Chapter Five: As Ye Sow, So Shall Ye Reap
"That was amazing!" Cheryl gushed as they came out of Cirque du Soliel. "I have never, ever seen anything like it!"
"I think it was kind of freakish myself," Ron commented.
"If you would just consider the strength required for some of those stunts, you would have to be impressed," Kathryn told him. "Admit it, you never thought a bunch of dancers could be so athletic, did you?"
Steve grinned, both to see his friend put on the spot and to see that Cheryl and Kathryn had finally found some common ground. It seemed to him that they had been at odds in every conversation since he'd come out of surgery, but he couldn't figure out why.
"Ok, ok, yes, they are surprisingly strong," Ron conceded as he made a path through the crowd for the others to follow, "but why not put that strength to use doing something productive instead of hanging from the rafters and prancing around on stage in strange costumes?"
"Because they are artists," Cheryl told him impatiently.
"That's wasted on him," Kathryn said. "The man has all the imagination of a . . . of a horned toad."
"A horned toad?" Cheryl, Steve, and Mark echoed in disbelief.
"Well, yeah, we're in the desert. It's a desert animal. Work with me, people!" Kathryn said expansively, including all the tourists within earshot in her plea for understanding.
"I have plenty of imagination when it counts," Ron defended himself.
"Oh, yeah? Prove it!" Kathryn taunted him in a voice that made it clear what she was imagining.
"We don't have that kind of relationship, Agent Wakely," Ron replied, stopping at the curb and turning to face his friends, standing firm, arms folded across his chest.
With a sly grin, Kathryn sidled up to him, tugged gently on his tie, and, in a sultry, sexy voice told him, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, Agent Wagner."
Suddenly very uncomfortable, Ron held her at arm's length, stumbled backwards off the curb, and said, "Yes, um, well, uh . . . "
"Oh, never mind," Kathryn said in mock frustration. Turning to Steve, she said, "You have enough imagination to entertain a lady, don't you?"
"I suppose I do, but given my medical condition, that might not be such a good idea," Steve replied as the limo pulled up and the driver came and opened the door.
"Dr. Sloan, are there any restrictions on physical activities after an operation like Steve's?"
"Not really," Mark said, but catching a sharp look from Steve, he amended, "but if a patient doesn't feel ready for something, it's best to hold off for a while."
"Oh, all right," Kathryn finally gave in as she climbed into the car and flopped down on the seat. "You're just going to be a lot of sticks in the mud tonight, aren't you?"
"You know, you can have fun without totally losing your mind," Steve said as he eased himself down beside her.
"But that's so boring. Now can we please open the champagne?" she nearly whined as Mark, Ron, and Cheryl crawled in to join them.
They all looked mutely at one another until Mark finally shrugged and said, "I don't see why not."
"Yay!" Kathryn cheered, and immediately got the bubbly out and took the foil off the cap. Handing the corkscrew to Mark, she said, "I think you should do the honors, Doctor Sloan, since you are the only other person who seems interested in enjoying himself."
Mark deftly opened the bottle, not spilling a drop, and filled four glasses. Steve drank sparkling water to avoid a reaction with his pain medication.
Pressing the button that activated the intercom to the front of the limo, Kathryn called, "Driver, let's cruise the strip for a while."
"Yes, ma'am. Do you have any particular destination in mind?"
"Nope!" Kathryn drained her glass in one gulp and handed it to Mark for a refill as she leaned back in the seat and cuddled against Steve. Though he was a bit surprised, Mark did not begrudge her more to drink.
Steve tried to hide a grimace of pain as Kathryn snuggled up beside him, but he was not entirely successful. Seeing his discomfort, Cheryl said, "I hate to be a wet blanket, but I have an early meeting tomorrow. Do you think we could just go back to the hotel?"
"Oh, come on, live a little, Sergeant Banks! You're in Las Vegas, anything goes." Kathryn seemed not to notice the dubious looks the others were giving her, but when no one echoed her sentiments, she sighed, "Oh, all right."
Pressing the intercom button again, she said, "Driver, take us back to the hotel, please."
As she settled back against Steve again, the limo made a series of turns and was soon headed back to the hotel. Kathryn blithely sipped her champagne, not seeming to notice the uncomfortable silence that had descended upon them.
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS
Dr. Wilfred Erickson chuckled softly to himself as he sprayed a light mist over the fresh linens on the carts in the basement. It had only taken a day or so of observation to figure out the hotel's routine, and he knew that while the guests slept or partied into the wee hours of the morning, these carts would be taken upstairs and unloaded into the maids' closets on each floor. The solution in his bottle contained a mild form of staph bacteria, no threat to anyone, really, unless they were in a medically fragile condition like Steve Sloan. Some of the contaminated linens would find their way into Sloan's bathroom in the morning, and when he fell ill a day or two later, if his father decided to investigate, the source of the infection would be traced right back to the hotel. No one would ever suspect him of poisoning his patient.
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS
"So, are you coming in or not?" Steve asked one last time.
"No, I don't believe I am," Kathryn told him firmly. "We have the limo until four in the morning, and I plan to enjoy it." She motioned for the driver to shut the door, and when it was closed and he had mover to the front of the vehicle again, she put the window down and said, "Sleep well."
"Yeah, thanks," Steve responded sarcastically. When the car pulled away from the curb, he muttered, "I wonder what's wrong with her."
"I think she's in heat," Cheryl muttered back.
When Mark and Ron stopped in their tracks and Steve shot her a surprised look, Cheryl clapped a hand over her mouth. Then she put her hand down, and with an embarrassed grin, she said, "I'm sorry. That was crude and inappropriate, and none of you were meant to hear it; but look at how she's been acting. She was flirting with all three of you, especially you, Steve, and she is supposed to be in a committed relationship with Winnie-whatever-his-name-is. Now, I don't know Kathryn well enough to be considered her friend, but one of you three should probably have a talk with the woman because something is definitely not right with her. I'll see you all in the morning."
As Cheryl walked off, the men looked at one another and Steve finally said, "She's right, you know. Kathryn likes to flirt, but she isn't usually so overt."
"But is it our place to say anything?" Ron wondered aloud.
"I dunno," Steve said. "I guess it depends on whether we object to her flirting with us."
"Why don't we wait and see how she is in the morning before we do anything?" Mark suggested.
"Yeah, ok."
"Sounds good."
As the two younger men headed for the elevator to take them to their floor, Mark chuckled, and under his breath muttered, "Cowards."
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS
In the limo, Kathryn pulled out her cell phone and checked her messages. She had felt the phone vibrate in her pocket at least half a dozen times during the show, and two or three more in the limo afterwards. Scrolling through the messages, she found they were all from her boyfriend. Sighing, she found his number in the list on her phone and pressed call.
"Kat! Where have you been?"
"Hello to you, too, Sweetheart," she said, ignoring the urgency in his tone. "Where's the fire?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you've only left me a dozen messages in the last three hours. Something serious must be happening for you to call me every fifteen minutes."
"Oh, I hadn't realized I was calling so often. I had just gotten off work and I was home and missing you, so I decided to call. How's your friend doing?"
"He's fine," Kathryn responded, realizing now why she had received so many calls, and feeling suddenly ashamed of her behavior earlier in the evening.
"So, what have you been doing?"
"Just more boring meetings," she said.
"From eight to midnight?"
"Look, Wincel," Kathryn snapped. "Either you trust me or you don't, and if you don't then . . . Then to hell with you!" Clicking the phone shut before he had a chance to respond, she tossed it into her evening bag, took the last of the champagne out of the refrigerator and filled her glass. "Driver!" she called pressing the intercom button. "Find a liquor store. I want something stronger than this complimentary fizzy stuff."
Draining her glass in one long gulp, she then put it aside and sat sulking while she waited for the car to stop at a liquor store. She loved Wincel, at least she thought she did, but she needed him to trust her. Then again, with her shameless flirting and come-ons this evening, she had already betrayed any trust he might have had in her. But even if the guys had been willing, she wouldn't have done anything, would she? Shrugging, and deciding it was too much of a dilemma for her to work out on her own in her current state, she sighed with relief and clambered out of the limo when it pulled into the parking lot of an establishment that sold fine wines and hard liquor. In another hour, she wouldn't care much what Winnie or anyone else thought of her.
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS
Kathryn skulked behind a potted palm in the hotel's restaurant, hoping against hope that she wouldn't have to face any of her friends right away this morning. She didn't remember much of the previous evening, but what she did recall made her feel foolish, embarrassed, and thoroughly ashamed of herself. Of course, the throbbing head and queasy stomach of a hangover didn't help.
"Looking for someone?"
The familiar, amused voice in her ear made her jump, and she could only hope that Mark Sloan bit his tongue when her shoulder hit his jaw. It would serve him right for finding humor in her humiliation.
She turned to face him, and before she could offer a cutting comment about his sneaking up on her, his expression changed to one of concern and, as he rubbed his jaw, he said, "You look like you had a difficult night. Are you ok?"
How could she be angry with him now? Bringing a hand up to fiddle nervously with an earring, she said, "Actually, I was hoping to avoid seeing you and the others this morning. I'm feeling a little, uh . . . rough around the edges."
Mark noted the dark circles under her eyes and the pasty, greenish-gray complexion and said, "So I noticed. How much did you have to drink after you left us?"
"I'd rather not say."
Mark took pity on the troubled young woman. "Well, why don't you go have a seat, and I will get you something to eat. Cheryl and Ron have already gone to their first meeting of the day and Steve went back upstairs to lie down after he ate."
"Is he all right?" Kathryn was immediately concerned for her friend, her own embarrassment and discomfort momentarily forgotten.
"Yeah, he's fine," Mark told her casually, "but last night tired him out more than he expected. He has a post-op check up this afternoon, and he's gonna take it easy until then. Now go have that seat, and order yourself a big glass of water, no ice. Sip it slowly through a straw, and I'll be with you in a moment."
When Mark arrived at the table, Kathryn was nursing a cup of strong, black coffee, and the water was untouched.
"I thought I said water," he admonished her sternly as he sat a dish of yogurt with fresh fruit on the table before her.
"Coffee doesn't have any calories either," she replied.
"But it does have caffeine, a diuretic, and it will compound the effects of your hangover." Taking the cup and moving it to a recently vacated table beside them, he shoved the water toward her. "Excessive alcohol intake wreaks havoc on the body," he explained. "It dehydrates you and depletes potassium, Vitamin C, and the B-Vitamins. Between the water, the fruit in the yogurt, and the poached egg with whole-wheat toast I asked them to send to the table, you should be feeling better sooner, rather than later."
When Kathryn looked at him dubiously, he said, "Next to abstinence, it's the world's best hangover cure."
Shrugging, Kathryn sipped her water, hoping if she complied with his orders that he wouldn't question her too closely about her behavior the previous night. When it was about half gone Mark pushed the yogurt and fruit toward her.
"The banana slices replenish potassium and the mandarin orange wedges and strawberries are high in Vitamin C," he said. "The yogurt will coat your stomach so you don't feel too nauseous."
Nodding gratefully, Kathryn took a tentative bite of the smooth, cool, fruity concoction. It tasted surprisingly good, better than any yogurt she had ever had, and she figured it must have had something to do with it filling an immediate need for certain nutrients, almost like a pregnant woman craving certain foods.
When the waiter delivered her poached egg and unbuttered wheat toast, Kathryn risked speaking for the first time since Mark had taken her coffee away. "I suppose this would be the B-Vitamins, right?"
"Yes, it would," Mark confirmed, "especially in the egg yolk, so be sure to dip your toast in it."
Kathryn broke off a corner of the toast and did as she was told. It wasn't as tasty as the fruit and yogurt, but somehow, it was still more satisfying than she had expected, and to her surprise, she was feeling a little better already.
"I think we need to have a little talk," Mark said when she had finished the toast and most of the egg, and Kathryn hung her head. What had she been thinking about feeling better?
"Look, Doctor Sloan . . . "
"You know you can call me Mark," he interrupted. "You weren't acting like yourself, and I am not the only one who noticed."
"I know," she said, "and I'm sorry. I'll apologize to the others later."
"That's good," Mark encouraged her, "but I was thinking you might feel better if you talked about it with a friend."
She eyed the old man suspiciously and could tell at a glance that he wasn't going to let her get away before she had told him what was troubling her. With a sigh, she studied her congealing egg and, pushing it away, sought for the words to tell him that his son was about to ruin the best relationship she had ever had with a man.
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS
Steve lay on the bed in his half of the suite staring up at the ceiling and feeling pitiful. He had really wanted to attend the Crime and Poverty seminar this morning. As long as he'd been a cop, he'd known that the reasons people committed crimes often varied with their financial circumstances, and this was the first time in a long time that anyone had taken a close look at the desperation of some of the poorest people who turned to crime just to survive. His colleagues often teased him for being a softie at heart, but he still believed that a proactive community, helping the helpless before they became desperate enough to do something criminal, was more effective than the best police force on the planet at stopping the kinds of crimes that were most often committed by the poor. He had really wanted to see if the seminar would prove his point, but after breakfast, he had just felt too weak to sit through the three-hour session. In fact, it had been all he could do to stand up in the elevator and walk down the hall back to the suite.
A soft knock on the door roused him from his melancholy. "Come in," he called.
"Hey, Partner," Cheryl said softly as she entered the room.
"Hey," Steve smiled, glad to see her, and then he frowned. "Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting?"
"Yeah, but it's that guy Vasquez from Miami Beach," she told him. "I figured I could miss a few minutes to come check on you and not really miss anything."
"Vasquez? The one with all the pie charts from the conference in San Fran last year?"
"The one and only," Cheryl confirmed.
"Ugh. You could miss the whole meeting and not miss much," Steve told her.
"Steve! Shame on you!" Cheryl chastised him.
"Tell me I'm wrong," he deadpanned.
Cheryl opened her mouth twice to respond, and then realizing her partner was right about Detective Vasquez from Miami Beach, she just laughed.
"See what I mean? You can't even defend him without lying."
"Enough about him," Cheryl changed the subject. "How are you feeling?"
Steve gave it some thought and then said, "Tired. I was feeling sorry for myself until you came in. Kinda pathetic, really."
"Why?"
"Ohhh, because I don't seem to be able to do much more than eat and sleep, I suppose. Or maybe it's because I was wondering what's on TV but I don't even have the energy to roll over and pick up the remote."
Chuckling, Cheryl went round the king-sized bed and brought the remote control back to him on the other side of the mattress. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
Steve considered for a moment and then said, "Get me, no, but I wouldn't mind some company, unless you want to get back to Vasquez and his pie charts."
Cheryl shuddered in mock horror. "Who are you kidding?" She went round the bed again and climbed up beside her partner. Sitting with her back straight against the headboard and her legs tucked up under her, she took the TV guide off the nightstand and flipped through it. "Ooh! Die Hard is on channel seventeen."
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS
I can't believe I am discussing this with his father, Kathryn thought to herself.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud," she replied. I can't believe I said that aloud. "Mark, you knew Steve and I had sort of a . . . a thing going on, didn't you?"
"A thing? What kind of thing?"
"You know," Kathryn began awkwardly, "where we meet up at these conferences once or twice a year and . . . "
"And you uh . . . " Mark made some nervous gestures with his hands that had nothing at all to do with the topic of conversation.
"Uh-huh," Kathryn confirmed.
"And maybe you tack on a day of vacation so you can, ummm . . . " More random, uncomfortable gesturing.
"Exactly!" There was no doubt in Kathryn's tone that they were talking about the same thing.
"No," Mark deadpanned, "I didn't know that."
At Kathryn's expression of mortification, he explained, "That is, Steve never said anything, so I couldn't be sure, but I had pretty much assumed that was what was happening."
Kathryn breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that what she hadn't said wasn't news to him.
"But this time you didn't," Mark continued when she didn't know what to say next.
"Right!"
After another awkward silence, he supplied, "Because of Winnie."
"Right!" This time, probably because he didn't know how to continue, Mark gave her a questioning look.
"I'm awfully fond of him," Kathryn explained, suddenly wondering whether the old man really was as uncomfortable with the conversation as he seemed, "Winnie, that is. And Steve, too! And I would never, ever do anything to hurt him. I mean Winnie. So, I told him . . . I mean Steve . . . that we couldn't . . . "
She gestured futilely, and, from her reluctance to say the words, Mark got a good idea of what it was that she had told Steve they couldn't do. Wanting to help her move the discussion along, he added, " . . . so you didn't."
"Right!"
"So the problem is . . . " Mark actually had a good idea what the problem was, but he felt she needed to be the one to say it.
"I wanted to!" the young woman wailed. "Mark, what should I do?"
Mark had intended to coax her to talk about her dilemma more, to help her work things out for herself, but the plea was so heartfelt and sincere that he didn't have the heart to drag the conversation out.
"Sweetie, I can't tell you what to do," he said. "I don't know what you should do, but I do know my son, and I can tell you a few things that might help you make a decision."
"Uh-huh?"
The questioning tone she used showed more than anything just how confused the poor girl was about her feelings. Reaching out and patting her hand, Mark shared with her a few home truths that he thought she probably already knew but hadn't really considered.
"First of all, Steve is not interested in casual sex," he began. "The fact that he has been maintaining this on-again off-again affair with you for so many years, especially after what happened the first time the two of you were together, tells me that he feels genuine affection for you and that he probably hoped that a real relationship would someday develop."
"Ok." She waited expectantly for him to go on.
"He would never share you with another man. He believes in monogamy for both partners, so he would never be with you if he was seeing someone else, either."
"I know that," Kathryn said, narrowing her eyes. Suddenly, Mark didn't seem so uneasy discussing the things that went on between a man and a woman.
"Nothing meaningful will ever happen if you can only see each other a few times a year, and Steve has never seemed very interested in leaving the LAPD," Mark continued, deliberately oblivious to Kathryn's piercing gaze.
"Do you think that's because no one has ever suggested it?" Kathryn hated the hopeful, almost pleading tone in her voice.
"No, I don't," Mark told her flatly, "but you'd have to ask him to be sure."
Kathryn nodded, and Mark finished up. "Being fond of someone usually isn't enough to make a life together, no man wants to know he was your second choice, everyone deserves to be happy, and everyone deserves to be loved more than anything in the world."
Kathryn frowned. "You're talking about Winnie, aren't you?"
Mark shrugged. "You never said you loved him, but that doesn't mean you don't."
Kathryn slouched back in her chair in a most unladylike fashion and sighed. "So what do I do?"
Chuckling slightly, Mark got up from the table, and, patting her on the shoulder said, "That's for you to figure out, Sweetie."
"Thanks a lot," the glum tone told him that she didn't feel like he had helped her very much, but as he walked away, she caught his hand and looked up at him. "I do feel better, thanks."
"Just remember, water, fruit, yogurt, eggs and whole-wheat toast."
Grinning up at him, she said, "The world's best hangover cure."
WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN VEGAS
Cheryl smiled as she watched her partner sleep. Sometime around John McClane's 'Yippie-ki-yay' line, she had been alerted to his somnolent state by a soft snore, and, having seen Bruce Willis catch the bad guys and reunite with his wife in time for Christmas several times before, she had decided to turn down the volume, stretch out beside him, prop her head on one hand, and observe.
His hair was tousled and getting a little longer than he usually kept it, and she wondered if he would be surprised that she noticed. One lock of hair was curling into his left eye, making the lid twitch frantically. Careful not to disturb him, she reached out and moved it away, allowing her fingers to trail back through the soft brown hair, around the ear, and caress his jaw with the backs of her fingers. In his sleep, he turned his head and nuzzled against her hand, and she smiled.
Though she would never admit it to anyone, Cheryl had been observing Steve Sloan since before he knew who she was, and not just because he was easy to look at, either. She had joined the LAPD knowing she wanted to make detective one day, and by the time she was ready for her sergeant's exam, he had already made quite a name for himself in the department. Even if she never got to know him, she would have looked to him as a mentor and role model.
By the time she was partnered with him, Steve had already caught the Casanova Killer, the Clown Killer, and another serial killer who found his victims by their webcam sites. He'd arrested a DA who had executed a Russian mob hit man she couldn't convict, a SWAT team sharp shooter who'd killed one of his subordinates so he could be with the man's scheming wife, and a police captain and a city councilman who were in cahoots to oust Chief Masters by making him look dirty. He'd apprehended a hit man who used terminally ill patients to kill his targets, stopped Carter Sweeney twice, and would have toppled the Ganza crime family if Gordon Ganza hadn't been killed by one of his own people before Steve had recovered from a hit man's bullets. Even so, before he had fully returned to health, he had managed to stop Ian and Malcolm Trainor in the process of stealing Ganza's assets.
Cheryl couldn't believe her luck when she was assigned to work homicide with the man she had so long admired. They had clicked immediately, and their record together had had quite a few high points over the years. Though others in the department, jealous of Steve's, and later Steve's and her, success claimed he wouldn't have gotten anywhere without his dad's help and police connections, Cheryl knew Steve was a shrewd investigator in his own right. He might not have inherited his father's gift for intuitive leaps in logic, but he had the same keen intellect, which most people failed to notice because his athletic good looks gave the impression that he was a dumb, muscle bound jock.
One thing Cheryl knew that few others in the department realized was that, besides helping Steve with his more difficult cases, Mark Sloan, and by association, Jesse Travis, and Amanda Bentley, also helped to keep her partner sane. Steve felt the pain of each life lost to senseless violence more keenly than most people knew. Of course, he never lost control, unless it was in a fit of temper, but she could always tell the moment the tragedy of the death struck him. The sparkling blue eyes would dim and normal his friendly expression would become a somber mask. Most people thought the transformation was just the professional façade he had to maintain in order to do his job, but after years of working with him, she knew it was really his way of dealing with the distressing realization that one human being could do such horrible things to another.
The years had taken their toll on Steve in subtle ways the casual observer might not notice, but Cheryl was his partner and she could tell. Even when he smiled and was supposed to be having fun, sometimes there was a hard set to his jaw, a coldness in his eyes, or a tension in his shoulders that belied all the senseless tragedy he had seen. It was hard for a cop, used to dealing with the dregs of humanity, to be optimistic. Steve still managed to remain hopeful, and his work with at-risk kids at the Never Say Die gym proved his continued faith in people, but Cheryl could tell that every year, he had to work harder to hold on to that faith. She wouldn't be surprised if one day, he decided to retire from the force out of the blue, simply because he was sick and tired of seeing the rotten things people did out of greed, lust, and envy.
Steve shifted slightly in his sleep, and the comforter slipped down from around his shoulders, and Cheryl smiled again. In repose, Steve looked younger than his years. In fact, with his face relaxed, without the furrowed brow and thoughtful, almost suspicious expression that he always wore when working, he looked much too young to have had such a long and storied career in such a physically and emotionally demanding profession. She could only hope she would look as good when she had his years and experience.
Cheryl felt something intensely intimate in this moment as they shared a bed for no other reason than that they were keeping each other company. She felt the implicit trust her partner was showing her in letting her watch over him while he slept, and it started her thinking about other things, other possibilities for them. She wondered how things would have been different if they had worked in the same squad but with different partners. Would either of them have had as much professional success? Would they have had a different personal relationship?
In the space of two breaths, a lifetime of possibilities flashed through her mind, and her smile turned into a wide grin. They would either have been great together, or they would have driven each other mad. She gently pulled the comforter back up around Steve's shoulders, kissed the tip of her index finger, and placed it softly against his lips. She laughed silently when his lower lip pulled in under her feather-light touch and wondered if he had sucked his thumb when he was a baby. She slipped off the bed and crept soundlessly out of the room, then, with a sigh, she turned and prepared herself to go back and face Detective Vasquez and his pie charts again.