Chapter 5
Friday, May 8
Mark had practically needed to shove Steve out the door. ''Go,'' he'd insisted, ''run off some of that tension. I've got Becca - so for at least an hour, don't worry about taking care of anyone...except yourself.''
It was an odd feeling, running full-out and not having to carefully watch his own pace to avoid attracting attention. Steve's heart panged at the knowledge that this same lack of bionic strength meant he'd be unable to aid his own wife, if something went wrong. He found himself turning abruptly for home again, willing to face Mark's wrath at not having taken an entire hour, if it meant he could hold his daughter in his arms that much sooner. For reasons he couldn't quite put his finger on or give voice to, Steve was craving home and family.
''That was a fast hour,'' Mark noted (not in the least bit wrathful).
''Forgot my watch, Doc,'' Steve shrugged. Mark couldn't help noticing how Steve's eyes were riveted immediately to Becca - and how the infant's head turned toward the sound of her Daddy's voice. No doubt about it; these two were deeply bonded.
''We've been exploring the sights of the living room, the kitchen, the backyard,'' Mark told Steve, ''but it looks like she'd rather be in someone else's arms. Here, Daddy.''
''Well, hel-lo there, Bec-ca,'' Steve crooned. ''And what would Milady prefer for her supper?'' Mark smiled in amusement as Steve swept his daughter into the kitchen with a flourish of a dance move. ''Filet Mignon, perhaps? Salmon with mustard greens? Leftover chicken? How about if Daddy has the yucky leftover chicken and Becca has this yummy, delicious bottle instead?'' Steve put the bottle on the stove to warm and then poked his head into the living room. ''Doc, you were right. Jaime'll be home in a few hours - and in the meantime, thank you for helping me realize there's another very special young lady just waiting for my attention.''
Saturday, May 9
''Must be awfully frustrating, having to turn to someone else for permission before your wife can be saved...isn't it, Steve?'' Michael taunted when Steve turned to Oscar about Michael's request for freedom. ''Jaime's life is in his hands - and in MY hands, of course - only one who can't save her...is YOU. I hope that doesn't make you feel like any less of a man!''
If I wasn't turned down, you'd be orbiting Pluto right now, you S.O.B., Steve thought, clenching his fists below the table. He forced his voice to show no anger. ''Michael, she's a new mother. Don't let Becca grow up never knowing her Mommy...please.'' The name slipped out in the emotion of the moment, without Steve intending to say it.
''Becca...'' Michael tried the name on for size, to see how it rolled off his tongue. ''So it's a girl. Got a picture? Of course you do! I'll bet there are at least half a dozen in your wallet. Let me see her.''
Steve sat frozen. One of the last things he wanted to do - ever - was place his daughter into this man's hands. Not even a photograph. Still, Jaime's life was hanging in the balance and Michael sat staring at him expectantly. Steve dug out his wallet and handed a photo across the table.
''She's gorgeous,'' Michael announced, studying the photo closely. ''She has my eyes, of course.''
Oscar's firm hand on his arm made Steve bite his tongue and kept him from an argument about Becca's parentage or - even worse - from losing his temper altogether at Michael's cruel jabs. ''Yes...she's beautiful,'' Steve agreed in a near-whisper. ''Please don't let her grow up without her mother...''
Michael smirked again. ''If I didn't know better, it almost sounds like you're begging for my help.'' Once again, he held his chin up in a cocky, expectant manner.
''You win, Michael,'' Steve conceded, knowing what his adversary wanted most to hear. ''I am begging you...please save her. Please...don't let her die!''
''That's better,'' Michael gloated. He turned to Oscar. ''Now, about those terms. My freedom. And I don't just want a 'conditional release' or the charges dropped. I want my record expunged. As in gone. As in - it never happened. Maybe by law, that can't be done but I've seen what the OSI is capable of. So, Goldman, you take care of this 'little matter' for me...and I'll not only save Jaime's life; I'll do what 99 percent of my profession would tell you is impossible - and the other .9 percent is still trying to figure out. I'll give you your Jaime back. What I did 4 years ago, in regenerating her damaged brain cells - it's primitive compared to what I can do now. As for the rest of my terms, there will be no guards outside the OR doors and none following my every move through the hospital. Of course, none will be needed because I'm no longer an inmate or a convicted felon. I'm as clear as any of you, with full run of the hospital and to treat my patient. And once she's alive and alert again, Jaime will know who saved her - who gave her her life back.''
As distasteful as those terms were (and as the man himself was), Steve and Oscar had no choice. Even if half of what Marchetti claimed he could do was mere boasting, he could still work medical miracles if he chose to do so and...they needed him. Jaime needed him.