then, Steve leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers. They both froze in shock before Angel bolted towards the house, leaving a very bewildered Steve behind.