Chapter Eighteen

"He late for a press conference or something?"

Mark hadn't even heard Amanda approach, and he had to twist around to see her. "Oh - hi, honey." His voice sounded a little distant, even to his own ears. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Not unless you've got a blow dryer and a round brush on you."

Mark chuckled. "I'm afraid not." His smile changed to a frown. "You should be checked out yourself - you were under for quite a while. Have you - ?"

Amanda nodded, making a face. "Jesse did. Honestly, I can see why Steve gets so fractious with him. What a mother hen."

This time Mark laughed out loud. "Makes him a good doctor, though." He hesitated. "Amanda, I - I really need to thank you…"

"Oh, for what?" Amanda slipped her arm around his waist and steered him toward the lounge. "For taking a little swim? That's nothing to thank me for."

"I was going to go in myself, but I don't know if I would have been as successful. Where did you learn to swim like that?"

Amanda smiled airily. "All California girls can swim, Mark. Even the ones who learn by diving off their daddy's yachts."

"I suppose that's true." Mark slid his arm around her shoulders and gave them a squeeze. "I'll tell you, that image of Steve going underwater with his hands tied is going to be with me for some time to come, I'm afraid - waking and sleeping."

"Well, it's all over now and I'm sure Steve is going to be fine." Amanda guided them into the lounge and selected two coffee cups. "What was up with Peterson? He seemed more than a little out of sorts."

"Oh. That." Mark frowned. "We were having a little philosophical disagreement."

Amanda tilted the coffeepot over first one cup, then the other. "About…?"

Mark shrugged. "Morality. Right and wrong. Extenuating circumstances."

"Hm." Amanda seated herself at the table and gestured for Mark to do the same. "Well, I'll bet you taught him a thing or two."

"I don't know…" Mark obediently seated himself opposite her and accepted the coffee cup she pushed his way. "Do you know, Amanda, I don't believe I'm confused very often?"

Amanda looked up from her cup. "What makes you say that?"

Mark smiled ruefully. "Because I am right now. And I find I don't like it one bit."

"I think you're probably just exhausted," said Amanda wisely. "This wasn't exactly a red letter day for you. Get some sleep and confusion will flee."

Mark stirred his coffee, even though it didn't really need it. "I wish it was that simple. I was so angry and I'm still angry, but…"

Amanda waited.

"Lt. Peterson said some things…he really feels that he did the right thing."

Amanda sniffed. "The right thing to get his face in the papers, you mean."

"No." Mark shook his head. "Oh, I'm not saying he doesn't like that, I'm just saying that wasn't his reason. He makes a pretty good case."

"Mark, he almost got Steve killed!"

"Yes. Well. That's why I'm angry." He scratched at his head. "He felt it was - acceptable losses. For the greater good."

Amanda lowered her cup. "And you accept that? Mark, this man went outside departmental procedures, behind his superiors' backs, and used whoever was available to do what he felt needed doing - no discussion, no question. I don't care what he thinks his reasons were, it was wrong."

Mark studied her over his coffee. "And that doesn't remind you of somebody else - just a little?"

Amanda wrinkled her forehead. "Not really. Who do you mean? Steve?"

Mark gave a small laugh. "Oh, no, not Steve. Steve will do end runs when he feels it's the only way, but he's never really comfortable with it. Given the choice, he'd just as soon do things by the book. No. I was talking about - me."

"You!" Amanda very nearly did an excellent theatrical spit take. "You! Mark, you can't be serious!"

"Oh, I don't like the comparison any better than you do, but when he was talking, I suddenly realized there was…something familiar about it all. I've done some pretty crazy things, honey."

"To bring killers to justice!" Mark met her gaze pointedly and she flushed. "All right, I know he…but it's not the same, Mark! You would never endanger somebody's life doing it, least of all Steve's!"

Mark sighed. "No, I hope I - I don't think I have. I've played a little fast and loose with his career at times, though."

"Well, only because you wanted to do the right thing. Steve would always go along with that, in the end."

"Peterson feels that Steve will go along with this in the end, too."

Amanda stuck her lower lip out. "It's not the same thing. I know it's not. I can't describe how right now, maybe, but I'll find a way and I'll make you see it."

Mark reached across to pat her hand. "Well, I hope you do, honey. Because right now the two things are looking uncomfortably similar to me."

Jesse breezed in through the door and made a beeline for the coffeepot. He poured himself a cup and took a deep draught before grabbing a chair and dropping down at the table with them.

"Wow. What a madhouse. Steve's had his tests and they're settling him in a room. We won't have all the results for a little while yet."

Mark sat up straight. "I want to see him."

Jesse scribbled a number on a napkin and pushed it toward him. "Somehow I figured that. I can tell you that while he probably has a heck of a headache, the head injuries aren't serious. Mild concussion. Dehydrated. Still waiting for the chest series and the results of the knee ultrasound."

Mark glanced down at the scrawled room number. "Any internal injuries?"

Jesse shook his head. "Don't seem to be. We'll know better when all the tests are in. If you want to catch him conscious then you'd better hurry - they were pumping him full of some pretty high-test pain killers last time I looked."

Mark pocketed the napkin. "I will."

Amanda touched his arm as he moved toward the door. "Mark, we'll finish this conversation later."

Mark gave her a brief smile. "Sure thing, honey."

"Oh, and hey, Mark - " Jesse's voice stopped Mark right at the door. "Thanks for taking on some of those accident victims, huh? We were really overwhelmed."

Mark pulled together a guilty smile and nodded vaguely. "Um - see you later, Jess." He ducked his head and started down the corridor, checking the napkin again for the room number.

Well, Amanda was right about one thing - this certainly was not a red letter day for him. He had imperiled his son by being late to meet him, in fact, seemed to have imperiled him by making a habit of being late to meet him; he had been helpless to rescue him from the murky lake waters; he had treated a patient that he had strong feelings about. And probably treated him inadequately, too. Chances were Lt. Peterson would have sat quietly for another doctor and not left until all his injuries had been seen to.

He winced as he came to a turn in the corridor. And to top it all off, he suddenly had serious questions about the wisdom - or even the justice - of some of his past actions. At the time, he knew they had always seemed right - important and necessary for so many reasons - but Lt. Peterson felt exactly the same about what he had done and now he couldn't help wondering…

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he passed the nurse's station, scanning the room numbers for the right one. Just let Steve be all right. If Steve is all right, I promise to do some real soul searching about all this.

He found the right room and shouldered the door open. A nurse was by the bed, busy with a chart, but she looked up at him and smiled as he entered.

"He's almost asleep," she whispered, pushing the chart into his hands. "But so far, things look pretty good."

Mark accepted the chart, glancing at it quickly, then at the figure in the bed.

Steve's eyes were closed, his face the translucent blue-grey of skim milk. A livid bruise stood out in stark relief on one cheekbone, another one with a scabbing center spread on his temple. The head of the bed was cranked to an almost upright position, the rest was steepled to lift and support the carefully braced knee. The oxygen mask had been replaced with a nasal canula and he had a new IV.

He looked asleep, so Mark quietly tried to move his bangs to get a better look at the bruise on his temple. He had been so sure he was under that he started when Steve muttered, without opening his eyes, "Hey. How you doin'?"

It actually sounded a whole lot more like Howyadwin?, but Mark was pretty sure he had the gist. "How did you know it was me? Any doctor or nurse could be looking at your bruises."

Steve licked his lips, still not bothering to open his eyes. "Jus' know. Know…y'know…"

"Ah. Yes." Mark smiled at this little bit of lucid deduction. "We're still waiting on some tests, but things are looking good so far. How do you feel?"

Steve rumpled his forehead. "I don…really…out there…what's in that…? What did…?"

"Oh." Mark looked back at the chart. "Oh, yes - Jesse was right - you've got some real good stuff in you. Why don't you just not fight it? Get a little sleep?"

"Did…" Steve turned his head and jarred the nasal canula, lifted his hand to touch it as if surprised to find something was there, missed. "Had…this really…weird dream…"

Mark guided his hand carefully away from the canula, held it lightly. "What about?"

"Um…" Steve pried his eyes apart as though trying to figure out where his hand had gone, let them clamp shut again almost immediately. "Dreamt I…was on the front page of the LA Times…wearing only…a blanket…and…a cheesy smile…" He swallowed, let his breath escape in a sigh. "Crazy…huh?"

Mark froze. "Oh." He patted the shoulder absently through the hospital gown, grimaced. "Um - why don't you get some rest? We can talk in the morning."

"Mmmm…"

Mark watched his breathing slow, could see that he was really asleep this time. He adjusted the hospital blanket over his shoulders and tucked the hand he had been holding under it. Then he looked anxiously around for the meal selection card, found it, scanned it for the right box and carefully filled it in. He eyed it with satisfaction.

Good. That was better. Just to be safe, might be a good idea if Steve didn't receive a morning paper with his breakfast.