Chapter 8

"Don't get up! Just us!" Jesse's voice caroled through the living room in accompaniment to the sound of the front door opening and closing. "And we brought snacks!"

Steve opened his eyes and thumbed the mute button on the television remote, pushing himself into a more erect, decorous sitting position. "As long as you didn't bring that little flashlight," he called back.

Jesse topped the stairs with a bounce to enter the living room. "Not me - it's my night off. We didn't wake you up, did we?"

"I wasn't asleep. Just semi-comatose with inactivity."

"That's what I like to hear. I'll just drop these in the kitchen…"

Steve straightened his robe and pulled the belt tight at the sight of the figure shadowing Jesse. "I didn't know you were coming, Amanda."

Amanda paused to hang up her jacket, then came over to the couch to drop a light kiss on his cheek. "Well, the boys are camping with Colin and I figured it was an opportunity for a meal other than Lean Cuisine. Don't get up. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. I - "

Amanda spotted the afghan and lifted it from the end of the couch and shook it out briskly. "You look a little better." She spread the afghan expertly over his legs and tucked it around him.

Steve stared at it, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it firmly and summoned a smile. "Uh - thanks."

"Well, it gets chilly in here once the sun goes down."

"So I'm told."

"You just relax and I'll help Mark in the kitchen. MARK…?"

Steve winced a little at her raised voice, watched her disappear into the kitchen, then let his head fall back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

"Hey!" Jesse's voice sounded in his ear almost immediately and the couch cushions sank and shifted.

Steve pushed his lids back open and struggled back into a more upright position.

"Whatter you watching?"

"News."

Jesse made himself comfortable on the couch, settled a bowl of taco chips in his lap and helped himself to a handful, deftly knocking Steve's hand away. "Nope - you're not ready for that yet. Too much grease. But don't worry, I didn't forget you…" He proffered a square, wax paper wrapped tube.

Steve took it from him, eyed it warily, peeled open the top and peeked in. "Saltines," he observed, without enthusiasm.

"Yup. Salt's something you could really use. Eat up."

"Gee, thanks." Steve coaxed a cracker out of the tube and bit it experimentally, shrugged. Better than nothing.

"Mmph - " Jesse swallowed a mouthful of chips, jumping up again. "Almost forgot our drinks! Hang on - "

Steve watched as he vanished around the corner into the kitchen again, feeling slightly dazed. Why is it he had never noticed before how quickly Jesse moved? Well, he probably had to, to be an emergency room doctor. He closed his eyes again and hit the mute button to restore sound to the news.

"Here we go."

The cushions next to him shifted again and he blinked his eyes back open. Jesse was proudly offering him a large wine goblet. He had another clasped in his other hand.

"What is it?" Steve reached to take it from him. "I'm guessing not wine."

"Well, mine is. Yours is grape juice. Lotsa sugar. Do you good."

Steve swallowed a mouthful, choked and made a face. "Wow, Jesse - that's really sweet."

"Yeah, that's the point. You wanna go a little easy on it, though - can give you a heck of a purple mustache. I brought vids, too, for when the news is over."

Steve eyed his glass. "Add a little ginger ale and you'd have that play wine my mom used to give Carol and me on special occasions. Whatja bring?"

"Well…" Jesse emptied a bag on the couch between them. "Moulin Rouge. Lethal Weapon 2. The Natural. Something for everybody."

Steve bit another saltine. "Amanda's never gonna sit through Lethal Weapon 2."

"I know. I got it before I knew she was coming. Still…" Jesse's eyes drifted hopefully to the TV screen. "We could probably fast forward and watch some of the good parts before she gets out here and requests something a little more artistic. If you're done with the news."

"Be my guest." Steve handed over the remote. "Local news is over anyway. I was only watching to see if they mentioned the Fuller case. Guess Madge Fuller is being arraigned tomorrow." He watched Jesse set up the necessary channels and insert the video. "Cheryl promised she'd stop by and fill me in when it was over." When Jesse didn't comment he continued casually, "Thought maybe we could swing by the crime scene afterward - see if it triggers any memories."

Jesse's focus was on the tape and he didn't glance up, but if Steve thought he wasn't paying attention, he was disappointed. "Tomorrow? You? No way."

Steve took another sip of grape juice, grimaced and set it aside. "I'm not talking about walking there, Jess - just a short little car ride, a few minutes at the crime scene - "

Jesse snorted a laugh. "Yeah, when have you ever spent only a few minutes at a crime scene? And a car ride is more wearing than you think. How did you feel after your car ride today?"

Steve hesitated. "Um - a little…tired," he admitted carefully.

Jesse reseated himself on the couch next to him, grabbed a fistful of chips, and started the tape rolling. "A little tired, huh? I hear you were zonked."

Steve sighed through his nose. "Is that the official medical term?"

Jesse grinned. "No, the official medical term is 'wiped out'. We also like to say 'wasted'. Want me to fast forward to the scene with the car crash and the surfboard?"

Steve fumbled for another saltine and nodded. "Sounds great." They watched the blurred images flash by. "What if I stayed in bed all morning, didn't move off the couch when Cheryl got here, and then went to Fullers?"

"Was expecting you to do that anyway. Sorry - too early for a road trip, first day out."

"I thought today was my first day out."

"First full day. You've only actually been out of the hospital a few hours - wait, wait - I love this part - " Jesse punched the play button and they gave the screen their mutual rapt attention. Jesse sighed as the scene ended and hit the fast forward button again. "What is it about a woman with an accent anyway?"

"I don't know, but there sure is something."

Jesse downed a mouthful of wine. "Hey, maybe it works the other way round, too. Maybe we should try developing accents." He cleared his throat. "Bonjour, mademoiselle, je m'appelle Jesse…"

One corner of Steve's mouth curled up. "You sound like Pepe Le Pu."

"Very funny. So maybe French isn't my language, but I still think it's a good idea. Attract a whole new class of women."

"Or, in my case, a whole new class of psychos. No thanks. Hold on - I think you passed it. Back the tape up."

Jesse freed his hands by shoving chips in his mouth and scrabbled for the remote. "How's the vision?" he managed off-handedly around the chips.

Steve shrugged. "Better." And, when Jesse glanced at him shrewdly, "…most of the time. Things still sort of become duplicate now and then."

"When you're tired?"

"I guess. Wait - I think that's it."

Jesse hit 'play' to have a look. "Naw - this is a good scene, though. Love it when the whole cantilever of the house goes down. Let's watch." They fixed their eyes on the screen again as Mel Gibson rammed the tower of glass and steel and it collapsed slowly into the sand and sea. Jesse cackled in admiration. "Wow."

"Yeah." Steve absently dunked a saltine in his grape juice. "Too bad real cops can't get away with that. That'd be coming out of my salary for the rest of my life."

"I know what you mean," Jesse cued up the tape to watch the collapse one more time, this time in slow motion. "Can never figure out how television doctors can even get anyone to give them malpractice coverage with some of the things they do. Okay - car crash/surfboard scene, coming right up…"

Steve stared at the pictures whizzing past without really seeing. "How about the next day?"

"Hm?" Jesse stopped the tape to check, backed up a little more. "How about what? Oh…" He chewed a chip and shrugged. "Maybe. Tell you what - " he stopped the tape again. "You do everything you're supposed to tomorrow, and the next day I'll stop by and check you out after my shift. If everything looks okay, I'll take you myself."

Steve's forehead creased. "You don't have to do that. Not right after you work a shift."

"Not a problem. And that way I can make sure that 'a few minutes at the crime scene' doesn't turn into 'two hours crawling around on the floor, looking for latent clues'."

Steve gave him a look. "I'm only going to see if I can remember anything."

"Yeah. Tell it to somebody who doesn't know you. Okay - " he thumbed the play button. "Here we go."

"Back it up a little more, I don't wanna miss the set up."

Jesse adjusted the tape and leaned back to enjoy it.

"Hey, Jess?"

"Mm?"

"Thanks."

Jesse grinned. They were silent with anticipation as the vehicles neared each other, then collided, setting off a chain reaction. When the surfboard flew from the roof of one vehicle through the windshield of the other and decapitated the driver, Jesse and Steve whooped simultaneously.

"Wow," Jesse hit the rewind button to watch again. "Amazing. How can she say this isn't artistic?"

"Beats me." Steve bit a saltine in two. "Women."

*

"…out. Need help…him to bed?"

"No, no. We did fine earl…"

It was like being underwater - swimming and coming up intermittently for air, alternating between a shushing, roaring in his ears and scrambled bits of broken sound, the world rushing in and out of reach.

"…tomorrow…?"

"…check in. I think…afternoon…"

He shifted his head some, trying to get more comfortable, trying to latch onto one reality or the other. A soft, pliable surface pushed against his cheek, sticking a little.

"…couch?"

"…no…not…really rest…"

He sighed inwardly, trying to block out the chatter that refused to coalesce into real sentences. It retreated to a steady rumble, punctuated with faint splashing and clinking. Better.

"You ready?" Cheryl? What are you doing here? Cheryl didn't answer though; in fact, she didn't even seem to hear his question.

"Yeah, I'm with you." Him? He was watching himself? Oh…dream, probably. He relaxed. He looked better in his dream, actually. Could walk a straight line and everything. Might as well enjoy it while he could.

A louder clatter of china made him jump and the buzz of indistinct voices returned. He groaned and tried to push himself fully upright. He should get up and…

"So, how you wanna do this?" Cheryl back? That was nice. Though it seemed funny for her to be here so late at night…was it late?…no, no, wait…dreaming. He had been dreaming. She was…

"Why don't I go in and you cover the back?" Funny. To see himself looking so…normal. Not at all like his glimpse in the mirror today.

"Mm. Think she'll talk to you?" Cheryl. Ever the skeptic.

"It's just a few, routine questions. I just don't want her to bolt."

"If it's so routine, why you think she's gonna bolt?"

"Just following procedure."

"Sudden stickler, aren't you? That why your entourage is waiting in the car?"

"Never mind. Let's just do this, shall we?"

A persistent, nagging ache threaded through his shoulder, drawing his attention, and he tried to twist and take the pressure off it. His arm had gone numb, though, and it took a moment of struggle before he could slide onto his back and relieve the cramp. He caught his breath at the awkward jarring, lay for a moment, breathing carefully. Awake. He should get up…his hand skidded along leather and he belatedly labeled it "couch" in his mind. Get up and go to bed…no point in sleeping out here…He realized after a minute, though, that he was still lying there, immobile; swallowed, trying to take an interest in sitting up. Maybe sleeping here wouldn't be so bad…no, no, he had to…he turned his head into the cushion, felt the darkness behind his eyelids deepen.

"Lt. Sloan?"

Madge Fuller? Madge Fuller hadn't been arraigned yet, so how…? What would she being doing in his father's living room anyway? She looked so natural, though, sitting comfortably on the arm of the sofa, looking down at him. Had he offered her anything? He should offer her something to drink, or…

"You know the truth, Lt. Sloan."

He felt his heart begin a slow, steady thunder in his chest. He opened his mouth to ask her something, but the words log-jammed in his throat, his mouth suddenly dry.

Her gaze grew more intent. "You know the truth. You know you do. Only you, Lt. Sloan." She leaned far over, looking directly into his eyes now. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The truth," she hissed. "Only you…"

"…drive safe. It's late, you know."

He swallowed his breath in a rush at the different, louder voice suddenly so close by.

"Yeah - my shift's not till eleven. I can sleep late."

"Well, good. Thanks for the help with the dishes…"

He lay very still and quiet, his eyes shut tight, ran one hand down the sofa, then wrapped it around the cushion and held on with all his might, as if that would give him a solid grip on this world.

The voices grew a little more distant, a door opened and closed; he heard his father's familiar tread on the stairs. Carefully, sipping in long, shallow breaths, he pulled himself into sitting position. He gave an involuntary glance at the far arm of the couch, shivered. Nobody there.

Of course there was nobody there, he scolded himself. You're being ridiculous. He let his face rest in his hands for a minute, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his palms. Damn. That was…damn.

"You're awake." The suddenness of his father's voice made his heart skitter around inside his chest once more.

"Yeah," he agreed faintly.

He heard, rather than saw, his father approach. "Jesse and I didn't wake you, did we? You were sleeping so soundly, we forgot to be quiet."

"…no…"He could actually feel the slight shift in his father's demeanor, even without looking - the gaze narrowing keenly to get a better glimpse of him in the darkened room, the relaxed posture stiffening into a professional pose - and he struggled to sound more casual. "I didn't say goodbye to Amanda or Jesse, huh? Some party pooper." He sensed the posture relax again.

"No, but I don't think either of them took it personally. Need a hand getting to bed?"

Quickly, "No. I'm fine." Nice, Steve. That sounded real convincing. He could sense the return of that stiffer posture, of the poised alertness under the veneer of casualness, and tried to sound more natural. "I'm going right now." Standing up, of course, would make that claim a lot more believable…he grimaced. "You don't have to wait for me, Dad - I can tuck myself in."

"Well, why don't I walk you there - just to be companionable?"

Yeah. He should have known that wasn't going to work. He sighed resignedly, using the back of the couch to push himself painfully to his feet. "Sure."

His father slung a careless arm over his shoulders, but Steve knew the real intention was to help steady him. They had only gone a few steps before Mark paused, turning to look at him more closely. "You're shivering."

"A little. You know how it is when you first wake up."

Mark didn't budge. Steve could feel "the look" lasering into him and sighed silently.

"Is your hair wet?"

His hand went automatically to his hair. "A little damp, I guess."

Mark's grip became more definite, propelling him toward the guest room. "Let's get you to bed. I want to check for fever. You know, you could be developing an infection in that cut of yours…"

This time, Steve sighed out loud. "Dad, I don't have a fever. I just - " He set his teeth hard. He did NOT want to talk about this…"I - just had a dream. It's over now."

"A dream?" Mark forced him gently but firmly down on the edge of the bed, resting the back of one hand against his cheek. "Same one as this afternoon?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, you're right - you're definitely not feverish."

"I do know a few things. My dad's a doctor, remember?"

Mark smiled and disappeared into the guest bath. He returned carrying a couple of towels and tossed one lightly to Steve, who caught it and blotted gratefully at his face. Mark applied the other one to Steve's hair, working his way around the bandage. "What is it you're dreaming about that's leaving you in a cold sweat?"

Steve shook his head and stared at the towel in his hands. "I don't know. You know how it is with dreams - it's all mixed up. I kept sort of hearing you and Jesse, then I'd be dreaming again…" He wiped his palms absently on the towel. "Ever have a dream that's not really real, but seems like more than a dream, too? Oh, I'm not making any sense."

Mark smiled, maneuvering the towel expertly around the head wound. "I used to have a dream like that right after your mom died. I'd wake up at night - or thought I did, anyway - and see her there - just sitting. Smiling at me. It wasn't really real, exactly, but…well, it seemed like a lot more than my imagination. Went on for the whole first month. Then I'd see her maybe once a week, then once a month, then it stopped all together. Still think it was more than a dream. Sometimes I wish it would come back."

Steve met his eyes, felt some of the tension drain out of him. He fidgeted with the towel.

Mark patted his shoulder. "Let me change your bandage, then we'll both get some sleep."

"Dad, it's late. You worked all day and then made dinner and did the dishes. Why don't you go to bed? It'll keep until tomorrow."

Mark shook his head. "The bandage is wet through - not good for your stitches. I want a dry one on it tonight. It'll only take a minute."

Steve nodded tiredly. Arguing would only keep them both up later. He closed his eyes while Mark neatly clipped away the current bandage, bit his lip as he massaged antiseptic ointment into the stitched gash. One of these days he was going to have to take a look at it. No rush - felt like something you'd find on Frankenstein.

"There you go."

Steve opened his eyes again.

His father handed him a glass of water and two pills.

"You know, if you ever get tired of being a doctor, you'd make a heck of a nurse."

"Me? No - requires much too much patience. I know my limits. You need anything else?"

"No. Thanks, Dad."

"All right." Mark removed the damp towel from his loose grasp. "Sleep tight, then."

"Yeah, you too."

Mark paused at the door. "Better get plenty of rest. I'm planning on wiping up the floor with you in a game of Gin Rummy tomorrow."

Steve dimpled slyly. "That'd be a first."

"Don't get smart. You'll see."

"Right. Night, Dad."

Mark pulled the door almost closed, his hand hovering over the light switch. "Uh - want me to…?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Mark hit the switch and the room was cloaked in shadow. Steve lay back and closed his eyes. "Sweet dreams, son," filtered through the door.

Steve's eyes sprang open.

There was a pause, then the door inched inward. His father's face appeared in the opening, and Steve didn't need the light to picture his sheepish expression. "Um…ahem. What I meant was…"

Steve swallowed a chuckle. "Yeah, Dad. I know. Good night."

"See you in the morning." The door swung closed and shut with a click.

Steve stretched out, staring into the blackness. Somehow, sleep suddenly seemed far away, the world behind his eyelids full of threatening possibilities. He folded one arm under his head and gazed at the outline that represented a window, softly backlit by the moon around the edge of the curtains. A breeze stirred them, sending shadows dancing over the walls. He shivered.

"I'd rather dream about you, Mom," he breathed to himself.