Chapter Sixteen

"Ladies, gentlemen, c'mon, c'mon - show a little respect for a wounded hero!"

Steve blinked again, but he recognized that voice - he'd know that cocky, self-satisfied tone anywhere. Sure enough, Tom Peterson's image loomed near, superimposing itself over the black dots. He stopped next to the gurney and slung one arm over the back of it, his smile freezing brightly at a new explosion of flashbulbs. Steve stared at him, pushing the microphone away from his face and dropping his voice.

"What the hell did you do?" he hissed.

Tom lifted his brows and winked. "Made us heroes and showered both our departments with glory. Smile for the camera, Stevie."

Steve blinked in surprise as the bulbs popped again. He heard his father's feeble protest from over his shoulder. "Please let us through. We're trying to get these two medical treatment…"

No one paid any attention. Now that his eyes were less blinded, Steve could look past the phalanx of reporters and recognize Captain McKarren, head of Vice, and, a little behind him, Captain Newman. Captain Newman had his arms folded over his chest and his face was unreadable. His eyes flicked to Steve's for a second, and though his expression didn't change a whit, that second told Steve all that he needed to know. Newman had known as little about this as he had. Somehow, that made him feel a little better.

"Lt. Sloan!" The microphone bounced back, hovering under his nose. "Were you sure that Lt. Peterson's plan would work? Weren't there a lot of risks involved?"

Steve gave a grim parody of a smile. "Oh, I think Lt. Peterson can answer that one much better than I can."

Peterson flashed the reporter a brilliant grin. "Of course there were risks, but the end result was worth a few risks. And we're police officers. Taking risks is what we do."

"Sometimes we even know about them," Steve murmured, just loud enough for Peterson to hear.

"But Lt. Sloan," another voice piped up, "You've clearly been injured. Was it a fight to the death? Were you sure you'd survive?"

Steve tried not to roll his eyes and cleared his scratchy throat instead. "I wasn't sure of anything," he managed dryly. "Really. Anything." He drilled Peterson with a meaningful look.

Peterson's grin broadened. "Yeah, looks like you really made Bambi Sue's acquaintance. She's not for amateurs, huh?"

Steve's brows jumped, and he choked on a sudden laugh that turned into a paroxysm of coughing. "Bambi Sue?" he finally gasped, once he could get his breath. He glanced around to find the other gurney settled nearby with Jesse standing next to it. He met the occupant's eyes, his own alight with a sparkle of unholy glee. "That's your name? Bambi Sue? No wonder you're so bad tempered."

Bambi Sue's scowl deepened. "Don't worry," she purred. "I've got your name too, Lt. Sloan. And I never forget. We'll be meeting again."

Steve ignored the flurry of microphones hurrying to catch her remarks. He smiled broadly. "I'm counting on it. Hope you look good in orange."

"Lt. Sloan," a persistent reporter hovered as close as she dared. "Can you tell us what it was like to face a deadly killer - alone - in the wilderness?"

Steve leaned his head back, suddenly tired. "It was just a job," he sighed wearily.

"But what made you accept such an assignment - to be so far from backup, all alone, under such lethal circumstances?"

Steve grimaced at her melodramatic tone and fixed Peterson with another look. "I think Lt. Peterson could do a better job of answering that one, too. What was it, Tom, that made me accept such an assignment…?"

"If you'll look in the press kits you received you'll find Lt. Sloan's bio. You'll see that he's taken on numerous high risk assignments over the years and has been cited for bravery on a number of occasions." Captain Newman's voice cut through the scramble of questions as he moved in closer to the two detectives.

Steve met his eyes and read the warning there to hang on to civility for just a little longer. He swallowed and tried to sink deeper into the crinkly blanket. He hated department politics, even when he recognized the necessity, and he was cold and ached in places that he hadn't even known about. If they'd used him for a stooge then all right, they had, but couldn't they just leave him alone now and let him lie down?

His father must have sensed how he felt, because he interrupted, "Look, we have two patients here requiring care. If you could just let us through - "

"Anything immediately life threatening?" Captain McKarren had a deep, rumbling voice.

Mark hesitated. "No - I don't think so, but - "

"So no one is in any immediate danger?"

"Well, we haven't had a chance to run anything more than field tests - " Mark's voice sharpened with impatience. "And they both have to be watched for secondary drowning and need treatment for mild hypothermia at least - they shouldn't be up here on a roof in the wind - "

Captain McKarren held up his hands. "All right, ladies and gentlemen - you've asked your questions, you can have a couple of more photos before Lt. Sloan and Ms. Vleugels are brought to the Emergency Room. Detective Lieutenant Sloan will issue a formal statement once his injuries have been seen to. In the meantime, any further questions will be covered by me, Detective Lieutenant Peterson, and Captain Newman."

"I'll be staying with my man," Captain Newman corrected.

Captain McKarren looked at him for a minute, then nodded. "All right, ladies and gentlemen, make it quick."

There was a wild scramble as the reporters fought for position, and Steve took advantage of the fuss to whisper fiercely, "Is there some reason you didn't feel a need to clue me in about all this?"

Peterson shrugged, then paused as they both froze and pasted on plastic smiles for the next barrage of flashbulbs. "It was on a 'need to know' basis," he whispered back as the flashes died away.

"NEED TO KNOW???" Steve's whisper rose to a hiss before he could stop himself, drawing the reporters' attention. He saw Captain Newman's eyes resting pointedly on him and he forced a sickly smile for the cameras before continuing, sotto voce, "What about this exactly did you think I did NOT need to know…?"

Peterson spruced up his own devil-may-care grin, then answered under his breath, "It was better if you improvised. Couldn't risk Bambi Sue catching any leaks. Believe me, she's slick."

"Oh - IS SHE?" Steve could tell from the looks the reporters tossed him that his voice was rising again, and he forced himself to suppress it, though it didn't quite lose its biting edge. "I hadn't noticed. I thought that was a tango we were doing up there on the mountain."

Peterson gave a low chuckle, changing his pose for the camera at a gesture from one of the photographers, so that his face was level with Steve's. "Eh - what are you complaining about - " he grumbled back, under his breath, "you get a commendation, big applause for the Homicide Department, and your mug on the front page of every paper in LA - all for no more than spending the weekend on a mountain with a beautiful woman. Can hardly even be called working. You should thank me."

"THANK you." Steve's voice dropped to a growl. "That's not even close to what I had in mind." He paused again and forced what he could tell was an even less convincing smile for a new round of flashbulbs. He drew a hand across his eyes to dissipate the residue of the popping lights and took as deep a breath as he could manage without his buddy the oxygen mask.

"So, fine - you set me up," he mumbled in the lowest voice he could manage. "You had a reason. I can live with that. What about my father? You knew he was going to be with me. He's a civilian. How do you excuse endangering him?"

Another reporter was arranging Peterson in a kneeling position by Steve's gurney, and Peterson flashed his biggest smile, waiting for the spattering of shutter clicks to die away before hissing back, "You can't be serious. I did my research. Your Dad was never in any danger. From what everybody says, there was absolutely no chance he was going to show up when expected, if at all. Figured I had at least forty eight hours before he even entered the equation."

The bulbs flickered anew, but Steve wasn't smiling - he was staring at Peterson, his face still. "What?" he asked slowly. His tone had a dangerous edge.

"I said your Dad was never in any danger. Come on, Stevie, get real - what were the odds he wouldn't stand you up? From what I hear, it was a sure thing."

Steve never had any clear recollection of what happened next. He had some memory of the continuing rattle of shutters and flash of bulbs, a rise in the flood of voices, and his father and Captain Newman both calling his name over and over again - but he could never quite remember how he got his hands on Tom Peterson, or where he found the strength to strike out at him. He only remembered that after the frustrations of the past night and day, it felt darned good to fight back at somebody, and that he couldn't imagine anything quite so satisfying as the feel of his damaged fist sinking deep into Peterson's camera-bright smile.