Chapter 19

Steve opened first one eye, then the other, slid them quickly around the room. Nope. Still nothing. Good.

To tell the truth, he felt like he could sleep for another twenty-four hours easy now that sleep seemed to be his friend again - no odd dreams, no weird voices, nothing sinister waiting for him on the other side of wakefulness, pulling and poking at him, trying to get his attention.

Jesse had been right about the meds, though - the minute they started to fade, he had become aware of a biting in his back that forced him to cautiously regulate his breathing and a fire in his hands and leg that pulsed in time to the heat that simmered just under his skin, leeching at his strength. Still, that all seemed fairly manageable. He could deal with a little pain. Pain was concrete - you knew what caused it and you knew how to treat it. It almost seemed friendly. Familiar.

He patted clumsily at the sheets, feeling for the bed control. He found it and tried to curl his hand around it, but his bandaged hand barely bent and it just rolled uselessly under his palm. He made a face. On the other hand, some things about it could be a real nuisance…He held the small cylinder still with his right hand, maneuvering his left forefinger to push the button. The head of the bed started to rise, jerked to a stop when the controls slid against the gauze and slipped away. Ouch. He frowned at the controls, considering. Well, he could always ring for a nurse, but that meant trying to operate a different button…oh, to heck with it. He'd just have to learn to love lying at this angle. He tried a tentative shift to his side, but a warning stab of pain from his back grabbed at his breath and he lay still again. Damn. He was pretty much immobilized. He could try to slide out of bed, but he wasn't too sure about that right leg and the thought of a possible fall made him wince. The thought of the discussion with his doctor that would surely follow made him wince again - he just didn't feel up to another argument right now. So - what were the alternatives - just lie here? He felt almost as helpless as he had in the parking lot. He glanced around. Well, he could always count the ceiling tiles…

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard the door quietly open and close. "Hey." He recognized Cheryl's voice, softened for the hospital. "How are you feeling?"

"Sixty-seven," he answered after a minute.

There was a pause, then he heard the scrape of a chair being pulled next to the bed. "Sixty-seven. Aging you fast, huh?"

"No. Ceiling tiles. I've counted sixty-seven so far. Hang on, I don't want to lose my place…" He smiled a little at Cheryl's low laugh, turned his head to look at her.

"Well, you certainly are cleaner than you were last time I saw you…" She leaned back in her chair to get a better look. "You know, I don't want to criticize, but that position looks really uncomfortable."

"It is," Steve assured her.

"Oh. Well, then, why - ?" Steve held up his hands to show her. "Oh." Cheryl tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "Want a little help?"

"If you wouldn't mind." He nudged the bed controls in her direction. "I seemed to do okay when Jesse handed them to me earlier, I just can't pick them up."

Cheryl picked the controls up and studied them, then pressed experimentally. The bed rose slowly. "Say when…"

"There." Steve sighed in relief as the head of the bed stopped. "Much better. Thanks." He glanced at the clock. "Not visiting hours. You here on official business?"

Cheryl nodded. "To take your statement. And bring you up to speed. And tell you that you owe me a pair of shoes."

"Pair of shoes?"

"Had to throw the ones I was wearing when I dug you out of the dumpster away."

"Sorry." Steve grinned. "Line of duty - charge the department. You found me in the dumpster? Guess I need to say thanks."

"Line of duty," Cheryl echoed. "Isn't there something else you want to say?"

Steve's brows lowered quizzically. "Um - sorry about the shoes?" he offered tentatively.

Cheryl laughed. "I meant 'I told you so'! I came here all steeled against some good gloating and ready to do some token groveling! You were right - you were not crazy and you were not imagining things, and I didn't want to hear it. Don't you want to rub it in just a little?"

"Oh." Steve's expression changed. "I don't know. Feels a little - hollow."

Cheryl sat back in her chair and studied him. "What's that about?"

Steve dropped his eyes. "Something about putting a sixteen year old kid with no priors away doesn't feel all that wonderful."

Cheryl pursed her lips. "Don't go getting all soft on me, Sloan. A sixteen year old can be as lethal as anybody else - sometimes more so, since they don't always have a clear sense of consequences. This kid killed somebody. Came pretty close to making it two somebodys. We don't have any reason to believe that, if he'd stayed on the loose and unmedicated, it would have stopped there. Don't kid yourself about it - he's dangerous. You should see the damage he did to one big, tough cop I know."

One corner of Steve's mouth lifted slightly. "Bad, huh?"

"I wouldn't ask for a mirror for a few days."

"Yeah - " Steve reached up to rub his eyes, stopped and stared at his gauze paws in growing exasperation. "I know you're right." He hesitated. "I guess I - just keep imagining what happens later, when, say, he's medicated and - normal, or whatever happens then, and he has to - look at the fact that in one, crazy, psychotic moment, he killed his own father. Might be almost better to stay delusional."

Cheryl leaned forward and rested her folded arms on the tray table. "Look," she said firmly. "All we can do is what we do - we get 'em off the streets. The rest - that's up to other people. Like Dr. Locksely. We do our job - and that's hard enough sometimes. Let everybody else worry about theirs."

Steve studied her for a minute, then nodded. "Must have too much time to think these days."

"Maybe." Cheryl eyed him shrewdly. "But you've been a little funny about this one from the start."

"Yeah, I know…" Steve lay back, moving with a grimace to try and relieve some of the pressure from his ribcage. "A little close to home, I guess."

"What - you thinking about taking a baseball bat to your Dad?"

Steve laughed. "Not this week."

"Well, I almost did. Did I tell you he followed me when I hit the siren?"

"He what?" Steve barked before he could stop himself, pressed one swaddled palm against his forehead when his voice reverberated painfully through his skull. Ouch. None of that.

"Shhh - you wanna get me thrown out of here?" Cheryl offered him the water cup and waited until he managed to take it. "I got your distress call while I was on my way to South Beach Mall and hit the siren. He pulled out of traffic and followed me."

"At that speed?" Steve tried to remember to modulate his voice, but it came out as an outraged hiss anyway.

"Let's just say he kept up."

Steve groaned and dropped the cup, pushed both bulky hands against his eyes instead, hoping to settle a low-key pounding that had suddenly started up there. "I've gotta talk to him."

"I thought we'd agreed you were overdue for that anyway."

"No you agreed - and about everybody else on the planet, it seems. Tell me something, am I just this big, open book that everybody can randomly read?"

Cheryl smiled the slightest bit. "Not everybody. Maybe just we folks who know you."

"Great."

Cheryl's smile deepened. "There's nothing wrong with being reliable. It's nice. Relaxing."

"Oh, thanks. I'm flattered. Really."

Cheryl laughed out loud this time. "Look, maybe we just think we can. We were all wrong about the Madge Fuller thing - everybody was pretty sure they knew what your problem was there, and we batted zero for zero."

"That's true." Steve brightened some, reaching for the cup again and holding it against the side of his face instead. It was really warm in here. "So, speaking of Mrs. Fuller, where does that stand?"

"Oh, she rolled over. The DA cut a deal with Brian's placement in Cliffside as opposed to Juvenile Hall being contingent on her coming clean and she sang like a bird. She turned over the baseball bat - they're doing the DNA testing on the blood and hair samples now, but it's mostly a formality. Brian openly admits to swinging the bat in both instances - only kept quiet about it to please his mother. He seems honestly surprised that people seem to feel that he did something wrong."

Steve winced, then the rest of Cheryl's statement registered. "They have the bat? Where was it?"

"Oh, you're really not going to believe this one. I tell you, this job shows you more about human nature than you wanted to know sometimes."

"Can't argue with that."

"You remember the money David Fuller gave Madge to put Brian in Cliffside? The money we couldn't account for?" Steve frowned a little. "Oh, that's right - you missed that part. You were busy hanging out in the dumpster." Steve gave her a look and she continued with a grin, "Seems Madge used it to create a solution of her own for Brian - while her husband was out of town, she hired a contractor to build his own little getaway behind a false wall. You had to know about it to find it. It was supposed to be a place for him to go when he was feeling 'restive'. That was her label for his condition - 'restive'."

"Just a little normal puberty, huh?" Cheryl shrugged. Steve twitched his right leg, which was suddenly complaining, hitching it higher on its pillows. "So she was just going to lock him away when he got out of hand? I think that maybe as detectives we better start spending less time in police seminars and more reading Victorian novels."

"Yup. Every time you think they can't get any weirder."

"So that's where he disappeared to after he killed his father and took a crack at me - and probably when he cut school. Still seems like there should have been bloody footprints."

"Well, we have his clothing - that should be good enough. It looks like they're gonna waive a jury trial anyway - Brian's confessed, no contest, and they seem willing to take a plea."

"So all's well that ends well."

Cheryl shook her head. "You know, either you've gotta work on your delivery or else you are still not convinced that's true."

"Oh, don't mind me…" Steve half-smiled apologetically. "I'm just a little out of sorts. Playing chicken with a car always does that to me - I'll get over it."

"Mm. Anything I can do to help cheer you up?"

"Not unless you could smuggle something resembling real food in here."

Cheryl tilted her head at him. "What are we talking? Burger and fries? Chinese?"

"Anything. You wouldn't believe what they're feeding me."

"I thought you liked hospital food?"

"I do - believe me, that's not what I'm getting. More like rabbit food. Except I think rabbits eat better."

Cheryl laughed. "I'll see what I can do. A little black bag work would be good for me."

"Cheryl, if you could pull that off, I'll owe you about any favor you name."

Cheryl raised her brows with a smile. "Really. Well, how could I resist that? You feel up to giving your statement or do you need a break?"

"Fire away."

They were interrupted when the door swung inward to allow a wide bouquet of orange and yellow roses in a tall green glass vase to enter. The roses dropped a few inches to reveal Mark's smiling face. "Well, hello, Cheryl - I didn't know you were here." He walked over to the side table and put the vase down, arranging the flowers to best advantage. "And how are you feeling, son?"

"Fine…" Steve eyed him dubiously. "And you certainly seem to be feeling better."

"Oh, yes - you were right - a long shower and a little sleep and I feel like a new man." He stepped away from the flowers to admire them. "Look nice?"

"Um - yeah…but…" Steve wrinkled his forehead questioningly. "…roses?"

"Oh!" Mark laughed. "They're not from me. They were at the nurse's station for you, so I said I'd bring them in. Who's Candy?"

Steve heard Cheryl's choked laugh, felt heat rush to his hairline. "You read the card?" he demanded accusingly.

Mark smiled innocently. "Well, it wasn't in an envelope - just on one of those spiky things. Couldn't miss it. And I was a little curious to see who would be sending you a dozen roses. Who did you say she was? I don't remember you ever mentioning her."

"Because I didn't. She's - just someone I work with."

Mark shifted his eyes to Cheryl, who was grinning broadly. "In forensics," she explained. "She has a crush on Steve."

"We don't know that!" Steve protested.

Cheryl snorted. "A dozen roses? On a technician's salary? I think we do!"

Mark gave Cheryl a pleased nod, leaning in confidingly. "She a nice girl?"

"She does really nice DNA work," Steve interrupted impatiently. "And that's about all I know about her."

"Oh," Mark looked a little disappointed. "Attractive?" he suggested hopefully.

"Dad!"

"All right, all right." Mark gave the vase a final turn. "Want me to read the card to you?"

"NO!" Ouch. Steve reached up to rub between his eyebrows, lowered his voice. "I want you to give me the card. I'll read it myself."

Mark chuckled. "Don't think you can hold onto anything that small, son." Steve stared at his wrapped hands and moaned in frustration. "Don't worry - " Mark continued cheerfully. "It doesn't contain anything personal - just 'get well soon' and 'best wishes, Candy'." He pulled a chair close to the bed and got comfortable. "So when do I get to meet her?"

"Dad, I haven't even gone out with her! I haven't even asked her out! I haven't even thought about - " Steve broke off abruptly, because that last part wasn't actually quite true.

"All right, well, you don't want to wait too long - you know what they say about he who hesitates - "

"What I want - " Steve jumped in abruptly, "Is to talk about something else. Can we?"

"Oh, all right." Mark held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sure you'll tell me all about it in your own time."

"There is nothing to - " Steve broke off suddenly, his expression sly. "And speaking of telling. Cheryl was telling me something interesting. She said that you tried your hand at a little hot pursuit."

Mark shot Cheryl a reproving glance, turned a conciliatory smile on Steve. "Oh, Cheryl's exaggerating - just trying to flatter me."

"Uh huh," Steve was unmoved. "So you didn't follow her at top speed in full traffic?"

"Oh, well - " Mark's smile grew more benign. "I didn't really have to - did you know, the other cars pull right over, out of the way?"

"Dad, you do not have the training to drive at those speeds! Especially in LA traffic! It's dangerous!"

"It was only for a second or two - and we weren't going that fast."

Steve skewered him with a look. "How fast?"

Mark chuckled. "Do you know, I was afraid to look?"

Steve turned inquiring eyes to Cheryl. Mark shook his head at her behind Steve's back.

Cheryl folded her arms over her chest. "Oh, no you don't. You're not sucking me into this - as far as I'm concerned one of you's as bad as the other - you're two peas in a pod."

Steve looked shocked. "You must be kidding. We're nothing alike."

Cheryl rolled her eyes.

Mark took advantage of the moment. "Steve, the fact is that it's over and done with and nothing happened. So why not just let it go?"

Steve crossed his arms and eyed him blandly. "You were very lucky. You may not always be lucky. You need to not take so many chances," he quoted pointedly.

Mark's mouth twitched. "Point taken," he agreed, meeting his eyes affably.

"Good morning…" Amanda swept in the door toting a box and smelling freshly of the outdoors. "I bring homemade cards and homemade muffins," she announced cheerfully.

Steve groaned. "I don't even want to see the muffins if you're just going to rip mine away and replace it with zwieback or something."

Amanda shook her head indulgently. "Of course they're something you can eat - I checked first. Oatmeal raisin." She centered the box on his tray table and turned to smile at him, frowned instead. "Hm. You look like you could use all the help you can get."

"Thanks. I'm touched."

"Wait'll you see the cards the boys made for you." She perched next to him on the bed and opened a piece of folded red construction paper, pointing to the crayon illustration. " This is CJ's… That's supposed to be you. Um - he still has a little trouble with proportions."

"I think the resemblance is uncanny," Cheryl offered, leaning in to get a better look.

Steve tossed her a narrowed glare, then returned to admiring his card. "He's getting so he writes his name really well."

"Well, it is only two letters…" Amanda murmured trying to look modest, but only succeeding in looking proud. "And this is from Dion…" She opened a piece of blue construction paper next to the red one. "I think he's getting so he draws really well. He was trying to fit in all your injuries, but he ran out of crayons."

"Ha ha." Steve tried to pick one up, but just managed to slide it around on the tray table.

"Here - " Amanda set it up so he could look at it, gave his arm a quick pat. She frowned, moving her hand consideringly to his cheek. "You're kind of warm - when's the last time somebody took your temperature?"

Steve made a face. "Believe me, there are nurses here whose sole job seems to be taking my temperature."

Mark stood. "Let me check - "

"Dad - " Steve raised a mummified palm to hold him off. "Somebody took it just a little while ago. I'm sure somebody else will be taking it again before you know it. That's enough. You know what they say about too many doctors…"

"That's 'cooks'," Mark corrected, moving to the side of the bed anyway. And, when Steve drew back, "I just want to see your cards."

"Oh." Appeased, Steve glanced down to slide the cards across the tray table to him, looked up reproachfully when he felt the back of a hand press appraisingly against his neck. He didn't bother to object this time - just sighed silently.

Mark wasn't paying attention anyway; he was frowning slightly to himself. "I'm going to ask the nurse's station for a thermometer," he announced abruptly. "I'll be right back."

Steve gazed bleekly after him; turned to glare in response to Amanda's snort of laughter, suppressed not quite quickly enough.

"I'm sorry," she fought down a smile. "I just can't believe you fell for that."

Steve smiled a little in return in spite of himself - pushed the cards in her direction, shaking his head. "Um - would you mind putting those on the table there where I can see them?"

"My pleasure." Amanda scooped them up, her eyes dwelling fondly on the crayon drawings. "The boys wanted to come, but I thought they were probably a little more than you're ready for."

"And speaking of more than you're ready for, I should probably be going," Cheryl added, rising. "Because I'm willing to bet that I'm about to be thrown out of here. I'll get your statement later, Steve. You take it easy."

"Yeah," Steve resigned himself to the inevitable. "Cheryl - " he hesitated, and Cheryl paused, tilted her head and waited. Steve made an aborted gesture. "I - thanks. For everything. The legwork and - well, for hanging in there with me."

Cheryl's smile deepened. "Hey, what are partners for? Besides, I now get to bask in the reflected glory of a successful case closing. I'll be back later. Remember, I have to bring you those - materials - you requested." She winked.

Amanda paused in arranging the cards around the vase, bent down to breathe in the scent of the roses. "Mmm…beautiful, Steve. Who's sending you passionate thoughts?"

The silence that followed was profound, and she turned and looked from one face to the other in surprise. "I was only joking," she assured them. "Orange and yellow roses stand for 'passionate thoughts' in the language of flowers, but the sender probably just thought they looked pretty together and were more masculine than, say, the traditional pink or red."

Cheryl snickered. Steve refused to even look at her.

Amanda blinked. "What did I miss?"