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Net Work
(October 2004)

by

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This was a mistake.

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He had known it from the very first second, but all his persuasion, all his arguments, had been in vain. So now here he stood, waiting and forced to watch what was surefire disaster in the making. He listened to a scrap of the conversation taking place a few feet away and sighed mightily. All right - that was enough. Time to make his move. He pushed himself away from the counter at his back and took a step forward.

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"Jesse - " he kept his voice low. "You have a one bedroom apartment and no yard. What are you going to do with a volley ball net?"

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Jesse looked daunted, then he smiled an irrepressible smile. "I can use it when I visit you! It's a great volley ball net, Steve. Top of the line."

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"Jesse, I have a volley ball net. And you're welcome to use it any time."

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Jesse hesitated and Steve saw the proprietor shoot him a disgruntled glance. He shot back his best steely cop glare. The proprietor subsided, looking a little shaken.

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Jesse rebounded. "But yours is - and I hate to say this, big guy - out of date! This one has the latest technology!"

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Steve mentally counted to ten. "It's a net, Jesse. There is no technology. The idea is to get the ball over it. You could make do with a clothesline in a pinch."

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For a second Jesse seemed to consider this, then he leaned in to Steve confidingly. "But Steve - " he lowered his voice. "It's blue."

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Steve stared, then held up his hands in surrender and returned to his corner.

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Blue. God help me.

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He saw the proprietor smilingly whip out a pair of brightly colored matching beach shoes and opened his mouth to intervene. Who plays volley ball in shoes…? But with a glance at Jesse's face, he sighed again and averted his gaze instead.

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This had been a bad idea. Shopping in Malibu among the moneyed was a sucker's game. They would make out much better in Venice, or even Santa Monica, touristy though it was. But Jesse's eyes had lit like a pair of high beams at the dazzling display of beach sporting goods, and nothing Steve had said had managed to dissuade him from this costly course.

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"…and this will block the sun from your eyes and protect your skin…"

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It was all Steve could do to suppress a groan. It would probably block the passage of the volley ball from his eyes too - play a hell of a game that way. All for the incredibly reasonable price of $65.95 or something like that, when you could get the exact same hat for about two bucks off one of the tourist racks on the Santa Monica Pier. He opened his mouth again to protest, closed it abruptly.

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No. He wouldn't interfere again. But he didn't have to watch this fleecing either.

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He let his eyes travel around the shop, drifting from one well-heeled potential sportsman to another. Shoppers were sparse at midday on a weekday. He paused briefly on one lean figure near a wall of deep sea diving gear. His dark tan and long, sun bleached hair pegged him as a surfer, his stubble and unkempt look as a surf bum. Still. Didn't mean anything. People took him for a surfer regularly himself. For all he knew, this guy was a rock star.

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He moved his gaze to rest appreciatively on a couple of bikini-clad women by the sun lotion display instead, bending half an ear to Jesse's animated conversation.

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"…even have a matching sweat band set!"

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Steve rolled his eyes. Oh, swell. His glance returned automatically to the surfer, and the hair prickled at the back of his neck. He shifted uneasily. Come on, Steve - don't be paranoid - you're just bored. Looking for some way to pass the time while Jesse buys every piece of useless sporting equipment in Malibu. There are other ways to pass the time than picturing some poor schmuck as a potential felon.

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Still.

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He leaned a little away from the counter at his back, his eyes narrowing as he saw the surfer secrete a large knife, the kind used for underwater exploration, casually in the depths of the towel slung around his neck.

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He glanced around the interior again. The bikini girls were exiting, leaving him and Jesse and the surfer the only remaining customers. Which would work great for the guy if he was planning something, but it worked great for Steve too.

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Trying to look nonchalant, he strolled over to Jesse and unceremoniously interrupted the conversation. In a low, pleasant voice he asked the proprietor, "You got a back way out of here?"

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The proprietor started to protest, but Jesse looked hard at Steve.

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Without turning around, Steve gestured to the surfer almost imperceptibly with his head. "I want you both out of here. Take Jesse to look at something in the back room. Jess, call 911 - possible robbery in progress at the Malibu Surf 'N Turf. Give my badge number if you remember it. Now, go."

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Jesse didn't move. "I can't leave you here all alone."

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Steve leaned forward onto the counter, laughing lightly as though Jesse had made a joke. "I won't be alone as soon as you call that back up for me. C'mon, he's armed - go." Jesse hesitated a moment longer and Steve pressed, "Let's keep this safe and easy." He jerked his head in the direction of the proprietor. "Don't risk his life."

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Jesse reluctantly moved to follow the proprietor. "I'll be within earshot," he muttered, barely audibly.

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"Just get me that backup!" Steve hissed back. He watched them leave, then casually turned the other way, so that his back was braced against the counter and he could sweep the interior for his potential perp. The surfer-dude was still in front of the deep sea diving equipment, but Steve saw him shoot him a sideways glance. Steve waited, assessing his position. He didn't have a weapon with him - hard to carry one in shorts and a tank top and besides, he was off duty. The surfer guy, on the other hand, had a whopping big knife. Probably the best thing to do was maintain surveillance until back up could get here, unless the perp made a move.

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He saw the surfer glance his way again, take note of the missing proprietor but also of Steve standing right in front of the cash register that sat on the other side of the counter. He seemed to size Steve up, then duck his head in the other direction. This time he ambled slowly toward the exit.

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Steve paused. Well, of course, a crime stopped was better, but if this guy was looking for cash and carrying a knife, it probably just meant that the next shop, the one without a bored off-duty cop inside, would be the new target. Lots of potential for people to get hurt. He moved away from the counter, taking his time, keeping his eyes on the surfer. The surfer must have noticed, because he picked up pace, but by the time he got to the exit, Steve was standing in front of it, smiling coolly.

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"You know," he said genially, "I think you forgot to pay for that knife."

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The surfer lunged for him, pulling the knife from its hidden place in the folds of his towel. Steve efficiently blocked the blow with one arm, grabbing the wrist of the knife-wielding hand with the other and twisting.? The knife clattered to the floor and he kicked it out of reach with one foot, briskly continuing to twist until his assailant was forced to turn, his arm twisted up behind his back.

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Would be nice to have a set of handcuffs, Steve reflected absently, nudging him face-first against a display counter. Maybe there's some friendly bicycle cop nearby with a pair who will hear Jesse's 911 call.

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"Just take it easy. You're under arrest. You have the right - "

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He was reaching for the surfer's other arm and didn't even see what happened next. All he heard was a hissing sound and felt a wet and icy cold chill hit his face, followed by a savage burning. He cried out, reaching for his suddenly blinded eyes.

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Don't rub! Don't rub! He could almost hear his father's stern advice in his ear as he staggered forward, cupping his hands over them, but trying not to claw at them as he longed to.? Blindly, he groped for a stack of beach towels that he had seen earlier, just felt the nubbly fabric under his hand as something slammed into his jaw and he went down. The back of his head ricocheted off of the counter edge with a ringing crack as he fell, billowing a blue-white burst of flame behind his lids; then a cool, solid surface rattled the length of his frame. He wanted desperately to lie still and collect himself, but the whisper of beach shoes by his face told him that there wasn't time and he rolled over, groaning, and made a mindless grab. He hooked something - not in a sure grip, but enough to throw his attacker's balance. He registered the yelp, followed by the resounding thud, with grim satisfaction, blotting? hastily at his burning eyes and trying to squint them open. He saw a blurry confusion of shadowy images, tried to concentrate on the one that seemed to be moving and threw himself on top.

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It wasn't a perfect landing, but it wasn't completely off, either. A wiry body bucked and twisted underneath him and he held onto a handful of cloth, trying to subdue the flailing collection of limbs. He grunted as one of the limbs found his back and hammered relentlessly, strained to shift his grip to include more skin and less material. He'd seen a nature show once where a man had wrestled an alligator - he suspected that that must have felt a whole lot like this. He managed to corral what he was sure was an arm, hissing in frustration.

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He'd never take his vision for granted again. Or his handcuffs either, for that matter.

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Something entangled him suddenly - something stringy and unyielding - and he tried to squint his eyes open and see. A blurry yellow motif swam before him and he pushed at it, but it only twisted more tightly around him. Against his bare arms it dug a pattern, the thin, tensile mesh trapping his movements.

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Like being caught in a web, he thought, then promptly lost that thought as the body struggling under his took advantage of the distraction to roll suddenly, reversing their positions.

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Steve fought to pry his eyes open, to see. It was a little better this time, bright, dizzying light stabbing through the darkness, and he groaned as he finally understood what he was tangled in. A volley ball net. Just great. Well, live by the sword…at least it wasn't very wide - if he could just…

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He couldn't feel his assailant nearby, but he could hear him. He didn't seem to be making a break for the door, so maybe he was incapacitated too. He tried to pick himself up, toppled in the other direction as his head swooned giddily, just as he heard a peculiar thwip - like the sound of someone blowing a spitball through a straw magnified a thousand times. Before he could puzzle out the noise he felt a rush of air, followed by the hollow thunk of metal on wood. One second later, his arm exploded in a white-hot ball of fire.

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All the strength seemed to pour from his body in a rush, coldness seeping in to take its place. He tried to push himself up, but his hand slipped in a slick puddle of warm wetness and he went down again, landing hard on his side.? There were noises -? familiar-yet-unfamiliar metallic sounds, like some kind of trigger being readied - sounds that he knew meant danger, but hard as he tried, he couldn't seem to force his rebellious body to move. Instead, the room moved around him, twisting in an acrobatic series of loop-de-loops.

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"Hi-YA!"

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Now he knew he was out of it, because that had sounded just like a karate yell.

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Something metal clattered on the linoleum near him, followed by more yells, and an uneven scrabble of feet. He pried one set of aching lids apart, and in a halo of florescent light, thought he caught a vision of Jesse playing ride 'em cowboy on the surfer's back while the surfer danced in circles, a blue volley ball net swinging around him like a makeshift shawl. Somewhere under it all, he could make out the welcome wail of a siren coming closer. Despite the leeching cold that was clinging to him, trying to pull him under, he smiled a little at the sound. The cavalry. And just in the nick. He let himself relax.

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There were lots of feet on the linoleum then - he couldn't be sure exactly how many or how much later. The official tones were unmistakable, as was Jesse's energetic, "You're under arrest!"

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There was a pause. "Ah - sir? I'm supposed to say that."

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Steve smiled inwardly. Aw, go ahead - let him say it, he urged - or meant to - he couldn't tell if the words actually made their way to his vocal chords or not.

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"Well, then, say it!" Jesse sounded in high form.

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Steve heard the rote recitation of the Miranda rights start in a different voice. He should probably get up and give a report on the situation…

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"And get us an ambulance, will you?" Someone was pulling on the mesh wrapped around him and he let them, suddenly too tired to resist or help. "Steve? Buddy, you still with me?"

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Yeah. Kinda.

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"C'mon, talk to me - "?

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Something pushed down hard on his arm, sending a shock like an electrical current through him, and he jerked, half opening his eyes.

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"That's better. What's with your eyes?" Steve took a mindless swipe at them and Jesse pushed his hand away. "Don't rub. Oh, this what he used?"

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Steve squinted as hard as he could and saw Jesse's wavering hand presenting what looked like a spray can of insect repellent. "Think so." His voice sounded…funny.

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"Okay. We're going to wash those out in a minute - I just want to get some of this bleeding under control, all right?"

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"Mm." Steve closed his eyes again, a dull realization slowly dawning. "Jess?"

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"Yeah?" Jesse sounded brisk and busy.

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"I think I hurt my arm."

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"Ya think? Take a look to your right."

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Steve battled his eyes for cooperation again, barely brought some kind of red-splotched, long metal shaft, quivering in the counter wall next to him, into focus. He frowned, trying to make sense of it, put it together with the sound he'd heard, his stomach doing an unexpected flip flop. "He…harpooned me?"

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"Looks like." Jesse pulled tightly on the something around his arm and black spots swam across Steve's vision. He let Jesse help him settle in a half-sitting position against the counter, all the fight sucked out of him. "It's a messy wound and a whole lot of blood, but I don't think it hit anything vital. You'll just be a little less muscle bound for a while."

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Steve shifted away from the pain, clenching his teeth against it. "Did I - hallucinate - or did I really see you - on his back…?"

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"He was completely surprised. I dropped the volley ball net over him to make him let go of the harpoon gun and then subdued him. Sort of. It was a master plan."

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"Not half bad," Steve admitted. He remembered something else and half-lifted his lids. "But - Hi-yah? Did you actually say that?"

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"Hey, it always worked in those Bruce Lee movies!"

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Steve chuckled, winced at the resulting pain. "I'll bet. Was probably -? laughing too hard - to fight back. Or thought he'd flashed back to the eighties…"

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"Yuck it up all you want - it worked. Or you'd be doing a Moby Dick imitation right now."

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Steve smiled faintly, letting the world drift gently away from him. "Yeah. Good work, Bruce."

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He heard Jesse's answering snort of laughter. "Say, Steve?"

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Everything was swimming in a pleasant greyness now. "Mm?"

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Jesse's voice was unmistakably smug. "I told you that was a really great net."

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*

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"It's gotta be the sling."

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"What?" Steve glanced up from trying to painstakingly slide his feet into a pair of loafers to stare at him. "What are you babbling about now?"

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"The sling. That's got to be it. There's no other explanation."

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Steve snagged one loafer with his toe, but it slid maddeningly to the side before he could maneuver his foot inside. He huffed at it in frustration. "What about the sling? Besides being uncomfortable and inconvenient and throwing off my balance, I mean?"

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"That must explain all the nursing attention. It's the only thing I can figure. After all, I'm the hero here - I'm the one who saved your life and apprehended the thief."

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"Then maybe you should get yourself one." Steve was focused on the shoe, which rebelliously twisted around just as he was about to shove his toes inside, so that it was now backward. "Besides, you can't tell me you haven't snagged a few dates with that story. Everybody who comes in here seems to know it. Or some version of it, anyway." He gave Jesse a shrewd glance and Jesse grinned unrepentantly in return.

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"Hey, what do you know about it? You were blind, bleeding, and barely conscious. And if not for my quick action - "

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"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" Steve glared at the loafers, as if to intimidate them into submission. "I think I've heard the recap once or twice myself." ?He pushed himself carefully up from the edge of the bed, the shoes only half on. Probably that was about as good as it was going to get.

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"So, how are your eyes anyway?"

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Steve glanced at him in surprise at the non sequitur. "Better," he said automatically. The burned area around them was still red and tender, but the eye irrigation had done its work and his vision was normal again, if still a little sensitive to light.

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"Let me take a look."

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Steve dropped back down onto the edge of the bed. "You're not my doctor."

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"Yeah, but I saved your life. In some countries that means that I'm responsible for it."

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Steve closed his eyes wearily. "And I'm going to be hearing about this for the rest of my life, aren't I?"

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Jesse nodded cheerfully. "A life which you're lucky to have. Thanks to me. Just a quick look - " He produced a small flashlight from somewhere and Steve opened his eyes to squint at it.

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"What, do you carry that thing at the ever-ready in a holster somewhere?"

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"That's my secret. You should be immune to it by now…"

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Steve sat quietly while Jesse plied his flashlight. He should be immune to it - in the last two days someone always seemed to be flashing one of those at him…how is your head, Mr. Sloan? How are your eyes? Let me take a look at your arm…

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To be honest, most of it was a blur. He had some single, distinct memories of his arrival in the Emergency Room - of Jesse's voice, arguing obstinately with the Admitting Nurse, who kept trying to explain to him over and over that there were plenty of fine ER doctors on duty and that Dr. Travis would not be needed to treat anybody…now, Dr. Travis knew the rules…the hospital had its insurance to think about…of course, he was welcome to stay and talk to the doctor on duty…?

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Steve had wanted to tell him to go home - that there was no reason for him to work on his day off just because Steve had ended up working on his…to go back to Malibu and buy something expensive and unnecessary - to have a good time…that's what he'd wanted to say, he couldn't really be sure that he had succeeded in saying any of it.

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He'd realized later that, whether he had managed to say what was on his mind or not, Jesse had not gone home. The next thing he remembered was a low-toned buzz of voices, undecipherable, like white noise. He lay for a while, thinking he had fallen asleep with the television on, then he distinguished a familiar voice out of the hum.

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"…I should have been expecting the call anyway. Steve manages to get into enough trouble by himself - the two of you together was just a disaster waiting to happen."

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Dad. And he was talking to…he caught a whiff of antiseptic. Oh. God, he hated that smell. So he was…he flashed on the image of the harpoon quivering in the wall and his stomach gave a twist. That's right. Things hadn't gone quite as…hey, what did he mean about a disaster waiting to happen? Sure, Jesse could be a little impulsive sometimes, but he certainly wasn't! All he had done - he turned his head on the pillow to interrupt the conversation and defend himself, but the motion pressed against a sore spot on the back of his skull, cleaving his brain in two, and then everything went dark again.

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Jesse lowered his flashlight and Steve reached up to rub the lingering spots away from his eyes.

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"Don't rub." Steve automatically dropped his hand in mid-action. "How's the arm?"

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"In a sling. You know - for the nurses."

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"Right. Keep it there for a week to ten days and you're surefire date bait."

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Steve gave a brief snort of laughter in response, chasing one of the recalcitrant shoes with his foot, managing to catch it and slide his toes more securely inside this time. "Yeah, that was my plan all along."

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He remembered waking up again some time later - day or night, he couldn't tell, they kept the room darkened in deference to his eyes - to find a cop he didn't recognize standing by his bed, brandishing a pad. Malibu precinct, probably. He'd answered questions and given his statement as best he could, but his brain had still felt fuzzy with blood loss and the blow and he couldn't be sure how coherent he was.

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The detective was patient and sympathetic, and just before he left, he seemed to hesitate. "There's somebody else here to see you. You up to another visitor?"

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He couldn't imagine who it could be, but there didn't seem to be any medical personnel around to protest, so with bleary curiosity, he'd said, "Sure."

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He could just recognize the owner of the Malibu Surf 'N Turf in the gloom and thought about sitting up, abandoned the idea almost immediately.

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The owner had just wanted to thank him…went on for what seemed like an eternity about all he could have lost or how he could have been hurt or killed, begged to be allowed to show his thanks in cash or merchandise…? Steve explained that he was not allowed to accept gratuities, and the man seemed disappointed.

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"But you weren't even on duty," he protested. "I should be able to do something for you. And for your friend too, of course."

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His friend. Jess…he smiled as something occurred to him. "Okay. Maybe there is something you could do at that…"

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He smiled again at the memory, nudging his foot gently into the other loafer this time.

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"Hey, there. I heard they're throwing you out."

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Steve looked up from his concentration on his loafers to see Amanda smiling in the doorway. "Bout time." Ha. Second shoe. Mission accomplished. He rose cautiously to his feet again. "As soon as Dad gets here."

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"Well, he'll be here shortly - he got a little held up in Admitting. How are you feeling?"

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Amanda moved closer to study his face and he mustered a reassuring grin. "Pretty good." Though he kind of wished this fuzziness would pass. He was familiar with the lingering symptoms of blood loss - fatigue, dizziness, unquenchable thirst - but he was ready to be done with them.

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"Considering that he nearly lost his life," Jesse put in gleefully. "But didn't, thanks to - "

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Steve rolled his eyes and sank back down on the edge of the bed, prepared to wait. Jesse's version of this tale was never short.

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But Amanda jumped in, fixing Jesse with a cool glare. "Jesse, if you tell that story ONE more time, I am going to find a harpoon myself and do you in! I hear it at the nurse's station! I hear it in the doctor's lounge! I hear it in the cafeteria! And I've heard it from you in person at LEAST a hundred times - with new embellishments each time! Now, not another word, I'm warning you!"

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Jesse gave her a hurt look. "But I saved Steve's life!"

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"Jesse, you're a doctor - you save lives every day. We get it. Let's be done with it."

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"But this was different!" Jesse looked prepared to launch into an explanation of how different it was, but Amanda's warning frown stuttered him to a stop. He made a face. "Um - maybe I'll go check on Mark - see what's keeping him." He slipped quickly out of the door.

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Steve and Amanda exchanged an amused glance as they heard him barely avoid a collision with a nurse outside in the hallway, but Amanda's smile quickly faded as his voice drifted back, "Say, Stacy, did I ever tell you about my day off, where I saved my best friend's life? Well, it was a beautiful day, sun shining - "

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With a growl, Amanda pushed the door firmly closed behind him.

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Steve grinned a little, slowly pushing back to his feet. Ouch. Even his feet hurt.

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Amanda watched him. "We're never going to be done with this, you know." She sighed a sigh of longsuffering. "We're going to hear about it forever."

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"Yeah…well…" Steve dragged his light windbreaker from where it was slung on the back of a chair and started to try and slide his good arm into the sleeve. "To be fair - he did, probably."

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Amanda hurried near to help him, pulling the sleeve all the way up his arm and the side with the empty sleeve over his slinged shoulder, arranging it securely. "Jesse? Sounded like a whole lot of exaggeration to me."

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"Oh, a little," Steve nodded his thanks for the help. "But, well, surviving a harpoon to the arm wasn't so much; I doubt I could have survived one to the chest."

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Amanda studied his face with painful intensity. "He was going to shoot you in the chest?"

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"I think so." Steve shuffled over to the nightstand drawer and began sorting his keys and wallet and things. "I think he missed the first time and hit my arm because I fell over, and was going for a second shot - I couldn't see, so I don't know for sure, but if Jesse hadn't jumped in - " he shrugged, then winced and grabbed at his injured arm.

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Amanda stayed where she was, watching him. "Why try to kill you in the first place? Why not just run?"

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"I don't know." Steve began slowly stuffing things into his pockets with his good hand. "Maybe he panicked. Or maybe he figured that with no eye witnesses alive he'd be home free. Either way…" He shoved his wallet awkwardly in his back pocket.

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"Hm." Amanda continued to study him. "Steve, do you realize that you have your shoes on the wrong feet?"

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Steve grimaced at his feet. No wonder they hurt. "I like them that way," he ground out from between his teeth.

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This time it was Amanda who rolled her eyes, leading him back to the edge of the bed. "Sit down and let me fix them - come on, don't get all macho on me. I do it all the time for CJ…"

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Steve obediently dropped back onto the bed. Seemed like it was about time for another sit down-break anyway. He tried not to feel silly as Amanda removed his shoes and switched them around, settling them back on fully, making sure they were comfortable.

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She gave one foot a final pat as she finished. "Jesse really did save you from being skewered, then?"

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Steve watched her work, careful not to tilt too far forward. "Looks like."

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She rose back to her feet and surprised him by dropping a kiss on top of his head.

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"It's got to be the sling." Jesse's disgusted voice greeted them from the doorway. "Mark's on his way."?

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Amanda turned and tilted her head at him, folding her arms over her chest. After a second, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly too, on the cheek this time.

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Jesse's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Say! What was that for?"

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"Steve says you saved his life."

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"I've BEEN telling you that!"

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"Uh-huh. So I guess you really are a hero." Amanda lifted a finger in his direction as she passed him on the way out the door. "And this doesn't mean I EVER want to hear that story again, Jesse - I mean it! Ever!"

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Jesse stared after her as the door swung in her wake. "Women!" he burst out. "I'll never get them!"

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"Well, don't look at me." Steve was trying to decide about standing up again. If his Dad didn't hurry, he wouldn't even have the energy for the traditional fight about the wheelchair to the car. Much as he hated to admit it, he was ready for a nap. If Jesse hadn't been there he might have considered stretching out to wait - just for a minute or two.

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He was on the verge of giving into that urge when the obligatory wheelchair pushed its way through the door, with Mark at the helm. Steve stood up hastily - a little too hastily, so that he had to catch himself quickly on Jesse's shoulder. He hoped the move was lost on his father, but the probing he look he gave him as he positioned the wheelchair assured him that it wasn't.

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"How are you doing? Ready to go home?"

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"More than." Steve glanced at the wheelchair. "Is that really necessary?" What the heck. His father would worry if he didn't lodge at least a token protest.

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The look Mark returned told him that he knew exactly what he was up to, but was willing to play along. "Hospital policy. Why don't you have a seat. Do you have everything?"

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"Yeah." Steve sank into the wheelchair, trying not to look as though it felt good. Jesse handed him his overnight bag and he nestled it on his lap. "Let's get out of here."

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*

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Steve started awake at the jarring motion of the car rebounding on its shocks to a stop. He sat blinking and trying to reorient himself as the engine went quiet.

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"Home sweet home."

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He nodded. He knew his dad was subtly giving him time to pull himself together.

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"Have a nice nap?"

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"I wasn't sleeping. I was thinking."

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Mark nodded genially. "Very deeply, evidently. Accompanied by a little light snoring."

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Steve hid a smile as he reached for the door handle. His smile faded quickly as he eyed the front of the house. What were they thinking, owning a house with so many stairs…? "I was pretending to be asleep so that I wouldn't have to notice you blowing through that red light."

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Mark pushed the driver's side door open and stepped out. "I only went through that light because I was afraid that if I stopped quickly, you were so deeply asleep that you'd go right through the windshield." He hurried around the front of the car to help Steve, who was trying to heft himself out of the passenger seat with the use of one arm.

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"I had my seatbelt on." Steve grit his teeth in irritation at his clumsiness. "It's the law."

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"Right." Mark grabbed his left arm to steady his balance. "Can't be sure that would save you from a head injury at your height - that's why we have airbags."

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Steve managed to find his feet and leaned against the car for a minute, catching his equilibrium. "I hate slings," he panted.

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"Yes, well - " Mark gently shuffled him toward the stairs. "Then you have to learn to stay away from things like spear guns. I can't believe you were really gouged by a spear gun. I thought it was a typo on your accident report at first. I should have known better."

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"It is my sworn duty…" Steve made a quick grab for Mark's sleeve as they topped the steps and he swayed. "To stop a felony in progress." He paused, breathing hard. "Are these higher than they used to be?"

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Mark patted his good shoulder. "Blood loss. All I can say is that you certainly fulfill your sworn duty with flair. Hang on - there's a package here. Careful not to bump that arm - it's only packed, not stitched."

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Mark bent over to retrieve the package, glanced at Steve as he straightened again. "Why don't you go inside and lie down?"

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"I'm fine - " Steve answered vaguely. "…just enjoying the view."

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"Of the inside of your eyelids." Mark nudged him toward the inside stairs. "Get comfortable and I'll fix you some beef tea - very good for blood loss."

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Steve teetered his way up the inside stairs to the beckoning leather couch and tried to lower himself slowly down, but the couch rushed up to meet him a little more quickly that he'd anticipated and the bounce seemed to joggle everything he'd been trying to keep steady. He hugged his sling protectively against his chest.

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Mark frowned at him appraisingly. "You take it easy while I get that tea. This package is for you, by the way."

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"For me?" Steve slitted his eyes at it in surprise. "I'm not expecting anything. Where's it from?"

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"Malibu Surf N Turf. I know your money is your own to do what you like with, Steve, but do you really think it's wise to shop there? Everything is so grossly overpriced!"

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"Oh." Steve's eyes brightened. "Yeah, I know - but he cut me a good deal because I spotted that robber. Can you bring me something to open it with?"

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Mark returned with a box cutter and a disapproving look. "The tea is heating. And he was probably just grateful that you didn't run him in for extortion, considering what he charges for things." He handed Steve the box cutter, then took it back as he saw him dubiously try to saw at the box with one hand. "Let me, before you damage something else…" He sliced through the heavy tape and pulled back the box top, staring inside.? "I think these are a little small for you?" He lifted out a pair of blue beach shoes, then peered deeper into the box. "And a volley ball net? Steve, you have a volley ball net."

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Steve smiled at the beach shoes with satisfaction. "They're for Jesse. The owner threw the shoes in for free."

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Mark looked from the box to his son. "What on earth is Jesse going to do with a volley ball net? He has a one bedroom apartment!"

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"Yeah, I know." Steve took the net from Mark and held it up for a closer look. "He can use it when he comes here."

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"You have a perfectly good net! Why can't he use that when he comes here?"

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"But Dad," Steve pointed out patiently, "This one is blue."

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Mark stared at him as if wondering if he should have paid closer attention to the head wound. He studied Steve's face and then shook his head. "I suppose this is something between you that I'll need a translator to understand. But Steve - I know Jesse loves beach sports, but, well - " he cleared his throat. "I mean, you know I think the world of Jesse, but, uh, volley ball is a sport where - well - height really matters."

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Steve unrolled the net to admire it. "Yeah, well - it's just for casual beach games. Besides - " he smiled, remembering his blurry glimpse of Jesse riding the surfer's back. "You shouldn't sell the little guy short, Dad. You'd be surprised how he can leap to the occasion when he needs to."

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The End

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