Author's note: I've decided that the only way that I'm going to update this with anything resembling the regularity it needs is to write shorter chapters (i.e. just write in shorter blocks not cut out any of the detail) I hope that's ok with everyone reading this and I hope that you continue to enjoy it. - Judith

Chapter 7 :- Steve and Amanda Part 2

Steve wasn't sure how he managed to function, but function he did. It was as if his consciousness split, the emotional part of his mind retreating to somewhere safe, somewhere that he wouldn't have to deal with the overwhelming feelings of responsibility and fear. The gut-wrenching, knife twisting emotional pain of knowing that CJ was missing, of not knowing what was happening to him beyond the certainty that someone had him, and wherever he was he would be terrified and alone, possibly hurt. The depth of responsibility he felt was almost physically painful, but it was nothing compared to the devastating effect this was going to have on one of his closest friends. The retreat was almost total, his emotional consciousness hiding, watching, a spectator to what his body was doing. He moved, he spoke, to a certain extent he even took charge, but he wasn't really there. He was just watching.

Watching as the note dropped onto the hood of the truck. Watching as he got Dion settled and calmly gave him instructions. Watching as he pulled on gloves and placed the note in an evidence bag. Watching as he called for backup.

Time was measured only in actions. With each task accomplished he was forced to acknowledge that there must have been some passage of time, and with each passing minute their chances of finding a vital clue dwindled. The parking lot filled with vehicles, black and white patrol cars, ubiquitous light and dark grey sedans, some with roof lights some without, and vans that somehow couldn't park in anything remotely resembling the bays, each sitting at a different angle to the alignment as though they were making some sort of statement. 'Vans don't have to conform' or 'vans for anarchy.'

The media were also gathering but so far had been kept at a discrete distance. Not so the crowds of curious onlookers, many of them had been prevented from reaching their cars or leaving, as the officers struggled to take all of their statements; they were all potential witnesses. Some didn't seem to mind, taking the opportunity to gather in small groups, talking in low voices about what each had seen, marvelling at the fact that they were witnesses to both a dramatic rescue and a kidnapping in the same park in a single afternoon. Others grew increasingly impatient at the delays. This didn't have anything to do with them, they didn't know the boy who had been taken, hadn't seen anything. Why should they stay?

Other officers scanned the park for clues, spreading out in lines as they attempted to cover the huge area in a reasonable time, whilst simultaneously managing to keep their search detailed enough so that they did not miss anything. It was an impossible task but they attempted it anyway. Experience taught them all that time was a precious commodity in cases like this. If they didn't find the boy alive soon then they probably wouldn't find him.

Steve knew that.

Steve had found a distraction in assigning the tasks at first; helping to coordinate as more and more help arrived. His authority was however quickly usurped as first a detective, and then two FBI agents arrived to take over. Normally he would have argued more to stay in the loop, but that would require interactions in his mind that just weren't happening. It required emotion to plead his case, and at the moment the only part of him that was functioning had no emotions. So he watched himself becoming increasingly sidelined. Giving his own statement in a dry monotone voice that did not seem to be his own, and then he had nothing to do.

With no emotion there was nothing to do except stand and stare at the ongoing activity. With no tasks to accomplish there was no passage of time.

And then she was there. Standing in front of him. He only saw the last few steps of her approach, but it was enough to read the awkward, rapid, agitated movements. She stopped in front of him and stared deep into his eyes, barely controlled tears pooled in her own making them seem even wider, darker than normal..

"Steve," her voice was breathy. "They tried to tell me something happened to CJ," the barest touch of panic wrapped in desperation. "But he was with you. I tried to tell them that you wouldn't let anything happen to him, but they wouldn't listen they kept saying. . ." All the time she was speaking she was scanning his face, desperately wanting, needing him to support the denial, to feed the lie.

It was too much for Steve to hide from; his friend was hurting. She needed him and whatever comfort or help he could give, he owed her that much, and so much more. His emotions crashed back, melding the two sides to his consciousness with a speed that left him feeling light-headed, dizzy. He took a moment to process her last words.

"Please Steve tell me that he's all right." She looked round him on either side, as though she expected her son to come running forwards towards her. "Tell me that he's safe with you. That this is a huge mistake. Please Steve?" The last two words were spoken with a pitiful desperation, the tears welled again, the pain behind them obvious.

Steve did not have the vocabulary to express his regret, his sorrow, his culpability, his desire to find CJ and bring him home again. Mere words could not convey the strength of his emotion, but he had to say something. She needed him to say something. "Amanda I. . ."

The two words were enough; he didn't need to go any further. Denial was no longer possible. This wasn't a mistake; someone had taken her son. The mask of despair was quickly replaced by anger, frustration, a red haze as her skin burned. "No!" She almost screamed. "You were supposed to look after him." She drew her hand back and slapped him hard across the face.

He didn't flinch, didn't react, it stung, but not nearly as much as the knowledge of what he had done to her.

His lack of reaction only served to deepen the anger. The emotion needed a release and Steve was the convenient target. She stared into his eyes once mor,e only this time the look of anger, of accusation, of hatred, bored straight into his soul. It was a look that would haunt his waking hours and plague his nightmares. The fact that it was a product of the situation and not aimed at him would serve no comfort to a psyche that was developing self-recrimination to an art form. The words and actions that followed only serving to reinforce his guilt.

Both of her hands turned to fists and she began to rain blows down on his chest. He made no effort to block them as strike after strike was delivered with all of her strength "He's my son," she shouted. "You were supposed to look after him. You were supposed to protect him." With each word her tone lowered, the speech becoming more and more punctuated with strangled sobs.

Steve didn't even notice the pain from the blows, the words hurt far more.

"You were supposed to look after him. How could you let this happen? Why. . .? Why. . .?Why didn't you protect him?" The blows got softer as her strength drained away, the last question, dying to a whisper of choked off sobs. Steve put his arms around her and drew her head onto his chest, cradling her there protectively as the near hysterical sobbing continued.

He rocked her gently trying to offer what comfort he could but knowing that it was wholly inadequate. What would he do if they didn't get CJ back? More importantly what would it do to Amanda? He looked up and found himself staring straight into the clear blue eyes of his father.

Mark stood about six feet away. Steve had no idea how long he'd been there, but he was grateful for his presence now. For the first time in more than three weeks, he met and held his father's gaze. Whatever he had feared he might see there was forgotten amid the new maelstrom of emotion. Not that there was any need for fear. The eyes that stared back at him held only compassion and empathy in their depths, and, for a moment, a mental bridge formed between the two men. Steve drew strength as he always had from knowing that his father was there for him. The love was unconditional, always had been. If only he could hold onto that. For the briefest of moments he did, and then the choking sobs against his chest pulled his attention back. The suffocating tendrils of guilt, making use of the distraction, insidiously winding themselves around any thoughts of comfort and dragging them back into he subconscious where they could not help.

Amanda's breathing was ragged, her thought processes consumed by an anguish that could not form into words, she was no longer able to rationally control her responses as each sob shook her whole body, the only thing holding her upright was Steve's firm embrace, as reaction took hold.

Steve looked down in alarm, as Amanda's knees seemed to give out, tightening his embrace to prevent her from falling; he looked back to his father who was already moving forward.

Mark moved in to take a look at his friend. He did not need to imagine the pain that she was experiencing; he had lost a child, had faced the fear and uncertainty of not knowing what had happened when one of his children was in danger, but his children had been much older, CJ was so young, so innocent. He forced a block on some of the empathy. Amanda needed his help, not his pity, and, from the look he had just exchanged with his son, so did Steve. He had had time to consider the effect of this on his son's already strained mental state on the drive over, and he did not like any of the conclusions he was forced to draw. The exchange he had just witnessed between his son and Amanda only reinforcing his fears, but for now he was forced to repress those concerns, Amanda's current need was greater than Steve's.

"My car's just back here," he stated, avoiding unnecessary conversation.

Steve nodded preparing to carry her if necessary, but it wasn't needed, Amanda's sobs died down a little and she drew slow shuddering breaths into her oxygen deprived lungs.

It was Mark's voice that allowed the change, the gentle tones giving her renewed strength. "Mark?" she asked tenuously, blinking tear flooded eyes into an almost focus on her friend and mentor. "Oh Mark," She said with a tinge of relief. "Thank God you're here." She found the strength from somewhere to abandon Steve's support completely, moving round instead into Mark's embrace as he instinctively opened his arms.

Steve felt the abandonment. It carried as much of a sting as the earlier physical slap to the face. He took a step back as Mark gently coaxed their distraught friend back to his car, it was all Steve could do to stand and watch.

Mark was unaware that Steve was not following until he had Amanda seated in the front seat, her crying becoming almost uncontrollable again. He stood to retrieve his bag and turned to see Steve still standing where he had left him. He looked down at Amanda; she was in too bad a state to leave alone. She had to be his priority but Steve. . . .

"Mark!"

Mark turned to see Jesse heading towards him at a run, and he was sure that he'd never been this relieved to see the young doctor, but still he was torn. Amanda was in his care now. He needed to see that she was all right, needed to get her home, but he equally wanted to check on Steve, provide him with the comfort and support he undoubtedly needed, whether he was prepared to admit it or not. Then a thought crossed through his mind that put an ache deep into his soul, given the strained relations of the last few weeks, would his son even accept his help, his support? He sighed heavily, there was only one choice he could make.

"Jesse," Mark greeted, without any preamble; he'd asked for the same information that he had received to be relayed to the young doctor. "I'm going to get Amanda home. That's where she needs to be in case there are any calls."

Jesse stopped in front of him, glancing across to Mark's car. "How's she holding up?" He asked the deep concern showing.

Mark shook his head. "She's not, at least not at the moment. That's why I need to get her home." He hesitated, glancing across to where Steve stood.

Jesse followed his gaze, understanding the hesitation. "It's OK I'll stay here and check on Steve," he stated

Mark smiled his gratitude; it was weak but sincerely meant. With a last glance at his son, he turned his attention back to Amanda.

Jesse turned towards his friend. The parking lot was still streaming with people, bustling around with jobs to do, and yet Jesse couldn't help but note that standing in the middle of it, Steve looked utterly alone.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .