Chapter 7

It was his own gasp that woke him this time. He lay tense and poised for a moment, trying to orient himself, noticed he had one hand raised as if to ward something off, let it drop to his chest. The line between the world he had just come from and the one that he suddenly found himself in was so fractured that he couldn't quite get his bearings and he took a deep breath, trying to settle the heart that was knocking violently against his chest wall as though trying to burst free. A dream? God. It had seemed so real.

The heartbeat thundered in his ears, throbbing in time with the wound on his scalp. He pressed his hands over his face, trying to focus himself, found the skin there chill with a thin film of sweat. Surprised, he let his hands fall to his sides, realized that his top was soaked through, too. That must have been some dream. Be nice if he could remember what it was about. Or…maybe not.

His breathing a little more normal, he pushed himself carefully into sitting position and let his legs dangle over the side of the bed, waiting for the familiar vertigo to pass, blotting his face with the damp tail of his shirt. His stomach turned within him and he groaned aloud, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. No, no - not that again. He thought he was past that. Teetering carefully onto his feet, he made his way to the bathroom, tilting along his angled trajectory, leading with one arm so he could carom off the walls and furniture whose proximity he misjudged with minimal damage. When he reached the bathroom door he paused to catch his breath, resting his head against the lintel for a moment. Interesting route, Sloan. Would almost be funny, if I didn't feel so rotten. Using the wall as a guide, he staggered into the bathroom and twisted the cold water faucet to "on", clinging to the edge of the sink while the water got cold. He let go with one hand to splash water onto his face. It felt heavenly. After a minute his stomach subsided and he fumbled for a towel. Daringly, he let go of the sink with his other hand and rubbed the towel over his face, exhaling carefully. Yeah. Better.

He lowered the towel, caught an unexpected glimpse of himself in the mirror. He paused. Ouch. Well, that explained why everybody was hovering. He'd zipped body bags around cadavers who looked better than he did. He fingered the bruising under the eye on the same side as the head wound. Well. Could be worse. At least it wasn't swollen shut. Funny how a man with a tan could be so pale.

He realized he was shivering and fumbled to unbutton his damp shirt. It proved surprisingly difficult. Where was Nurse Kayley when you needed her? He felt a couple of buttons give way, heard them bounce off the tile floor with a soft click. Swearing under his breath, he shook the shirt from his arms and let it fall to the floor. Well, he'd never liked that shirt much anyway.

Feeling a little steadier on his feet, he retraced his reeling route back to the bed. Sinking down onto the edge, he rested for a minute. Yeah, okay, for a man who was an athlete it was pretty pathetic, but it was the best he'd done so far. And he was damned if he was going back to sleep. He noticed his robe lain carefully across the foot of the bed and smiled. Dad must have fetched it for him. There was also a pair of slippers placed carefully at the side of the bed - the kind he could shuffle into without bending over. He breathed a laugh. God bless Dad.

*

Mark glanced up at the ghostly figure that lurched its way into the kitchen. "Steve!" he protested, rising to help him, then hesitating as Steve held up a hand to show he was all right. "What are you doing up? I could have brought you anything you need."

Steve seated himself somewhat heavily on one of the kitchen stools, pausing to catch his breath. "I wanted to move around a little."

Mark waffled, torn. "Can I - get you anything?"

"Coffee would be great."

Mark made a face. "Coffee…might be a little hard on your stomach still. How about a nice cup of peppermint tea?"

"Sure. Thanks." Steve's eyes drifted to the panoramic view of the ocean through the large plate glass windows and he smiled faintly. "I forgot to tell you - Jesse's coming to dinner."

"I know. He told me when he called to see how you'd settled in."

"Should've known."

"Jesse is a very responsible doctor - he's just doing his job. I thought you'd sleep longer." Steve glanced at him, glanced quickly away. Mark furrowed his brows. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just - " Steve shrugged apologetically. "Bad dream."

Mark turned the burner on under the teakettle and rummaged in the cupboard for cups, watching Steve's face without seeming to. "What about?"

Steve's mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "Don't remember." He shrugged again, trying to smile more lightly. "At least I'm consistent."

Mark shot him a commiserative look. "You don't remember any of it?"

Steve let his eyes drift back to the window. "Kind of - had my hand up when I woke up. Like I was - stopping something." He watched the steady roll of the surf. "You know, Amanda said the way I was hit - that maybe I'd warded it off." He looked thoughtfully at his palms, but they were unmarked and unbruised.

"Lucky thing. I don't want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't. " Mark turned off the heat under the whistling kettle, poured a stream of steaming water into a teapot. "So even though you don't remember, you think it may have been a memory dream?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Would like to think I'm starting to remember something. I don't suppose you'd like to take me to Fullers'? That might jog something loose."

Mark looked hard at him. "I hope you don't mean today."

"No, no," Steve held up his hands placatingly, then smiled innocently. "How about tomorrow?"

"We'll talk about THAT tomorrow." Mark checked the tea, then tipped the teapot over a tall mug. "When we see how you're feeling. It's still a crime scene, you know. Are you supposed to be near it?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "This, from you. And it's my case."

Mark set the mug down in front of him. "That didn't change when you went from investigating officer to assault victim?"

Steve winced. "Not - technically. Cheryl's bringing by some information for me."

Mark frowned. "Today? Steve, don't you think you're overdoing it a little for your first day out of the hospital?"

"Could be tomorrow. Depends on when the reports are ready." Mark just looked at him and he picked up the mug and sipped to avoid his gaze. "Good tea. Thanks."

Mark continued to study at him for a minute, then went to the counter and came back, twisting the lid from a prescription bottle. He shook two pills into his palm and placed them wordlessly in front of Steve. Steve eyed them resignedly, then tossed them back quickly, following them with a swallow of tea. He looked up at Mark and smiled a tentative, hopeful smile.

Mark's expression softened in spite of himself. "We'll see what your doctor has to say about it."

Steve dropped his head with a dispirited groan. "Dad, you know how he is!"

Mark replaced the prescription bottle and poured some tea for himself. "He's your doctor, son. He's in charge of your health, not me. What he says, goes."

"Great." Steve took another sip of tea. "I'll probably be in bed for the rest of my life."

"Not the rest of your life. Just until you're well."

"Close enough."

Mark couldn't quite suppress a smile. "Why don't you take that in the other room and stretch out on the couch? You could watch a little TV."

"You mean fall asleep again."

"That wouldn't be a bad idea either."

Steve used the counter to help ease himself to his feet. "It can't be healthy to sleep this much. If there's nothing narcotic in that medicine, why I am I so groggy?"

"You underestimate how much work your brain has to do every second - blinking your eyes, translating what you see and hear, telling your body how to move, processing information - right now all that's a lot harder for it and so it tires out quickly - wants to take a little break."

Steve trailed his arm along the counter for balance. "Well, I'm not seeing or hearing much these days and I'm sure not moving around, so I don't know what it's making such a fuss about." He reached for his tea, but Mark intercepted it.

"Why don't I carry that? Don't want you to spill and burn yourself."

Steve nodded resignedly.

Mark watched his laborious progress, fighting the urge to offer assistance. Finally he burst out, "Are you sure I can't…?" Steve lifted his hand to decline help. Mark bit his bottom lip. "Well, as long as you're - sure…" He picked up the mug of tea and followed, just far enough behind to look casual, but close enough to intercept any stumbles. Well, or cushion the fall anyway. Steve was a little big for him to catch with any grace.

Steve reached the couch and grabbed the back to lower himself carefully onto the cushions. He glanced up to see his father right behind him and his mouth quirked into a knowing, affectionate smile. "Safe landing," he pointed out dryly.

Mark opened his eyes artlessly. "I was just bringing your tea."

"Mm." Steve nodded, his eyes twinkling faintly. "Thanks."

Mark placed the tea within easy reach. "Would you like an afghan?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine."

"Really? You know, it's a little chilly in here now that the sun's going down."

"Dad - " Steve ran a hand over his face. "If I take an afghan, will it get you out of Florence Nightingale mode and back to the kitchen?"

Mark considered, then smiled confidingly. "You know, I think it might?"

Steve nodded. "I'll take an afghan."

Mark picked up an afghan from a nearby chair and started to shake it out.

Steve reached out and took it unceremoniously from his hands. "I've got it - thanks."

"I'll get you the remote."

"I think I have enough remaining strength to lift the remote for myself, thanks."

Mark lingered. "Well. If you're sure."

"I'm sure. I'm just going to lie here on the couch and watch television and go into delicate decline, like Beth in Little Women."

"I think that sounds like a good, safe plan." Mark patted his shoulder lightly. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me. You sure I can't fix that afghan - ?"

"Dad!"

"Right. I'll - " he gestured vaguely. " - the kitchen."

Steve watched him go, a bubble of silent laughter in his chest, torn between amusement and exasperation. He watched until Mark was safely out of the room, then threw the afghan to the foot of the couch and reached for the remote.