A faint rattling noise, fading in, then fading out. A squeak of rubber on linoleum. A faraway voice, echoing faintly over a PA system. Distant chatter, words indistinguishable, rising, then receding. Steve swallowed carefully, wetting his dry throat, but didn't bother to open his eyes. He didn't have to. It was all familiar, recognizable. The hospital.

He sighed silently, listening harder. The sheet under his hand was coarse and stiff and smelled of antiseptic, but he couldn't feel a respirator blocking his throat - that was something. No persistent blip tracking his vitals. Nothing too serious, then. The inside of his arm itched - IV, probably - but that didn't mean much. He shifted carefully, testing. Arms seemed okay, legs seemed okay, ribs didn't hurt…OUCH. Head. That was the problem. Definitely head.

With a light groan, he tried rolling onto his side. Could be worse. He opened his eyes to slits, wincing in the sudden brightness. He was alone, and that was a good sign, too, mostly - nothing life threatening, then. He actually felt pretty okay - if he ignored that twenty-one gun salute in his head, that is. Probably he could get up, if he tried. Find somebody who could tell him what had happened, because the last thing he remembered was…breakfast. No, that couldn't be right. There was lunch in there, too, somewhere, and riding in a car with Cheryl, but the specifics eluded him. Yeah. He needed to get up - find somebody who could fill him in. His Dad had to be around here someplace.

He got one elbow under him and eased himself up. The bed did a funny sort of dance, and he clutched quickly at the bed rail. Bed rail. Darn, he was going to have to get that thing down if he was going anywhere. He pushed at it tentatively, or meant to, but ended up falling clumsily into it instead somehow. The bed seemed to buck like a bronco and the linoleum swung up toward his face.

"Hey, hey, whoa! What are you doing! Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?"

A grip on his shoulders stopped his downward swoop to the floor, expertly repositioned him back on the stiff pillows. He closed his eyes again, hoping that would stop the room from whizzing past him like he was on that spinning teacup ride that CJ liked so much at the amusement park. He kept his grip on the railing though, just to make sure that maverick bed didn't try to throw him off again. He swallowed his stomach back into place and tried to smile nonchalantly, even with his eyes closed. "Hi, Jess."

"Hi yourself." Jesse clearly wasn't buying the nonchalance.

Steve cautiously cracked an eye at him. Jesse swayed a little, fuzzed, then came into focus.

"What do you think you were doing? You know enough to ring for a nurse if you need help."

"I - um - was looking for somebody."

"Uh-huh. Nurse can do that for you, too. Something I can help you with?"

"I - uh - " Steve opened the other eye carefully. Jesse split in two, like a movie special effect, then coalesced into one again. Steve blinked, frowned. "Just wanted somebody to tell me what happened."

"Ah," Jesse reached for the wrist that clung to the bed rail, expertly counting his pulse. "What happened. You mean before or after you got yourself clocked into next week?"

Steve squinted at him. "Both, I guess. Where's my Dad?"

"With the police. He'll be back over here when they're done with him." And, seeing Steve's blank expression, "You really don't remember?"

Steve started to shake his head, stopped abruptly. Ouch.

"Hm," Jesse's tone became brisk, professional. "What's the last thing you DO remember?"

Steve breathed out a sigh. "Um…two eggs, sunny side up, toast, coffee…" he stopped again, swallowing hard. Okay, so no shaking his head, no leaning over the bed, no talking about food. Important things to keep in mind. "I think…Cheryl and I were driving at some point, but that's fuzzy…"

"Right…" Jesse reached down and rested a hand on his head, fingers probing.

"Ouch! Jess, that hurts!"

"Uh huh…" Jesse seemed unperturbed, a fact that simultaneously annoyed Steve and eased his mind. He tried to pull away as he felt Jesse's hand slide under his chin and tilt his face up to him, but Jesse had anticipated his move and had a good grip. "Yeah," Jesse peered into his eyes. "You got yourself a good one this time. She must be a lot stronger than she looks."

"She," Steve sank back against the pillows as Jesse let go, glaring to show his displeasure. "She who?"

"Madge Fuller. You must remember her?"

Steve closed his eyes, concentrating hard. "Kind of," he decided at last. "Yeah. Her husband was killed. Cheryl and I were…okay. Yeah."

"Good boy." Jesse patted his shoulder. "Well, she is now in jail, so you just rest easy. If you're really good, I may be able to arrange to keep you here until after Cheryl's completed all the paperwork."

Steve snorted a laugh, then sobered. Something wasn't…"Madge Fuller?" he repeated. "Why's she in jail?"

"For killing her husband. Your Dad put it all together. Pretty amazing bit of deductive reasoning, I gotta say. That's why he's with the police now. They wanted to take his statement earlier, but he wouldn't budge until we'd run a CT scan and a few other tests on you and were sure there was no serious damage. No more than the usual, anyway."

"Ha ha." Steve's response was automatic, and half-hearted. Madge Fuller? That didn't make any…"It can't be Madge Fuller."

"'Fraid it is, buddy. Why don't you just lie back now, and I'll have Mark stop by and tell you all about it as soon as he gets here? Bet Cheryl'll be stopping by to check on you, too, to admire the new bump. She can put it all in police-ese for you."

"Jesse…" Steve tried to push himself into sitting position. Whoa. He immediately thought better of it, grabbing for his good friend the bed rail again. "Jesse, it's not Madge Fuller. I know the spouse is usually the first one under suspicion in a case like this, but we cleared her, because…" He paused. Well, damn. He flicked a look at Jesse. "Because…um…well, I can't - I can't remember why just this second, but Cheryl will remember. It was important. It's not her, Jess."

Jesse sighed, pushing the bed rail out of the way on the other side of the bed and perching on the mattress. "Steve. I know you guys had cleared her, but Mark figured out that she was guilty anyway. Cheryl agreed. She arrested Mrs. Fuller and she'll be arraigned in a couple of days. I know it's a lot to take in, especially with an aching head, but if you can wait until your Dad gets here, I'm sure he'll explain everything. For right now I think maybe you should just try getting a little more rest."

Steve frowned, studying his expression. Or trying to anyway - it was hard to get a clear reading when Jesse had three eyes where he was accustomed to seeing only two. "Can I see my case notes?" he asked at last.

Jesse sighed more deeply. "I don't know, Steve - you can ask Cheryl, but she may need them to finish her report. And right now, frankly, no, as your doctor I don't want you reading through case files or even motorcycle magazines, at least until your eyes stop crossing. If you can just hang on until Mark gets here, I don't think you'll be needing them anyway. So, would you like a little jello or a little water, or do you just want to take a nap?"

Steve squinted at him, then closed his eyes. "I wish you'd stop doing that," he grumbled.

Jesse smiled a little. "Sorry, big guy. Nothing but the facts."

"Not that. I mean that swaying thing. Making me dizzy."

Jesse paused. "Is, huh?" Steve heard some rustling about, then felt Jesse's hand on his forehead again. "Open your eyes for me for a second, Steve - I wanna look."

Steve half-opened his eyes, closed them again instinctively when a bright light assaulted them. "Ouch."

"Come on - open up. I just wanna check." Steve pried his eyes open, tried not to flinch at the small, intense light Jesse flicked at first one, then the other. "Okay."

Steve closed his eyes again, trying to rid himself of the after image the light left on his retina. He heard another voice, female this time, and Jesse's soft, murmured thanks. He opened his eyes carefully again, suspicious, just in time to see Jesse slide a syringe into his IV line. "What's that?" he croaked.

"Just a little something to stop me swaying."

Steve wanted to ask how injecting him with something could stop Jesse from swaying, but the question got lost someplace between his brain and his lips. Besides, he had more important things to worry about. He had to…to…the world fuzzed again, like a badly out of focus camera, and he closed his eyes again hastily. Damn. Whatever Jesse had put in there, it sure worked fast. "Jess - " he reached out blindly, managed to grab a hold of Jesse's fingers. "Not - Madge Fuller - "

He felt Jesse squeeze his fingers lightly. "Steve," he answered gently, "She confessed, okay? Now, I don't think you're quite firing on all cylinders right now, but I think if you get a little rest it's all going to make sense. I promise. You'll see. Your Dad will explain. It's complicated, but it's really clever."

Steve sighed, feeling his fingers loosen their grip, his mind now as fuzzy as his vision. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't know how to explain - didn't even know how he knew - just knew…he knew…"Too clever…" he muttered, then the grey edging his thoughts turned to charcoal, then was swallowed in a sea of black.

*

Jesse stayed half-sitting on the bed for a moment, patting Steve's hand absently, his face creased into a frown. Too clever. Now, what on earth had Steve meant by that? Of course it was clever - Mark had a way of seeing past the obvious, of finding insight into the way people ticked and putting it all together, collecting all the tangled threads and assembling them into a clear picture. It was his clever, sometimes hard to follow, leaps of deductive reasoning that so often made the difference where ordinary police procedures failed. There weren't many criminals who were clever enough to outwit Mark. Maybe that's what Steve had meant? He patted the hand under his again automatically, studying the face now quiet in drugged repose.

He had often envied Steve his father - often thought how lucky he was to have a parent who loved him so completely, understood him so thoroughly - had even wondered what it must be like to start life out with such support behind you. On the other hand…he had never spent much time thinking about the flip side of that coin.

Now he wondered idly what it would be like to have his father standing behind him as he examined a patient, leaping ahead to the diagnosis before he had finished collecting his data; or following him into the operating room, offering suggestions on his chosen procedure, pointing out potential alternate incisions and better ways to tie his knots. How would he feel about it? He honestly couldn't say.

He had always felt that Steve was very lucky to have a father like Mark, but for the first time he found himself thinking that maybe Mark was very lucky to have a son like Steve, too. For all his grumbling, Steve showed a lot of forbearance at their meddling in his job, and always seemed so ungrudging, even proud, of his father's triumphs. But maybe it bothered him just a little - just sometimes? Too clever. He grimaced.

"How's the patient?"

Jesse looked up, rattled out of his thoughts. "Oh. He'll be okay. Not too frisky for a while, but no permanent damage."

"Good." Amanda peered over the railing on the other side of the bed, touched Steve's cheek lightly. "He's still out?"

"Came around for a few minutes. Was pretty disoriented, though - tried to climb out of the bed. I put him back under for his own protection. Heard anything from Mark?"

Amanda smiled, letting her hand rest on Steve's shoulder. "Poor guy. No, nothing from Mark yet. I'm sure he'll be by as soon as he's finished at the precinct though. They had a lot of details to go over."

"Yeah." Jesse squirmed a little in his seat on the bed, looked back at Steve's quiescent face. "Say, Amanda. Did you ever think…?"

When he left the sentence dangling, Amanda glanced up at him. "Yes, Jesse," she rejoined dryly. "Every chance I get. You ought to try it. Why do you ask?"

Jesse made a face at her. "I hadn't finished. Do ever think that…maybe…Steve would appreciate it if we…you know. Stayed out of his job and just let him do it?"

Amanda tilted her head at him. "I'm a Medical Examiner, Jesse. I can't stay out of Steve's job. It's my job, too."

"Okay, okay," Jesse conceded, running a hand over his hair. "I guess I meant me and Mark. Though you get a whole lot more involved than the average medical examiner, Amanda, admit it."

"Well, I take my job responsibilities very seriously." She studied him. "We've always helped Steve out, Jesse. What makes you ask all of a sudden?"

Jesse felt himself flush. "I don't know…" He noticed he still had his hand resting on Steve's and fidgeted, picking Steve's lax hand up and putting it on top of his chest, out of the way. "Just got to thinking that maybe we were…cramping his style or something. You know Steve says Madge Fuller didn't do it."

"Well, since he was out cold, Steve missed Mark's summation - of course he thinks that."

Jesse shook his head. "No, I told him. But he still says she didn't do it. Sounds pretty positive."

Amanda gave him a look. "We're talking about the man with twelve stitches in his scalp and a concussion who you described as disoriented, correct?"

Jesse felt his flush deepen. "Yeah…"

Amanda nodded briskly. "Jesse, I don't know what's gotten into you, but I can sit with Steve for a while if you want to take a break and get something to eat."

Jesse nodded sheepishly. "Thanks." He got up off of the bed, his eyes drifting back to Steve. Amanda was right, of course. Steve's brain had received a good jangling and nothing he said could be taken too seriously right now. He was probably reading too much into it anyway. Still…he made a quick note about the medication he'd administered on Steve's chart and scrawled his signature next to it. Next time Steve woke up, maybe he'd tell him what a good cop he thought he was. Just in case. Just so he knew.