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Fallen
By Sam Singing Wolf
Email: SngngWolf@aol.com
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Diagnosis Murder
Spoilers: None
Summary: Sequel to Dark Skies. Recommend you read that one first,
or this one won't make much sense.
Category: Angst, Drama
Disclaimer: The characters of Diagnosis Murder belong to CBS,
Viacom, et al. I am making no profit from this.
Archive: Anywhere, just keep my name on it, and let me know where
so I can come visit your site.
Feedback: Yes! Yes! Yes! Please? ;)
Fallen
Part One
The two men sat at a table in a dark corner, secure in their
anonymity in the rundown corner bar. The tall man nodded his
thanks to the disinterested waitress who brought them their
beers. After a long minute spent staring at the bottle, he spoke.
"Sloan's not going to quit looking for me."
The shorter man took a long drink. "Relax. He doesn't
suspect you."
He shook his head. "That's easy for you. It's not your butt
on the line if he makes the connection. He's been asking too many
questions."
A thoughtful pause. "Is he getting close?"
"I think so."
"Then kill him."
He lowered his eyes to the table, his gaze tracing the initials
carved into the grime-coated surface. "I'm not comfortable
with that," he muttered.
The other man snorted. "You sure as hell didn't have any
problems having him tortured for information."
"That was different. It was business." He sounded
defensive now.
"So's this."
"I know this guy... We've worked together..."
The other man shrugged as he stood. "Like you said, it's
your ass. If it were me, I'd kill him."
He disappeared into the crowd, leaving the tall man alone at his
table, contemplating his past sins, and the murder of a police
lieutenant.
***
"So, what can you tell me?"
"Somebody killed him."
Steve grinned at Amanda, for a change appreciating her grim sense
of humor. "Cute." He took in her appearance, and raised
an eyebrow. "You look terrible," he said.
She threw him a dirty look and the file in her hand. To her
disgust, he caught it neatly. "So nice of you to
notice." She turned back to the autopsy table, and the
corpse lying on it. "See how you look after a sixteen hour
shift in the morgue."
"No thanks." He set down the report without even
glancing at its contents. "Come on, you can tell me all
about it over a cup of coffee."
"Steve, I can't." She waved an arm around. "I've
got work to do--"
"They're not going anywhere."
She gave him an exasperated look and shook her head. Then the
words came out without her quite realizing it: "All right.
But just a few minutes."
He grinned. "Good enough." He waited a moment while she
removed her gown, gloves and cap, then held the door for her as
they left the pathology lab.
***
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"Amanda, you said it yourself. You had been working sixteen
hours straight. It was time to go home."
She looked at him over a cup of tea. She was curled up on her
couch, in her pajamas, looking quite comfortable there. "So
you just took it upon yourself to see that I did?"
He smiled at her. She looked so cute sitting there, her eyes half
closed, her little fuzzy slippers encasing tiny feet... Her words
finally penetrated. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Well, what are friends
for?" He looked away for a few minutes. "So, what's on
TV tonight?" he finally asked as he reached for the remote.
When she didn't answer, he turned back. She was sound asleep, her
knees tucked up under her chin, leaning against the back of the
couch. He smiled again. "Amanda?" He whispered softly.
"Amanda, that can't be comfortable."
She didn't move a muscle. He sighed and gently brushed a stray
lock of hair back from her face. He watched as a soft smile
curved her lips. He carefully picked her up as if she weighed no
more than a feather, and carried her into her bedroom. He laid
her in her bed and tucked the covers around her. She never so
much as opened her eyes.
"Goodnight, Amanda," he whispered. He was walking
towards the door when he tripped over a cardboard box. He winced
as he looked quickly back at Amanda. She was still sleeping
peacefully. He sighed in relief, and glanced down at the
offending box. It looked like one of Ron's, overflowing with FBI
files. A couple of LAPD files caught his eye, but he shook his
head, restraining his natural curiosity. Whatever Ron was working
on was certainly none of his business, was it?
He continued out to the living room and began picking up a little
bit. He put her teacup away in the kitchen, then let himself out
the front door, locking it behind him.
He sat in his truck for a little while, looking back at her
house. The yard was neatly trimmed as always, flowers
artistically arranged by a professional landscape artist, no
doubt. It looked like Amanda: elegant, tasteful, understated and
classic. All the things he was not. With an irritated shake of
his head, he drove away.
***
"Hey Ron," Steve called by way of greeting as he poked
his head in Ron's office.
"What do you want, Sloan?" Ron growled.
Steve straightened. "What's eating you?"
He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Nothing. I'm sorry,
come on in. Sit down." He motioned to the chair across from
his desk. "What can I do for you, Steve?"
"For starters, you can tell me what's wrong."
Ron stared at him for a moment. "Amanda broke off our
relationship." He said abruptly.
"Oh. I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't know."
"She said I've become moody. 'Impossible to live with,' she
said." He shrugged and looked back down at his paperwork.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Finally, Ron looked
back up. "You didn't come here to listen to me complain
about my love life. What do you need?"
Before he could respond, another agent entered the office,
placing a report on the desk. Ron nodded his thanks. "Gary,
this is Lieutenant Steve Sloan of the LAPD. Steve, I don't know
if you remember Agent Gary Shelton. He's one of our best."
Steve smiled and rose to shake the agent's hand. "Gary.
Sorry, name doesn't ring a bell."
Shelton returned the greeting amiably. "No problem. I don't
think we were ever formally introduced."
Steve nodded and looked back at Ron. "It's about the Russell
Dale case."
Agent Shelton stopped at the doorway and turned back to listen to
the conversation. Steve glanced at him, then gave Ron a
questioning look.
Ron waved a hand. "It's okay. Gary was on that case from the
beginning. Besides, the case is closed. We successfully
prosecuted him on money laundering charges. The wife is safely in
the Witness Relocation Program."
"But we never caught the guy who set me up."
"That's easy. It was somebody the cartel hired to help their
guy out. No big mystery."
"But they couldn't have known where we were keeping Mrs.
Dane the first time. It had to have been a cop."
"Sloan, we've been through this before--"
"I've found him."
Shelton interrupted. "You what?"
Steve looked back at him. "I did a check on spectators who
attended the trial every day. One of them, a man named Eduardo
Ramirez has known connections to the cartel. He was probably
their liaison for Dane. I've traced back several telephone calls
from him to someone at the FBI."
Ron shook his head. "One of ours? That's not
possible..."
Steve tossed a large envelope on the desk. "See for
yourself. The phone records are clear. The problem is, the calls
came through the main switchboard, not to a direct line. What I
need to know is, can we find out who those calls were transferred
to?"
Ron picked up the envelope. "Maybe," he said
doubtfully. "I'll see what I can do."
"That's all I ask." He stopped at the door. Agent
Shelton was still standing there, his expression unreadable.
Steve looked back at his friend. "Listen Ron, I'm sorry
about you and Amanda."
"Yeah, me too."
***
BBQ Bob's was empty. There had been a decent crowd tonight, Steve
mused as he waved a goodnight to Shelly. He didn't know what he'd
do without her. She was by far the best waitress in town. He
finished removing the money from the till, filling a bank deposit
bag. He'd drop it off on his way home. With a last look around
the place, he walked around the bar, pulling his keys out of his
pocket.
Without warning, the door flew open, and a young man ran in, a
sawed-off shotgun in hand. Steve threw himself behind the bar
just as the kid opened fire. He felt pain lance his side, even as
he drew his weapon. But the pain became a secondary concern as
another sound drew his attention.
"Steve?" Amanda's voice rang out from the kitchen.
"There'd better be some coffee on, mister! I've had a
*really* bad day."
"Amanda, get down!" He shouted.
He heard her scream as the man fired again. Steve ducked, then
stood to return fire.
His first shot hit his target. The man fell, the shotgun
clattering next to him. Steve stood slowly, his gun still ready.
Reaching him, he kicked the weapon aside, then knelt to check for
a pulse. He found none.
"Steve?" Amanda peeked out around the corner. "Are
you all right?"
He nodded, still gazing down at the gunman. He couldn't be more
than 16 or 17, he thought despondently. Amanda hurried to his
side.
"No, you're not. Steve, sit down. I'm going to call a
ambulance."
He gave her a puzzled look, then followed her gaze to his side.
His tan shirt was covered with blood. As he looked, a dull ache
began to spread throughout his abdomen. He took a ragged breath.
Amanda guided him to a chair and he sat heavily. She looked
around. "Where's the phone? I've got to call--" she
broke off as the saw the phone sitting on the bar. After a quick
call to 911, she returned.
"Steve? How are you doing?" She pressed a couple of
clean napkins to his side. He gasped in pain.
"Okay," he muttered. He turned his head to look her in
the eye. "What are you doing here?"
"I came for coffee."
He nodded and closed his eyes. The room was starting to spin at a
rather alarming rate, and it was easier if he couldn't see it.
"Steve?"
"What?"
"You still awake?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"You had me worried. For a minute there, you were starting
to look like one of my regular patients."
He couldn't help it, he laughed. More of a chuckle really, but it
still hurt like hell. He didn't say so, but his expression must
have said it for him. He felt her hand on his forehead, blessedly
cool.
"Sorry," her whispered apology sounded contrite and
more than a little scared.
He managed a small reassuring smile just before he passed out.
***
"No, Mark, Steve wouldn't want you to fly back here, not in
the weather you're having. Dr. Torell says he'll be fine. They're
going to release him tomorrow afternoon, probably. They removed
eight pieces of shot from his side and a couple from his
forearm." Amanda paused to listen to a worried father.
"It could've been much worse, Mark. I'll keep an eye on him,
I promise." She smiled. "Yes, Mark. I'll tell him. And
I'll have him call you as soon as he's up to it. At least try to
enjoy the rest of the conference, okay? Say hi to Jesse for
me." Good-byes were exchanged, and finally she hung up the
phone. She wasn't certain that Mark Sloan wouldn't still try to
fly back from Florida, but she thought she most likely had him
talked out of it.
She wandered back to Steve's room. He was still sleeping,
although no longer under the effects of the anesthetic. He looked
young, almost boyish in his sleep, and Amanda couldn't resist
smoothing his hair back from his forehead. When she laid her hand
against his cheek, he turned his head slightly to nestle his face
into her palm. She smiled.
She settled into a chair positioned near his bed. As she watched
him sleep, her mind wandered and she remembered all the times he
had been there for her; protecting her and holding her when she
was afraid. She would be there for him when he woke up.
***
"Hey, Amanda," Steve called as he entered Dr. Bentley's
office. A few days had passed, and he was back at work, albeit
driving a desk. The trashcan next to the doorway caught his eye;
a bouquet of flowers was wilting there, upside down.
"Anything on the Kay autopsy?" He asked distractedly as
he eyed the wilted roses. But he soon found his gaze drawn back
to the lovely doctor.
She glanced up at him ever her glasses. "Kay? Oh, George
Kay..." She put down the file she was looking at and
rummaged around her desk until she picked up another. "Let's
see... George Kay, Caucasian male, age 42, cause of death, two
gunshot wounds to the head..." She looked up suddenly.
"What's that look for?"
His eyes opened wide as he raised his eyebrows. The picture of
innocence. "What look?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You had a strange look on your
face."
He just raised his shoulders slightly as if to say, "I don't
know what you're talking about."
She looked at him suspiciously a moment longer, then looked back
down to continue reading. Steve grinned widely at the top of her
head.
"Point of entry indicates shooter was in two different
places when he fired each shot," she said.
"Confirming the reports that it was a drive by."
She nodded. "Looks like." She looked back at the
report. "9mm hollow point rounds, not at close range, and
not much else for you."
He shrugged. "I expected as much. Thanks anyway." He
cleared his throat as he nodded towards the dying roses.
"From Ron?"
"It's over. He can't buy me back with flowers."
"Amanda..."
"Ever since he came back from London, he's been different. I
thought he came back early to be with me, but he's been distant
and moody." She gave a sharp shake of her head. "Look,
I appreciate your concern, Steve, but I don't want to talk about
it, okay?" She said rather harshly.
He didn't miss a beat as he continued, "...you want to have
dinner with me?"
She looked up at him, caught totally off guard. "What?"
"Come on. With dad and Jesse out of town, everything's too
quiet. We could go by Bob's..."
"I'm not really dressed to go out," she protested
lamely.
"Then I'll pick up dinner and a video, and we'll go to my
place. It'll be fun. I think we could both use the company."
She stood there a moment, just staring at him. Then she shook
herself mentally. He was right; the company of a good friend was
just what she needed right now. And that's Steve, she told
herself. He's just playing big brother. "Okay," she
said aloud. "I'll meet you there in an hour." She went
back to her reports as he headed for the door. "And
Steve..."
He turned back. "Yes?"
She smiled warmly. "Thanks for caring."
He returned the smile. "Anytime."
***
"Wow. That was great."
"I figured I couldn't go wrong with Chinese food with
you."
She laughed. "No, that's usually a safe bet."
Steve refilled her wineglass, then his own.
"So," she ventured. "How's work going?"
He took a sip of the burgundy. "Not bad. I think I'm finally
getting somewhere finding the leak in the department."
Her face darkened at the memory of that terrible time, when they
all thought Steve had been dead. She stared into her glass.
"Amanda?"
She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Steve, we were so
scared. When Mark brought you in to the ER--"
He set their glasses on the table and gently took her hand.
"What?" He asked quietly.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "We didn't think we were
going to be able to save you. The paramedics and Mark had been
keeping you alive with CPR on the way in, and Jesse had
to--" She took a deep breath. "You coded twice on us,
Steve. The injuries we saw, and the deliberate drug
overdose--"
Steve closed his eyes and sighed. It made sense now. The haunted
look in his father's eyes when he looked at him, the way he
hovered over him during his recovery. Jesse, badgering him to
take just a few more days before returning to work. He had no
idea it had been so close, but he understood why Mark hadn't told
him. It wasn't something that just came up in casual dinner
conversation.
He looked back at Amanda. He reached out, and with tender
fingers, wiped a tear from her cheek. "Amanda..."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry..."
He placed a finger to her lips. "No, there's nothing to be
sorry for." He looked into her eyes, trying to read the
emotions he saw there. She returned the gaze, her own eyes wide
and searching.
Slowly, he lowered his head and his lips found the place his
fingertip had been only a moment before. He kissed her gently,
his movements tentative and questioning.
Her own response was sudden and unexpected. She returned his kiss
with an intensity that surprised him. The flood of emotions he
felt was nearly overwhelming.
For a brief moment, reason took over and Steve pulled back from
the passionate kiss. "Amanda, I'm sorry," he whispered.
She stared at him, her breathing uneven, and tried to keep up
with this sudden change of heart. "For what? You have
nothing to be sorry for," she said, unconsciously echoing
his earlier words.
"But Ron--"
She placed her hand against his cheek, understanding. "--Is
your friend, I know. But this has nothing to do with him. You
didn't cause the problems in our relationship, he did. What we
had, is over. This is between you and me, no one else."
"It's just..."
"I know." She leaned towards him. "We're all
adults, Steve. Free to make our own choices. I've made
mine..." She pressed her lips to his. He didn't stop her.
His left hand moved up to cradle her head, his fingers twining in
her hair. His other arm wrapped possessively around her
shoulders, pulling her closer. She wrapped both arms around his
waist, her fingers exploring the skin stretched tautly across
hard muscle.
"What the hell is going on here?"
They looked up to see Ron standing in the doorway. Emotion
flitted across his face: hurt, anger, and embarrassment.
"Ron..." Amanda whispered. Steve lowered his eyes
briefly.
He stood there, just staring at the two. His icy glare focused on
Steve. "I came by to drop off the information you
wanted." He did so literally, letting the folder fall from
his outstretched fingers to the floor. Then he turned and slammed
out the door.
For almost a full minute, the two sat there in silence, staring
at the closed door. Then Amanda got up, picking up her coat and
purse. "I should go..."
Steve stood as well. "Amanda..."
She shook her head, not looking him in the eyes. "No, I
think I need to go. This can't work, not tonight, not like
this." She looked at the floor. "I'll see you tomorrow,
okay?" Without waiting for an answer, she hurried out the
door.
Steve sat heavily on the couch. His mind was reeling, not only
from Ron's sudden appearance and outburst, but from his own
turbulent emotions. The intensity of his feelings for Amanda had
surprised even him. He grabbed his jacket and headed out to the
beach. He too, needed some time alone to think.
***
Two hours later, Steve looked through the phone records Ron had
brought. When he'd come back in from the beach, he was surprised
to see the file lying on the floor. In all the commotion, he had
forgotten about it.
It seemed to be very little help. The extension the calls had
been transferred to were used by more than two dozen agents, Ron
among them. Then a name caught his eye, and Steve wondered why he
hadn't seen the possibility before. He had been on the case
originally, and had shown a great deal of interest in the
evidence Steve had brought to the Federal Building today.
Special Agent Gary Shelton.
***
"So that's why you broke it off? Because of *him*?"
Ron's voice was filled with contempt as he stood in the doorway
of her office.
Amanda removed her glasses with a sigh. "Ron, I know you're
hurting, but please. I gave you my reasons. Frankly, I'm tired of
you thinking you know more about what's best for me than I do.
This is my life, and I've made my decision."
He walked towards her until he was only inches away. For the
first time since she'd known him, she actually felt a little
intimidated by him. She resisted the urge to stand as well, and
put some distance between them.
"How long have you two been sleeping together behind my
back?"
Her eyes widened and then she did stand, slapping him soundly
across the face as she did so. "You bastard," she
hissed. "How dare you?"
He gazed at her through eyes narrowed with rage. He grabbed her
roughly by the shoulders and snarled, "This isn't over by a
long shot, Amanda."
She struggled to break free, but his grip was too strong.
"Yes, it is Ron. It's over!" She was nearly shouting.
Finally he let her go and she leapt away from him. They stood
there, staring at each other. When the phone rang, Amanda nearly
jumped out of her skin. Glad for the reprieve, she snatched up
the receiver.
"Dr. Bentley," she answered. "Steve!" She
quickly looked up at Ron as she spoke without thinking. He was
clearly furious at the coincidence that his rival would be
calling now. However, Steve's words finally got her attention and
she ignored the FBI agent as she began jotting notes on a memo
pad. "318 South 82nd, apartment E. First floor? Okay. How
many bodies do you have? All right, I'm on my way." She hung
up the phone and brushed past Ron. "I've got to get to a
crime scene," she said. She stopped at the door, turning to
face him. "I'm sorry it turned out this way, Ron. I really
am. But we both have to accept that it's over."
He watched her walk out of the office, searching for the right
words to say, something... anything, if it would bring her back.
He could only stand there in silence.
***
"--Like he's been dead for maybe two or three hours,
probably died before the woman. I'll have to do a full autopsy
to--"
"Amanda--"
She ignored Steve's attempts to talk to her about anything other
than the corpse at her feet, just as she had his earlier attempts
when she'd arrived at the crime scene. "The woman is an
interesting case though. The markings on her abdomen
indicate--"
Finally, he took her hand. "I know. You told me
already."
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since
she'd arrived. "I did?" she asked, abashed.
He nodded. "Twice." He looked around. "Look,
there's nothing more we can do here, why don't we go talk?"
"I don't think--"
He began pulling her towards his truck. "You see, I think we
*should* talk. I've got this friend, she's always telling me not
to bottle things up. She says I never show my feelings. So I'm
trying to take her advice." He grinned at her. "You do
think it's good advice, don't you?"
She scowled at him, knowing he was mocking her own words.
"You know, I hate it when you do that."
He only grinned wider, and opened the truck door for her. He
pulled out of the parking lot, a blue Isuzu pickup pulling out
close behind. After they were on the road, his smile slowly
faded, and silence fell between them.
"Well?" She prompted.
He glanced over at her. "Last night was..."
He trailed off, and she waited anxiously for him to continue.
Last night was what? A mistake? Did he regret what had happened--
had almost happened between them? Did she?
He slowed the truck to a halt at a stoplight. He looked over at
her, his eyes seeming impossibly blue in the sunlight glinting
through the windshield.
"We've been friends for a long time, Amanda. You probably
know me as well as anyone." He sighed. "This isn't easy
for me--"
The blaring of a car horn interrupted. The looked forward to see
the light was green and the man in the car behind them was
shouting obscenities. Steve managed to curb his temper for once
and drove on, still neither of them aware of the danger that was
following.
"Steve, I--" Amanda broke off in horror as the back
window shattered in an explosion of glass. She heard Steve
shouting something she couldn't hear past the ringing in her
ears. He was pushing her down against the seat, trying to give
her some of the protection afforded by the metal cab of the
truck. Shots continued to ring out as the other truck pulled up
beside them, the driver leveling a .45 at Steve.
Steve swerved sharply, sending his truck careening into the
other. The driver lost control of his vehicle and came to a
sudden stop as he hit a light post.
Steve slammed on the brakes and looked anxiously at Amanda.
"Are you all right?" He held her face in his hands
gently as he visually examined her for injuries.
She nodded slowly. "I think so."
He stared at her for a moment longer, assuring himself that she
was indeed unhurt, then drew his gun and leapt out of the truck.
Amanda quickly followed.
By the time she caught up with him, Steve had dragged the other
man, bleeding profusely from a gash on his forehead, out of the
demolished Isuzu.
"Who sent you?" He shouted.
The man shook his head, still stunned. He was young, and clearly
terrified. Steve shoved his gun under the man's chin.
"You've got exactly three seconds to tell me who hired
you." His eyes were cold. "One... two..."
Amanda picked up the man's cell phone. "Steve, wait!"
She called. He looked over at her halting his count for the
moment. The man he still held tightly in his grasp nearly fainted
with relief. "Remember the 'callback' feature?"
He walked towards her, dragging the man along with him.
"Where we can find out who called him last?"
She nodded as she punched the button. Placing the phone to her
ear, she listed for a moment, while Steve waited impatiently. The
man looked even more nervous, if such a thing was possible.
Amanda looked up at Steve. "It's my office..." she
said, confused. "Why would his boss be calling from my
office?" She shook her head. "No one was there but me
and Ron..." Her eyes widened as understanding dawned.
"No, it can't be..." she whispered. She and Steve
stared at each other in shock.
A patrol car pulled up and Steve quickly identified himself to
the officer, who was understandably distressed by the scene
before him. In only minutes, the suspect was in the back of the
officer's car, and Steve was heading back to his truck. Amanda
caught up to him as he was wrenching open the battered door.
"Where are you going?"
He turned and looked down at her. His eyes burned with anger,
betrayal, and pain. "I have to find him. I have to know the
truth."
"I'm coming with you," she said, her tone brooking no
argument.
He shook his head. "Forget it, Amanda. I want you to go with
Officer Hale back to the station. He'll have someone take you
home."
"I'm not going home." She lifted her chin stubbornly.
"I'm going with you."
He climbed into the truck without another word and turned the
ignition. Ignoring her protests, he drove away.
***
Steve gripped the wheel in his hands and cursed under his breath.
How could Ron betray them like this? He grabbed his cell phone
and dialed a number.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation, how may I direct your
call?"
"Special Agent Ron Wagner," he requested, his voice
tight.
"One moment." Silence filled the line as Steve pushed
his truck faster. "I'm sorry, Agent Wagner has left for the
day. May I put you through to his voice mail?"
"No thanks." He hung up abruptly. Ron must have gone
home. Wherever he had gone, Steve intended to find him.
***
Amanda watched the taxi drive away, wondering if she had done the
right thing by returning home. She wished Steve had let her go
with him, she was certain he shouldn't be dealing with this
situation on his own. She reached into her purse for her keys,
her hands shaking as she unlocked the door. She still couldn't
believe it. She knew Ron. He was a self-centered egotist, but she
couldn't believe he would have had Steve killed.
Her house was dark and quiet. Nervously, she flipped on the hall
light, then the living room lights as she passed through. By the
time she reached the bedroom, nearly all the lights in the house
were on. She felt silly, but made no move to turn them off.
When she walked into the bathroom, she inhaled the familiar
scents of raspberry and vanilla. Turning on the bathtub, she
undressed quickly, anticipating the warm water relaxing her sore
muscles. She sighed deeply as she stepped into the bath.
"You look beautiful."
Amanda gasped as she turned and tried to cover herself. Ron stood
in the doorway, a smile on his face and a gun in his hand.
***
Steve slammed his fist on the steering wheel. "Damn it,
where could he be?" He stared out the front window, not
really seeing the landscape before him. He had checked everywhere
he could think of: Ron's apartment, his health club, even BBQ
Bob's. He was nowhere to be found. The Bureau had no idea where
he was. He'd tried his cell phone numerous times.
He started the truck, and headed for Amanda's house. Maybe she
would have a better idea of where he may have gone. Besides, he
thought a bit ashamedly, he needed to apologize for his earlier
behavior. He should never have left her like he did.
When he pulled into Amanda's drive, he was relieved to see the
soft glow of lights through the curtains. Officer Hale must have
seen her home. He walked slowly up to the door, not relishing the
idea of admitting he was wrong. He could already hear the "I
told you so," in her voice. He knocked tentatively on the
front door, smiling when he heard her call for him to enter. She
was expecting him.
He crossed the hall to the living room. She was sitting on the
couch in a bathrobe. Her hands were folded in her lap, her face
pensive.
"Amanda, I'm sorry about earlier--" He broke off as he
felt a presence behind him. He whirled, his left hand already
reaching for his gun.
"I wouldn't." Ron's voice was deadly, and his gun was
pointed at Steve's head. He froze. "Carefully... drop it on
the floor and kick it over here."
Steve followed the instructions, his face tight with anger.
"Let Amanda go, Wagner. This is between us."
"It should have been. But you had to drag her into this,
didn't you?" He shook his head. "I knew you'd come back
here. To your lover." He spat the last contemptuously.
"Ron... Don't do this, please," Amanda pleaded. Steve
glanced back to see her slowly rise to her feet. "Please, we
can talk about this..."
Ron snorted. "Yeah, right. We can all just walk away and
forget this ever happened, right? I don't think Sloan sees it the
same way, do you Sloan?" He sneered at Steve. "No,
you're just like your father, always the hero, can't see how a
man might have to make some difficult choices."
"You violated your oath, Ron. You kill a man, nearly cost an
innocent woman her life, had me tortured-- and for what?
Money?"
He nodded. "You better believe it. I give them eleven years
of my life, and when I finally get the assignment I wanted, they
pull me off it before I've even had a chance to prove myself.
Accuse me of not being suitable for the job. That's bullshit.
That assignment in London was my ticket to an Assistant Director
position, and they took it away from me." His voice was
bitter. "My career was finished. I had to do
something."
Steve raised his chin. "So you betray your country *and*
your friends. Great choice."
Ron took another step towards him, his expression livid. His
finger tightened on the trigger. "Shut up! You don't know
what it's like! You have no idea what I've gone through!"
"Ron, please don't..." Amanda pleaded.
He shifted his weapon to her chest, his face contorted with rage
as he shouted at her. "Don't!? What right do you have to ask
for anything from me, you adulterous bitch!"
Steve grabbed for the gun, pulling the muzzle down towards the
floor. With his free hand, he punched Ron in the jaw, sending him
stumbling. He heard Amanda scream as they both tumbled to the
floor, smacking the hard wood.
The gun clattered across the floor as Steve struck out again. Ron
wrenched himself away and scrambled to his feet, even as Steve's
left hand shot out and seized his ankle. He expected him to fall
but he didn't. He twisted in his grasp and his other foot
impacted with the side of Steve's face.
Pain exploded behind his eyes and he tasted blood. He could feel
the blood streaming out of his mouth and nose as he lay there,
trying to order his numb body to move. Every instinct screamed at
him to do something, anything. He struggled to his knees and
shook his head to clear it.
Ron kicked out again, this time catching him in the ribs. Steve
groaned as he fell back and rolled to avoid another assault. But,
instead of rolling away, he turned towards Ron, driving against
the other man's knees and knocking him down.
Steve wrenched the agent's arms up behind his back and snapped on
his handcuffs. Ron continued to struggle, shouting incoherently.
Steve pulled away, panting for breath, and staring at the man he
had once considered a friend.
Amanda approached him and reached out gingerly to his cheek,
wincing with him at her light touch. Ron fell silent, sullen eyes
staring back at them both. Amanda studiously kept her gaze from
him, and looked up at Steve. "Are you okay?" She asked
softly, her voice shaking with emotion.
He just nodded and put his arms around her trembling shoulders.
"It's over, Amanda. This time it's really over."
***
"Mind if I sit down?"
Steve looked up to see Jesse standing by his table. "Hey
Jess. Sure, have a seat." He waved his beer bottle in the
general direction of the chair across from him. "What brings
you down here? I didn't think this was your kind of place."
Jesse looked around a little nervously. "Well, it's not
really. I came looking for you. Your dad told me I might find you
here."
"Uh-huh." He took a long drink of his beer and waved at
the waitress. "Two more, please."
She smiled at him and headed for the bar. Jesse smiled
tentatively. "So, uh... Florida was nice," he ventured.
"Glad to hear it."
He looked around. "Uh, Mark told me what happened." He
smiled up at the waitress as she brought them the beers. Steve
just stared at the table while she picked up the money he'd set
there and walked away. Jesse watched him down nearly half the
bottle. "You okay?" he asked hesitantly.
"I'm fine, Jess."
He cleared his throat. "No offense Steve, but you don't look
fine. I know I wouldn't be fine if I were you. I mean, Ron tried
to kill you! You-- we, we trusted that guy. And Amanda... Well,
she has to be devastated."
Steve looked up then. It was clear he'd had several beers before
the young doctor had arrived. The walls were down, and his eyes
were full of pain and loneliness. Jesse shook his head as he
pushed his own bottle aside. "I mean, well, I'm sure Amanda
just needs some time, that's all. She really cares about you, you
know. I'll bet that if she just takes some time to think about
what she really wants, and has some time to get over Ron and what
happened... You two will work things out."
Steve sighed. "I'm just tired, Jess. I'm really tired."
Jesse reached out and placed a hand on his friend's arm. "I
know, Steve. I know you love her." Steve looked at him.
"She loves you too, you know. Give her some time. In the
meantime, you're still friends," he added helpfully.
"I won't risk our friendship, it's too important to
me."
"Neither will she. It'll all work out in the end." He
grinned. "Trust me." He stood and reached out a hand.
"Come on, let me drive you home."
Steve stood, keeping one hand braced on the table for support.
"Thanks Jess. For being here for me."
"Hey, what are friends for?"
End
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