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Big Boys Don't Cry

Episode 20 written by Allison
Original air date: March 8, 2002

Disclaimer: The characters in the following fan fiction do not belong to me. They belong to CBS and Viacom and other powers that be. I am only using them for the purpose ofwriting this story. No money is being made from this writing it is for entertainment purposes only. And now on with the show...

Captain Newman was pacing his office - a bad sign. He turned and shook his head. "I don't like this Sloan, it's too dangerous for only one person to know the identity of this informant."

Steve Sloan was sitting beside Newman's desk - left ankle propped across his right knee. He watched his Captain move back and forth and tried to stay calm. "No Captain," he said quietly. "It's too dangerous for MORE than one person to know. Callaghan is ruthless, the minute he gets wind of that name my informant is dead."

Newman stopped pacing and propped a hip on the desk. "And what about you?" he asked thrusting his face towards his lieutenant. "What's to stop them beating the information out of you?"

Steve scratched his forehead with his thumb, then, reaching down pulled his jacket back to reveal the gun strapped to the right hand side of his belt. "This" he said.

Newman raised his hands heavenwards. "You're mad. What're you going to do - wear that to bed, take it into the shower with you? You can't be on guard all the time."

Steve sighed. "I know Captain, but I can try. And I'm not mad - I don't want to get hurt - I'll watch my back."

Newman shrugged, knowing he had lost. "OK Sloan, but keep your head down."

Steve allowed himself a small smile of triumph and standing left the office.

Later that evening he was having dinner with his father Dr. Mark Sloan in the Malibu beach house they shared. He explained the background to the case to the older man and said: "The only reason we found out about Callaghan's drug operation was because my informant found dates and times left on a fax machine and started to dig around. Callaghan's front is a legit transport organization with 100 employees. It would be impossible for him to trace my source without getting the name. But the DA's case is almost complete. Another week and it'll be ready for arrests and charges. I just have to watch my back till then."

Mark Sloan grimaced and put down his knife and fork. "Oh Steve, you know your Captain's right. This is way too dangerous."

Steve put down his cutlery too and raised his hands. "I know, I know, but what else can I do dad? The more people who know that name the more chance of Callaghan finding out. Dad, you know I'm careful out there."

Mark nodded. "I know Steve, but this is a desperate man and you're the only thing between him and what he wants."

Steve pushed his almost empty plate away and sighed. "Let's not talk about it anymore tonight Dad huh - you want to go for a walk on the beach?"

Mark smiled, his white moustache dancing on his upper lip. "Sure, why not," he said rising from the table.

The beach was bathed in moonlight and the waves rolling languidly onto the sand were rimmed with silver. They walked in companionable silence for a while, then as they reached a deep dip in the sand Mark laughed and turning to his son said: "Remember when you used to bring your girlfriends down here because you thought we couldn't see you from the house?"

Steve stood stock-still and stared at his father in shock. "What'd'you mean? Are you telling me you COULD see me?"

Mark let out a loud laugh. "Clear as daylight when the moon was up. You were pretty athletic when you were a teenager."

Even in the dark he could see his handsome son blush and decided to let him off the hook. Throwing his arm round his shoulder he gave him a squeeze and said: "You don't think we stood and watched do you? Don't worry, we left you to have your privacy."

Steve shook his head. "I never knew, all these years I never knew."

Mark dropped his arm and they continued to walk. "Well you know now - so you better stick to somewhere more private with any new girlfriends."

They both laughed.

Ten minutes later they began to make their way home. Near the beach house they spotted a couple locked in an embrace at the water's edge. Mark smiled. "Young love huh?" he said as they turned towards their back yard.

Suddenly the couple separated and dashed up the beach behind the two men. Steve heard their approach and was reaching for his gun even as he turned.

"Freeze" a man's voice shouted. Steve saw the man had stopped and was leveling a pistol at his father.

"Use your right hand and drop your piece on the ground Sloan" the man ordered. "One wrong move and your father's dead."

Steve felt an icy fist grip his chest and did as he was told. The man's female companion ducked forward, keeping low and out of the line of fire to retrieve the weapon.

The man spoke again. "Step forward cop!"

Steve moved a couple of paces forward, trying to move in front of his father to shield him. The other man sneered. "Don't bother trying to be smart. Get down on your knees."

Steve dropped to his knees on the sand unaware that the girl was raising the butt of his gun above him till he heard his father gasp "Oh god no" - then pain exploded in his head and he collapsed unconscious onto the ground.

His attacker pulled his handcuffs from his belt and moving over to Mark Sloan grabbed his hand and snapped the cuffs onto one wrist before fastening the other side to the railings at the edge of the beach house. "Be good and don't holler till we're well away or your precious son's going to suffer," she said.

Mark was feeling sick and shook his head, unable to speak. He stared as an SUV reversed swiftly from the shadows and another man leapt out and helped push Steve into the back. The last view Mark had of Steve was his pale face in the moonlight before the door closed. Then the three people, the SUV and his son were gone.

Captain Newman sat opposite Mark Sloan in the living room of the beach house. Mark was pale and haggard, his normally well-groomed hair in disarray. Newman noticed that the doctor's hands were shaking as he put down the coffee mug he had been holding.

"I'm so sorry Mark," he said, shaking his head. "I warned him. I told him he couldn't be on guard all the time."

Mark raised weary eyes and stared at the senior officer. "He would have been able to protect himself if I hadn't been there. He would have been able to fire his gun and get away, but he didn't because I was in the line of fire."

Dr Amanda Bentley, Mark's colleague and friend from Community General Hospital, was in the kitchen and heard his remarks. She hurried through and leaning on the back of the couch said: "Mark, that's not true. This is not your fault. The Captain's right. Steve couldn't be on watch 24 hours a day. The only way he could have stopped what happened was to sit in a room, alone for the next seven days, and not come into contact with anyone who might be harmed if he was attacked. That's not Steve, you know that."

Mark slumped into the couch and reaching back patted Amanda's hand. "I know, I know, but I just can't bear to think what they're doing to him. They want that information and they'll get it any way they can. And you know Steve - he's tough and stubborn - he's not going to tell them and that means they're going to .....to......" he couldn't finish and closing his eyes laid his head back on the seat.

Captain Newman stood. "Mark we're doing everything we can to find him. We have all the information you gave us about the attackers and the vehicle. Give us time."

Mark looked up at him, tears in his eyes. "There isn't any time. They've had him for six hours now. Have you any idea what they could have done to him in that time?"

Newman glanced at Amanda, who quietly shook her head, then he left to co-ordinate the search.

The cold crawled through his body and when he shivered the spasms sparked pain in all the parts of him they had beaten so far. He was lying on his side, his hands tied behind him. The room he was in was empty except for a table and chair. His mouth was dry but when he opened his lips to try to moisten them the movement opened up cuts which had crusted while he was unconscious. Instead of saliva in his mouth he sensed the metallic taste of blood.

He had started to regain consciousness in the vehicle they had thrown him into and when they got to here, wherever here was, they had pulled him into this room and sat him in the chair. One of them had asked him for the name of his informant and he had told them to go to hell. That was when they started hitting him. His head and abdomen had been the main targets and after five minutes they had stopped and asked him again. He had given them the same reply and the hurting had started again. This time when they finished he had slumped to his knees, too weak to support himself. Someone had grabbed his hair and pulled his head back and asked for the name again. He couldn't remember what he'd said but the resulting punch had knocked him out. Since then they'd been back four times, each time asking the question and delivering the beatings. He realized it was a while since he'd seen them so he reckoned another visit was due.

He really ought to do something to help himself he thought but when he moved it was like the fires of hell were burning in his stomach and lower down where several kicks had landed. He could feel the crepitation of at least one broken rib and in some ways the feel of broken bones rubbing together was worse than the pain. He flexed his wrists, testing the binding. To his surprise it was quite loose, presumably more to keep his hands out of the way than to restrain him. When he pulled he felt his hand start to slide out of the rope and filed the information away.

Only minutes passed before the door opened again and the two men came in. One prodded him with his foot so that he fell onto his back, eyes straining up to make out the features of his attacker. Then the man hunkered down beside him and roughly slapped his cheek. "So you're with us again. You do know how senseless this is don't you? Why are you putting yourself through all this for one sniveling little grass who'd probably give you up if someone said boo to them?"

Steve didn't answer and the man grabbed his shirt and shook him. "Just say the name and you're out of here man!" he shouted.

The rough handling moved the ends of the broken rib and as nausea swept through him Steve gagged and threw up. His attacker gasped and tried to get out of the way but was too late. "Aw for crying out loud!" he shouted as he tried to shake the liquid from his suit. Steve seized the moment. Slipping his hands out of the binding he used all the strength he had left to pull himself to his feet. Grabbing the first man he slammed him into the second, who fell heavily against the wall. Steve lashed out with a hefty kick to the first head that came within range then ran out of the door into what appeared to be a darkened warehouse. The woman who had been the third member of the gang was sitting at a desk against the far wall and jumped to her feet when she heard the commotion. He saw her reach for the gun lying beside her and looking desperately around spotted the exit. Keeping low and zigzagging he headed for it.

He felt the wind from a bullet trace past his cheek and another zing into metal nearby. He was a yard from the door when the back of his thigh exploded and he went down. He could smell the fresh air and gritting his teeth said to himself: "No, too close now. Can't give up now" and propelled himself out of the door and into the cover of a maze of container boxes piled around what he realized was a docking area. He could hear the sound of his pursuers and knew that in his condition he couldn't elude them for long.

Just then he heard the noise of an engine and looked round trying to identify the source. Fifty yards away a straddle carrier, used for moving the giant container boxes, lumbered into view. Keeping low he ran towards it, cursing the dawn that was starting to bathe everything in its pale light. Reaching one of the giant wheeled legs he clung to the inside of it so that the strut hid his body from sight.

Back where he had come from he could hear shouts of panic as they tried to find him and held grimly to the metal monster carrying him across the dock. When it was within yards of the dock gates he let go, his injuries making him too weak to make a comfortable landing and groaned as his body hit the concrete and rolled. He allowed himself only seconds to catch his breath then hauled himself up and ran through the gates, and into the labyrinth of streets that surrounded the dock area, finally pulling himself into an alley where he collapsed behind a dumpster. He pulled his body into a tight ball and sat with his eyes closed, trying to get a grip on the pain and exhaustion sweeping his body.

He didn't know how long passed before he heard a rattle of bins and opened his eyes to see a cook step out of a backdoor nearby with a bag of trash.

Steve summoned up enough energy to call out: "Hey, can you help me?"

The cook squinted down the alley and snorted: "Help yourself ya bum."

"No please, I'm a police officer. I've been shot," shouted Steve.

The man noisily dropped the bin lid he'd been holding and his mouth fell open. "You kidding me?" he asked.

But before Steve could try to convince him some more the man walked over towards him. The guy was in a mess he realized but not a down-and-out kind of mess, more a someone-beat-the-bejeesuz-out-of mess.

"Please call my precinct. Ask for Captain Newman. It's very important he gets the message." Steve gasped.

He told the man the phone number and watched as he ducked back into the restaurant, desperately hoping he believed him and did what he asked.

Mark was at home with Amanda when the phone rang. He looked at it with dread and made no move to answer it. Finally Amanda stepped forward and picked up the receiver. "Sloan residence," she said.

She listened intently then said: "We'll be right there," and hung up.

Mark looked at her, afraid to ask. She smiled. "They've found him. He's alive. They're taking him to Community General."

Mark Sloan stood and his voice shook as he said: "Oh thank God."

Amanda stopped briefly to hug him before they raced out of the house to his car.

The ambulance and police escort arrived only seconds before Mark and Amanda who raced into the ER behind the gurney which was surrounded by paramedics and police officers. As he ran Mark desperately tried to see his son but there were too many bodies between them.

Dr. Jesse Travis was waiting at the door to a trauma room when they arrived and ushered them inside. The crowd which had accompanied the stretcher cleared and Jesse and Mark approached the injured man together, one each side of him.

Jesse spoke first. "Steve, can you hear me pal?"

His friend and business partner turned eyes that were little more than slits in his direction and nodded weakly. Jesse beamed. "Good boy. OK, we're going to see what damage you've done to yourself this time. Just relax, we're going to take real good care of you."

Steve's head turned the other way and he tried to focus. "Dad?" he asked.

"I'm here son," said his father, patting Steve's shoulder while at the same time trying to assess his injuries. One of the paramedics who had brought Steve in broke into his thoughts and did that for him. "He's been severely beaten on the head and abdomen. Feels like several broken ribs. He's concussed and he has a bullet wound in the back of his right leg."

Mark felt himself sway and Amanda reached out to steady him. "Oh god, look what they've done to him," he said. He steadied himself with one hand on the edge of the exam table while covering his eyes with the other. He felt strong but trembling fingers grip his own and looked down to see Steve's hand touching his.

"I'm sorry Dad," his son croaked, voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm so sorry for putting you through this."

Mark shook his head, about to speak when Jesse Travis interrupted. "Can we keep the angst for later. We've got a lot of work to do here." As he spoke he palpated Steve's stomach, eliciting a loud groan from his patient. "Sorry buddy," he said. "Plenty of abdominal trauma, could be internal bleeding, we'll check that out. Can we turn him onto his side till I check this bullet wound?

Together they hefted Steve onto his left side, resulting in another groan of pain from the table. Jesse quickly cut the material of Steve's pants leg and examined the wound. Gently he felt round Steve's thigh for an exit but found none. He sighed. "OK my friend, bullet's still in there so that's gonna have to come out. You do like to keep us busy don't you?"

As gently as possible they laid Steve onto his back again. Jesse turned to his nursing staff. "OK, I want a CT scan and full X-ray and alert OR they have a patient coming up." He put his hand on Steve's head. "Hang in there Stevie, we'll sort everything out for you."

Steve nodded weakly, his lips pressed into a tight line as he fought the pain and Jesse, Amanda and Mark watched as he was wheeled out of the room for the tests.

Several hours and a few gallons of coffee later Mark was relieved to see Jesse push open the door of the doctors' lounge. The young doctor was obviously exhausted and his usually unruly blond hair was even more disheveled than usual. His blue scrubs were stained with sweat.

Mark looked up from where he was sitting but was unable to ask the question he so desperately needed answered. But Jesse was aware of Mark's emotional state and hurried over to sit opposite him. "He's stable Mark. He had a tear in his spleen which was obviously causing the abdominal bleeding. We've fixed that. He has three broken ribs and a lot of soft tissue damage to his stomach and back."

He hesitated before continuing then added: "He's obviously been punched and kicked."

Mark drew in a breath at the thought of the pain inflicted on his son then looked again at the doctor, knowing there was more to come.

Jesse swallowed and said: "We had to remove the bullet from his thigh. I have to tell you it missed the artery by a hairs-breadth. He was helluva lucky."

Mark gasped. He knew if Steve had suffered an arterial bleed in his thigh he would have been dead within twenty minutes. He looked back at Jesse who continued: "The bullet did however clip the femur and we had to remove some bone fragments. He's concussed but there's no sign of skull fracture or inter-cranial swelling. We've got him on a drip and," he looked at his watch, "he should be coming round in about five minutes."

Mark patted the young doctor on the shoulder. "Thank you Jess. I need to be with him now."

"Of course," said Jesse, standing and helping Mark to his feet, knowing that now the trauma was over exhaustion was likely to hit the older doctor. He held his arm companionably as they walked to the recovery suite and if Mark knew Jesse was doing it to support him he didn't let on.

Finally settling himself in a chair beside Steve's bed he looked anxiously at his son's body. He was covered by a sheet to the waist but his torso was bare, except for the white gauze dressing covering the operation site in his abdomen. He winced as he looked at the livid red marks from the beating he had taken and the blue and yellow bruising that was beginning to show through. He looked at his son's face, calm now and so different from the pain-ravaged look he'd had when they'd brought him in. He smiled as he looked at his closed eyes and the long lashes that rimmed them - so like his mother's - in fact it was his mother Steve took his skin and hair coloring from with his father providing his angular face and height.

He watched as Steve's chest rose and fell and remembered how the man he was looking at now had looked as a boy, his floppy fringe falling over his blue eyes, nose covered in freckles, which, as he recalled, Steve hated. As a boy he'd been pretty rather than rugged, not that Mark would ever have mentioned that to his son. But he had grown into a tall, lean, handsome man and hours in the gym had added muscle to his body. He wondered if it was because of all the hard work Steve had put in at the gym that he'd been able to withstand the terrible beating he'd just endured.

Steve coughed and gasped for breath as he woke from the anesthetic. His eyes flickered open, unfocussed and disorientated. Mark rose and put his hand on Steve's shoulder. Steve flinched and tried to pull away. Mark reached out and touched his son's face, gently pulling it round so he could look at him. "It's all right son, you're in the hospital. You're safe."

At last Steve exhaled and relaxed, letting his cheek rest against his father's hand. Mark stroked his son's face and ran his fingers lightly over his hair, then sitting back down in the chair said: "You've got to stop giving us frights like this. I'm not getting any younger you know, my old ticker can't take much more of this."

Instead of the smile he'd hoped he'd get he was alarmed to see a tear trickle from Steve's eye and slide down his cheek. He quickly reached out and brushed it away with his finger. "Hey what's this? Didn't I teach you that big boys don't cry?"

Steve turned sad eyes towards his dad and taking a shuddering breath said: "I'm so sorry Dad. I can't go on putting you through this pain. When I get better from this I'm going to hand in my badge, get a safe job."

Mark gasped. "What? You can't do that Steve. Police work is your life. You'd be miserable if you couldn't do it."

Steve shook his head. "How many times do you see bank clerk's in here beaten and brutalized. I've lost track of the number of times I've been in this hospital as a cop."

Mark smiled, his white moustache twitching. "Bank clerk's don't come in with bullet wounds I'll grant you but we get plenty in suffering from ulcers, heart complaints, depression. Every job has its downside. You're still recovering from the anesthesia, you're in no fit condition to make that kind of judgment call."

Just then an orderly came in and told Mark they were going to move Steve to a room and the older doctor put his hand on his son's head and said quietly: "I'll see you when you've been moved. We'll talk again about this. For now just rest."

Steve nodded and closed his eyes again and Mark watched as he was wheeled out of recovery.

Early evening found Steve lying staring at the ceiling above his bed. His mind was in turmoil. He had always had his career mapped out, knew what he wanted. He knew his father was bitterly disappointed when he chose to join the Police Academy rather than follow him into medicine. But it was what Steve wanted and his proudest moment was having his badge pinned on him at his graduation. He'd worked hard to get through the ranks, leaving his uniform behind when he became a detective sergeant, then moving up to Lieutenant. But it all seemed so meaningless now. He'd selfishly chosen a career that caused his father stress and pain every time he clipped on his gun and left the house. He couldn't keep doing that, especially after seeing the hurt and concern in his father's eyes when he was brought into the hospital this time.

The room door opened and Jesse Travis came in. Walking up to the bed he smiled at his friend then frowned when he saw the untouched food tray on the table beside the bed. It was a standing joke that Steve was the only person he knew who actually liked hospital food and if he hadn't even touched it there must be something seriously wrong. He reached out and checked Steve's chart then asked with concern: "How you doing? Are you in pain? Is that why you haven't eaten. I can get your pain medication adjusted if you need it."

Steve shook his head. "No, I can handle the pain Jess. I'm just not hungry. In fact I haven't got the stomach for anything right now."

Jesse was worried. Mark had told him what Steve had said about his job but had assumed it was just the remnants of the anesthetic talking. Now he wasn't so sure. He perched a hip on the side of the bed and gently peeled back the dressing on Steve's abdomen to check the stitches. "Everything's ok here, we'll have you back out there on the streets in no time," quipped Jesse.

Steve sighed and watched as Jesse closed the dressing and adjusted the sheet covering his lower body. "You've been talking to Dad haven't you?"

Jesse looked up sheepishly. "You're Dad's been talking to me - and Amanda. He's stunned. He doesn't know what to say to you. If you give up your job because of him it's going to destroy him."

Steve stared hard at his friend. "I'm destroying him right now doing my job!" he said heatedly.

Jesse stood and shook his head. "You've been through a lot Steve. You'll change your mind when you feel better. Being a cop is what you do and you do it real well. Think of all the people you've helped, the lives you've saved. I'll look in on you later. Try to rest."

Rest was the last thing Steve thought he could do but to his surprise he felt himself drifting off to sleep and tried to put the turmoiled thoughts out of his head as fuzzy darkness crept over him.

A bus crash on PCH had thrown the ER into a loop later in the evening with a fleet of ambulances arriving with the injured. It was 11:30 p.m. when Jesse suddenly remembered his promise to look in on Steve and cursed himself for letting his friend down. He decided to go up to Steve's room anyway, even though he would probably be asleep, but glancing down at his blood-stained scrubs thought he'd better stop by the locker room to change.

As he headed in that direction two figures emerged from the elevator on the third floor and stopped to take stock. There was no one about in the immediate vicinity. One turned to the other and whispered: "We'll never get away with this."

The second man spat out a curse and said: "That cop humiliated me. Not only wouldn't he give me the information I wanted but he managed to escape. He's laughing at us. Well he's not going to be laughing ever again. No one does that to me and gets away with it. Tonight he dies!"

The first man nodded meekly and followed the other across the hall towards the nurse's station. One nurse was on duty, sitting in the circular desk area with her back to the approaching men. Quietly one of them slipped into the station behind her and clubbed her on the back of the head with the butt of a gun. She slumped to the floor. Looking round he found the room plan and scanned it till he found the name Sloan. "Room 312" he said to his partner, and waving the gun indicated he should follow.

They made their way quietly along the corridor, checking room numbers as they went. "Here," said the leading man pointing to the number. Turning the handle he pushed the door open and entered the darkened room where Steve Sloan lay sleeping. The man sneered at the sight of him. "This is one sleep you're not going to wake up from pig!"

He was about to level the gun when the door opened and Jesse Travis was framed in the light from the hallway. He took in the sight of the two men, the gun, his sleeping friend and yelled: "What the hell do you think you're doing in here?"

The gunman swung round, startled by the intrusion and lifted the gun to aim at the blond haired doctor but before he could pull the trigger a huge weight hit his back and threw him to the floor. The gun clattered across the floor and disappeared under a chair but as he tried to free himself to go after it a karate chop to the back of his neck plunged him into unconsciousness.

Jesse picked up a vase from a piece of furniture beside the door and swung it at the second assailant, hitting him a thumping blow to the temple that left him crumpled on the floor.

Looking over he saw Steve clamber off the man he had thrown himself at and roll over gasping beside him, his hand clamped to the wound in his abdomen. Stopping only to run into the hallway and call for security and orderlies he returned and rushed to his friend. Steve was moaning and a trickle of blood was running through his fingers from the white gauze dressing that was rapidly turning to red.

"You're going to be all right buddy," he said reassuringly, automatically reaching out to check his friend's pulse and pupils.

Within seconds the room was filled with security guards, nurses and orderlies. While the two attackers were dragged out of the room the orderlies gently lifted Steve and were placing him back on the bed when Mark Sloan burst into the room. Searching eyes finding Jesse he said with his voice shaking: "Is he all right? What happened?"

Jesse moved over to Steve and as he peeled back the dressing on his abdomen he said to Mark: "A guy was pointing a gun at him when I came into the room. He turned to fire at me and Steve threw himself off the bed at him. He saved my life."

Steve groaned as the dressing pulled free from the wound in his stomach and whispered: "You saved my life Jess. If you hadn't come in when you did....I didn't even know they were there until you shouted out."

The few words had exhausted him and he lay back panting. Mark moved closer to see the damage and Jesse looked up at him: "It's not too bad. He's torn a few stitches is all."

He asked a nearby nurse for a suture kit then looked at his best friend, lying pale and pained on the hospital bed. Steve had his eyes closed but sensed he was being watched and his lids flickered open as he turned strained blue eyes on the young doctor. "What?" he asked.

"Tell your Dad you've changed your mind. Tell him you're not giving up police work."

Steve frowned and swallowed. "That's not what he wants to hear," he said in a quiet voice.

Mark put his hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezed gently with his fingers. "That's exactly what I want to hear son. I am so proud of you, my police lieutenant son. I don't want you doing anything else, honestly."

Steve looked at his father's sparkling eyes and was confused. "But Dad you suffer so much every time I'm brought in here. How can you honestly say you want me to go on?"

Mark ran his hand over his son's hair. "I want you to do what makes you happy - and I know that's being a police officer. No, I don't like to see you brought in here but maybe that's my fault."

Steve gasped: "Your fault - how could it possibly be."

Mark smiled, his white moustache twitching mischievously. "I obviously didn't teach you how to duck when you were a kid. We'll have to work on that when you get out of here."

The three men laughed, Steve's chuckle quickly turning to a groan of pain and Jesse set about repairing the damage.

A week later Mark and Jesse each held one of Steve's arms as they walked down the courtroom steps. Steve's contact had provided the District Attorney will all the information needed for the preliminary hearing and there was no doubt that George Calaghan's business empire was about to crumble as the drug dealer faced years in prison.

As they stopped on the sidewalk Captain Newman walked over and shook Steve's hand. "Good work Sloan, we got our man."

As he walked away Steve's mouth fell open. "What's with the WE?" he muttered.

Jesse and Mark laughed and Steve looked from one to the other of them and then said: "Ribs".

Both doctors turned concerned eyes towards him, Jesse getting the words out first. "What is it Steve. Your ribs hurting? You want some pain medication?"

Steve chuckled and lightly batted Jesse's blond head. "No idiot - Ribs - I could kill for a plate of barbecued ribs."

Mark slapped Steve on the back. "Come on then, what are you waiting for. That's one prescription I'm happy to fill."

The End.

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