A/N: Thank you for reading along. I know it's just a very small, focused story in a very concentrated compass of time and incident: almost just a snapshot, so I especially appreciate your kind attention. Special thanks to the naggy women - watch out, I may nag back. ED

Epilogue

"I can't believe it! I can't even go away for a couple of days without you acting as some over-sized dog's over-sized chew toy! I mean, if you missed me so much, couldn't you just call or something?"

Mark paused outside the door to shake his head with a smile. The only thing more energetic than Jesse on a normal day was Jesse after a vacation.

"Miss you? You've got to be kidding."

Mark's smile evaporated. Steve, on the other hand, sounded weary and drained. Well, what had he expected. Seventy-two hours was hardly enough time to bounce back. Still…he poked his head around the door with a smile of greeting.

"It's the Demerol," Jesse continues briskly. "Demerol always makes you cranky."

"I am not cranky." The protest lacked some of Steve's usual conviction. "Are you even supposed to be looking at that? You are not my doctor."

"You mean I'm not your attending. I am your doctor. And Dr. Ellis is very interested in having me consult. I'm making a note about the Demerol."

"Well, you gentlemen are certainly very lively this morning."

Jesse peeked over the chart he was scribbling on. "Hey, Mark. Just trying to do my bit. Little as it is appreciated." He tried to look longsuffering.

"Yeah, you'd think the lack of appreciation would discourage him, wouldn't you? Morning, Dad."

"Oh, I don't think that anything discourages Jesse, son." Mark moved farther into the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the chart himself. "So, what's the prognosis, doctor?"

"Doesn't look good. I foresee many cranky days ahead with a bad attitude."

"I'd like to see your attitude after fending off an attack dog that size." Steve considered Jesse through sleepy, narrowed lids. "Or, in your case, a Chihuahua."

Jesse whistled through his teeth, writing busily on the chart. "Cranky, bad attitude…" he murmured along as he wrote, "…and really, really harsh…"

Despite his words, Mark thought he looked secretly pleased. Probably, he thought wryly, because Steve had sounded almost like himself. A little more of Jesse's needling and things might be close to normal. "And your recommended course of treatment?"

Jesse grinned. "A change of scene. I think these four walls are starting to crowd him."

"Well, what a coincidence. I just happened to stop by to see if he wanted to try a stroll down the corridor."

Steve looked from one to the other. "You mean it? I actually get to take a walk?"

"Well, a small one." Mark went to the closet and pulled out a robe. "We'll see how it goes."

"Anything, if I can just lower this arm for a while. It's driving me crazy. I can't turn over - I can barely move."

"Keeping it elevated is very important. And you don't want to be rolling over on it anyway. Want to come, Jess?"

Jesse shook his head without looking up from the chart. "Naw - I'll wait here. It's important that I make sure that Dr. Ellis knows what she's in for."

"Just helpful to a fault," Steve groused, trying to shift forward. Mark leaned in to help him, taking a lidded cup from his hand and squinting at it curiously. He sniffed at the straw, noticed that Jesse had one too. "What on earth are you drinking?"

"Strawberry milkshake." Steve paused to catch his breath. "Cheryl brought them. It's Friday, and we - stop for them every Friday. My doctor cum stand-up comedian - " he tossed Jesse a pallid version of his best glare and Jesse smiled serenely in return, " - said it was okay."

Mark was busy releasing his arm from the suspension equipment. "No, it's a good choice, actually - nutritious and easy to swallow - it's the real kind, isn't it?"

"Oh, yeah." Steve shook his head. "All natural." He gave a small sigh of relief as Mark lowered his arm into a sling. "I've never been able to talk her into the other kind."

"Smart girl."

"Sentimental. She wanted to make a toast." Mark raised his brows questioningly and Steve shrugged, a little self consciously. "To still being alive."

Mark winced, then nodded, helping to guide his good arm into the robe sleeve. "She have to get to work?"

"Nope. She's on administrative leave for another couple of days. She had a date with the police shrink. Ten visits before they'll think about clearing her for active duty. Five for me." He sucked air in slowly as Mark helped him to dangle his legs over the side of the bed, sat for a second to let things settle, then released the breath in a rush. He tried to smile as he rubbed away the thin sheen of sweat that had sprung out all over his face. "Okay, that was a good workout," he breathed, with an attempt at lightness.

Mark frowned. "Maybe it's too soon for this."

"No, no - I'm fine, I'm great…" He leaned heavily on Mark's shoulder as they rose slowly, made a grab for the IV stand to take some of his weight. "Heck, I might even decide to jog."

"I thought - just as far as the atrium. So you could get a little sun." He noticed Steve's white knuckled grip on the IV stand and slipped an arm around his waist.

"I'm okay," Steve insisted, sounding like he wasn't quite sure he believed it himself.

"We'll move nice and slow," Mark assured him, steering him toward the door. "Just to the atrium and back."

Steve judiciously chose to conserve his breath and just nodded.

They shuffled along the corridor at a pitiful pace, keeping close to the wall and out of the way of the hustling hospital staff. Steve stopped once and leaned into the wall for a short rest, but refused Mark's offer to turn back.

"You promised me some sunshine," he puffed. "And I'm looking forward to it."

By the time they actually reached the atrium, Mark was watching his color with mounting concern. "Why don't we just sit here and relax for a little while," he suggested, as he helped Steve lower himself onto one of the available chairs.

Steve couldn't quite suppress a gasp of relief as he carefully leaned into the seat back. He nodded his thanks and haltingly lifted first one foot, then the other, onto the seat of another chair. One corner of his mouth twisted up into a smile. "You know, somehow I always thought that it would be me doing this for you," he quipped as he got comfortable.

"Oh, you'll have your chance." Mark watched him, mentally running down a checklist of symptoms as he settled the wheeled IV stand close by. "Are you warm enough? Need anything?"

Steve shook his head, tilting his face to catch the sun and closing his eyes. "This is more like it."

Mark pulled a chair opposite. "Steve, you've only been in the hospital for three days and you've been out of your head for most of it. You can't tell me that you're really bored with your room already!"

Steve smiled. "I can tell where I am, even when I'm out of it. It's like being shut in a box."

Mark flinched at the disturbing image that created, noticed that Steve was unconsciously cradling his injured elbow against his chest with his good hand. "Arm bothering you?"

Steve made a small, noncommittal sound. "To be honest, I think I feel my head more."

"Well, that's not surprising. You took quite a blow. It's a wonder you didn't bleed to death from that wound, even without -" Suddenly not liking the sound of his own conversation, he petered off, searching for something else to talk about. "So," he ventured at last. "Have you decided about seeing the police psychiatrist?"

Steve chuckled. "You make it sound like Newman gave me an choice. I go and get cleared for active duty, mentally and physically, or I end up driving a desk."

"I see." Mark nodded. "I do think it's a good idea though, don't you?"

Steve yawned and shrugged without opening his eyes. "I don't know. I thought it was a little excessive at first - until I heard what sounded like a chain rattling in the hospital corridor and nearly jumped through the ceiling. Was just an orderly with a cart as it turned out, but it made me realize I'd better do something or risk climbing on a chair every time our neighbor walks her poodle past the house."

Mark's lips twitched under his mustache. "Bad for your cop image."

Steve nodded sagely. "Very bad."

"Well, I don't think you'll be sorry."

Steve squinted his eyes open. "It'll do Cheryl good, anyhow. She told me how you looked out for her. I appreciate it, Dad. She had a tough time. And I know you must have been - er - a little distracted at the time."

"Hm." Mark smiled faintly. "Now, what on earth might have been distracting me? And Cheryl and I leaned on each other, I'd say." He reached over and patted one of the slippered feet resting on the chair lightly.

Steve scratched delicately at the bandage on his bad arm. "I think it's harder, in a way, on the ones left standing. I remember from Vietnam - we called them the walking wounded. They were hurt too, but they had to keep going, to help carry the more seriously wounded off the field, to keep dodging bullets - they were the ones who didn't get to lie down."

Mark peered thoughtfully at him. "I don't think you were exactly enjoying a lie down," he offered quietly.

"No, I know." Steve sighed, stretching out as far as he could. "I'm just glad it's over."

Mark privately suspected that it was far from over, that the shadows would linger for some time to come, but he didn't see anything to be gained in expressing his fears, so he let it pass. Instead he said, "Want something? A drink, maybe?"

Steve brightened hopefully. "Coffee?"

Mark looked apologetic. "Sorry. Too dehydrating. How about lemonade?"

Steve sighed resignedly. "Sure."

Mark rose, then hesitated. "Don't go wandering off -"

Steve closed his eyes again, soaking in the sun. "Now, where would I go? Or, to be more accurate, hobble?"

Mark glanced over his shoulder only once on the way to the small snack counter. He paid for two large lemonades, then turned to tote them back to the chairs in their sunny corner. He put his down on his chair and held to the other one out to Steve.

Steve's eyes were still closed and his lips were slightly parted. He almost looked as though he hadn't moved since Mark had left. Mark was about to remark on it when he paused, looking more closely.

"Steve…?" He spoke softly, just in case. No answer. Mark shook his head. Despite the activity buzzing around the atrium, Steve was sound asleep. He'd better wake him and get him back to his room so that he could lie down and rest comfortably.

He reached over to give his shoulder a gentle shake, then hesitated. He looked so peaceful. It seemed a shame to disturb him. And the sunlight was so pleasant…

He sat looking for a little longer, thinking, then made a decision. He moved his chair until it was right next to Steve's and lifted his own feet, stretching them out to share the chair-footrest. He arranged Steve's lemonade where it could be close at hand if he awoke, but not so close so that he would knock it over in his sleep, and then sipped a long, sweet draught of his own drink.

It wasn't quiet here, precisely, but it had its own kind of peace. He enjoyed the sounds of buzz and bustle that made up the hospital in motion - the jangling of carts, the scraps of medical conversation, the underlying, echo-y voice of the PA system. To him, they meant that all was right with the world. They meant home.

He settled back to enjoy the sights and sounds around him, turning every now and then to watch the reassuring rise and fall of his son's chest. He smiled. What was it Steve had said that he and Cheryl had toasted to? To still being alive? A fine toast indeed. He could drink to that.

Quietly, he leaned over and bumped his plastic tumbler against Steve's, lightly, so as not to disturb him.

To staying alive, son, he saluted silently. For a very, very long time to come.

To life.

The End