Chapter 9 And Thereto I Pledge You My Love

The light faded in and out of the corners of his mind, and with it came voices. Some shouting frantically, "Clear!", some soothing, "Steve, it's your dad," and still others full of fear, "He's gonna die." He couldn't decide if they were real or only clouded memories.

Visions of family and friends floated around him. His mother's smile, a birthday party when he was ten years old, a wave washing over him when he crashed into it surfing, making love to a beautiful woman. The warmth of their company replaced the weariness of his struggle.

Then came the horrors of life, a war waging around him, gunshots going off in all directions, people screaming his name.

It was far too much for his boggled mind to sustain, so, he gave up the battle waging in his thoughts and completely succumbed to the darkness.

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Jesse had just come on duty when he was notified that the medivac chopper was about to arrive, and he left the ER, racing up the stairs to the roof of the hospital to meet it. As he exited onto the roof, the huge blades that swished in circles above their heads forced him to scream in order to be heard. The patients arriving by chopper usually needed immediate attention and there was really very little time spent on the roof, but the loud yelling only served to intensify the drama.

As he looked up at the descending helicopter, a chill ran through his body. He couldn't decide if it was a byproduct of the wind from the rotors and the momentary obliteration of the sun by the chopper's body or whether it was his reaction to the fact that he knew it carried his best friend who was once again fighting for his life.

"How's he doing?" Jesse yelled to the paramedic, who was already moving the gurney out of the helicopter.

The rescue worker looked directly at Jesse; his eyes clearly stating the seriousness of the situation. "Not good," he shouted above the roar of the chopper, as he continued to push Steve toward the elevator doors. "Dehydrated, lost a lot of blood, gunshot wound to the right side, bruising on the left face and torso, and" He motioned toward Steve's left hand which was wrapped up in what appeared to be a sweater.

Jesse looked at the hand and then back at the paramedic, confusion written all over his face.

"Witness at the scene says that he thought his hand was broken."

"Ok," Jesse shrugged his shoulders. Improvising was usually Mark's forte, but obviously Steve had finally caught on to it. "Thanks," Jesse told the man as they entered the elevator.

The paramedic stood back as the doors swished closed, and it was then that Jesse picked up the chart that was lying on top of Steve's chest. He surveyed it, a worried scowl appeared on his face, and he prayed that they weren't too late.

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Ellen watched as her husband slowly moved and positioned himself in front of her on the floor of the small room. She knew what he was trying to do, protect her from the eminent danger. This was so like him, it was something that he had done since the day they had met. However, this time it seemed a futile endeavor. In their weakened physical state, they were both virtually defenseless.

The chief of police, a man who should have been there to help them, was, instead, talking about a deceit that ran deep within the police department. It all seemed surreal and Ellen wondered if perhaps it were a dream.

As she watched the gun being removed from the plastic bag and pointed at Steve, the fear that struck her soul was overwhelming. The thought of him dying was more than she could bear, and, wanting to hold him, she reached out, but could only grab the back of his shirt. She had seen the look of determination and love in Steve's eyes when, for a brief second, they had locked gazes, and now she felt so helpless, not being strong enough to do anything but sit and watch the terrible drama unfold in front of her.

She grabbed tighter on the fabric, hoping that Steve would realize how much she loved him, as she heard, "I guess this is good-bye, Lieutenant."

"Steve." She forced herself to say the single word.

Ellen called out his name again, "STEVE!" only this time much louder, and, with a start, she opened her eyes and looked around, surprised to find that she wasn't in the small room anymore.

"It's ok," a soothing voice calmed her.

"Amanda, what happened?" Ellen felt very disoriented. "Where am I? I just had this terrible dream." She tried to slow down her rapid breathing and looked around, realizing that they were in a hospital room and that she was obviously the patient since an IV was attached to her arm. Ellen looked at her friend with a new sense of fear. "It wasn't a dream, what it? Steve really got shot?"

A gentle, but sad, smile appeared on Amanda's face and she slowly shook her head as she replied. "No, it wasn't a dream."

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As Mark sat by his son's bedside, he couldn't help but let the images of the last few hours fill his mind. Call it instinct or perhaps wishful thinking, but he had known that they would find Steve and Ellen, however, he wasn't prepared for the mayhem that would occur at the scene.

"Mark, we're almost there and when we arrive, you'll need to stay in the van." Ron was very insistent. He hadn't fully calmed down from the flat tire incident, and Mark could sense the irritation in his voice.

The doctor just nodded his head, not wanting to commit verbally to the order. He knew that he wouldn't be remaining in the van, and he guessed that Ron knew it too, but he figured if he only nodded, he could devise a way out of it later.

The vehicle came to a stop and the three FBI agents quickly and quietly exited it, bulletproof jackets in place and guns drawn and ready. Just as the last man stepped out, gunshots were heard coming from inside the only building in the vicinity, which was about thirty feet away.

Mark couldn't help but poke his head out and look toward the warehouse where the sounds were emanating, but quickly ducked back inside when several men came running from it, weapons in hand. He held his breath as he squatted on the floor of the van, instinctively covering his head with his arms. Several more shots rang out, and then "Hold your fire!" was shouted, and the noise stopped.

There were more moments of silence, which seemed like an eternity, and then Mark heard, "Where's Dr. Sloan? We need him in here!"

Mark gave no regard to his safety, but quickly stood and left the van. "Captain Woodruff? Are you all right?" Steve's superior stood in front of him, looking rattled, his gun still in his hand but pointed at the ground.

Captain Woodruff nodded. It had been a long three days, and even though it seemed as if it were over, he was still in defensive mode. On the ground were three fallen men, one of them in a policemen's uniform, two in suits, but all three were being guarded by other men.

"Where's Steve?" Mark anxiously asked.

"In here," the captain replied, turning toward the warehouse, which appeared to have been abandoned for some time. Mark jogged along behind and was led into the building and down a hallway to a small room passing several other fallen individuals along the way. When he stood at the doorway, he had to step over two additional bodies on the floor. One was a uniformed officer that Mark didn't recognize, but he immediately identified the second man as Chief Masters. It was obvious that they had both been shot. However, when Mark saw that Steve was also lying on the floor, he made his way to his son, giving little regard to the others.

Ellen was holding Steve across her lap while blood was flowing from a wound in his chest. Both of their faces were gaunt, sunken in, but Ellen still looked terrified.

Mark quietly asked, "Are you ok?"

She nodded. The older man patted her arm, noticing small bruises on her wrists and face. He knew that they weren't serious, but he also knew that someone had mistreated her, and it infuriated him. But he put aside the anger and shouted, "Someone get me a bottle of water!" He didn't turn to look, but he could hear footsteps running, hurrying to carry out his order.

Mark quickly surveyed Steve's body, noting the cuts and bruises to the left side of his face, and he gently opened his shirt to reveal a clear view of the gunshot wound on his right side. Deep bruises had formed along his left rib cage. Mark took his own jacket off, and folded it up and began to use it to put pressure on the bleeding wound.

"Here's a bottle of water, Sir," an officer that Mark didn't recognize offered.

"Thank you," was the reply. Mark twisted the lid off and handed it to Ellen. "Drink this, very slowly. Just sip it."

She took it from him and began to do as he asked, not saying a word.

"The ambulance is on its way, probably five minutes away." It was Captain Woodruff who made the announcement.

Mark knew how far out in the desert this warehouse was located, and he was surprised, but not at all unpleasantly, by the news. "Good. Let's hope that's soon enough for Steve." He turned and glanced at the other two fallen men. "Should I look at them too?"

"No, they're dead." Captain Woodruff's voice was emotional, but Mark couldn't tell if he was more sad or upset.

Knowing that there was little more he could do until the proper help arrived, Mark turned his attention to Ellen. "Sweetie, keep sipping the water. And try not to worry. Everything will be ok."

His daughter-in-law looked directly at him, and he kept a reassuring smile on his face and hoped that his eyes didn't betray his lie.

The first ambulance had taken Steve and another officer, who had been shot in the leg, to the nearest clinic with helicopter facilities, where they were both air-lifted to Community General Hospital. Mark had stayed with Ellen until a second ambulance arrived, and then she and one other policeman who had suffered only a minor wound were driven into the city, Mark riding along. And now that Steve had once again survived the life-saving surgery and Ellen was resting comfortably, all any of them could do was wait to find out the explanation.

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"Ron, say that one more time," Steve asked. It had been two days since they had been rescued from their prison, and Steve had thought that he was making good progress on his recovery, but this latest information was a shock.

"Captain Woodruff was the one who shot Chief Masters." Ron repeated his statement very nonchalantly. He addressed the reply to Steve, but he was glad that Mark, Jesse, and Steve's wife were all present.

"My memories are a little foggy, but I'm sure that Masters told me that Woodruff was working for him." Steve was sitting in the hospital bed. An IV was still in his arm, and since both sides of his torso hurt when he moved, he had resigned himself to staying as still as possible.

Ron shrugged his shoulders slightly. "That's probably what Masters thought, and maybe it was even true. But it seems that your captain couldn't stand by and watch you be executed. Woodruff has given us his side of the story, but we're still looking into all of the details."

"What other officers were involved?' Steve started to raise his left hand to scratch an itch on his head, but then remembered that it was in a cast, so he used his right one.

"From the LAPD or the FBI?" Ron asked.

"There were men from both," Mark interjected, realizing for the first time how far the treachery reached.

"Yes, and it will take some time before we'll know if we have them all."

"Masters was using his own people, like Ross Canin, to infiltrate organized crime himself?" Steve asked.

Ron nodded. "And it's worked for years now, kind of a mutual agreement. For a nice payoff, the Mafia families could conduct their business in LA undisturbed. Every now and then, when someone wouldn't play by Masters' rules, the police would find the evidence necessary to shut them down, usually killing them in the process."

"It's a very intricate plan," Mark interjected. "Designed by a brilliant mind."

"A Master-mind," Jesse piped up, a smile on his face showing his pride from his play on words.

"Is that what Samuel Hackett was going to tell the Feds?" Mark asked, totally ignoring his colleague's comment.

"Probably, but we'll never know, unless," he paused and looked directly at Ellen, who had been standing next to Steve's bed, taking in every word of the conversation, "you'd care to tell us what information Hackett shared with you?"

Ellen's mouth fell open in disgust. "Obviously, Agent Wagner, you don't know me very well. I didn't lie. Hackett didn't tell or show me anything." With each word the volume of her voice rose. "If he had, do you think I would have let them shoot Steve? I would never do...."

"Calm down," Ron insisted. "I didn't think that you knew that he'd slipped it in your purse, but I had to ask."

"Slipped what in my purse?" Ellen asked the question that was on everyone else's mind.

"A list of names, people who were on the payroll of the LAPD or the FBI, but were actually working for Masters. We found your purse on the floor in the back of the Neon, which was still parked outside the warehouse. The information was on a small thumb drive that Hackett must have slipped in there."

"Am I going to be shocked to find out whose names were on it?" Steve wanted to know.

"Maybe a little. I'll make sure a copy of the list is brought over here. But you'll be glad to know that the dumpster killings case you were working on has been solved."

Steve stared Ron, a little confused, and then it all made sense. "Those people were involved in this scheme too?"

Ron nodded again. "Not directly. They weren't in law enforcement, but it seems that they were still pawns of Masters' game. We're not really sure how far it reached."

The implications of the last remark were not ones that Steve wanted to consider at the moment. He knew that he was innocent, but when things like this happened, the trial usually occurred in the press, not a courtroom, and every cop was guilty until proved innocent.

The room had fallen very quiet as all of the occupants were working through the information.

Finally, Ellen broke the silence. "So, Agent Wagner, may I ask you a question?"

"Can you have first rights to the story? No."

His reply flustered the blonde woman. "What? Why not?" She was surprised not only by the fact that he had foreseen her question, but also that his reply was a negative one.

Ron just grinned at her for a long minute before answering, enjoying the fact that he had frustrated her so.

Ellen felt her face flush red. "You can't stop me you know, the first amendment, freedom of speech, I have a right to report it!"

"Yes, I know all of those things, Ms Sharp"

"That's Mrs. Sloan!" Ellen corrected him indignantly and received a smiling look from Steve. "We almost died because of this, if anyone has a right to report it, I do! They had planned on framing us, did you know that? Do you care? Where were you when they kidnapped me out of the police station and my husband from our home? We have been involved in this from the beginning, you can't just show up at the end and start telling people what they can and can't do."

Mark had watched Ron's grin of enjoyment fade as he faced the full wrath of the tiny blonde woman. He had been forced to hide the smile that played about his lips as Ron took a physical step back from Ellen.

Her tirade was interrupted by her husband. "You know, Honey, if you had gone after the bad guys like that we might have gotten out of there sooner."

Her reaction surprised everyone as she burst into tears and fled the room.

"Ellen!" Steve called, and, as she disappeared out the door, he began the arduous process of pushing himself up and out of the bed.

"Hey, hey," Mark spoke as he placed a restraining hand against his son's shoulder. "Where do you think you are going?"

"After my wife!" Steve stated as he continued his efforts to rise and threw a glare Ron's way. "This is all your fault."

"My fault? How is it my fault? I may be mistaken, but I think I'm the one that rescued both of you."

"I don't mean that," Steve responded testily. "I mean about upsetting Ellen."

"Steve, forgive me for saying this, but you might want to see if Mark can give her some medication that might make her a little less high strung."

No longer caring about the pain he was in or the IV line in his arm, Steve launched himself at the tall FBI agent. The cast on his left hand made a strange sound as it impacted with Ron's cheek. He didn't really know what happened after that, but his next awareness was of drops of water falling on his face, one of them slid into his mouth. It tasted salty. He became aware of someone stroking his hair and speaking quietly, and, when he forced his eyes open, he saw Ellen looking down at him. He felt himself being lifted off the floor, but the small hand that was tucked in his never lost contact. He offered her a smile, which she returned brightly.

"You know I always said you were slightly slow, why else would you try and get out of bed?" she asked quietly.

"To go after the woman I love," he whispered softly as he once again drifted off.

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"Come on, Jess, I need to get out of here." It was almost an order, but the younger doctor wasn't intimidated.

"No, Steve. You aren't strong enough. If I dismiss you, you'll go home and overdo it, trying to clean up the mess that is there. Look at the damage you did to yourself when you punched Ron."

"Jesse." It was spoken with a growl.

The younger doctor just smiled. There was some delight in watching his best friend struggle. Steve was good at intimidation, but it only worked on Jesse when Steve was well and could actually threaten a physical retribution. When he was Jesse's patient, none of the yelling or arguing worked in his favor.

They both jumped as the door to the room flew open revealing Ellen.

"Steve, Honey, how are you feeling this morning?" As she talked, she made her way over to the side of his bed.

Steve opened his mouth to respond but was left gaping like a fish as his wife continued on without allowing him the time to answer.

"I have got everything arranged at home, I have a hospital bed set up in the living room, and I will sleep on the couch, that way I can be with you every minute." She paused briefly as she turned to look at Jesse. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be taking care of things so that I can take him home? Where's the wheelchair? Don't we need a wheelchair? Hmmm, maybe I should have rented one of those as well."

Jesse took advantage of the break in the flood of words that had been pouring out of her mouth. "Ellen, I'm not sure he is going home today."

"What? But I have everything ready, I don't understand you said yesterday that he could come home today."

"I said MAYBE, I never said definitely," Jesse responded.

"No, no, you're wrong, that's not what you said, I was here and I heard it, you said he could go home."

Jesse turned an exasperated look on Steve who only shrugged in response and gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Ellen, I was here as well, and I think I know what I said." He tried one last time to make his point, feeling very exasperated.

Ellen offered him a look that was filled with pity. "I guess that's why you doctors have to rely on charts so much, you obviously can't remember what you say," and with a flip of her hair she dismissed him and perched on the bed beside her husband.

As she gazed into the blue eyes that were slightly crinkled in amusement, she felt a calmness descend around her, and she leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. As she moved to pull back, a hand halted her and the look in the blue eyes was now smoldering. This time as their lips met it was a deep fulfilling kiss, it represented their thankfulness that they were both there to share it and the promise of a bright future.

When they broke their contact Steve growled a comment in Jesse's direction. "I am going home today."

Jesse lifted his hands in surrender. "Ok, but you are taking a huge risk leaving right now," he muttered more to himself than anyone else, because the couple was once again lost in a kiss. "You could get an infection, rupture stitches on the ride home. What if you fell, Steve? Ellen isn't exactly Superman."

The growl was louder. "Jesse!"

"Have it your way." Jesse made his way to the door. "I'll go sign the papers and get the wheelchair." There was no way he could beat both of them, and he knew it. "I'll just make sure that Ron Wagner isn't being dismissed at the same time. Even though you didn't break his nose, he's still pretty angry at you."

A devilish smile came to Jesse's face as he turned and looked at them. He felt confident that as soon as Steve got home, he would be so smothered by his well-intentioned wife that he might just wish he were back in the hospital. Or maybe he would beg for extra shifts at Bob's. Or consent to do deskwork at the precinct for a month. Or

Jesse looked again at the couple who was obviously in love. Or maybe the two of them were perfect for each other, and he should just go and get the wheelchair.

The End