A/N: Thank you so much for all the kind reviews. I probably should have mentioned that the story is actually nearly finished - I apologize if that's not the way it's usually done here, but as I say, I have never written DM before and I was afraid that I would start posting and then find that I couldn't finish, so I wanted to wait and be sure of my follow through. Special thanks to the ladies who have been reading along from the beginning - without your encouragement and support I would never have worked up the nerve to post here.

Chapter 2

He had been dreaming, a vivid dream that shook him awake; but the images were fading now, disappearing even before he opened his eyes. They slipped through his mentally grasping fingers even as he snatched at them, dissolving like mist. By the time he did open his eyes, the details had all disappeared, leaving him with an unsettled feeling, but no information.

"Well, hello."

He turned his head automatically toward the familiar voice, wincing a little at the stiffness that had settled in his neck. "Hey." His voice sounded raspy, even to his own ears, so he wasn't surprised when a straw appeared, seemingly floating by itself, in front of his mouth. He drank deeply and tried again. "Thanks." Better. He noticed now that the room was dark and the noises from the hall comparatively quiet and that the figure by his bed was lit only by the moonlight coming through the one window, touching hair and mustache with silver. He frowned. "Looks late. Shouldn't you be home?"

"I'm going soon. Just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."

"I'm doing fine. But you won't be, if you don't get some sleep."

"I was thinking of crashing on the couch in my office."

"Dad…" He tried to shift himself to get a better look, but his muscles seemed lead-weighted and stayed stubbornly where they were. What the heck had Jesse pumped into him? Frustrated, he stopped struggling. "I'm not at death's door. Go home. Get some sleep." He could just make out the flash of his father's puckish grin in the dark.

"Actually, that couch is very comfortable." Mark leaned in closer, his gaze intent, and Steve stayed still and tried to look healthy. "How does your head feel?"

"Feels like somebody…" he paused. "What did somebody do, anyway? Or did I fall…? Jesse said you'd tell me."

"Baseball bat."

Steve's hand went instinctively to the side of his head. "Ouch."

"To say the least."

Steve fingered the gauze delicately, aware of it for the first time, a suspicion creeping through the pounding that had started deep behind his eyes. "Is - did Jesse shave my hair?"

"Just a little. Around the gash."

Steve groaned, pinching his fingers into his eyelids. "I hate it when he does that."

He could hear the smile in his father's voice. "Well, he didn't actually do it himself. And it had to be done - you needed stitches."

Steve sighed, letting his hand fall from his eyes. That pounding seemed to be here to stay. "David Fuller," he said suddenly.

"What about him?"

"Baseball bat. That's how he was killed."

"That's right. And your assailant was about the same height as his and also appeared to swing as a leftie. Only difference is that you were hit in a different spot - which is probably why you are here under Jesse's care instead of being down the hall under Amanda's, like David Fuller."

Something in his tone plucked at Steve's heart and he fought the dark and his uncertain vision for a glimpse of his father's face. "Dad. I'm fine." Mark made a noncommittal sound in his throat. "I am," he repeated insistently. "Just missing a little hair, a couple of memories, a little blood…"

"A lot of blood," Mark corrected him. "Believe me, it was everywhere."

"Bet you've replaced it all by now, good as new."

"Transfusions are not - " Mark broke off. "You still don't remember?"

Steve tried not to smile. Ha. Mission distraction a success. "Not everything. Not exactly."

Mark reached over and felt along his scalp much as Jesse had done earlier. Steve bit back a protest. His father was in doctor mode now; it wouldn't do to send him back into worried father mode. "Jesse said he wasn't sure whether you were just still disoriented or were suffering from a touch of retrograde amnesia…"

"Amnesia?" Steve grinned weakly, despite the thumping that had now spread from his eyes to encompass his temples. "You're kidding, right?"

"Oh, now, soap operas have given amnesia a bad name. It's rarely as dramatic as they make it out to be on television, but it's really not unusual to have some memory loss following a head trauma - especially one that injures the temporal lobe."

The thumping had made inroads into his cheekbones now, and Steve couldn't suppress a sigh this time. "Wanna put that in laymen's terms?"

"You don't remember everything that happened."

"Funny, I thought that's what I said." If somebody would just turn down the volume in his skull, odds were he'd be able to remember everything well enough. He rubbed automatically at his eyes again. "Same bat?"

"What's that?"

"The bat. You said David Fuller and I were both…"

"Oh. We don't know for sure. Haven't recovered either one yet. But forensic evidence shows that it's likely." Mark rose and retrieved something from the end of the bed.

Steve took advantage of his lapse in attention to let his eyes close for a minute. If Madge Fuller was the one who hit him, how could she get rid of the bat? It just didn't make any…

"Just as I thought." Steve opened his eyes quickly and tried to look alert. "Time for your meds. No wonder you're so uncomfortable."

"I didn't say - "

"No, of course you didn't. I'm going to check with the nurse - tell her I'll administer them so you don't have to wait any longer."

"Dad - "

"Why don't you just rest your eyes for a minute? I'll be right back."

Steve tried to protest, but Mark was already out the door. He sank back into the bed. His eyes seemed to be closing of their own accord anyway. This was ridiculous - he'd just woken up - how could he be going back to sleep already? He tried to picture those last minutes at Madge Fuller's house in his mind, came up blank, tried to focus on the events of the earlier part of the day instead. He didn't realize he'd fallen half-asleep until he was startled by his father's light touch on his forehead. He struggled to open his eyes. "Dad - "

"We can talk later. Why don't you get a little sleep? I'm going to give you something that will help you feel better."

His eyes seemed to be glued shut. "Not too much," he mumbled. "Strong. Can hardly…move…"

He heard his father's soft chuckle. "I don't think that's the medication, son. I'll stay until you're asleep."

He wanted to protest. He wanted to ask more questions. He wanted to explain that he was fine and send his father home to bed. But his mutinous body wanted otherwise, and before he could even form his wants into words, he was asleep.

***

"You can leave that." Jesse smiled reassuringly at the candy striper.

The young girl glanced uncertainly from the doctor to the room she was exiting. "But doctor," she lowered her voice. "He's still asleep."

"I'm awake."

Jesse grinned at the drowsy tone coming from the bed. "Good. Good timing. Was just stopping by to check a couple of things out." His grin broadened as Steve groaned. "Be a good boy and cooperate and breakfast will be your reward." He saw Steve's eyes flicker over the tray he had confiscated from the candy striper and then wince away, and he lost some of his smile. "Or not," he conceded. "Still queasy this morning?" He put the tray aside and plucked the chart from the end of the bed.

"Little."

"Uh-huh. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine. A lot. My Dad finally go home?"

"So, you remember him being here?"

"Of course I do."

Jesse smirked at the biting tone. "Good. No anterograde then, maybe a little retrograde. That's good."

"Jesse, I do not have amnesia!"

"Hm. A little delusional though…" He scribbled on the chart and smiled sweetly in answer to Steve's quizzical look. "A hit to the head and now you think you've got a medical degree."

Steve made a face. "Very funny."

"Well, I think you should leave the medical conclusions to the doctors, buddy. Doctors. That's me - " he pulled at his lapel. "That's why I get to wear the white coat. It's not just a fashion statement." That brought to mind what he had been thinking about yesterday, though, and he sobered a little, peering speculatively at Steve over the chart. He fumbled for the light in his pocket, trying to think of a way to work what he wanted to say into the conversation. "You remember anything more?"

"I remember you flashing that thing in my eyes about a half dozen times yesterday."

"Good. I like being memorable." He took Steve's chin firmly in his hand and examined one eye, then the next. "How about before you got hit on the head? Remember anything more about that?" He watched Steve's reaction carefully without seeming to, read the answer in his crestfallen expression before he even spoke.

"No."

Jesse shrugged sympathetically.

Steve ground a fist in his eyes to get rid of the aftereffects of the light. "You aren't going to ask me the name of the president and the year now, are you?"

"No, I already know the answers to those questions. I'm going to take a look at your stitches, and then a nice nurse will be along to bandage you back up."

Steve was surprisingly quiet as Jesse clipped away his bandages, so much so that Jesse lost himself in examining his own handiwork and was a little startled when he finally did speak.

"So they think Madge Fuller hit me with a baseball bat?"

"Hm?" It took Jesse a second to catch up with the change in topic. "Oh. Yeah. Same as her husband."

"Why?"

"Why?" Scalp looked a little inflamed and that was a mother of a bruise, but nothing to be alarmed about…probably healing as well as could be expected. "Why what? Why did she hit you? I don't know. Lots of people seem to hit you. Must be your personality or something."

Steve gave him a look. "Why Madge Fuller. Did somebody see her do it?"

"Besides, presumably, you? No. But she was the only one in the room with you when Cheryl broke in through the back way, so who else could it be? Besides, forensics shows that the assailant was somewhere between 5'7" and 5'9" and left handed. Like Madge Fuller."

"Then where did the bat go?"

"To jail, for now."

Steve's long hand came up and wrapped around Jesse's fingers, firmly interrupting his careful examination. "The baseball bat, Jesse."

"Oh." Jesse dropped his hands. "Nobody knows. It'll turn up, I guess."

"I don't see how anybody could suddenly dispose of something the size of a baseball bat before Cheryl could get there."

Jesse avoided his eyes. "This looks pretty good, considering. I'm going to let a nurse clean it up and rebandage you."

Steve's look told him he had not missed the change of subject. "Then I can go home?"

Jesse hesitated. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Jess, you said it's just a concussion!"

"Well, it is, but it's kind of a nasty one and I'd like to keep you on the IV at least until you've kept something down for a few hours. Besides, I can't send you home without somebody to stay with you and I know for a fact that your Dad is booked solid today and so am I."

Steve frowned. "I don't need somebody to stay with me."

Jesse smiled a little. "Actually, you do." He tugged on his white jacket again. "Doctor, remember? There are private duty nurses, of course, but it's kind of short notice for one of them, so you might just as well lie back and enjoy the nurses here. Got some pretty cute ones on the next shift."

"Jesse…"

"Steve, you may feel pretty good lying down, but try to get up and negotiate your way to, say, the bathroom and I think you'll be surprised to find out how far off your balance is. If you wait until tomorrow, I might even be able to let you go home and be on your own." Steve sighed, but Jesse knew reluctant acquiescence when he heard it and grinned. "Sure you don't want to try a little breakfast?"

Steve eyed the tray wistfully, but shook his head carefully. He glanced around, trying to pull himself further up into sitting position.

Jesse eyed him suspiciously. "What are you looking for?"

"Just the phone. I want to ask Cheryl to drop off my case notes."

"So you can…what? Read them?"

"No, so I can hold them. Of course so I can read them."

"I don't think your doctor has cleared you to do any reading."

"Jesse - "

"How many fingers am I holding up?" He watched as Steve stared hard at his upraised hand, his expression changing slowly from impatience, to puzzlement, to faint alarm. He dropped the hand. "Right. No reading."

Steve's confidence seemed a little shaken, but he persisted. "So what am I supposed to do? Just lie here and not eat and not read and not watch television?"

"If you add sleep to that list, I'd say you've got yourself an agenda."

"Jess, I'll lose my mind!"

He sounded so truly distressed that Jesse's heart melted some. "I'll stop by and play cards with you on my break," he offered. "Just try to let me win one hand."

Steve smiled slightly. "Thanks." He paused. "Can I at least talk to Cheryl?"

Jesse threw up his hands. "Yeah - I guess - but Steve - you know the case is closed, right? There was an arrest. There was a confession. There will soon be an arraignment."

"I just don't think - "

"Steve." Jesse hooked a chair with his foot, sat down in it and scooched it close to the bed. "You know I think you're a great cop, right? You know that. I do. You do a terrific job."

"Jesse, what - ?"

"I do. I just want you to know that."

Steve eyed him for a minute. "You said this was just a concussion."

"It is! What - ?"

"Because if there's something more wrong, I'd like to know about it."

"Of course there's nothing else wrong! As your doctor and your friend, don't you think I'd tell you?"

"I don't know. I just know this whole thing is starting to cue up to sound like a eulogy. In memory of Steve Sloan, he was a good cop, a good friend, he went too young, but he'll never be forgotten…"

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" Jesse ran a hand over his hair. "That's not what I - I just think you're like a record stuck in a groove about this case! It's closed and it's over and you just keep picking at it! I know it must get old sometimes to have your Dad always barging in and solving things while you lie on the floor bleeding from a scalp wound, but he does, and he did, and it's over, Steve, and you've just got to let it go!" Jesse heard his own words hanging in the air and almost groaned out loud. That was not the delicate, tactful way he had meant to approach this sensitive subject - somehow his mouth had gotten ahead of his brain. He peered at Steve warily, wincing apologetically, but Steve's face was still. He hadn't a clue what he might be thinking.

"Well," said Steve slowly, after a weighty pause, "I do get a little tired of the scalp wound part."

Jesse shifted in his chair. "Steve - I didn't mean - "

"It's okay, Jess."

"Steve - "

"Jesse - " Steve tried to pull himself up again, gave it up and let his head fall back against the pillow. "Listen to me. I don't mind when my Dad solves cases, but this time I happen to believe he's wrong. I know something that proves that Madge Fuller didn't do it."

Jesse eyed him doubtfully. "Okay. What's that?"

Steve squirmed. "I - don't remember. But I know there's something…if I can just go over the case and figure out what it is."

Jesse's brows pinched together in an inverted "v". "Steve, she confessed. Why would she do that if she wasn't guilty?"

"I don't know," Steve admitted. "I just know something isn't right."

Jesse cleared his throat, studying his shoes with sudden interest. "Steve - you know your brain is a little scrambled right now, right?"

"What I know is that I'm missing a few pieces, but if I can retrace my steps, maybe I can get them back. I need to talk to Cheryl."

Jesse rose reluctantly from the chair. "Okay. I've got to finish my rounds." He moved to the door, hesitated. "Steve, you know that if you want to talk about this, I'm here, okay?"

Steve opened his mouth, closed it again. "Yeah, Jess," he said resignedly at last. "Thanks."

Jesse nodded, lingering in the doorway, unsure of what else to say. "I'll send in a nurse to bandage your head," he managed finally. "Get some rest, huh?"

Steve half-smiled and raised a hand slightly in farewell. Jesse tried to smile back, heading slowly down the corridor toward his next patient. He couldn't really say how, but somehow or other, he felt like he'd made things worse.