(Chapter 6. Emily's office, Amanda's office at CGH. March 3, 2033.)



Steve walked around in a fog. He hadn't slept well last night, and he was still trying to get back into the swing of things. Maui had been nice. Maui had been wonderful, actually, but coming back to work from his first real vacation in over two years was proving to be harder than he'd expected.

The fact that he didn't yet have any evidence to support his concerns about Emily only made things worse.

Emily.

Emily.

What to do about Emily?

He walked past her office and saw the top of her head as she sat fumbling with a bandage, lost in concentration, trying to get it over a wound on her hand. Now was his chance.

"Need some help?" He asked from the door.

She jumped, startled for a moment, and then seeing who was speaking to her, started to rise. Steve motioned her back into her seat and said, "As you were, Lieutenant."

She sat, looking up at him, gold-green eyes nervous and searching, and said, "Can I help you, Chief?"

She did a good job of playing the innocent, Steve thought as he gave her his most winning smile and said, "No, Lieutenant, I was offering to help you." He invited himself in, since she hadn't done so yet, and shut the door behind him.

Looking at her hand and making a face, he said, "Nasty cut. What happened?"

She blushed faintly and said, "I…uh…I lost my temper, sir."

Nodding at the injury, he asked, "Did that make you feel better?"

She grinned, and said, "Not exactly better, sir, but it was worth it."

Steve remembered all too well. He'd had a temper when he was her age, and he'd often vented in a similar, foolish manner. He'd also felt the same way about the bumps and bruises he'd given himself along the way. He chuckled and, taking the fresh bandage away from her said, "Here, let me help you with that."

She wavered a moment, then extended her hand to him across the desk. She felt awkward, allowing her boss to minister to her in this way.

"What did you hit?" He asked as he applied some antibiotic ointment to the gauze pad of the bandage.

She hesitated, and then admitted, "An idiot."

Steve cocked an eyebrow at her, and she said, "Don't worry, sir. I was not out of line, and it won't come back on the department. I would never do that to you. I would never do that to my colleagues."

Steve pressed his lips together a moment, weighing his response, and then said, "That's good to know, but I know who raised you, and that's even better."

Emily smiled at him. He'd missed that smile for thirty years. It wasn't soft and gentle like her mother's. It wasn't sweet like Maribeth's. It was unique, open and honest, with just a hint of mischief.

Steve gave himself a mental shake and reminded himself that this woman was living a lie. A lot of lies, actually, some of them she might not know about herself.

He gently placed the bandage over the wound and for a moment flashed on the image of himself, fixing a boo-boo for a tearful little redheaded sprite. After he kissed the boo-boo and made it better she ran off to play with her friends.

Why did he have to like her so much? Why did she have to be…who she was? Why did it have to matter to him?

He smoothed the adhesive strips over her skin then stood up and stepped back.

"Did my son stitch it up for you?"

She went white. He tried to ignore how much he hated messing with her like this. He had to get some reaction from her, and he knew no other way.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Emily," he paused a minute. "May I call you Emily?"

She nodded, still speechless.

"A couple days ago, Steven's battery died. He was at a friend's house and called me to give him a ride to work. I helped your mother move into that house, Emily. I saw your family photos there. It's a heck of a coincidence, don't you think?"

She averted her eyes.

"Not according to my mother," she said dryly.

Steve laughed, Emily didn't seem as convinced as Liv always had been that God had a plan for everyone. He sat back down, crossed his legs, and looked at the young woman. Maybe he could straighten her out.

"Sometimes I think she's right, and sometimes I think it's just coincidence. How did you two meet?"

She sat doodling on a legal pad as she talked. Steve noted that she was left-handed. Steve was, too. He knew Liv was right-handed, because she always used to sit at his right during lunch and hold his right hand in her left. It had been as natural for them as breathing. He remembered Keith firing from a right-handed stance, and when he toasted them at the rehearsal dinner, he'd raised the glass in his right hand. Wasn't left- handedness hereditary?

As she doodled and he thought, she repeated almost exactly the same story Steven had told him. When she finished, Steve asked, "When were you going to tell me?"

Apparently, his tone was more accusatory than he meant it to be, because she tossed her pencil on the desk and snapped her head up.

"I don't know, sir."

There was just enough pause, and just enough emphasis to make the 'sir' less than respectful.

"I didn't even make the connection until I saw you in person, sir."

Again with the pause and emphasis. Just like her mom.

"People never look the same on TV, and it had been two years since I'd seen you on the news anyway. When should I have told you, sir? Before or after you hired me? 'By the way, Chief, I've been sleeping with your son for a couple of months now. He's really good in bed'."

She snorted and rose to her feet.

"That would have been a dandy interview, wouldn't it, sir? When you hired me, you told me your relationship with my mother would have nothing to do with my keeping this job. I hope the same holds true for my relationship with your son."

She was about to continue when Steve interrupted.

"Lieutenant!"

"Yes, sir?"

Steve let go a gusty sigh before he went on.

"I am sorry if you thought I was accusing you of something. I didn't mean it to sound that way. I just happen to know my son is planning a cookout this weekend for us to meet you. My wife has never seen your mother, but my dad will be there, and he'll recognize you almost as quickly as I did. That could make for an awkward situation."

She sat down. "I see." She thought a moment, and said, "I was going to tell you soon. Right after the interview was too soon, though. Then you went on vacation. I was busy all day yesterday. I'll tell Steven tonight. Does he know about my mom?"

Steve said, "Not really."

"Oh. Well, I can just tell him she was an old girlfriend of yours and that he should ask you the rest." Looking Steve directly in the eye, she said, "I won't lie to him, sir."

This time there was no hesitation. No emphasis.

"You do that. I've already talked to my wife, and I'm going to talk to my dad soon."

"Yes, sir."

Emily picked up the old bandage and the other litter that was on her desk from redressing her wound. She was about to throw it into the trash beside her desk when Steve stood, pulled a tissue out of the box on her desk, held it open in his hand, and said, "I'll take care of that for you."

"Sir?"

"It needs to go in a bio-hazard container. You'd be amazed how fast OSHA gets involved around here."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I should have realized," she said, depositing the materials in his waiting hand.

"Not a problem, Emily." He opened the door and she stood up. As he left, he said, "And keep up the good work, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."





When he was sure no one was looking, he placed the bloody bandage in his pocket. At the end of the hall, he stepped into the stairwell and sprinted up the three flights to his office, moving as quickly as he could without alarming anyone. Of course, it was hard not to alarm anyone when you were Deputy Chief of Police. People always got alarmed around that kind of authority.

Walking through his outer office, he said, "Leigh Ann, reschedule all my appointments, then call Dr. Bentley and tell her I'm on my way to see her. It's urgent."

"Yes, sir. Uh, what's wrong, sir?"

"That's confidential information, Leigh Ann," he snapped over his shoulder as he thrust his arms into his coat and headed out the door.

"Er…yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

She did as requested, telling Amanda that she had no idea what was on Steve's mind. Then she got out her cell phone and made a call of her own.

"I don't know what's going on, sir, but it's big. He's on his way to Community General now to talk to Dr. Bentley. I haven't seen him this agitated since the LAPD-Mob story broke two years ago."

"You've done well, Leigh Ann. Thank you."

"Yes, sir. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do, sir."

"I will, Leigh Ann."





Steve walked into the Coroner's Office at Community General Hospital. Amanda still worked in the old Path Lab, because, she said, it felt like home, but now she had access to all kinds of technology provided by the city. She also had a staff of thirty working for her. After the quake in '05, the city had helped CGH rebuild with the stipulation that the new Coroner's Office be located there, and not in the basement. Ironically, during the quake, those who dealt with the dead had perished in greater proportions than the general population because of where they worked. Many of them had died lingering deaths in the basements of collapsed city buildings.

Amanda had worked many double shifts in the next several years, helping the ME's office cope while they got their staff up to full strength again. Her dedication and meticulous work had paid off. She rose through the ranks of the ME's office, and in 2020, she had been made Chief ME for the City of Los Angeles. One of her first actions was to make sure the agreement between the city and CGH continued in perpetuity.

"Steve, what's wrong," Amanda asked, concerned as he burst into her office.

Ignoring her, he looked at Jesse and said, "What are *you* doing here?"

"Easy, big guy," Jesse backed away, hands raised in a 'See? I'm unarmed,' posture.

"I called him," Amanda said. "Leigh Ann said it was urgent and that you seemed very upset. I thought you might want him to be here too."

Jesse edged toward the door, saying, "But I can go, if you'd rather, Steve."

Oh, he'd rather, all right, but his best friend and business partner looked as if his feelings were hurt. After all these years, Jesse still managed that sad little boy look, and it tore at Steve's heart. Sighing, he said, "You can stay, Jess. I'll have to tell you soon enough anyway."

Eyeing Amanda suspiciously, he said, "You didn't happen to page Steven or CJ, too, did you?"

"No," she said, reaching for the phone, "but if you'd like me to…"

"NO!" Steve tore the handset away from her and slammed it violently back in the cradle.

Amanda and Jesse shared a troubled look. Steve was losing it. Why? They shrugged at one another, and Jesse spoke soothingly.

"Steve, buddy, calm down and tell us what's wrong." He pitched his voice low and spoke in a singsong tone. "Whatever it is, you know we're here to help you."

Steve closed his eyes and breathed deeply for fully half a minute. He was *not* going to go berserk on his friends. In through the nose, out through the mouth, after all these years, he still practiced yoga. It had seen him through many stressful times. Meanwhile, Amanda had closed all the blinds to her office to protect their privacy

When he finally found the calmness he sought, he opened his eyes and said, "Amanda, I need you to do a paternity test."

Taking the bloody bandage out of his pocket, he said, "Here's the child's blood sample."

"Ok. Do you have the parent's, or will I need a court order?"

Steve shook his head and said, "No, the parent is willing."

With that, he took off his jacket and started to roll up his sleeve.