Part 8: Rituals of Bonding
An instantaneous shaft of pain tore across his side, and he was certain that every ounce of blood drained from his face. For several heart stopping moments, he thought he was going to be physically sick. But then the haze cleared, and he focused on Fred's words.
"Are you *trying* to ruin my life, Sloan?!" the other man demanded, his grip tightening in the fabric of Steve's shirt, adding insult to injury with regard to the wound in Steve's side. "Is there anything you won't try to take?!"
Steve drew in as much of a breath as he could, using the anger that fired through him as strength. "What are you talking about, Fred?" he demanded. "If you've got a beef with me, you take it up with me. You leave my father out of this!" He would have used force to move the other man away from him, but he honestly didn't think he could at the moment.
"This isn't about your father! This is about you and me."
"When you arrested my father, you made it about him. What the hell is your problem?"
"Oh, don't worry about your precious dad, Sloan. The captain let him go. Said my arrest wasn't legit. Told me to go for counseling! What? Do you have him in your pocket, too?!"
Steve felt something relax inside of himself when he heard that his dad wasn't locked up in a cell someplace. But he still hated the fact that Mark had to endure it. He had to get to the bottom of this situation with his co- worker. "What's the matter with you, Fred? We used to be friends. What happened?"
Fred relaxed his hold a little, seeming to respond a bit to the earnestness in Steve's tone. But the warring anger in his eyes was still evident. "I can't believe you're asking me that."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Steve replied, locking gazes. "You've got me pinned up against the wall. By the way, isn't this supposed to be my move?"
Fred stared back at him. "Hell, I taught you this move, Sloan." It was an old joke, from when Steve had originally joined the detective's squad, but neither man smiled. And then, Fred blinked. He released his grip on Steve and backed away.
"So, you going to tell me what this is all about?" Steve sagged against the wall, crooking his arm protectively against his aching side. He was beginning to feel unsteady, and wondered if sitting wouldn't be a good idea. A vague warning started in the back of his mind, but he couldn't pin down its origins.
Fred stood a few feet away, refusing to look in his direction. "Seen Stella lately?"
Steve frowned, wondering if he was imagining things. Did he know some Stella besides the obvious? "Your wife? No. Not since the game at your place. Why?"
Fred turned sharply and pinned him with a probing look. His expression changed suddenly. "Jeez, Sloan! You're bleeding!"
Steve followed the other man's gaze downward and noticed the large patch of red along the side of his shirt and on his sleeve. It occurred to him that this couldn't be a good thing just about the time his legs seemed to abandon him and he started to slide slowly down the wall.
Fred hurried toward him, guiding him downward as the back door slammed open. The vague warning that had been floating around Steve's mind came to the fore. Maeve. He'd been wondering what happened to her. It became apparent as she and the cavalry, in the form of several officers, his father, Cheryl and the captain, poured out of the door after her.
Chaos ensued. Two of the officers grabbed Fred's arms and yanked him back and away. He seemed too stunned by the growing stain on Steve's shirt to react to the restraint.
Mark broke through the group and settled on Steve's injured side, trying to assess the damage, while Maeve appeared on his opposite side, quietly fretting. Cheryl was right beside him, asking if he was okay and could tell her what happened.
The captain looked on, ordered the men to get Fred inside, so he could handle the situation.
Steve ignored all of the questions that were launched at him, and addressed Captain Newman. "Wait. Let him go. He was just trying to help me."
Everyone paused. Even Mark halted for a moment in his checking of Steve's wound, but he didn't say anything. Maeve looked like she wanted to argue and Cheryl looked more than a little doubtful.
Newman asked, "Are you sure?"
"Yes Sir. I'm sure."
Newman looked to Mark. "He going to be okay? Do you need an ambulance?"
"No," Steve spoke up for his father.
Mark shot him a look, then turned back toward the captain. "We'll need to repair a couple of his sutures, but he'll be okay."
Newman looked thoughtfully back toward Steve then gestured at the officers. "Let him go." Then to Fred. "Detective Mancini, I think you were leaving."
Fred looked at Steve for a long moment before turning and leaving without a word. In his wake, the sound of squealing tires echoed around the parking lot. Jesse's car appeared coming along one of the rows and then he pulled to a rocking halt. He got out and ran toward the group that was starting to break up.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said.
Steve smiled wanly up at him. "Hi Jess."
~*~
"I don't know why I even bother." Jesse grumbled as he placed the final bandage on Steve's side. "In fact, I don't even know why I should release you. You're just going to bounce back in here anyway." Though he kept his tone light, and he hoped, anger free, there was a bit of irritation simmering below the surface that he just couldn't shake off.
"I didn't do this on purpose," Steve replied defensively. "I don't just go out of my way to injure myself."
"You sure?" Jesse asked. "Because I could have sworn that I just released you from this place this morning. I even drove you home and gave you meds. I only left the house for thirty minutes, and the next time I see you you're bleeding."
Jesse removed his equipment cart from the side of the examination table as Steve started looking for a way to sit up. He managed it with some difficulty, grunting as he allowed the minimal assistance Jesse offered.
"Right." Steve resumed his argument once in a better position. "I asked some maniac to shoot me yesterday. And today --" he broke off, and started looking about the room. "Today was an accident. Have you seen my shirt?"
"Your shirt is a total loss," Jesse replied, quickly brushing the question aside as he grabbed a hospital gown and handed it to his friend. "Besides, everyone knows how Detective Mancini has been --"
"Who's everybody?" Steve demanded, halting in his unimpressed perusal of the gown. "You don't work at the precinct." He passed the gown back. "Can I have a scrubs top instead? Goes better with the jeans."
"Only if you can convince me you want to try lifting your arms over your head a couple times for fashion," Jesse replied. He continued as Steve wordlessly took the gown back. "No, I don't work at the precinct, but . . . " He paused a moment, trying to remember where he'd gained that bit of information about the other officer. "Amanda told me. And I heard a couple of the other cops at the scene. That guy's got it in for you, Steve. And nobody is buying that he was trying to help."
"Well, he was," Steve shot back, having shrugged his way into the gown and making his way down from the table. "Can I go now? I've got a few things to do."
"Yes you can go, now. As long as those few things don't require your getting out of the lazy boy."
"Does going down to Dad's office to borrow a shirt meet with your approval?"
"Sure. I was headed that way myself." He opened the door and gestured that Steve should precede him. He ignored the frustrated look that passed over his friend's face as he continued in his questioning.
"So about this Mancini guy. He arrested your dad and busted your stitches. I don't understand why you're defending him."
"Jesse, I am not defending him. And you know I don't like what he did to Dad. But I'm not going to have him brought up on assault charges for doing something that I've done dozens of times myself."
"So you admit something happened?" Jesse jumped on the suggestion. Sutures didn't just come undone on their own, and he felt like he was finally getting somewhere.
"I never said anything didn't. If I was in better shape and I'd've gotten to him first, I would have done the same thing to him! But I wasn't. And he saw me first. Bottom line, there was no malicious intent to do harm. And when he noticed there was a problem, he tried to help. Now, are you satisfied?"
"Well, not entirely." Jesse grinned to soften the words. He'd seen Steve in action, and he could picture just the move he would use. "But I think I understand."
"Glad to hear it." Steve shook his head with a wry smile. The smile faded as he continued, "I think he's having problems at home. He asked me about his wife, Jess."
Jesse frowned. He hadn't seen that coming. "Why would he do that?"
"I was at his place for a cook out a few months ago. Stella is a pretty friendly and outspoken woman. I got there early and helped with a couple of things, and she joked around about it a bit. I really didn't think anything of it."
Realization dawned. "Oh. You don't think he thinks that . . . . " Jesse couldn't believe it. He'd seen how Steve had reacted with Maeve.
"I don't know," Steve replied. "Maybe he does. And if that's true then I think Cheryl may be on to something."
An instantaneous shaft of pain tore across his side, and he was certain that every ounce of blood drained from his face. For several heart stopping moments, he thought he was going to be physically sick. But then the haze cleared, and he focused on Fred's words.
"Are you *trying* to ruin my life, Sloan?!" the other man demanded, his grip tightening in the fabric of Steve's shirt, adding insult to injury with regard to the wound in Steve's side. "Is there anything you won't try to take?!"
Steve drew in as much of a breath as he could, using the anger that fired through him as strength. "What are you talking about, Fred?" he demanded. "If you've got a beef with me, you take it up with me. You leave my father out of this!" He would have used force to move the other man away from him, but he honestly didn't think he could at the moment.
"This isn't about your father! This is about you and me."
"When you arrested my father, you made it about him. What the hell is your problem?"
"Oh, don't worry about your precious dad, Sloan. The captain let him go. Said my arrest wasn't legit. Told me to go for counseling! What? Do you have him in your pocket, too?!"
Steve felt something relax inside of himself when he heard that his dad wasn't locked up in a cell someplace. But he still hated the fact that Mark had to endure it. He had to get to the bottom of this situation with his co- worker. "What's the matter with you, Fred? We used to be friends. What happened?"
Fred relaxed his hold a little, seeming to respond a bit to the earnestness in Steve's tone. But the warring anger in his eyes was still evident. "I can't believe you're asking me that."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Steve replied, locking gazes. "You've got me pinned up against the wall. By the way, isn't this supposed to be my move?"
Fred stared back at him. "Hell, I taught you this move, Sloan." It was an old joke, from when Steve had originally joined the detective's squad, but neither man smiled. And then, Fred blinked. He released his grip on Steve and backed away.
"So, you going to tell me what this is all about?" Steve sagged against the wall, crooking his arm protectively against his aching side. He was beginning to feel unsteady, and wondered if sitting wouldn't be a good idea. A vague warning started in the back of his mind, but he couldn't pin down its origins.
Fred stood a few feet away, refusing to look in his direction. "Seen Stella lately?"
Steve frowned, wondering if he was imagining things. Did he know some Stella besides the obvious? "Your wife? No. Not since the game at your place. Why?"
Fred turned sharply and pinned him with a probing look. His expression changed suddenly. "Jeez, Sloan! You're bleeding!"
Steve followed the other man's gaze downward and noticed the large patch of red along the side of his shirt and on his sleeve. It occurred to him that this couldn't be a good thing just about the time his legs seemed to abandon him and he started to slide slowly down the wall.
Fred hurried toward him, guiding him downward as the back door slammed open. The vague warning that had been floating around Steve's mind came to the fore. Maeve. He'd been wondering what happened to her. It became apparent as she and the cavalry, in the form of several officers, his father, Cheryl and the captain, poured out of the door after her.
Chaos ensued. Two of the officers grabbed Fred's arms and yanked him back and away. He seemed too stunned by the growing stain on Steve's shirt to react to the restraint.
Mark broke through the group and settled on Steve's injured side, trying to assess the damage, while Maeve appeared on his opposite side, quietly fretting. Cheryl was right beside him, asking if he was okay and could tell her what happened.
The captain looked on, ordered the men to get Fred inside, so he could handle the situation.
Steve ignored all of the questions that were launched at him, and addressed Captain Newman. "Wait. Let him go. He was just trying to help me."
Everyone paused. Even Mark halted for a moment in his checking of Steve's wound, but he didn't say anything. Maeve looked like she wanted to argue and Cheryl looked more than a little doubtful.
Newman asked, "Are you sure?"
"Yes Sir. I'm sure."
Newman looked to Mark. "He going to be okay? Do you need an ambulance?"
"No," Steve spoke up for his father.
Mark shot him a look, then turned back toward the captain. "We'll need to repair a couple of his sutures, but he'll be okay."
Newman looked thoughtfully back toward Steve then gestured at the officers. "Let him go." Then to Fred. "Detective Mancini, I think you were leaving."
Fred looked at Steve for a long moment before turning and leaving without a word. In his wake, the sound of squealing tires echoed around the parking lot. Jesse's car appeared coming along one of the rows and then he pulled to a rocking halt. He got out and ran toward the group that was starting to break up.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said.
Steve smiled wanly up at him. "Hi Jess."
~*~
"I don't know why I even bother." Jesse grumbled as he placed the final bandage on Steve's side. "In fact, I don't even know why I should release you. You're just going to bounce back in here anyway." Though he kept his tone light, and he hoped, anger free, there was a bit of irritation simmering below the surface that he just couldn't shake off.
"I didn't do this on purpose," Steve replied defensively. "I don't just go out of my way to injure myself."
"You sure?" Jesse asked. "Because I could have sworn that I just released you from this place this morning. I even drove you home and gave you meds. I only left the house for thirty minutes, and the next time I see you you're bleeding."
Jesse removed his equipment cart from the side of the examination table as Steve started looking for a way to sit up. He managed it with some difficulty, grunting as he allowed the minimal assistance Jesse offered.
"Right." Steve resumed his argument once in a better position. "I asked some maniac to shoot me yesterday. And today --" he broke off, and started looking about the room. "Today was an accident. Have you seen my shirt?"
"Your shirt is a total loss," Jesse replied, quickly brushing the question aside as he grabbed a hospital gown and handed it to his friend. "Besides, everyone knows how Detective Mancini has been --"
"Who's everybody?" Steve demanded, halting in his unimpressed perusal of the gown. "You don't work at the precinct." He passed the gown back. "Can I have a scrubs top instead? Goes better with the jeans."
"Only if you can convince me you want to try lifting your arms over your head a couple times for fashion," Jesse replied. He continued as Steve wordlessly took the gown back. "No, I don't work at the precinct, but . . . " He paused a moment, trying to remember where he'd gained that bit of information about the other officer. "Amanda told me. And I heard a couple of the other cops at the scene. That guy's got it in for you, Steve. And nobody is buying that he was trying to help."
"Well, he was," Steve shot back, having shrugged his way into the gown and making his way down from the table. "Can I go now? I've got a few things to do."
"Yes you can go, now. As long as those few things don't require your getting out of the lazy boy."
"Does going down to Dad's office to borrow a shirt meet with your approval?"
"Sure. I was headed that way myself." He opened the door and gestured that Steve should precede him. He ignored the frustrated look that passed over his friend's face as he continued in his questioning.
"So about this Mancini guy. He arrested your dad and busted your stitches. I don't understand why you're defending him."
"Jesse, I am not defending him. And you know I don't like what he did to Dad. But I'm not going to have him brought up on assault charges for doing something that I've done dozens of times myself."
"So you admit something happened?" Jesse jumped on the suggestion. Sutures didn't just come undone on their own, and he felt like he was finally getting somewhere.
"I never said anything didn't. If I was in better shape and I'd've gotten to him first, I would have done the same thing to him! But I wasn't. And he saw me first. Bottom line, there was no malicious intent to do harm. And when he noticed there was a problem, he tried to help. Now, are you satisfied?"
"Well, not entirely." Jesse grinned to soften the words. He'd seen Steve in action, and he could picture just the move he would use. "But I think I understand."
"Glad to hear it." Steve shook his head with a wry smile. The smile faded as he continued, "I think he's having problems at home. He asked me about his wife, Jess."
Jesse frowned. He hadn't seen that coming. "Why would he do that?"
"I was at his place for a cook out a few months ago. Stella is a pretty friendly and outspoken woman. I got there early and helped with a couple of things, and she joked around about it a bit. I really didn't think anything of it."
Realization dawned. "Oh. You don't think he thinks that . . . . " Jesse couldn't believe it. He'd seen how Steve had reacted with Maeve.
"I don't know," Steve replied. "Maybe he does. And if that's true then I think Cheryl may be on to something."