Chapter Twenty
"Um - Mark? Do you have a minute?"
Jesse's tone was so peculiar that Mark glanced up in surprise. Jesse's face didn't offer any reassurance and his heart sank a little. "Sure, Jess." He smiled at Steve, who was struggling with his macaroni and cheese. "I'll just be a minute, son. Think you can manage all right?"
Steve made a face, pausing from trying to clumsily ladle macaroni and cheese into his mouth with his heavily bandaged left hand. "I'll be fine. Might need a bib, though."
Mark patted his shoulder. "Well, at least it'll force you to take your time and chew." His eyes stopped on the bright white bandages wrapped around both wrists and his heart caught in his chest. He couldn't resist the urge to give the shoulder another gentle squeeze. "Just - I'll be back."
He hurried out into the hallway after Jesse. "What is it?" he whispered, moving Jesse hastily out of earshot of Steve's hospital room. "Did the tests turn up something else? How serious?"
"What?" Jesse almost stopped in his tracks. "Oh!" Realization dawned and he shook his head. "Nothing like that, Mark. Steve's fine. Okay, maybe not fine, exactly, but nothing you don't know about. This has nothing to do with Steve. Well, indirectly, maybe…" Jesse trailed off, looking awkward and uncomfortable.
"Oh." Mark slowed his pace. "All right, then. What seems to be the problem?"
"Um…" Jesse's face reddened. He gave him a sideways glance. "Mark - um - did you treat Lt. Tom Peterson?"
Mark grimaced. "Yes. I did. I know it was a ridiculous and irresponsible thing to do - at the time, though, it seemed…" He stopped abruptly. "Why? Is Lt. Peterson all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, for the most part…" Jesse tugged uncomfortably at his collar. "He just - had a little reaction to his medication…did you give him a list of dos and don'ts?"
"Hm." Mark gestured Jesse toward his office, as much to give them a little privacy as to try and make Jesse more comfortable. He cast his mind back over the ill-advised confrontation with Peterson, made a face. "No, I don't think so. I started to give him the medication, we had a bit of a disagreement and he grabbed it from my hand and rushed out before I could go into any details. He didn't take them with alcohol, did he?"
"No…" Jesse slumped into the chair opposite Mark's desk. "Nothing that serious. But he did take them with dairy products, so he naturally came back complaining of loose bowels and…"
Mark dropped his head in his hands, groaning. "Oh, dear. Excessive flatulence?"
Jesse nodded abashedly. "Nothing really painful or serious, but with all those press conferences, kind of…awkward…"
Mark shook his head. "I have to see him and apologize. Is he still here? Is he very upset?"
"Now, that's the weird thing." Jesse pushed his eyebrows together. "He's seems to think it's pretty darned funny. Can't convince him you didn't do it on purpose - thinks you were getting a little revenge for Steve. He said, and I quote, that you are 'a pip'."
"Oh, no." Mark's shoulders slumped. "I really need to talk to him. I never should have gone near him. I kept meaning to get another physician, but he kept opening his injury and I wanted to get it contained before - well, either way. I was very wrong."
Jesse looked relieved not to have to be the one to say that. "It was my fault, too," he offered. "I shouldn't have suggested you seeing any patients, under any circumstances. You were much too shook to think clearly and I should have known that."
"No, I could have refused." Mark stood up again. "Did you say he was still on the premises?"
Jesse grinned a little, looking vastly more comfortable. "Yeah, he was going to see 'Stevie'. What do you think would happen if I started calling Steve that?"
Mark raised his brows knowingly. "Why don't you try it out and see?"
Jesse wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, that's what I thought."
*
Mark hurried back the way he'd come. He should have known - should have known that no good would come from his actions. Worst of all, every time he thought of Peterson trying to give a press conference under those conditions, he had the most terrible urge to laugh. And that was shameful. A physician should, first and above all, do no harm…he forced the corners of his mouth into a frown. There was nothing funny about it. Really.
As he approached Steve's door, he heard voices and he paused.
"Hey, hero!" That was Peterson's unmistakable tones, a little muddled by the stitched lip. "Look at us! Are we beautiful, or what?"
Mark clutched at his hair. Oh, no. He was certain he knew exactly what Peterson was showing Steve…he peeked cautiously into the room.
Steve had pushed his macaroni and cheese aside and was staring at the front page of a newspaper, his expression blank. After a second he threw the paper down and leaned back. "I thought that was a dream! Or - nightmare!"
"How can you say that - we look great!" Peterson picked up the paper to admire the photo. "See how macho you look with that big bruise there? Girls love that stuff. Bet the nurses are going crazy."
"Oh!" Steve rubbed a hand over his face, writhing in embarrassment. "That's it! Oh, God!"
"You're complaining about a little female attention? I'd say you came out on top in this thing!" Peterson tilted his head at him, gave a low whistle. "For one, I can tell Bambi Sue had a real thing for you - those bruises are like mating calls for her."
"Oh, well, thanks!" Steve's voice rose and Mark wondered if it was time to step in and break things up. "I'm glad she didn't get too attached, or they'd be putting me in a box!"
"Yeah," Peterson nodded agreeably, turning the guest chair around and straddling it. "She's like one of those…what are those bugs? The ones that mate and then eat their mates' heads?"
"Praying Mantis," Steve ground out. "So nice of you to throw us together."
"Hey, from what I've heard about you love life…"
"Peterson - " Steve's voice held a warning note. "You've really got to stop putting so much stock in station rumors."
Peterson crossed his arms over his chest and gave a lopsided version of his cocky grin. "They say there's always a grain of truth to 'em. Besides, look what you did to me. Much worse. Could have ruined my good looks."
"Oh, your good looks, huh? That was the most insulting part of this whole thing - knowing that somebody could actually mistake me for you."
Peterson chuckled. "Don't let flattery go to your head. Besides, you're not really mad at me any more. You're just giving me a hard time because you think I deserve it."
"You do deserve it."
"Then take it out on me on the ball field. Slam my fast ball right outta the park."
Steve raised his brows. "Is that what you call that pathetic pitch of yours? A fast ball? Give me a break."
"Ouch." Peterson rested a hand over his heart. "Now that hurt."
"Good. I hope it hurts half as much as my knee."
Peterson carefully tore the article and picture off of the front page and propped it up on the nightstand. "So, you're not mad, right? We did good, huh?"
Steve sighed through his nose. "I'll admit…" he said reluctantly at last. "That it's pretty nice to think of Trevalia off the streets. You have enough to make it stick?"
Peterson held up his hand in a Boy Scout's pledge. "Iron clad."
"Hmph." Steve grunted. "Hard to be sorry about that."
"So you've forgiven me?" Peterson grinned.
"I didn't say that."
"But you have."
"Look," Steve tossed his napkin aside. "I might forgive you for throwing me in if, one: you ever get any ideas about teaming us again, you TELL me about it first, and two: you ever get any ideas about teaming us again, you DON'T. Period."
"You don't mean that." Peterson picked up the abandoned fork and poked at the macaroni and cheese. "We were a great team. I really liked working with you. Now tell me you liked working with me."
"I didn't even realize I was working with you. How could I possibly…could you leave my lunch alone, please?"
Peterson dropped the fork. "So. Friends again?" He pointed at a dish of rice pudding. "You gonna eat that?"
"Yes." Steve pushed the rice pudding out of harm's way. "We weren't exactly friends before."
Peterson grinned engagingly. "Yeah, but now that we had such a good time working together…"
In spite of himself, Steve laughed. "Oh, good god. No wonder you have so much trouble keeping a partner."
Peterson choked indignantly on the melon garnish he had lifted from Steve's plate. "Where did you hear a crummy thing like that?"
"I can listen to station rumors too."
Peterson smiled virtuously. "Vicious gossip."
"And by the way, I don't forgive you for taking such a chance with my Dad."
Peterson chewed the melon down to the rind. "Look," he said reasonably. "I honestly thought your Dad was out of it. But if he wasn't, heck, the guy is always putting himself in the middle of murders anyway - what's the difference?"
Steve rolled his eyes. "Oh, thanks. Just what he needs - encouragement."
Peterson swallowed his melon and smiled. "And trust me, your old man can look out for himself. You should see what he did to me."
Outside the door, Mark winced. Oh, no. No, don't tell him that…
Steve looked puzzled, and Peterson leaned over to whisper in his ear. Steve listened, then stared at him incredulously. "You're crazy," he said bluntly.
Mark smiled. That's my boy.
"Honest to God."
"My Dad would never - he practically invented the Hippocratic Oath!"
"Hey, I just call 'em like I see 'em."
"Yeah - and we both know how good you are at that."
Peterson grinned around his melon. "Still. It made for some interesting press conferences. Every time I'd get to the good part, I'd end up giving a twenty-one gun salute."
They both laughed.
Mark shook his head, smiling. Police officers. He'd never really quite understand them. Maybe that was what was really behind his amateur sleuthing - an attempt to push his way into and understand the world that first his father, and now his son, inhabited. He hesitated. He could talk to Peterson later - talk to Steve, too. Maybe for right now it was better to let them work things out between themselves. As he moved away from the door, he heard Steve's voice:
"…and besides, there's still something I'll never forgive you for, Peterson - never." Mark paused, not sure he should be listening. "Seven rabies shots, Peterson! Seven!"
Mark's smile broadened and he started down the hall. The voices drifted after him.
"Oh, yeah? Where'd you get them?"
He could almost hear Steve flush. "That's none of your business!"
"Well, your Dad stuck a needle right inside my lip - talk about pain…you wanna see…?"
"Of course I don't want to - will you get your lip out of my face…?"
This time, Mark didn't even try not to laugh.
