Part 13 – Finale


"Hi Mark." Jesse's voice sounded from the door of Steve's room with a subdued tone.

Mark knew that he couldn't have gotten more than 3 or 4 hours of sleep the night before, if any, and still despite his tone, a subtle energy resonated through his presence. That was one of the many things Mark admired about the younger doctor. That, along with the fact that even though he'd been most of the night, been paged to the ER early to work a reputedly brutal morning due to an early morning pile up followed by a number of fog related accidents, he'd found time to stop in to see Steve on his lunch hour.

"Hi Jesse." Mark responded to the younger doctor with a smile that went unnoticed. It seemed that after having spoken his mind, Jesse was experiencing a bit of trepidation. He'd moved toward the chart at the foot of Steve's bed and began to study the things that were recorded there.

"He's progressing quite well," Jesse commented, not looking up.

"Yes, he is," Mark agreed, moving closer. "The surgery went without a hitch."

"That's good." Barely a heart beat passed before Jesse turned toward him, an apology written all over him. "Mark, I shouldn't have --"

"Yes, you should have," Mark stopped him.

"I could have been more tactful," Jesse argued. "I mean, you're my . . . well, my boss."

"I wouldn't have heard tactful, Jess. You told me exactly what I needed to hear, as a friend. Even an old man gets out of line every now and then."

"You were just worried." Jesse insisted on defending him.

"Yes, I was. And thank you for being there."

Jesse glanced away shyly. "That's what friends are for. And you've been there for me lots of times."

Mark smiled at the young man and would have spoken further, but a movement from the bed caught his attention. Steve was beginning to stir.

*


Steve opened his eyes and focused blearily on what looked like his feet beneath the blankets of a hospital bed. A voice sounded near his ear. It was gentle but insistent, drawing his eyes away from the orangy lump that might have been his feet to the equally blurry image of his dad's worried face.

He blinked slowly several times before his vision coalesced into a single image. With the clearing of his vision, other things began to register. Like a vague apprehension that something was very, very

wrong.

"Dad?" He looked at his father askance. Maybe he could help him understand the anxiety he was feeling. Or why there was a dull ache in his side, and a draining lassitude in his body.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Mark asked, gently encouraging.

Steve cast back, struggling to recall the memory. It came slowly. "I remember waking up in bed. There was a storm." He looked toward the window and saw that the sun was shining brightly and it looked like a clear day. He clearly remembered the roll of thunder, and a flash of lightning and something being illuminated in the lightning.

"There was a burglar!" His body jerked as adrenaline pumped through him, spurring him to action. The movement caused his side to ignite and pull as if someone was literally ripping him apart. His hand moved there protectively and he felt the heavy bandage.

"I was stabbed. There were two of them." He looked up at his father, noticing the shadows around his eyes and the knowledge of the events that had taken place. Guilt settled over him, a lump grew in this throat and he had to look away. "They took your projector, Dad. And the case where you kept the movies. I couldn't stop them. I tried, but I couldn't. I'm sorry." He knew how much his father loved those old movies of his and Carol's childhood. There were also many reels of his mother playing together with them on the beach. Those movies were a living memory of their family, and he had lost them.

"Steve." His father's hand settled on top of his, warm and comforting, and deep with emotion. "I love you, son. More than any material thing I own. I'd give it all away if it could mean that you would be safe."

Steve looked up sharply, meeting his dad's gaze. He knew how his father felt about him, but it was rare for him to put it into words. The older man's eyes were more than a little moist around the edges. The lump in his own throat got bigger. "I love you, too, Dad. I know material things aren't your focus. But those movies can't be replaced. I just wanted to save them for you."

"You did, son."

"But --" Steve stopped, completely confused as to how he might have saved anything. His last memory was of the ground rushing up to meet him while the bad guys were getting away.

"They barely got out of the driveway. They had an accident at the bottom. One of the young men didn't make it. But the other one is in custody. He confessed to what happened."

Steve felt profound relief that the movies were safe, and regret that a life had been lost. "They were both young weren't they?"

"Yeah." Mark nodded and there was a moment silence as they both thought of the cycle that seemed to be repeated so frequently. "But there's hope for the one that survived. He seems to truly regret what happened."

"That's a start." Steve said. But he knew that the path to the straight and narrow could be a tricky one. "I . . . " He trailed off as another memory surfaced. The images and sounds flitted through his mind and his looked at his father in confusion.

"Steve? What is it?"

"I remembered something else," Steve said. "I woke up . . . Amanda was here." He looked about the room, remembering the positions that everyone had been in. "You and Jesse were . . . " He paused at the incongruity of the word he was about to say, but it was the only one that seemed to fit. "You were arguing."

Mark sighed heavily. "Not one of my prouder moments," he said in a low voice. Then, "I nearly lost you in that storm, Steve. And even after we got you here, it was touch and go for a while. Jesse was . . . a friend."

Steve felt something twist inside at the emotions that he saw reflected in his father's eyes. Yes, there was love, but there was also residual fear from a loss nearly suffered. It wouldn't do to tell him that he'd thought that he was going to die out there in that storm, too. But as his gaze shifted to the clear blue sky outside the window, he suddenly knew what to say.

He offered a loving smile, that he hoped reflected how truly honored he was to be his dad's son. "The storm is over now, Dad. And it's going to be a beautiful day."

Mark's return smile was as brilliant as the sun shining in the clear California sky.