Chapter 4

Much had changed for Steve Sloan in the past eighteen months. The sight in his left eye had greatly deteriorated and the sight in his right was getting worse. After many consultations with Jonathan Harper and much discussion with his dad, Jesse and Amanda, Steve had decided against having the laser treatment. He knew that Mark wasn't happy with his choice but, as he had pointed out many, many times, it was his decision to make and, so far, he hadn't really regretted it.

After his meeting with the police doctor, Steve had been allowed back on active duty. He was pleased with this decision, although he did not appreciate the rider which said he was no longer allowed to drive whilst on duty. He argued long and hard that if the DMV saw fit to let him keep his licence then that should be good enough for the LAPD. Unfortunately, the force's rules did not allow for any leeway and Steve had to suffer the indignity of being chauffeured, as he saw it, around the streets of Los Angeles.  However, as his eyesight deteriorated, even that was denied him as once again, and permanently this time, he was taken off the streets and imprisoned behind a desk.

Since the diagnosis, Steve had had some dark days but the day he sat behind his desk, knowing that this time it was for good, was the worst. Within the department, Steve Sloan's temper was legendary as were the accompanying signs and anyone who came into contact with him that day were treated to the full force of both. Not only was he now unable to do the job which he loved, but he also had to endure the sympathetic glances of his colleagues.

Realising that Steve would be in an exceptionally foul temper when he arrived home, Mark decided on an attempt at placating him with his favourite food. So when Steve entered the house at just after six that evening, Mark had it all laid out on the large table outside.

Peering at the food, Steve asked, a little belligerently, "Are we having a party?"

Sighing, this evening was going to be difficult. "No, Steve, we aren't. I just thought you might like some ribs and fries for dinner tonight."

"So, no visitors?"

"Well," Mark spoke slowly, aware that Steve would not welcome his next words, "Jesse said he might pop in after his shift finishes for a coffee."

"Oh, great, the cheerleading squad!" Steve's response was heavily sarcastic.

Despite his enormous sympathy for his son's predicament, Mark wasn't going to let Steve get away with that.

"For your information, Jesse may be coming for a chat about a patient, with me. Steve, we all know that you are going through a hard time," his words were interrupted by a loud, derisive snort from his son, but he continued doggedly, "However, whilst I make every allowance for your occasional lapse in temper I will not tolerate your rudeness about Jesse. He has been nothing but supportive over the last few months."

Mark's tone was reminiscent of when he had told Steve off as a child. Under any other circumstances, Steve would have appreciated it and admitted his error. The trouble was, he really wasn't in the mood to being reduced to the mental state of a grubby schoolboy.

"I am fully aware of my situation, Dad, and I really am not in the mood for a lecture so can we leave it, please?"

"If that's what you want, Steve." Mark's voice was clipped with annoyance, "Do you want something to eat now?"

By this time the aroma of the special sauce had reached his nostrils and, whilst he wasn't in the mood to be conciliatory, Steve recognised that not eating would be counter productive and childish.

For the rest of the evening, both men sat out on the deck watching the slowly darkening evening sky and eating the food. The conversation was desultory, as well as stilted and it was very early when Steve made his excuses and went down to his unit to spend a restless night. Mark, too, turned in early as Jesse rang him saying he was going to be tied up for a long while and wouldn't arrive.

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The sun shone in through Steve's partially closed curtains the next morning and it was a particularly persistent ray playing across his face which woke him up. For a few seconds he lay there in that half-way house between sleep and full consciousness, then the events of the evening before thrust itself to the forefront of his brain and he was totally awake. Sitting up, Steve rubbed his hands over his face before throwing the covers off and swinging his legs round to place his feet on the floor. Walking confidently, he made his way across his bedroom into his bathroom to take a shower.

Over the past few months, as his sight deteriorated, Steve had spent a lot of time considering the layout of his apartment. He had looked around and realised that there were no clear walkways in any part of his unit and he had set about changing that. So now, he could make his way from one area to another easily. As he stood under the pulsating spray, Steve smiled to himself; this thing with his eyesight had done something that his dad, in all his years of nagging, hadn't been able to do, that was to make him tidy.  In fact, it had got to the point where Steve himself got cross with a visitor if they didn't put something back where it should be. '

Stepping out of the shower, Steve dried himself off and quickly dressed before climbing the stairs towards his dad's area of the house.

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Like Steve, Mark had not slept very well that night and he had arisen the next morning feeling very sluggish and really not in the mood for his shift at the hospital.

Wandering into the kitchen, he made himself some coffee and pulled a jelly donut from the refrigerator. He knew it wasn't the best start to the day but, what the hell, he thought sometimes what's good for you isn't necessarily what you need. Hearing footsteps ascending the inside staircase, Mark hoped that Steve was in a better frame

of mind as he really wasn't in the mood for another argument.

Pushing the door open, Steve walked through into the kitchen.

"Good morning, Dad," he said, and Mark sighed a silent sigh of relief.

"Hi, Steve," he replied, "did you sleep well?"

"Not really," Steve admitted, "did you?"

"No," Mark answered, "Steve…."

"Dad," both men spoke at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Steve managed to get his apology in before Mark could speak again, "I had a really lousy day yesterday and I took it out on you."

"Yes, you did," Mark replied, "but if you can't come home and take your bad temper out on me, who can you take it out on? What are your plans for today?"

"I have an appointment with Jonathan this afternoon," Steve replied, with a grimace which showed exactly how he felt about that.

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Jonathan sat back and switched the light back on before flicking the lever which sat Steve upright. He sighed.

"Jonathan?" Steve heard the sigh and knew that he wasn't going to like what he heard.

"The sight in your left eye is now below the legal limit, Steve." he began, continuing before Steve, who had opened his mouth, was actually able to speak," Your right eye is still okay, for the moment. Given the rate of deterioration that you have experienced so far, Steve, you will have to give up your licence at that point."

For a long while, Steve sat staring into the middle distance. Knowing that, one day, he would no longer be able to drive was one thing but, to be given a timescale by which this would become a reality was a shock. He did not really hear the rest of what Jonathan had to say and left the office a while later in silence.

Steve decided that he really didn't want to see his dad, Jesse or Amanda, at the moment; he needed to process the latest information on his own. Getting into his car, Steve sat for a long while soaking up the feeling of being behind the wheel and thinking. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he turned on the ignition and drove to the precinct.  His only stop was in Jim Newman's office, and it was a brief stop, before he was out of the station and again behind the wheel of his car, driving off without a backwards glance.