His most delicate operation all day. Mark sharpened his focus, keeping his grip light but firm, tugged gently. The remote slid forward, but unexpectedly Steve's hand tightened around it again, pulled it back.

"What're ya doing?"

Mark smiled at the sleep-slurred voice. Shades of Steve's High School days. "Well, I was trying to take the remote so that you wouldn't drop it and wake yourself. But I guess I've already done that."

"Oh." Steve buried his face more deeply in the pillow. His eyes remained sealed shut. "'Mwatching."

"Mm hm." Mark gave up on the remote as it disappeared under the blankets in Steve's grip. "Through your eyelids, I see. How are you feeling?"

"Mmph."

Mark waited, vigilant for signs of life. "Steve?" The heavy, even sigh of his son's breathing told him that was the best answer he was going to get. He sighed, patting the bandaged head snuggled into the pillow lightly. Oh, well. Sleep was the best thing for him, of course. He reached for the chart at the end of the bed, took a peek.

"How's he doin'?"

Mark glanced up from his perusal of the chart. "Well, from what you've written here, I'd say fine - sort of wish I could catch him awake for a change, though. Anything not on here you want to tell me about?"

Jesse shook his head, running his eyes over Steve, then studying the chart over Mark's shoulder. "Naw, he's doin' all right. Kept down a little jello and broth at lunch. If he keeps something down at dinner, I'll remove the IV."

"Good." Mark read the notations over a second time to be sure he hadn't missed anything. "If you want to send him home tomorrow, I can clear my calendar without too much trouble."

"Yeah, I'm thinking about it, depending on how he is in the morning. I don't think he's ready to be alone, but if you were there it might be all right. Might want to put him in the guest room for a couple of days. Don't want him getting any bright ideas about the stairs."

"Mm." Mark replaced the chart. "Maybe we'll be able to exchange more than a half dozen coherent words, then. What are these?" He saw the files on the side table and picked them up. "Thought you didn't want him reading?"

"I don't. Cheryl stopped by - she wanted to ask Steve a couple of questions. She's coming back after work to go over the case with him. She can do the reading, or one of us, if we're available."

"Dotting all his Is and crossing all his Ts, hm?"

Jesse smiled non-committaly. He felt like he'd put his foot in it when he'd talked to Steve about his Dad's involvement in his cases - he wasn't planning on repeating the performance by telling Mark that his son was questioning his conclusions about this case. "Cheryl's coming back around six. You could stop by if you want to talk to him about it. He'll probably be awake then."

Mark made a face. "Wish I could. But I have to sit in on that Board Meeting at six."

"Yeah, I forgot. It's a wonder you get a chance to practice any medicine. You think I'll ever find myself bogged down in all that hospital bureaucracy?"

"Probably."

Jesse didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling. "Bite your tongue."

Mark patted him lightly on the shoulder. "All part of the downside of being a doctor." He glanced over at the bed and sighed again. "Oh, well. Guess you have everything under control here. I should get back to work."

Jesse nodded. "Anything you want me to tell him if I catch him awake first?"

Mark hesitated, smiling slightly at the sight of the blanket rising and falling gently over his son's huddled shoulders. With his face buried in the pillow, he looked just like he had at seventeen, when Mark used to wake him up for early morning football practice. "No," he said, a little ruefully. "I'll wait."

*

There were no traces of dreams this time - it was more like crawling up out of a black, dark well, where time had no meaning. He lay still with his eyes closed, trying to orient himself. The hospital sounds filtered back in slowly. Oh, yeah. He remembered now. Too bad hospitals didn't offer some kind of frequent flyer type program - he'd be set for life.

He experimented with some careful stretching. He was so stiff. How long had he been asleep anyway? It felt like forever. He reached up to rub at his head, let out a small cry as he whacked his tender forehead with something. He pried his eyes apart for a peek. Oh. The remote. He sort of remembered Jesse giving him that. And of course, Jesse had been right - he'd fallen asleep before he could actually watch anything. Shifting clumsily, he twisted to look for the side table to slide the remote back onto it.

The first thing he saw was the clock sitting on top of the table. It had large, digital numbers, and by narrowing his eyes and focusing hard, he could read the time. He let out a low whistle. He'd been asleep for hours. The second thing he saw were the files, now within inches of his end of the table. He had some memory of Jesse setting them down on the opposite side of the table, out of his reach, but now they were very close. Really, if he sat up and stretched just a little, he could probably snag them.

He stared at them, debating. Cheryl would be here in just over an hour and their discussion would be a lot more productive if he could refresh his memory on some of the details of the case. Of course, Jesse had forbidden him to read, but if he'd moved the files within reach, then maybe he was trying to tell him that it was all right now? He made a face. Okay, he didn't really believe that, but it wouldn't take him much effort to grab them and he wouldn't read them, really - he'd just sort of skim - pick up the high points. He stared at them some more. If he started skimming and it made his head hurt, he could always stop - no harm done. And as long as there was no harm done, then nobody had to be any the wiser. Satisfied with his logic, he pushed himself into a half-sitting position. Whoa. He grabbed at the bed rail again, lowered himself hastily back to the pillows, closing his eyes for a second. Wow.

Okay, so no sitting up. That was okay - he could just sort of inch his way closer to the table while staying flat on his back and reach the files that way. He could even read - no, skim, really - lying down.

Thinking how pleased his Dad and Jesse would be about how sensible he was being, he maneuvered his body carefully until it was closer to the table side of the bed. It was harder than he'd expected - left him a little breathless, even - his body seemed to weigh a ton. He'd have to ask Jesse to go easy on whatever it was he was giving him - he felt like he was made of cement. He extended his arm. His fingertips just brushed the folders. And they were pretty fat files, so that wasn't going to be good enough. On his right hand side, too. Figured. He stuck out his lip. Hm.

Well, maybe if he rolled over instead of sitting up he could get closer and use his stronger hand too, all without disturbing his head. He eased himself onto his side. Yeah. Okay. That wasn't so bad. Happy with his progress, he pushed himself up on his elbow and bent in the direction of the table.

Damn! The room tilted abruptly sideways and he grabbed for the table to stop himself from being thrown out of the bed and into oblivion. His hand slapped against the top file, catching the corner. It flew into the air and whapped him roundly in the face before landing on his chest, papers sliding in every direction.

No leaning, no leaning! How could he have forgotten that…? He heard the second file hit the floor and splatter its contents, but he was busy trying to restabilize his equilibrium and didn't look to see where it had gone. Ouch. Damn it. He reached up to cradle his head and hit himself in the forehead with the remote again.

For a minute the world buzzed and scrambled like a TV with poor reception and he lay very still, afraid to move or touch anything. Then he carefully released his hold on the remote with one hand and rested the other gingerly on the file folder on his chest and groaned.

"Um…something I can help you out with?"

He groaned again, hoping that if he didn't open his eyes, this would all be a figment of his imagination and go away. "You're early," he offered thinly at last.

He heard Cheryl move into the room and didn't have to look at her to confirm the amused half-smile she would be wearing. "Yeah, since it's police business Jesse said I could circumvent visiting hours, provided you were awake. Looks like I got here just in time." He opened his eyes to slits to see her bend over and pick up the one file from the floor, retrieving its scattered contents. "I thought you weren't supposed to be reading."

"I wasn't. They just - fell."

"Uh-huh."

Steve smiled a little and opened his eyes further. At least the room was settling down from its buck and wing. "I was going to - sort of - skim. Just to prepare before you got here. I wasn't actually going to read." He checked his hands this time, just to be sure they were empty, and rubbed cautiously at his forehead. "Then they went wild and attacked me."

Cheryl laughed, neatly arranging the file in her hands and placing it on the table, then reaching for the contents of the file spilled all over the bed. "This really just isn't your week, is it? You'd better hope this stuff is still in order, or Amanda's going to do worse than that to you - you know how fussy she is about her files." Steve groaned again, rubbing his whole face this time. Cheryl finished reconstructing the other file and settled on the end of the bed. "Oh, don't worry - I won't give you away. Now, do you still feel up to this after your little adventure?"

Steve dropped his hands from his face. "Of course I do. I feel - " Cheryl tilted her head at him and he colored. "I do seem to be a little - woozy," he admitted reluctantly at last. "But I'll be fine. Just tell me what happened yesterday. What made you break in the back way at the Fullers, anyway?"

"I heard Mrs. Fuller screaming and kicked in the door."

"Screaming?" Steve wrinkled his forehead, felt a twinge there and wondered if he had a new bruise. "Now, why would she be screaming if she'd just clubbed me with a baseball bat?"

Cheryl shrugged. "Maybe the shock. You should've seen all the blood."

"Shock. If she just did the same thing to her husband recently? She must have known what to expect."

"Then maybe she knew you wouldn't be alone and wanted to throw suspicion from herself. Make it seem like somebody broke in and did it."

Steve frowned. "I know I didn't go there to arrest her."

"No, just questioning."

"Then why hit me at all?"

"Maybe she panicked."

"And just happened to have the same baseball bat at the ready and hit me with it. I don't know, Cheryl…does this really work for you?"

"Not the same bat," Cheryl corrected, "The same KIND of bat. And like I said, there were all kinds of bats around that house. Maybe she figured it had done such a good job of getting rid of her husband that she'd try it on you, too."

"I still don't see why. Sounds weak." He gestured to the file in her hands. "They take spatter photos? Got any reports on that?"

"Yes, from both scenes. We're still waiting on reports and analysis from the second one, though. And you're not allowed to read them anyway."

"Jesse didn't say anything about looking at pictures. They have Madge Fuller's clothing?"

"Not from the murder, but they have it from her attack on you. Analysis should be ready about the same time as the other blood spatter material."

"Which is?"

Cheryl sighed heavily and shook her head at him. "Tomorrow or the next day. You're going to expect me to bring it to you, right?"

Steve gave her his brightest smile. "That would be great. Thanks." He held out his hand for the file.

Cheryl smiled sweetly. "Don't push your luck. Tell me what you're interested in and I'll read it to you."

Steve looked disgruntled, but subsided. "Tell me what happened next."

Cheryl raised her brows. "I kicked in the door and called 'Police, police'. Made my way through the kitchen to the living room with my gun drawn. Mrs. Fuller was just standing there screaming and you were lying on the floor, bleeding. I dialed for an ambulance and back up. Your Dad and Jesse and Amanda were all waiting outside in a car because we were going to pow wow together at Bob's afterwards and they must have heard the screaming, because your father came in the front door with them in tow, saw what had happened, and started giving you first aid. You know, I know he's a consultant and all, but he really shouldn't do that - rush into an unsecured crime scene, unarmed, without knowing the situation."

Steve sighed deeply. "I'll talk to him. Go on."

"Well, then everything seemed to happen at once - I cuffed Mrs. Fuller, got the call about the funds missing from David Fuller's account, the black and whites showed up, and your father got that funny look on his face - you know the one - and said he thought he had it figured out. He told us how Madge Fuller could have killed her husband and still made it to her Homeroom on time, what her motive could be - the whole bit. Mrs. Fuller didn't say anything at the time and then the ambulance arrived so your Dad went with them, but by the time we got Madge Fuller to the station, she was offering to confess. Seemed relieved. Then I went to the hospital to check on you and to ask your Dad to come back to the station to give a full statement, with all the details."

Steve was silent for a moment. "You have a copy of the statement?"

"In the file."

"Read it to me?"

Cheryl hesitated. "Steve, why don't you just ask your Dad about this?"

"I'd like to, but I keep missing him."

Cheryl gave him an odd look, but obediently shuffled through the file for a copy of the statement. She read it carefully from beginning to end, peering at Steve over the top as she finished, trying to gauge his reaction. He was picking absently at his blanket. "You gotta admit," she ventured at last, "it fits. It's neat."

"Yeah…" Steve looked unconvinced. "Almost - too neat."

"And you have a problem with that?"

"I don't know." He stared through her, as if watching something she couldn't see. "What happened to that bat? How could she get rid of it so fast?"

"She had a couple of seconds while I made my way through the kitchen."

"To hide it, yeah, but to make it disappear completely?" He shook his head.

"Well, it's a whole lot easier to believe that than it is to believe that a whole other person made themselves disappear, between me breaking in the back and your Dad coming in through the front."

"True." He itched at the area around his IV. "Just a domestic quarrel gone bad, then?"

"Looks like. Too bad. They seemed like a nice family."

"Yeah. I know." Steve remembered all too well the framed photographs scattered around the living room. One set had especially stuck with him - a grouping of baseball shots - pictures of the mother and son in action on the field with a nice close up of the whole family in the center - mother and son in uniform and the father with his arms proudly around them. Add a little blonde girl and it could almost be his own family. Maybe that's why he was having so much trouble with this one. He frowned. Speaking of that… "Where's the kid, anyway? Human Services?"

"Staying with family friends, for the time being. They see to it that he gets to school and to his after school job - it's temporary, but a little less disruptive."

"Anybody talk to him?"

Cheryl looked exasperated. "About what? He was at school for both incidents."

"About general family atmosphere. Might shake something loose."

"Sloan, he's a minor!"

"You can bet the defense team will be talking to him. Better to know what they know and not be surprised."

Cheryl closed her eyes. Steve could almost see her counting silently. "Steve, we have a full confession. Is there really any reason to put a sixteen year old boy through that?"

Steve looked uncomfortable. "I don't know. Could be."

This time Cheryl took a deep breath. "Steve, why don't you tell me exactly what's bothering you here? Usually when your father comes up with a solution you don't question it, you just applaud. Why is this one different?"

"Because this time I think he's wrong. Something doesn't fit."

"What doesn't fit?"

Steve shifted. "I don't know," he confessed feebly. "I don't remember. But - there's something - "

Cheryl looked at him for a long time. "And you're sure that's the problem?"

"As sure as I can be." He saw her look and his jaw tightened. "Why? What are you thinking?"

Cheryl cleared her throat. "I'm - just wondering - if a combination of - that hit you took to the head, and - " She let it hang.

Steve narrowed his eyes. "And…?" he echoed with a faint edge to his voice.

Cheryl put down the file and rested a hand on the blanket over his leg. "Look, Steve, it would be perfectly understandable if you…if it rankled…just a little bit…to have your Dad sweep in and tie up a case that you'd been working on for weeks. Heck, sometimes I'd like to beat him to it - I can imagine how you must feel."

Steve's eyes narrowed further. "Have you been talking to Jesse?"

"Jesse?" Cheryl leaned back, surprised. "No more than usual. Why?"

"Because he was insinuating something very similar. Look, I don't get you two - I've never made a fuss about my Dad being involved in my cases - why all this all of a sudden?"

"Because all of a sudden you seem to be grasping at straws that don't make any sense!"

Steve looked away, then looked back again. "Cheryl, I'm a cop. I have been for a long time. I've developed instincts - and those instincts tell me that something here is not right." Cheryl didn't answer and he softened his expression. "Cheryl, how many cases have we worked together? Can't you trust me just a little?" Cheryl winced, but remained silent. "Look, if I'm wrong I'll gladly admit it and no harm done - but what could be hurt by making sure we've covered all the bases? Come on, you know I can't do leg work myself right now - help me out."

Cheryl groaned out loud. "Oh, no - not the puppy eyes. Do not give me the puppy eyes!" She stood up and dropped the file on top of the one already on the table, blowing her breath out in a gusty sigh. "All right, all right - I'll - keep you in touch with any developments and do a little extra leg work. On one condition."

Steve brightened. "Anything."

She folded her arms. "You do what Jesse says you need to do to get better. No cheating."

Steve looked shocked. "Would I do that?"

Cheryl rolled her eyes. "Right." She hesitated at the doorway. "And Steve. Just - give what I said a little thought. I mean, if it occurred to both me and Jesse - well…" she shrugged.

Steve lost his smile. "Cheryl, that is NOT the problem."

"Okay. But if you're asking me to keep an open mind - "

"Fine! But I know - if I could just - remember - "

"Uh huh. So take it easy, follow Jesse's orders, and get over that amnesia."

"I do NOT have amnesia!"

Cheryl waved as she turned and passed through the door. "I'll be in touch with you tomorrow!" floated back over her shoulder.

Steve opened his mouth to retort, then lay back and fumed, as she was obviously out of earshot. "I don't," he mumbled rebelliously.

He noticed the TV was still running but with the mute button on, and fumbled through the sheets for the remote. A woman and a man walking around the screen - didn't look very interesting, but maybe there was a game on somewhere. He found the remote and hit the mute button to restore the sound, then went hunting for the controls to adjust the head of his bed. Why did they have to hide everything around here…?

"We were so happy…you were my heaven on earth…" the television bleated. Steve made a face, but got his hand on the bed controls. "Why can't you just trust me? It can't have changed you that much…" Steve rolled his eyes. Did people really watch this junk? "It's not my fault…you know it's not…I wish I could give you what you want…" Well, what I want is to change the channel, just as soon as I…the head of the bed started to rise gently. Okay. That was better. Not too high… "I only have your word for what went before. It has no meaning for me. I don't remember…" Steve paused and squinted suspiciously at the television. "You will remember. I know you will. And we'll be as happy as we ever were…" Oh, you've got to be kid…"You want to believe that. But you don't know. No one knows. Even the doctors. Amnesia is not predictable…" Steve grabbed for the remote and pushed savagely on the "off" button. The picture swallowed itself from the screen with a faint beep and the remote went sailing across the room to clatter against the wall. Steve glared after it, seething, unsure of what else he wanted to do to relieve his pent up emotions. He finally rolled over on his side, turning a cold shoulder to the television and glaring intently at the wall opposite.

That left the files right in his line of vision. Hm. If he was really careful, and didn't do any leaning…he tentatively reached out again, with his left hand this time.