Five

Mark was half aware of a dream already running out of his reach as he stirred awake. It took him another second to realize that what had woken him was the jangling ring of the telephone, and he glanced automatically at the clock. 5 am. He wasn't due at the hospital for another three hours. He frowned uneasily at the telephone. There were only two reasons that it would ring at this hour. Either he was needed at the hospital, or…he tried to remember if he had heard Steve go out last night. No, but Steve was used to being quiet when he got a call.

The phone rang again - he sighed and reached for it, checked the caller ID. The hospital. A tingle of relief ran through him. Business as usual, then. He hit the "on" button.

"Dr. Sloan." The voice droned on for a couple of minutes, but he didn't really hear anything after the first few words. He wanted to ask some questions, but somehow nothing would come out of his mouth. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to get his brain working.

He finally managed to say, "I'll be right there," and hung up. The person on the other end may have finished talking or not - he wasn't sure.

* ~~~~*~~~~*

Cheryl pressed her open palm against the glass and leaned closer, trying to see past her own reflection. Not that there was a whole lot to see. A small cubicle, crowded with equipment, a bed, a chair by the bed - and, of course, the occupants of the bed and chair. She would have loved to have gone inside for a better look, but ICU rules were very clear - one visitor at a time. And that honor, of course, belonged to Dr. Sloan.

Exasperated with herself, she turned her back to the glass and leaned that way instead. This was ridiculous anyway. There were no answers to be found here, and no doubt someone would come looking for her at any moment to tell her that she should be in bed. Well, she had been in bed, and that certainly hadn't meant sleep. The sterile little hospital room had been peopled with a crowd of junkyard dogs and sneering auto part dealers and - well - a lot of things that she'd rather not even think about. It had been easier to take a little walk to help herself sleep. Just a coincidence that her feet had taken her here. A fluke. She knew, of course, that Sloan was alive. It just didn't hurt to check. She peeked over her shoulder through the glass. Dr. Sloan was still sitting there, his hand resting on the bed rail, his eyes on the figure in the bed. She didn't think that he had even shifted since she'd got there. She sighed, fingering the dainty sleeve of the robe she wore.

It was one of Amanda's, one she kept at the hospital for emergencies, so it was a little shorter and frillier than what she would have chosen on her own. But Amanda had been kind to lend it. Everyone had been kind. It was really starting to get on her nerves.

She stole another glance at Dr. Sloan, looked hastily away. He was leaning forward now, stroking Steve's forehead, and the sight of it brought those traitorous tears that had been dogging her all day springing back to her eyes. Damn. All these years she'd thought of herself as a toughened Homicide cop. Now it turned out she was actually just some goofy crybaby. She massaged her brow with her fingertips.

Dr. Sloan had been almost the first thing she had seen upon arriving at the hospital - the first thing after they had wheeled Steve away, fast, shouting orders back and forth. She had stood there helplessly, wondering what to do, when she had looked up to see him approaching. He had opened his mouth to speak to her then stopped, his mouth still at half mast, color draining from his face. She had stared, uncomprehending, then looked down.

It was the first time she realized that she was completely covered in blood - her arms, her hands, her clothing. She could almost watch Dr. Sloan's mind make the leap that she wouldn't be standing there if it were her own, saw his head swivel automatically, searching. She had pointed, and he had walked in that direction without another word. A short time later a nurse had appeared, though, and told her that Dr. Sloan had sent her to see if she wouldn't like to come with her and get cleaned up? Remembering that he had taken the time to think of her in the midst of his distress almost started the tears again. Oh, damn it. She really had to stop this.

The nurse had offered her a clean pair of scrubs and Amanda had appeared with the loan of a robe. She had spoken in a kind, patient voice, the same voice everyone else seemed to be using toward her, as if she was something wounded and weak and pathetic. Bad enough that she felt weak and pathetic - she didn't need everybody reminding her of it.

Instinctively, her eyes returned to Steve. It would be wonderful if she could talk to him. But of course that was crazy. Even if he had been conscious, he was hooked up to a respirator… hissing in irritation, she dabbed at her eyes with Amanda's frilly sleeve.

Amanda had droned on in that calm, professional voice, asking her if there was someone she could stay with, someone who could come get her - no? Then they'd like to keep her here, just for the night. Cheryl had just stared at her. What kind of hospital was this, where they couldn't tell the difference between someone who was really hurt, like Sloan, and someone like her, who wasn't hurt at all? But the hospital was where she wanted to be right now, so she had held her peace. It was as good an excuse as any.

Amanda had continued more gently still, explaining that Dr. Ellis, the specialist who was working on Steve's arm, had asked for as much information as she could give on what had happened. She was sorry to ask, she knew this was hard for her, but Mallozzi and Withers only had limited information, and it would be very helpful…

Cheryl had jerked uneasily. Couldn't they just slap a bandage on or take stitches or whatever it was they did? Did they really have to have all the gory details? She had been about to make some smart remark to that effect when she'd noticed that Amanda's hands were shaking.

Her irritation crumbled. How stupid of her not to realize that Amanda was upset too. Amanda had been friends with Steve much longer than Cheryl had partnered with him and she had the added disadvantage of being painfully aware of all the details of his condition - the ramifications and implications - something she was just as happy not to be privy to herself. Looking at her more closely she could see that, underneath the professional demeanor, Amanda was just barely keeping it together.

She'd forced herself to smile, tried to catch Amanda's eyes. "There still a cop on the floor?"

Amanda had looked startled by the question. "Yes - there are several - a bunch came in to give blood."

Cheryl had nodded. "Get one in here and I'll tell you everything I remember." Who are you kidding? Like you could forget. And, in response to Amanda's questioning look, "Somebody might just as well take my statement at the same time. If I'm going to have to go through this thing in detail, I'd like to do it only once."

Amanda had flagged down an orderly and a short while later Carol Rydecker had entered the small examining room, sporting a fresh band aid on her inner arm and carrying a pad and a paper cup of juice. She'd given Cheryl a quick wink, and Cheryl'd responded with a wan smile. That little bit of false bravado seemed to shore up her spirits and she opened her mouth to start from the beginning, saw who had followed Carol in and closed it uneasily. She cleared her throat. "Dr. Sloan, I'm not sure you need to hear this," she protested.

Dr. Sloan offered her what was probably meant to be a smile, but in his grey, drawn face the effect was grotesque. "That's all right, Cheryl. I think I should know."

Cheryl had considered objecting more forcefully, but she knew that look on his face, and even though she knew it from another face, experience had taught her that there would be no budging him. After a second, she nodded and began.

It helped, as it turned out: falling into the normal routine of reporting. It was only as she was approaching the end of her tale, speeding up a little to get it over with, that she happened to catch a glimpse of Dr. Sloan's face and stammered to a stop. Her eyes met his for a moment, then he turned away to stare at something apparently very interesting on the blank wall. Cheryl had bit her lip, until Carol's matter-of-fact voice prompted her back into motion. When she'd looked again for Dr. Sloan, he was gone.

Here, most probably. She peeped through the glass again. No, not here. Steve would have been in surgery then. That had seemed to take a long time. She closed her eyes.

They had thrown around all kinds of phrases…high-pressure irrigation…degree of crush…prophylactic…likelihood of infection….she had little idea what any of it meant. She only knew that nobody was smiling.

"How are you holding up?"

She was so surprised to hear Mark Sloan's voice that she looked automatically through the glass, trying to place him at Steve's bedside, before it occurred to her that he was standing next to her.

"Hi." She folded the robe more tightly around her, embarrassed. "How is he doing?"

"Oh…" Mark followed her eyes through the glass to the figure on the other side. "He's holding his own. We'll know more after a while…infection is a real possibility. Traumatic effects to the organs from blood loss. Too early to know for sure."

"Why the respirator? I mean, was there damage to his chest? Did the dog break a rib, or…"

"Oh. No." Mark rubbed at his chin. "There was some tearing and laceration from the…claws, of course, but…no internal injury. No, intubation is common treatment for patients with Steve's level of hypovolemic shock…" He caught her expression and smiled a thin, apologetic smile. "Loss of blood volume. Hypovolemic shock can follow hemorrhagic…" He trailed off again, gestured helplessly. "Um - I guess blood loss is the best way to describe it."

Cheryl nodded, turning back to look through the glass. "I'm so sorry," she blurted at last.

"You are." She could hear the honest surprise in his voice, even though she couldn't bring herself to look at him. "You are? What on earth for?"

Cheryl kept her eyes fixed on the scene on the other side of the glass. "If I could have done something sooner…something more definite…" She leaned her forehead into the glass. "Done something. He wouldn't have had to have bled for so long. He could have had help sooner."

"From what I hear, you're the reason he's in there and not…" The voice trailed off again and she glanced at him sympathetically. He seemed to make a painful effort to collect himself, though his voice now sounded as if it was being squeezed out of him. "You kept your head, Cheryl. That probably saved both of your lives."

"It wasn't me." She felt that warning prickle at her eyelids again and blinked hard to make it go away. "He, um - he reminded me not to give up my gun. He was so hurt, but he…" The tears were swimming in her eyes now, and she stopped abruptly before she could make a fool of herself.

"And you listened to him." She felt his arm go around her shoulders with a fatherly pat. "I guess that's what makes you good partners."

"I don't know." Cheryl sagged a little. "I was so scared. I was in danger of caving any minute. And that - creep - knew it and played me. He figured I was soft because I was a woman and so he played me."

She heard Dr. Sloan's husky chuckle. "And do you think he wouldn't have played you if you'd been a man? Just played you differently? I think he knew how to manipulate whoever was holding that gun, Cheryl. Besides, courage isn't about not being afraid - it's about what you do even though you're afraid. At least you know you did what Steve wanted."

Cheryl blinked harder at the glass. "I never thought of it that way." Of course, the one person I'd really like to hear that from has a tube down his throat.

"Then maybe you should start."

"So how come I feel so - guilty? Like I did this to him?"

"Oh, well…" Mark sighed heavily. "I could give you a half dozen medical and psychological reasons, but simply put, you're on emotional overload. It will all start to sift into proportion - gain a little perspective - over the next few weeks or months. And looking out for each other is part of the job - it's only natural to feel guilty when something goes wrong, even when it was out of your control. A little like being a parent, I guess. Against all reason, you feel like you should have been able to prevent it."

Cheryl glanced at his face and reached up and rested her hand over the one on her shoulder. She felt a small, returning squeeze.

"And for what it's worth…every time he leaves the house to go to work, I feel a little better knowing that it's you who's watching his back."

Oh, that did it. Cheryl released his hand to blot hastily at her eyes and nose with her sleeve again. Well, Amanda isn't going to be wanting this robe back. "Thanks," she whispered.

"I wonder if you would mind doing me a favor?" She noticed that Dr. Sloan kept his eyes discreetly on the glass while she pulled herself together. "I need to see Dr. Ellis about Steve's treatment, but I hate to leave him alone. Would you mind sitting with him until I get back?"

Cheryl knew that he was well aware that that was exactly why she was haunting the hall and she was so touched by his tact that it was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms around him and hugging him. "I'd love to."

Another pat on her shoulder. "Thank you. I won't be long."

"Yeah." She smiled wryly. "I know."

TBC