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Title: All the Rage
Author: Pug
E-mail: chocowrite@worldnet.att.net
Rated: PG
Spoilers: none
Summary: A young Vietnamese-American woman's visit to Steve
triggers a
series of flashbacks and nightmares for our hero. Is her death at
Steve's hands a tragic accident or a carefully planned murder? It
looks
like Doctor Sloan may be on his own in trying to prove Steve
innocent.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, CBS and Viacom do. This
is
not for profit, is expressly for private use, and not to be
spread
around the internet or anywhere else for that matter.
Feedback: welcome
"Excuse me."
Steve Sloan looked up from the mound of paperwork covering
his desk. A young, dark haired, gray eyed, slender beauty stood
before him. The detective in him pinned her as an Amer-Asian
right away. Probably the result of a liaison between one of the
"indigenous personnel" and a US GI in Vietnam. The age
was
right, the light colored, not-quite Oriental shaped eyes, and the
shape of her face.
"Can I help you?"
She looked down at the triangular name plate perched on the
edge of his desk and nodded at it.
"Are you Lieutenant Sloan?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Lieutenant Steve Michael Sloan, formerly of the 23rd U.S.
Battalion stationed at Li Qui in 1973?"
She rattled off the statistics and Steve's stomach began to
churn, the adrenaline began to surge through his veins.
"Why do you want to know?"
Steve had to be cautious, these days he never knew who might
be looking for him, or why. This could be the daughter of an old
war buddy, or it could be a trap. He was inclined to suspect the
latter, the odds were higher.
The woman stared at him long and hard, unblinking, waiting.
As accustomed to such stares as he was from his years on the
police force, this woman's gaze made him want to squirm. He held
his ground.
"Two can play this game," he told her, leaning back in
his
chair, crossing his arms and returning her look.
She still didn't respond, but her face hardened and he
noticed she was moving from calm assuredness to anger. She
shoved a single piece of paper at him.
Steve didn't read Vietnamese and told her as much, handing
the paper back to her. At least she had the common sense to get
flustered. Red colored her cheeks as she looked down at the
paper. With a muttered curse, she shoved it back into her purse
and yanked out another paper, almost throwing it at Steve.
This he recognized immediately. The feeling in his stomach
turned to a lead ball as he read the words in front of him.
Fear, confusion, and finally anger swept through him.
Keeping his face dead pan he handed the paper back to her.
"Take this back to whoever sent you and tell them it didn't
work. If, on the other hand, someone lead you to believe this
was an official document, I'm truly sorry. They were playing a
cruel joke on you, trying to get to me."
He watched her reaction to his words. After a brief flash
of hurt anger slid across her face, she became stoic.
He rose to his feet. "I'm sorry, but there's no point in
wasting any more of your time or mine. As you can see," he
swept
an arm over his desk, "I have a great deal of work to catch
up
on. I'm sorry."
Steve was acutely aware that several of the detectives in
the squad room had stopped what they were doing to observe the
conversation taking place at his desk. He avoided looking at
them, keeping his eyes focused on the woman in front of him.
"I'm going to prove you wrong and make you sorry you treated
me like a stranger." Her voice remained low and soft, though
there was a hard edge to it. She gave him a polite nod, turned
and walked calmly out of the squad room.
Steve watched her go, not sure whether to feel sorry for
her, or if he should have his guard up. If she was for real, she
would spend hours finding out he was right and he'd never see her
again. If this was some game someone was playing, he could
expect another "attack" any time anywhere, and it might
have
nothing to do with the woman who had just left.
There was only one thing Steve Sloan was certain of at that
moment: that woman was not his daughter. As long as held tight
to that conviction, no one was going to get to him emotionally,
whatever game they were playing.
Spring, even in this hell hole, could be beautiful and
Lien's presence made their little corner heaven. Her long silken
black hair delighted his senses as it brushed his bare shoulders.
Her skin, soft as velvet beneath his hands. That erotic scent
she wore, that he had never experienced before or since. Her
face flushing as she rode him, driving them both beyond the
limits of common sense.
The shells exploded around them. Roaring fire in his ears,
heat searing his skin, they came so close. As he opened his
mouth to speak to Lien, he heard the whistle, felt the brush of
death by his ear. Saw her head erupt into a volcanic fury of
blood and tissue spewing all over him.
Steve sat bolt upright in the darkness, sweat covering his
almost naked body, heart hammering against his rib cage, breath
coming in great gasps. Clutching the mattress beneath him, he
struggled to find reality. A king size mattress, percale sheets,
quilted comforter, furniture, clothing, cell phone, detective
shield. A new millennium, not 1973. The United States, not
Vietnam.
Despite his best intentions, Steve's daytime visitor had
returned to haunt him in his dreams. 'Nam alive again in his
subconscious, making it real as nothing else can.
Five nights later Mark Sloan entered his home at 3:45AM. An
emergency surgery at Community General Hospital had called him
back just as sleep had overcome him. Now he was wired, wide
awake. There was only one way to battle the adrenaline coursing
through his body now, his secret remedy that no one else knew he
used.
Five minutes later, his still nimble fingers wrapped around
a big mug of steaming milk, he wandered toward the deck. He
stopped suddenly, seeing his son already there.
Clad only in pajama bottoms, Steve stood against the wooden
railing, staring out at the Pacific Ocean. Mark's concern
heightened when his gaze came to rest on the two empty beer
bottles on the patio table. Steve wasn't a lone drinker. Yet,
even as Mark stood watching, his son's head tipped back for a
long moment then nodded forward again.
The elder Sloan couldn't decide whether to intrude and try
to help or to leave his son to his solitary musings. The
decision was made for him when Steve turned to place the empty
beer bottle on the table with its compatriots. The bottle hit
the table with an unnatural clunk as Steve saw his father
watching him.
Mark stepped out onto the deck, leaving the door behind him
open. He didn't approach Steve. He sipped his milk.
"Want to talk about it?"
Muscular shoulders shrugged as Steve continued to stare
westward.
"Nothing to talk about. Just can't sleep is all."
Mark knew better. At least two other nights this week he
had heard Steve roaming about the house in the wee hours. Not
that midnight roamings were uncommon in a household that
consisted of the Chief of Internal Medicine and a Lieutenant in
Homicide. But Steve had a made a point of saying he would not be
on call this month. Whatever was causing his insomnia, it wasn't
work.
"Well, at least we can keep each other company 'til the
Sandman decides to arrive." Mark pulled out a chair and made
himself comfortable.
"Actually, I think I'm ready for the sack. 'Night Dad."
Steve strode by his father without another word, glance or
gesture.
Mark lifted his mug to his lips and stared out at the ocean.
Only gentle waves lapped the shore, the water glistening in the
moonlight like a silver and black blanket, overhead stars
twinkled like jewels on velvet. Deep down in his gut, Mark Sloan
knew a terrible storm brewed in the offing, one that couldn't be
avoided. Only one question remained: how many would become
victims when hurricane Steve hit.
The storm was a long time coming, much longer than Mark ever
would have thought. And for a while it looked like the damage
done might be irreparable.
"Mark!" Dr. Jesse Travis, white lab coat flapping
behind
him, rushed up to the Chief of Internal Medicine in the hall at
Community General several weeks later.
"What's up, Jess?"
"I have a favor to ask. Or really, more like an
invitation."
Mark perked up, his eyebrows disappearing behind his glasses
frames.
"An invitation. I'm all ears."
"Yeah, well, see I met this girl - woman."
"Ahhhh." Mark gave an understanding nod.
"She's really special Mark. I've never met anyone like her
before. We haven't been seeing each other that long, but I think
she could just be the one."
"The one?"
"You know, da, da, da, dum." Jesse raised his eye brows
as
he hummed the tune to Here Comes the Bride.
"Wow!" Mark was stunned, finally the light hit.
"An
invitation? You're getting married!"
"No! I mean, that is, not yet, anyway. I mean, I haven't
asked her. No, no, I just want you to meet her. So I was
thinking maybe you could come over to my place one night for
dinner."
"Oh. I'd love to meet her Jess. What does Amanda think of
her."
Jesse grimaced. "Well, that's the thing, see. Amanda
hasn't met her yet either. Neither has Steve. But I don't have
room at my place for a nice sit down dinner for all of us."
He
gave Mark his impish grin. "So, I decided to do it one at a
time. You're first."
Mark gave his friend a warm smile, and put a hand on his
shoulder.
"I tell you what, Jess. Why don't I host the dinner? I
have plenty of room and everyone can meet her at once."
"I don't know, Mark. She's comfortable at my place and
three for dinner is more, well, intimate, you know. Get to know
each other better."
"Jesse, which would you rather do, have your wisdom teeth
out all at once or in four separate trips?"
Jesse frowned, pursing his lips, not getting the connection
at first. At last he looked Mark.
"You think extending it out over several nights would be
more difficult for her?"
"Like facing the inquisition three separate times."
"Oh." The thought had never occurred to the younger
doctor.
"Well, if you're sure it won't be a problem. I mean I can
still cook the dinner, if you want."
Mark shook his head. "My treat. You check with Amanda,
I'll get with Steve and we'll try to find a night that's good for
everyone."
"Yeah, another point in favor of three separate nights.
Everyone's been so busy lately, we hardly see each other."
"Tell me about it."
So the following Friday found Mark puttering around his
kitchen putting the final touches on his special Chicken a la
Sloan. Steve clomped upstairs from his apartment and made
himself comfortable on one of the kitchen stools.
Reaching across the island he snatched a slice of radish
from the salad.
"Ah!" Mark threatened him with the meat fork.
"Don't
touch."
Steve scowled and popped the radish in his mouth.
"So, what do we know about this girl Jesse wants us all to
meet?"
"Woman," Mark corrected. "Not much. Just that he
met her
at Bar B Que Bob's one night and they got to talking. Been going
out ever since, I guess."
"Funny I never met her, or he didn't introduce her."
"You two haven't exactly been working the same shifts at
Bob's lately have you?"
"Not exactly. But that's the beauty of having two owners,
we can switch off and not have to work every night."
"Speaking of nights." Mark pushed his glasses down his
nose
and peered over them at his son. "I heard you up wandering
around again last night. I'm worried about you. These
nightmares have been going on for more than a month now. Don't
you think you should see someone about them?"
Steve gave a heavy sigh and shook his head.
"Look, I appreciate your concern, but all the talk in the
world isn't going to make them go away. I know what started it,
I just have to work it out myself."
Mark shook his head, not at all pleased with his son's
response.
In an attempt to change the subject Steve got to his feet
and offered to set the table.
"Already done, but thank you. You could, however, uncork
the wine so it has a chance to breathe."
A half hour later the two Sloans stood in the dining room
admiring the table. Mark glanced at his watch and was about to
comment when the front doorbell rang and they heard the door
open.
"We're here!" came Amanda Bentley's bright voice.
The Assistant LA County Medical Examiner hurried into the
room before Jesse and his date. Just ahead enough to whisper,
"She's a doll!" to Mark and Steve.
The minute Jesse and his date came through the dining room
entrance Steve stiffened. He looked around at everyone, trying
to figure out just what was going on.
"Mark, Steve, I'd like you to meet Soon-Li."
"We've already met." Steve's voice was hard and
silenced
anything Mark was about to say. "Or," Steve turned his
steely
gaze to Jesse. "Maybe you already knew that." He turned
back to
Soon Li. "I don't know what you're after, but it isn't going
to
work." Once more he turned and looked at Jesse. Then he
backed
away to take in his father and Amanda in his stare as well.
"Or maybe you're all in on this? What did she say to you to
get you to go along with this?"
Jesse's mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of
water, gasping for breath. Amanda simply stared at Steve. Mark
was feeling the first breezes of the storm he'd been anticipating
for so long.
"Steve, Steve, calm down, son. Whatever you're thinking,
just stop. You have to explain what's going on, because
obviously none of us know."
"Oh, she knows all right!" He pointed at Soon-Li.
"Don't
you? How dare you try and rope my family into your ugly game. I
tell you right now, it isn't going to work."
His teeth clenched, he grabbed Soon-Li by the arm and
dragged her out of the dining room and toward the front door.
"I want you out of this out right now. And you stay away
from my family. That includes Jesse and Amanda. You understand
me?"
Jess was chasing after them, yelling at Steve to stop. He
caught up to the pair just as Steve opened the front door.
"Steve, stop. She's not going anywhere. Whatever you think
is wrong, we can work this out."
"Jess, she's playing you for a fool, can't you see
that?"
"I am not!" At last Soon-Li spoke, startling both of
the
men.
Mark and Amanda stood at the top of the stairs watching.
"Shut up and get out!" Steve moved to shove her out the
door, but Jesse intervened, grabbing his arm.
"Let go Jess!"
"No!"
Then with a final heave, Steve tossed both of them out the
door. Jesse stumbled down to the drive, but Soon-Li tripped and
fell head long down the brick steps and landed with a deadening
thud onto the macadam.
"My God!" Amanda cried and rushed out the door, Mark
close
at her heels.
Jesse was already over Soon-Li. "Call 9-1-1, she's cracked
her skull, she's bleeding!"
Amanda pulled out her cell phone and dialed. Mark turned
back to his son.
"What in the world is wrong with you? This is my house too,
and you have no right to treat my guests that way!"
"It's all a trick. No matter what you might think. It's
just someone's way to get to me."
"Well, if she dies, you'll have played right into their hand
you know. You could be charged with murder."
Mark Sloan sat behind the bar separating him from his son
and Steve's lawyer. The courtroom around him seemed to be in
chaos, defendants and lawyers discussing cases, deputies hauling
suspects in and out, public defense attorneys scrambling to keep
up with the case load.
This was only the indictment phase. The judge was going to
decide whether or not to allow Steve out on bail. If Steve was
lucky and granted bail, the next question was how much? Mark's
good friend, attorney Levi Morton, had warned Steve not to expect
much.
"Cops don't get much leeway in cases like this. Physical
abuse is just not tolerated these days. On or off duty."
Mark's stomach was in knots. His heart was in his throat as
he looked at his son. Steve rested his elbows on his knees, his
head hung low, oblivious to the commotion around him, a picture
of total dejection.
Steve's case was called and Mark sat up straighter. Upon
direction from Levi, Steve stood up and faced the judge. He'd
been through these prelims before, he knew the routine, but Steve
seemed to be in a fog. Levi had to tell him every move to make.
Steve pled not guilty. Levi and the prosecutor traded barbs,
trying to get the judge to see their view. In a matter of
minutes it was over. Steve could go home if he could raise 1
million dollars or ten percent of that to a bail bondsman.
Even if Mark cashed in all his stocks, he wasn't sure it
would come to a hundred thousand dollars. He'd have to get a
second mortgage on the house. In the meantime Steve would be
stuck behind bars. Mark hated this whole scenario.
Levi had told Mark the only defense was temporary insanity.
Steve was fighting it because he knew it would mean extended time
in a mental health facility if the defense worked. But Steve
could offer no other defense, or excuse, for throwing Soon-Li
down the front steps to her death. Mark's son was sticking to
the story that Soon-Li had been sent to "get" him. That
he had
played into "their" hands, as Mark had implied earlier,
and was
now right where "they" wanted him.
The only problem was, Steve wouldn't say who "they"
were or
how or why he knew Soon-Li.
Of course that wasn't the only problem. Jesse was in an
emotional uproar himself. Mark was caught between a very dear
friend and co-worker and his own son. Jesse blamed Steve for
killing Soon-Li and ruining his life. The emotional strain of
losing her had caused Jesse to exaggerate in his own mind the
depth of their relationship. Now, to hear him tell it, they were
ready to walk down the aisle, two point three children and a
picket fence just around the corner.
Jesse blamed everyone. Steve for the actual act. Amanda
and Mark for not intervening, and Mark for "taking Steve's
side."
Life at Community General was tense to put it mildly. Jesse
snapped at everyone, Amanda sulked or cried at the drop of a hat.
Mark did his best to keep to himself and stay out of everyone's
way. He felt like a pariah, that everyone was staring at him,
shaking their heads, feeling sorry for him.
Mark wasn't taking Steve's side. Steve was his son, he owed
it to him to help in whatever way he could. He knew what Steve
had done was wrong and that his actions had indeed led to Soon-
Li's death. He despised everything that had happened that
evening, but there was more behind this than anyone knew at this
point and Mark was determined to find out what. He deeply
empathized with Jesse at his loss, wanted to be able to console
him. The young doctor was almost as much a son to Mark as Steve
was. But Jesse wanted nothing to do with Mark anymore. Mark's
felt a great void in his life where Steve and Jesse should be
right now.
Go To
Part Two
