Part Five: The Epilogue

            Mark jerked awake with a start. His eyes shot around the room as he tried to get his bearings. Peripherally he recognized his office at Community General, and the tray of fruit of crackers on the table near the sofa where he had been lying. The coo-coo clock on the wall proclaimed the time to be 7:07. A quick glance at her watch, put that at A.M.

            The events of the previous day rushed through his mind, sending him to a sitting position where he hurried pushed his feet into his shoes. He was appalled that he had slept so long. By the time Steve had been removed from the warehouse to the hospital and they had catalogued the variety of drugs in his system and tended the wounds on his face, wrists and ankles, the sun had risen on a new day.

            He had lost track of the number of hours that he had been awake and worrying, but his body apparently had not. When Steve had finally been settled in a room, Mark had turned toward one of the nurses, intending to ask a question, he had found that the world tilted unpleasantly around him. After that none of his claims of being fine worked, and he found himself bustled off for rest. That had been twelve hours ago.

            Tossing away the blanket that he vaguely recalled Amanda covering him with, he made his way to his feet and set off toward Steve's room. He was unsurprised to find Jesse there looking energetic and refreshed. "Did he wake yet?" he asked, hoping that he had not missed his son's return to consciousness.

             "No." Jesse wrote something on the chart before flipping the upper pages back down and handing it to him. "But I expect him to anytime now. Everything is looking pretty good physically. Most of the drugs are cleared out of his system. There shouldn't be too many residual effects."

            "Good." Mark breathed a relieved sigh. Not only because of the drugs, which had been worrying the night before, but also because he wasn't too late.  He flipped through the chart not really seeing anything -- he trusted Jesse's judgment as a doctor. His gaze seemed drawn to the form sleeping on the bed. He noted that his hair had been restyled into Steve's usual manner, and the beard and mustache had been shaved. Despite the streaks of gray that remained at the sides, the face was still the familiar one of his son. He shot a small smile in Jesse's direction.

            "I thought he'd prefer to be back to himself," Jesse explained. "Well, mostly."

            Mark nodded his agreement. "Did you remove the contacts?"

            "Yeah. Figured he wouldn't want to deal with that again. He can be squeamish sometimes, you know."

            Mark chuckled. "Don't let him hear you say that."

            Jesse shot him a look that clearly wondered why he'd avoid sharing such a thing with his best friend when it would be so much fun. 

            Mark's grin broadened. "Oh, I never got the chance to ask. What happened that night? How is it that Ron happened to show up with all that back up?"

            "You didn't hear?" Jesse seemed surprised to have gained some bit of knowledge that Mark didn't have. "Remember the tech guy? Agent Macey? When he went back to the hotel, he put a quasi-illegal scan on the communications in and out of Agent Seymour's room. He managed to get a very interesting scrambled message. He called Ron after he got it decoded."

            Mark nodded in acknowledgement. "Do they know why Agent Seymour did what he did? Or if he was working for someone else?" 

            Jesse shrugged. "You know how it is. It's all classified. We no longer have a need to know. Ron did say that the trial is starting this morning, though. Right on schedule."

            Mark grunted, thinking that it was going on at the expense of his son's pain. But then, Steve started to stir. He made a soft sound deep in the back of his throat as he fought his way to the surface. Mark handed the chart back to Jesse and approached the bed. He wanted to be right there with him when he opened his eyes. He barely noticed when the young doctor replaced the chart and quietly slipped out of the room.

            His wish was granted when after several minutes, Steve's lids gradually parted. He looked hazily around the room, taking in his surroundings before settling on Mark.

            "Hi, Steve." Mark offered an encouraging smile as he looked into the familiar blue that he'd first gazed into over four decades ago.

            "Dad." Steve's voice was slightly above a whisper and weighted with tiredness. He readjusted his position and seemed to come awake a little more. He groaned slightly.

            "How are you feeling?" Mark asked, wincing sympathetically.

            "Tired. Sore. Like I went a couple too many rounds with Old Sparky." The words were accompanied by a pitiful excuse for a laugh.

            Mark barely suppressed a grimace at the mention of Florida's electric chair. He'd seen some of the items that had been in that warehouse and he knew how they worked on the human body. He was disturbed that Steve had experienced them first hand. "You had some pretty exotic drugs in your system, but you should start to feel better in a day or so," he assured him. "Until then, Jesse can give you something for any residual aches and pains."

            "S'okay," Steve murmured. "It'll pass." He looked over at the clock. "Sunday?" he questioned.

            Mark shook his head. "Monday. Mikhail Jener is safe. The trial should be starting pretty soon, now."

            Steve sighed his relief, and closed his eyes. "I'm glad."

            Lines of exhaustion and pain were clearly visible in his face. Mark thought for a moment that he was about to drift back off into sleep, but a frown started between his brows and his eyes opened abruptly.

            "Are you sure you don't want anything for the pain?" Mark asked, already turning for the door. "I could get Jess to give --"

            He stopped when he felt Steve's outstretched hand brush his arm. Mark looked down at it, his gaze caught by the bandages that circled his wrists. The rope burns there had been pretty severe, and there had been some worry of infection. The guilt over having possibly sent his son into this mess washed over him.

            "No. I don't need anything." Steve's whispered, but insistent tone broke into Mark's thoughts, making him immediately attentive to what he was saying. "It isn't that bad."

            "Steve, there is no reason for you to be in pain. That is why there are medications to take it away." He didn't like the thought that his son was suffering needlessly, no matter how willing. He'd been through enough already.

            "It's all right, Dad." Steve patted his hand lightly. "I'll be okay."

            Mark sighed. He couldn't force the medications on him. But there were still questions that needed answers. Despite the comfort of Steve's return to consciousness there was the notably absent request for information as to what had been missed while he was out, or the normally inevitable needling as to when he would be allowed to go home.

            Taking a silent breath to steady himself, he waded into the murky waters. "Do you remember what happened?"

            Steve's gaze danced away before Mark could get a solid read on the emotions that were suddenly reflected there. "I remember." His reply was toneless.

            Mark waited, giving him time to say more, though he knew that more wasn't forthcoming. He'd been here before with his son. When Steve didn't want to discuss things he either left or became very quiet. He wasn't quite up to leaving, so he simply looked off into the distance. Mark couldn't just leave him be until he was ready to talk on his own, but he would back off a bit.

            He began to busy himself with checking on the IVs and other equipment as he continued speaking, keeping his voice as conversational as possible. "You're probably wondering how they found out you weren't Jener. It was really a hole in the background information that they gave you. No one bothered to brief you on the fact that Jener has an egg allergy."

            Steve's gaze creaked in his direction, his expression becoming more animated. "What eggs? I didn't have any . . . ." His voice trailed off as realization spread over his features. "The potato salad. That's how I blew my cover, isn't it?"

            "You didn't blow your cover, Steve. As I said, you weren't given all of the information. If the mole had been anyone but the doctor, they may have never realized the switch."

            Steve snorted. "Then they would have probably just tried to kill me outright. So how did you find me? I have some hazy recollections of you, Jesse and a lot of guys with guns in that warehouse."

            Mark refused to contemplate the implications of Steve's previous statement. "Once we figured out the egg thing, we were able to determine that the doctor was the mole. The warehouse where you were kept was right behind the hotel where the agents were staying. We happened to see him sneaking out of the hotel pretty late that night. Meanwhile, one of the other agents was able to intercept a rather interesting transmission which  caused Agent Wagner to call in the Calvary."

            Steve smiled thoughtfully. "I seem to remember you charging in a little bit ahead of them. Was that just to give the bad guys a false sense of security?"

            Mark smiled at Steve's attempt a humor, but it was tempered by the memory of seeing him half tied to a chair, and then later the implements of torture that had been used. He waited a beat, then, "We were able to piece together what happened to you in that warehouse." The words came out more gruffly than he intended.

            Steve's smile dropped away. "I figured you would."

            "Want to talk about it?" Mark asked despite the obviousness of the answer.

            "There's nothing to talk about."

            "You're going to have to make a statement," Mark pushed a bit more. "Might help if you come to terms with it. Get it straight in your mind."

            "What's there to get straight in my mind? I was beaten, then strapped to a chair, drugged and tortured over and over and over again until I felt that I was something less than a human, until in my worse moments I thought death might be better. I think I've got it pretty straight."

            Mark's mouth dropped open, speechless. He ached for what his son had endured. The wave of guilt and uncertainty that slammed into his conscience was nearly his undoing. He couldn't seem to get his brain to come up with a single coherent reply.

            "I'm sorry, Dad," Steve's apology interrupted his struggle. "I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just that I would have preferred to have spared you having to know about it. I should have known how impossible a wish that was. But, I'm here and alive, and I'm not broken. I will be okay. Okay?"

            A real smile full of earnestness and affection was sent in Mark's direction. The hand made a reappearance from beneath the covers and settled Mark's where it lay on the bedrail.

            "Okay." Mark let go a shaky breath and put his other hand atop Steve's and squeezed. But there was just one more thing that he needed to know. He allowed a moment to pass. "Do you regret taking the assignment?" he asked, hoping that Steve didn't notice just how important the answer was to him.

            Steve seemed to think about the question, then looked thoughtfully back at him. "No," he said finally. "I've come to terms with the fact that sometimes I have to put myself between the bad guys and innocent people. It's just one of the hazards of the job."

            A hazard that scares me to death. Mark pressed a little more. "Would you have turned it down if I asked you to?"

            "Dad . . . . " Steve obviously didn't want to answer.

            "Steve, please. It's just a question. A simple yes or no."

            Steve sighed. "Dad, it's not a simple yes or no. I've been on a lot of dangerous assignments and I've talked to you about a lot of them because I truly value your opinion. But I also know that you'd never ask me not to do something that I truly felt was my duty."

            Mark smiled at that and squeezed his son's hand again. Some of the weight that he had been carrying lifted from his shoulders. "I was really worried that I had lost you this time."

            Steve's gaze softened. "Well, you're not getting rid of me so easily," he said.

            "And I wouldn't want to," Mark countered.

            "Good." Steve smiled warmly at him. "And since you feel that way, you won't mind telling me when I get out of here. Not that I wouldn't enjoy the food, mind you. But I'd really like to go home."

            Mark could help the laugh the bubbled up within him. "I don't mind you asking at all."

            Virtual season archive: www.geocities.com/dmvs_archive/