Authors note: Many apologies for taking so long to post. There are a multitude of reasons which I won't go into here, but you can thank Sarah's nagging for me finally getting to this point. I really hope you enjoy it.-Judith
Chapter 6: Steve and Amanda Part 1Mark spotted his colleagues long before they saw him. They seemed deep in conversation their backs to him. "Do you mind if I join you?" he asked, making them both start slightly at the unexpected intrusion. The startled expressions were however short-lived as both of his young friends reacted with abject pleasure.
"Mark," Amanda greeted, her face lighting up with a positively beaming smile of welcome. She moved across to give him a hug, almost causing him to drop the tray that she somehow manoeuvred around.
Jesse stood too, taking the tray from Mark's hands and placing it on the table as his own smile grew. "Mark, it's good to see you back."
Amanda had tightened her hug, squeezing the air from Mark's lungs before pulling away.
"Well if I'd known I'd get this sort of reception I'd make sure I was out sick a little more often," Mark joked, the familiar sparkle back in his eye. Both Jesse and Amanda were relieved to see it. After the trauma he had suffered only three short weeks ago they had both feared that his recovery might take much longer.
"Jesse, said you'd be in today, but I didn't think it would be this early."
"It's not supposed to be," Jesse admonished gently as they all took seats around the table. "You're supposed to be taking it easy for the first week, short days, late starts early finishes remember?"
"I know Doctor and I promise to take it easy." Mark stated, acknowledging the concern.
"So why are you here in time for breakfast?" Jesse asked, indicating the uninviting porridge that Mark had selected from the canteens' mediocre fare. "Have you had enough of the early morning view of the beach?"
"Well I was hoping to have breakfast with Steve," Mark stated, "But he was up and out very early and I didn't fancy eating alone."
"How's Steve coping?" Amanda asked "I haven't seen too much of him recently although he's volunteered to take the boys out Saturday."
There was something very subtle that shifted in Mark's mood that betrayed the fact that Amanda had touched a nerve. "He seems to be fine," Mark stated, his brow creasing slightly "Physically all of his injuries have healed. . ." he let the rest of the sentence hang.
"But you're worried about him?" Amanda asked.
Mark nodded, "Despite being at home for the best part of three weeks I've still hardly seen him. He's pushing himself too hard, leaving for work early and often getting back late, and of course, he went back long before he should have. I'd say it was typical of him but. . ." He paused, looking first at Jesse and then back at Amanda as he tried to put his very real concerns into words. "There's something different going on and I can't get him to talk to me about it." He fixed his gaze on Jesse again. "Has he said anything to you?"
Jesse's own frown deepened a little. "To tell you the truth we haven't spoken much since he returned to work against my advice." Jesse's eyes clouded for a moment as he remembered the argument they'd had. . .
"I need you to sign me back in as fit for work Jess." Steve stated, his frustration showing in his tone. "My suspension's been lifted and I really need to get back."
"But your injuries haven't healed yet Steve." Jesse felt a sense of déjà vu as he tried to retain his own patience. "You need to give your body time to recover from the trauma it's suffered and. . ." he paused choosing his words carefully. "You've also been under a lot of stress in the last few days." His tone softened. "You need to take the time to recover from that too."
"I'm fine," Steve stated for what seemed like the hundredth time, his frustration rapidly turning to anger. Why didn't Jesse understand that the best thing for his mental recovery was to get back to work? To face what he knew he would find there, the whispers and the taunts from those who were ignorant, from those who would believe the gossip, from those who had the 'no smoke without fire' mentality. He needed to face it, rather than putting it off. If he didn't, it would grow in his imagination to become far worse than the reality.
Not that the reality wouldn't be bad.
Why didn't Jesse understand that he had something important, something that wouldn't wait that he had to do? He had to go back to work so that he could find the person who had injured his father so grievously? He had to, the compulsion gnawed at him like a bad itch, at least a part of his thought processes were always absorbed by it, and sometimes it just took over, wouldn't, couldn't be quelled. Jesse had to understand that.
He had come far too close to losing Mark, to watching it happen. The images swirled in the periphery of his consciousness, ever present, drifting into focus in unguarded moments. If he tried to relax, if he tried to sleep, and nothing short of catching the man responsible was going to offer any comfort.
Why didn't Jesse understand that?
He stared at Jesse for a moment, considered putting his thoughts into words, but he couldn't do it, a stubborn part of his brain stamping it's metaphorical foot and telling him he shouldn't have to, that Jesse should just understand. This was what he had to do. A more rational part of him acknowledged that it was just too difficult, carried too much emotion. It was a vulnerability that he couldn't bring himself to show, even to his best friend. The rationality was brief, the anger asserting itself again. "I don't need any more time away from work I have a job to do." His voice was increasing in volume to match the emotion.
"And your job will wait," Jesse's own tone becoming a little more terse, although it still had a pleading edge to it. "Your body needs more time to heal."
"I'm at least up to riding a desk," Steve insisted. "I've done that feeling worse than I do now." his eyes narrowed. "Or do I have to find another doctor to confirm that." He pressed the point, hoping that Jesse would give in, hoping that it wouldn't come to that. Jesse was one of the few friends that he had at the moment, he didn't really want to alienate him.
Jesse let out a long sigh, knowing that this was one argument he was going to have to concede defeat on, however reluctantly. Steve would be able to get someone else to sign him back on for light duties. He would be able to suck it up enough to convince someone who didn't know him, that his injuries weren't really severe enough to stop him working altogether, but Jesse knew him better than most doctors would, and he knew that Steve would be faking most of the good health, not admitting to the pain he was still feeling, and he really did need the time to recover from the psychological ordeal as well, but Steve wouldn't even be mentioning that if he did switch doctors. He had been doing this long enough to know all of the right things to say. "OK I'll sign you back for light duties," Jesse didn't try to hide his reluctance, "but I'll be ringing your captain to make sure that you're following my instructions and not over exerting yourself."
Steve smiled his gratitude. "Thanks Jess," but his smile quickly faded when Jesse failed to acknowledge it. He had clearly upset his friend, but there was little else he could do. He needed to be back at work. Once this was solved he would make it up to him.
"I've only really seen him when he's taken over from me at Bob's," Jesse continued, "and last Thursday when we had the staff shortage and were both on, but we were so busy we hardly spoke."
"But he seemed OK to you?" Mark pressed.
"A little preoccupied maybe," Jesse admitted, "Like he gets when he's wrapped up in a big case."
Mark let out a small sigh and sat back. "I was afraid that was it?"
"Why?" Amanda asked her curiosity piqued at Mark's reaction.
Mark looked at her levelly. "I told you I was worried that he's been working too hard?"
Amanda nodded in response.
"So I did a little checking up, had an informal chat with Captain Newman, and he told me that Steve is on a very light case load at the moment, has been since. . ." Mark paused, not sure which of the incidents to categorize. "My attack," he finally settled on. "He's barely doing more than mopping up the open and shut cases. Apparently there was a little trouble with some of the other officers but Newman wouldn't give me any details."
It had been three days, three days of heading in to work knowing that the only thing between you and the end of the day was a pile of paper that you hated under the best of circumstances and, since this was bordering on the worst of circumstances, the prospect seemed all the more unbearable. Still he could endure it, would endure it, because it gave him access to the computer system, to the files and searches that he needed.
That wasn't the only problem though. He had put up with stares and whispers before; people watching him with strange expressions, and beginning to talk animatedly once he was past; rooms going quiet when he entered; people he had known for years approaching him like he was some stranger that they didn't know quite how to address, but it was different this time.
He had been accused of many things before, including murder when four fellow officers had set him up, and dealing with that had been difficult, since proving their guilt only set him up for other kinds of mental abuse, from those who believed that the police force were some kind of brethren, that you didn't grass on your own. After all, it was ultimately only some criminal who had met his demise wasn't it? Steve had known better, had known what the men were capable of, and, with Mark's help, he had stopped them. There were some who hadn't cared, murderer or traitor to the badge, and Steve had been vilified all the same, but somehow on that occasion it hadn't mattered as much to him as it did now that other people knew and believed the truth. He would rather people think of him as a murderer than as someone who would beat his own father. The whispers and the stares hurt, like daggers stabbing into his soul. Each look fed the demons that plagued him. For, although he hadn't hurt Mark, he'd failed to prevent that hurt from happening, failed because he was drunk. Each whisper spoke to him, told him that no one believed him; fed the obsession to find proof that he hadn't, to find the man that had.
On that third day when Sergeant Groves made the comment, Steve had had enough. Every trail he'd tried so far was a dead end, there was to be no easy solution. He would have to work through every burglary file checking for similarities, and, there was the growing possibility that the attack was aimed at his father and not a robbery gone wrong, so he would need to backtrack through all of his father's old case files. A daunting enough task, but he had to fit it in around his ordinary workload, no one was going to give him time to investigate this. He was too close to the case, and the people who had been assigned it were already sure they knew who did it, so he would get no help there. Worst of all he couldn't ask for help from the one person he normally turned to, the one person he knew would help him unconditionally, and he couldn't ask, not this time. He could barely stand to look into his father's eyes. Expecting to see in them the hurt, the accusation and even though it was never there, he could not shake the irrational fear that the next time he looked it might be.
"So Sloan you found your one armed man yet?" Groves asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.
Steve wasn't sure why it happened at that point. Why all the pent up anger and frustration spilled out at that fairly innocuous comment. Maybe it was because it was one of the few that had been said to his face. Maybe the strain of self-control in the face of injustice had just become too much. The damn broke. The emotion flooded his system, flowed through his brain, washed down over his skin setting it tingling. His movements were swift and strong but he had no conscious connection to them. When he finally became aware of his position, he had a terrified looking sergeant pinned against the wall, his arm across his throat perilously close to crushing his windpipe. He stared for a moment into the terrified eyes, as he attempted to regain control, attempted to quell the red rage that had briefly found a focus.
When he spoke his tone was tight. "Just remember, the man I'm looking for, just like the one armed man Richard Kimble sought, is real. Only I intend to find him."
Groves, realising that Steve's anger had run out of steam, found his voice. "You're insane Sloan," he stated, allowing some of his own anger to show. "You just lost it. Is that how it happened with your old man? Did he say something you didn't like?"
Steve stared, for a split second the anger almost took over again; he almost shoved Groves further into the wall, but the words hit a nerve. Triggered the more rational side of his brain to question his actions. What was he doing? Giving people even less reason to believe him? He let go and stood back. "No, I didn't. . ." he began the denial but couldn't finish it. "I'm sorry I'm kinda on edge," he tried.
"You can say that again," Groves said adjusting his shirt as another officer entered the locker room. "You just stay away from me Sloan. D'ya hear?" Groves skirted his way along the wall until he was out of Steve's reach and then left.
Steve stared after him long after he had disappeared through the door, silently cursing himself.
He was lucky. The lecture from Newman only lasted fifteen minutes, the punishment only involved more paperwork, a little longer riding his desk, but that suited him just fine. He could get more files read that way, run a few more computer searches. The penalty for assaulting a fellow officer could have been much more severe.
Newman watched him leave, hoping that this would be the last incident, that Steve could put this behind him and sort himself out. He would hate to have to suspend him; would hate to lose him. He would keep his caseload as light as possible for a while; keep him on the minor stuff to give this a chance to blow over. His brow furrowed in a frown as he watched Steve walk back to his desk. All he could do was hope that time would be enough.
"So what do you think he's working on?" Jesse asked.
"Jesse!" Amanda looked pointedly at him for being so slow, or maybe for asking before thinking.
It took him a split second to verbalise the answer to his own question. "He's trying to find the man who attacked you."
Mark nodded. "If he succeeds then he'll clear his name. . ."
"And he'll get the person responsible for hurting you." Amanda interjected.
Jesse let out a low whistle. "No wonder he's been so preoccupied." He frowned, "but why isn't he asking us for help?"
Mark met his gaze. "I don't know Jess and that's part of what has me so worried." He paused for a moment. "It's almost as if he's," he paused again. "Avoiding me," he finally completed. He turned to look at Amanda. "No offence honey, but I think that's why he's volunteered to take the boys out Saturday. It's the one day when our day's off coincide and I asked if we could do something together, but he said he'd already arranged something with you." There was a longer pause. "He's found somewhere to go every time he's been off while I've been at home and then on the first weekend we could get together . . .Well I'd say I'm being paranoid but I've got this bad feeling. . . " The sentence trailed off.
"It's been a traumatic few weeks, maybe he just needs some time to adjust." Amada suggested.
"Maybe," Mark allowed.
"I'm sure he just needs some time." Jesse agreed, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Mark's instincts were rarely wrong. It was what made him such a good doctor, such a good detective.
"He's probably just worried about you. Give it another couple of weeks and I'm sure things will settle themselves down." Amanda squeezed his hand in reassurance and gave him her best smile, and, not for the first time in the past few weeks, Mark was grateful for the strength his friends gave him.
Saturday was a beautiful day, not that that was unusual for LA in spring. The temperature was a comfortable 75, there was the odd wisp of cloud in the sky but otherwise the conditions were perfect for a day in the park, and for the first time in weeks Steve was genuinely enjoying himself. There was something about spending time in the company of children. It was as if their innocence rubbed off on you, and suddenly all the worries and responsibilities that came with being an adult seemed to not matter as much. Cares and worries were washed away by a giggle, forgotten, at least temporarily, beneath the light cadence of a laugh. The whole world suddenly seemed a much more interesting and curious place, and Steve found himself staring just as intently as either of the two boys who lay by his side at the bug that crawled to the top of the blade of grass. Steve thought it was some sort of beetle, but he couldn't be sure. Still its tiny movements were captivating.
The day had gone great so far, they had spent the morning practicing baseball and Steve had relished the chance to get his muscles moving again. The bruising from the beating had faded to nothing and he had been working out over the past week to try to restore full mobility, but a trip to the gym was not a patch, for stretching and turning, on a baseball session with two young boys. They wore him out completely and he finally admitted defeat by declaring that it was time for lunch. After large quantities of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fresh fruit had been consumed, the boys, Steve included, stretched out on the grass in the sun to watch the world go by. Steve knew that the brief respite from manic tearing around wouldn't last long, so he made the most of it. The boys had just started to get restless when he had spotted the bug and that had brought him a few more minutes grace.
"Can I go climb now uncle Steve?" CJ finally said, looking up.
"Yeah I wanna show you how good I am on the monkey bars." Dion piped in enthusiastically as a chorus of 'can we pleases' began.
Steve looked thoughtful for a moment as though he was trying to make his mind up, covering the fact that this had been the plan all along. "Hmm I suppose if you promise to be good."
The chorus changed to "Oh we will," with a healthy sprinkling of 'please uncle Steves,' until finally Steve nodded, and the boys ran round and round him venting their excitement at the victory of their persuasive powers. With that Steve found himself ten minutes later, standing as an observer as the two boys excitedly showed off their climbing and swinging prowess on the various frames and obstacles that the park had to offer. He looked around at the assortment of other parents and carers who joined him as silent observers. Their expressions ran from interest and pleasure at their child's antics, through boredom to practiced indifference, and Steve idly wondered how he would react if this weren't such a novelty, if he had sons of his own to bring here weekend after weekend. Would he too lose that sense of pleasure that he felt as he watched them enjoy themselves. It took him only a few moments to decide that it wouldn't. His own father had never lost that joy, even now he occasionally caught Mark watching him running or surfing and knew that he took pleasure in his enjoyment, and if his father could still feel that way now, then he hoped that if he ever had children then he could feel the same. He had just started a more in depth speculation about the attitudes of his fellow supervisors when the shout from behind caught his attention.
He turned and looked, less than twenty feet behind him a boy hung precariously from a tree, yelling for help whilst his mother stood below, calling for the same. Steve glanced back to check on the position of CJ and Dion, pushing himself to his feet as he did so. Having satisfied himself that they were safe he headed over to the tree.
"Please, my boy," the woman said running directly to him, "You have to help my boy."
Steve didn't notice that she had bypassed several other potential rescuers to approach him, as a small crowd began to gather.
"It's OK Ma'am I'm a police officer," Steve said confidently, taking charge. "Don't worry we'll get your boy down." He moved to position himself underneath the child, ready to break his fall, in case he fell while they were deciding on the best course of action to take. The boy was dangling from both arms about twelve feet above the ground, his legs a couple of feet above Steve's reach.
"I could climb up there and lower him down to you."
Steve looked at the young man who had spoken, he was in his late teens and had the sort of wiry build that only climbers and distance runners seem to have. Steve studied the tree; it wasn't a difficult climb. He could easily make it himself except he was afraid his weight would move the branch too much. They didn't have a lot of time.
"You sure you can make it? Steve asked.
"Larry," the boy supplied, "and I do a lot of free climbing out in the hills. This'll be a cake walk."
Steve nodded his agreement and turned back to the distraught woman. "What's the boys name?"
"Paul, please you have to do something."
Steve shouted up to the boy. "Paul I want you to keep holding on tight. My friend Larry is coming up to help you, and I'm here to catch you if you fall so everything's going to be all right. You just hang on OK."
"I'm gonna fall." Paul shouted out.
"No, you're not, Paul, just listen to me. Hold on tight. I know that you can do it."
By now all other activity on the playground had ceased as parents and children alike gathered to watch the unfolding rescue. The atmosphere was tense and Steve was not alone in his position under the boy, there were plenty of hands there ready to catch him as Larry worked his way out to him along the branch.
There was a collective sigh of relief and a spontaneous round of applause for the rescuers as Larry lowered the boy into Steve's waiting arms, and he, in turn, handed the boy over to his mother, who alternated between thanking everyone, squeezing her son in a tight embrace and chastising him for climbing the tree in the first place.
Steve accepted only a short thank you as he quickly forgot the rescue and concentrated on finding his own charges. Dion was easy to spot amongst the crowd of watching children but CJ was nowhere to be seen. Scanning the crowd as he moved Steve quickly made his way over to Dion.
"Dion, where's your brother?" he asked as he approached.
Dion also began to look round. "I don't know, he followed me over to watch what was happening but I didn't see him after that." He looked slightly guilty. "I'm sorry I was too busy watching the boy in the tree."
Steve forced a smile. "Well don't worry about it let's say we go find him?"
Dion nodded and took Steve's offered hand.
He scanned the dispersing crowd, began to move through it, at first confident that CJ had just gone back to some climbing of his own, but as he began his second circuit around the play area, Dion in tow, that confidence was quickly evaporating to be replaced by a growing sense of dread. He felt the blood drain slowly from his face, the icy chill descending across his skin, incongruous with the warmth of the sun. By the time he stopped in the midst of the third circuit, he had to acknowledge the random tightening of his gut, the claws that scraped at his dry throat. He stood in the middle of the play area and turned around slowly once. Forced to admit that CJ was gone.
His mind raced. He couldn't be gone. He was just over there, behind someone or something. He would come back at any moment and he'd get to shout at him for running off like that. He was here somewhere. He had to be. The alternative was beyond contemplation. Denial wasn't working. The fear grew.
They still hadn't checked out the restrooms or the drinks vendor they had seen, maybe he'd gone for candy? Maybe he was bored and he'd gone back to the truck? Steve knew that CJ wouldn't do any of these things, not without asking, but he had to check. He tried to play down the outward signs of his anxiety, speculating with Dion about how much trouble his brother would be in when they found him. He needed Dion to remain calm. It was an odd pretence. He knew that Dion wasn't fooled, knew that he was humouring him, and yet they both kept up the act for the other, unprepared to allow the alternative.
With each passing second came a strange mixture of hope and anxiety. Part of Steve kept telling him that CJ would appear at any moment and that everything would be all right, but as time ticked on and CJ wasn't there the fear grew, crawled up and down his spine as every muscle tensed.
They made it back to the truck. No sign of him. Steve almost screamed in frustration. He was just ready to turn back, to renew the search when his eye was drawn to a paper under the wiper. He wasn't sure why it caught his attention it could just have been a flyer, but somehow he knew that it wasn't.
He let go of Dion's hand, a grip that neither of them had loosened since they began their search, and covered the last few feet to his truck. Tentatively he reached out and took the folded sheet. Time slowed as he opened it and the words seemed to blur for a moment. He was in a bubble, just him and the piece of paper, nothing else. The blurring resolved to a crystal sharp clarity and he read. "We have the boy. Wait for instructions."
TO BE CONTINUED. . .