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Forgotten Impact Episode 22 written by Janet
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| 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...
"Forgotten Impact" by Janet 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 of writing this story. No money is being made from this writing - it is for entertainment purposes only. The screeching tyres and wailing siren could be heard a split second before the two cars came into view, careering around the corner. Behind the wheel of the second one, Lt. Steve Sloan fought to keep control as the car slewed sideways across the road. Straightening the car up, he pressed his foot down onto the accelerator pedal and sped off in pursuit of the blue Ford in front. The driver of the Ford anxiously checked his mirror to see how far ahead he was. "Damn," he muttered to himself, "This guys good. I should have lost him way back." Concentrating again on the road, he sped through a set of lights that were turning red. Steve made a split second decision to follow him through, hoping that the sound of the police siren had alerted other drivers to the potential dangers of a high speed chase. He was only half lucky. The cars coming from his left had stopped, but the driver of a large white van coming from the right didn't. He kept going and the resulting impact was inevitable. The van hit Steve's car side on, shuddered and slid sideways, coming to a screeching halt. Steve was not so lucky. The impact, coupled with the speed he was travelling caused his car to spin wildly out of control. As it spun, one wheel glanced off of the bumper of the white van flipping the car over a couple of times so that it came to rest on its roof. It lay there swaying from side to side, the wail of the siren abruptly cut off as the orange dome rolled out of sight under a large grey van. For a few seconds no-one moved, it seemed like they were all held in some sort of suspended animation, shocked at what they had just witnessed. Then someone ran out of an adjacent restaurant to where Steve's car lay. Bending down he leaned in through the window. Steve's unconscious body lay in a heap, only held in place by his seat belt. Feeling for a pulse, the stranger called out, "He's still alive! Call 911!" He leaned back into the car and began talking to the unconscious Steve, "It's okay buddy. We'll get you out of here, help is on its way." Kneeling beside the car, the stranger kept up a flow of chatter until he heard in the distance, the undulating sound of the ambulance siren mingled with the sounds of the fire truck and the police car heading their way. As the fire and ambulance crews began to work on Steve and the car, he stood up and began to tell the police what he had seen. Crawling in the passenger window one of the ambulance crew began to check Steve over. "Hey, this guys pretty lucky," he called out to his crewmate, "As far as I can tell, there's not much broken except his wrist. Multiple contusions to his face and arms. Pass me in a neck brace, we'll stabilise that before we pull him out." Carefully placing the brace around Steve's neck, he crawled back out and allowed the fire crew in to gradually ease the inert form out of the upturned car. Gently they laid him on the tarmac and left the ambulance crew to place him into the ambulance. A uniformed officer came across and asked, "Where are you taking him?" "Pacific Heights. It's the nearest." "Okay, we'll be along later for a statement." As the ambulance went through the lights on its way to Pacific Heights, a blue Ford pulled out from behind a truck and slipped into the traffic and followed it. Pulling into the parking bay, the paramedic crew opened the back doors to be met by a young doctor in his crisp white coat and an ER nurse. Jumping out, the crewman who had crawled into the car began his report, "White male, approx 40-45 years old, unconscious. BP 90/100, heart rate steady. Multiple cuts on face and arms, broken wrist, possible cracked ribs." Dr. Matthew Layman followed the gurney into the ER and after checking that his patient was stable made a decision, "Take him for a head and chest X-ray, we need to see what's happening in there." As the elevator doors closed behind the still unconscious Steve, he turned to the paramedic and asked if they knew who the patient was. "No. We checked on the way in and there was nothing. Hopefully the police will find something in his car. From what some of the witnesses said, this guy is lucky to have got out of the car with the minor injuries he has." Dr. Matthew Layman replied, "We'll have to see what the x-rays show, before we congratulate him too much." It was quite a while later that Steve was wheeled back down to the ER with the x-rays laid across his chest. Placing them on the light box Matthew Layman carefully scrutinized them and was very happy to note that there was no internal bleeding and no broken ribs. However, as the man still had not come round, he admitted him. As Steve was wheeled away to his room, one of the nurses commented, "I don't think he'll be a John Doe for very long." Matthew looked across at her and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Can you imagine a guy that gorgeous not being missed by someone?" Matthew grinned, "Trust you to notice." Outside in the gathering dusk, the blue Ford came slowly to a halt in one of the more remote parking spaces. Out stepped a smartly dressed man notebook and pen in hand, who made his way to the ER. Entering through the sliding doors he walked up to Matthew Lyman, "John Smithson, freelance reporter. I heard you had a car crash victim brought in earlier. I'd like to ask you and him some questions." "Why?" Matthew Lyman queried, "What sort of angle are you going for?" Smithson, or whoever he was, replied with a sheepish look on his face, "Any sort of angle. I'm hoping that I can sell it to one of the newspapers and maybe they'll give me a job. I'm new in town and I'm trying to play all the angles I can. C'mon doc, gimme a break huh?" Matthew Lyman agreed and answered Smithson's questions. "Thanks doc, I appreciate this," he said, "I'm going to check the crash scene now. I'll be back later and hope to speak to this guy when he comes round." Leaving the ER and walking to his car, Smithson was muttering to himself, "So, the cop is still out cold and they don't know who he is. Okay, I'll see what I can find out." He got into his car and drove to within a couple of blocks of the crash. Getting out he walked the rest of the way. By this time, all the rubbernecks had gone, as had the police vehicles and Steve's car. "Damn," he muttered as he walked up the street. Just then he saw something shining out from under a nearby car. Bending down, he picked it up and looked at what he had found. A grin spread across his face, "Bingo! A cops ID. Must be the guy in the hospital. This could be useful," he said stuffing Steve's ID in his back pocket. ************************ He felt himself tumbling over and over. Just as he was about to fall, he woke up with a cry escaping from his mouth. Opening his eyes, he looked around him and saw a tall man in a white coat standing in front of him with a smile on his face, "Ah, so you've come round at last my friend," Matthew said with a smile on his face. "Where am I?" Steve asked. "Pacific Heights Hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?" "No, I can't," Steve screwed up his face in concentration and looked up at the man standing there, "What did happen?" "You were involved in a car accident. Can you tell us your name? When you were brought in you had no ID on you, so we've no idea as to your identity." "My name is Steve," he replied at once. "Steve.............?" prompted Matthew Lyman. For a few seconds Steve was silent and then he said, in a voice that conveyed the panic he was beginning to feel, " I don't know. I can't remember, I don't know who I am. I don't remember anything before waking up here." Matthew quickly sat down next to Steve, trying to stem the panic that he saw and heard in his patient, "It's okay Steve. You've been in a car crash and hit your head pretty badly. It's not unusual for someone with an injury like that to suffer temporary amnesia. Just lay back and relax. The harder you try to remember, the less success you'll have." Standing up Matthew continued, "I'm going to prescribe a mild sedative for you. Don't worry, it's just to calm you down a bit." Leaving the room he wrote up the sedative on Steve's chart and made his way back down to ER. The first person he saw was John Smithson. "Hello doc. How's the patient?" he asked Matthew frowned, "Could be better. He's come round but has no idea who he is or what happened to him." 'That could be a good angle for a human interest story. Can I see him?' 'No, I'm afraid not at the moment. I've just given him a sedative. Come back later," Matthew replied. Smithson smiled and left, feeling a lot more
cheerful. Still, he couldn't afford to be too complacent. Chances were that the cop would
regain his memory sooner or later and come after him. It was also probable that the cop
had a family who would come looking for him. He decided to wait outside the hospital and
check in every once in a while to see what was happening. Mark Sloan was coming to end of his shift. It had been a quiet day for once and he was looking forward to an evening with Steve, Amanda and Jesse. Mark had offered to cook, Jesse was bringing dessert and Amanda the wine. Leaving the hospital, Mark made his way home and began preparing the meal. Jesse had requested that Mark do his favourite, spaghetti bolognaise and Mark had agreed. The house was filled with the aroma of bolognaise sauce when Jesse and Amanda arrived within a couple of minutes of each other and, as usual, Jesse was starving. "What time is Steve due back?" he asked, "I'm really hungry." "Jesse, you're always hungry," Amanda responded with an indulgent smile on her face. "Lets wait a little while," Mark said, "Steve's shift ended about half an hour ago, so he should be here soon. Come out onto the deck and have a drink." Just as they had all settled themselves down, drinks in hand and looking out over the ocean, the phone rang. All three looked at each other and said, resignedly, in chorus "Steve!" Picking up the phone, Mark said, "So how late are you going to be this time son?" Jesse and Amanda grinned as they imagined Steve's response. Their amusement was short lived, however, as they observed the smile disappear from Mark's face and heard him say, "No Captain Newman, he's not here. No, I haven't heard from him. When I do, I'll let you know." Replacing the receiver back on its cradle, Mark went back out onto the deck. "What's up Mark?" Jesse queried. "Steve was out tracking down a murder suspect and he didn't check in at the end of his shift," Mark sat for a few seconds then, getting up, he continued, "I'm going to ring the hospital to see if he's been admitted." He came back a few minutes later shaking his head, "Nothing. I'm getting worried now. Steve usually finds a minute to ring, even if it's only to tell me not to wait for him." Jesse sat quietly for a few seconds, then said, "Do you think it's worth while ringing round the other ER's Mark? I'll go and do it if you like." When Mark absently nodded his agreement, Jesse went inside and began his task. It was a task doomed to failure, because he only asked if a Lt. Steve Sloan had been admitted. Not knowing about Steve's amnesia and lack of ID, he didn't think to describe Steve. Even Jesse's insatiable appetite was quelled in the face of his, Mark and Amanda's mounting concern over Steve's whereabouts. Eventually Mark sent them both home. They all had shifts the next day and, as Mark pointed out, they needed to be fresh for their patients. *************** Next morning at Pacific Heights, Matthew Lyman began his shift and his first task of the day was to see Steve. "How are you feeling this morning?" he asked, checking over Steve's chart as he spoke. "I'm feeling a little better, but my wrist still hurts and I still can't remember anything but my first name." "Don't worry about that. As I said, I'm sure that your memory will return," Matthew paused, "In the meantime, there is something we could do, if you agree." "I'll try anything," Steve replied. "Well, when you were examined and X-rayed last night, there was evidence of a number of previous injuries - healed breaks, scars etc. In cases like this, its practice to contact other hospitals in the area to see if any of them recognises your description and injury profile. Are you okay with this?" "Sure. What sort of previous injuries are we talking about?" "Broken ribs. Cracked up knee. Scars from various operations and wounds," Matthew listed the injuries. "Phew! That's quite a list.' Steve said in awe, 'I hope I do something worthwhile to get all that lot. I'd hate to think I was just clumsy." Matthew grinned, a sense of humour showed that his patient was on the mend, "I'll get on and contact the other hospitals." At about the same time three very tired doctors were sitting in the third floor doctors lounge trying to kick start their brains and bodies with an infusion of caffeine. Not one of them looked like they had had much sleep. Finishing their drinks, they made their way along the corridor and were just passing the nurses station when one of them called Mark back with a laugh in her voice, "Dr. Sloan, look at this. We've had a fax about a John Doe at Pacific Heights with amnesia. If I didn't know better, I'd swear they were describing Steve." To her surprise, the usual polite and gentle Dr. Sloan reached over and grabbed the piece of paper out of her hand. After devouring the fax, Mark handed it over to Jesse saying, "We've got to get over there." Jesse, with Amanda looking over his shoulder, read the fax out loud, "To: All LA area hospitals The following patient was admitted yesterday, suffering with amnesia. Please read the following information to see if you have any knowledge of a patient that fits. Description: Male, 6'1", slim, muscular build,
short dark hair. 40-45yrs. He looked up at Mark, "Wow, it must be Steve. Let's go," immediately making a move for the lift doors. As always, it fell to Amanda to be the voice of reason, "Hold on guys. Let's ring Pacific Heights first to let them know we're on our way so they can prepare their patient." Picking up the phone and dialling the number, Amanda had a short conversation with Matthew Lyman and then said, "It's all set. Dr. Lyman will meet us on the fourth floor and take us in," she paused a second, " Mark, you need to be prepared that it might not be Steve." "I know Amanda, but we've got to go look," Mark replied. Stopping only to retrieve Steve's medical file from records the three friends dashed out of the hospital and drove, barely legally, across town and pulled up outside Pacific Heights Hospital. As they walked across the car park they were oblivious to the fact that they passed a blue Ford parked close by. Entering the lift and pressing the button for the fourth floor Mark looked at his companions, "I sure hope that this is Steve. If it isn't it means he's still out there somewhere." Amanda squeezed Marks arm in support. The lift doors opened and the three friends stepped out. They saw a young, white-coated doctor waiting by the nurses' station. As he saw them, he walked across to meet them, hand outstretched, "Dr. Sloan, it's a pleasure to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you from my colleagues." Shaking his hand Mark said, "Thank you. These are my colleagues Dr. Amanda Bentley and Dr. Jesse Travis-they are good friends of my son. Have you spoken to your patient?" "Yes, I have. He has no memory of you I'm afraid but, hopefully, seeing you will jog his memory. Follow me." They walked along the corridor, with Jesse and
Amanda sticking close to Mark and giving him the moral support he needed. Outside Steve's
room, Matthew Lyman stopped and turned, As they walked through the open doorway Steve turned his head towards them. Mark, Amanda and Jesse all let out a breath that none of them had been aware of holding, when they saw the familiar face of their friend and son. Mark walked quickly across the room and stood by his son's bed, "It's good to see you. How are you feeling son?" he asked. As if he were answering a stranger, Steve replied "I'm feeling a lot better this morning, thank you." "You don't recognise me, do you?" Mark said sadly. He had hoped that the sight of him would have jogged Steve's memory. Shaking his said Steve replied, "I'm sorry I don't. Who are you?" At his Mark looked at Matthew Lyman, "You didn't tell him who I am?" he queried. "No, I didn't. I thought it best coming from you." Mark turned back, to find Steve studying his face. "I'm your father, Mark Sloan. These two," indicating Jesse and Amanda, "are your two best friends." "My father," Steve said slowly, "Maybe you can tell me then." "Anything son," Mark replied. "What did I do to get all these old injuries that the doc has been telling me about?" In spite of themselves, Mark, Jesse and Amanda all chuckled at this. "I think it's more a case of what didn't you do to get them," Mark laughed, "You are a police officer, a lieutenant, homicide, to be precise." Matthew Lyman said, "That explains a lot." Turning to Matthew Lyman, Mark asked, "When can I take him home doctor?" "I need some proof that you actually are his father, sir. I know you say you recognise him but, with all due respect, you could be anyone." Jesse bristled at the implied criticism of his friend and mentor, but Mark said, "That's fair enough. Amanda, have you got Steve's file?" Amanda took out the very thick file from her bag and handed it to Matthew Lyman, who whistled. He flicked through it and said, "Well these injuries certainly fit with what we have noticed. Have you got anything of a more personal nature Dr. Sloan?" Mark nodded and brought out a couple of photos from his and Steve's most recent fishing trip and handed them over to Matthew Lyman. He looked at them quickly and passed them to Steve who said, "I fish?" "No, you just drown worms son. I'm the one that fishes and feeds us on our trips," Mark chuckled, he turned back to Matthew Lyman, "So when can I take Steve home?" "In terms of Steve's injuries, he can go now. There are a couple of bruised ribs and a broken wrist. However, the final decision must rest with Steve," he looked across at his patient, "What do you think Steve?" Steve looked at Mark and then across at Jesse and Amanda standing in the background. He grinned and said, "I think I can trust them." "Great," said Mark, "I'll go and sort out your discharge details and then we'll be off." He went out with Matthew Lyman, leaving Jesse and Amanda in the room with Steve. They moved closer to the bed and Jesse said, "You certainly had us worried last night Steve. I even went without a meal." "And you know how much he hates that Steve," joked Amanda Turning a serious face towards Amanda Steve said, "No, I don't actually, but I'm hoping that I will remember," pausing he continued, "Tell me a bit about my father and where I live." Amanda sat down on the only available chair in the room and Jesse perched himself on the edge of Steve's bed. Steve looked at him in surprise, but said nothing as these people obviously knew him very well. "My dad," he prompted. "Your dad is the Head of Internal Medicine at Community General Hospital and he is probably the nicest, kindest, most generous man I know," began Amanda. "Yeah, you and he share a humungous house out in Malibu," Jesse continued. "So I'm not married," broke in Steve. Jesse grinned and continued, "Well, its not for the lack of girlfriends Steve. Mind you, as they either get you into serious trouble or try to kill you, it's a good job you haven't married any of them." Ignoring Amanda's filthy look he carried on, "You are a police lieutenant in burglary/homicide. Over the years you've had a few close calls, but that's 'cos you're so good at your job that the bad guys tend to try to kill you." "Do I get on well with my dad?" Steve asked, "I know you said we share a house, but that doesn't tell me anything." Before Jesse could say anything Amanda answered him, "Steve, you and Mark have the sort of relationship that most people would give their eye teeth for. You live together, you work together, you.........,"she managed to say before Steve interrupted her. "What do you mean, work together? I thought you said that my dad was a doctor." "Yes he is," continued Amanda, "but he is also a consultant for the police. He often helps you out on your cases. In fact, we all do." "You all do?" Steve was astonished "Mmmm, not always with your blessing, I must admit," Amanda acknowledged, " but it usually works out in the end." The door opened and Mark entered the room, followed by Matthew Lyman. "Okay Steve, I've taken care of all the paperwork. We can take you home now." "Steve, you only have the clothes that you were wearing when you were admitted," said Matthew Lyman, "do you want to put those on?" "I'll only be in them a short while," Steve said, "so it shouldn't be too much of a problem." "We'll wait outside for you son," Mark said, "sing out if you need help." After Steve was dressed an orderly was called to wheel him to the entrance, a standard policy for all hospitals. Sitting in the wheelchair Steve found himself conscious of a feeling of irritation and said so. He was surprised when Mark, Jesse and Amanda all burst out laughing and Mark said, "Now that is nothing new. You always get irritated when you are wheeled out of the hospital. That's a good sign, it means your normal thoughts are resurfacing." Once through the hospital doors, Steve got out of the wheelchair and said, "Lets go home." They walked slowly to Marks car and drove out to the beach house, with a quick detour via Community General to drop Jesse and Amanda off. Again, none of them noticed the blue Ford that followed them at a distance. Standing at the bottom of the steps looking up towards the house Steve was disappointed to find that he had no blinding flash of recognition. He carefully followed his dad up the steps into the house and looked around, "Wow, he was right - this is a humungous house." "He?" queried Mark "That blond guy that was with us. What was his name? Oh yeah, Jesse. He said that the house was big and he was right. So which is my bedroom?" "Your apartment is downstairs. You have the whole of the unit down there. But, if you don't mind I'd prefer you to stay up here for a few days, at least until you get your memory back." Steve's response showed Mark that his son was still not back as he said, "Sounds okay to me. Where shall I sleep?" "In the spare room son. Listen sit down for a while. I will go and get some of your gear and bring it upstairs and then I'll make a cup of coffee." Whilst Mark was downstairs, Steve sat on the couch and let his mind wander. He was beginning to find it very frustrating that his memory still had not returned, although Matthew Lyman had assured him it would. As he leaned back on the couch, Steve began to relax. Soon he fell asleep and began to dream. In his dream, he and the guy called Jesse were stuck in a room full of rubble, trying to clear the doorway of that rubble. Jesse was doing most of the work because Steve's arm was bleeding and for some reason he was clearing it from the bottom. Steve heard a low rumble and the whole building shook. Jolting awake he was aware of calling out, "Dad! Dad!" Mark came bounding into the room, "What is it Steve?" "I was dreaming." "What about?" "I was in a rubble filled room with Jesse, I felt the building shake and I was calling out for you." Mark sat down next to his son and laid his hand on Steve's arm, "I think you were dreaming about when Community General was blown up. You and Jesse were stuck in one room. I was in another area trying to save Amanda's life." Steve face had taken on a look of intense concentration, "Why does the name Sweeny come to mind?" he asked. "Because it was Carter and Caitlin Sweeny that were behind a lot of our problems at the time," Mark said, "This is good. You are beginning to remember bits. Don't push it too hard though." He got up and walked into the kitchen, "Would you like that coffee now?" "Yes please. Then I'd like to have a lay down." Just as Mark was making his way to the kitchen, the front door bell rang. "I'll get it," he called, "you stay there." Mark opened the door and saw a very smartly dressed man there, "Dr. Sloan?" Mark nodded. "Lt. John Smithson, Pacific Division," he flashed a police ID at Mark, who gave it a cursory glance, "I'm investigating the incident in which your son was injured, I understand he is at home now. May I talk to him please?" Mark stepped aside to let Smithson in, "Yes, Steve is home. I don't know that he's going to be able to be of much use, he still cannot remember anything." "I won't take long, but I do need to see him." As they ascended the stairs, Mark said, "I was just about to make some coffee. Would you care for a cup?" "Thank you," Smithson replied, "that would be good." "Steve, there's a police officer here to talk to you. I'm just making the coffee." As he entered the kitchen, he heard Smithson say, "Lt. Sloan? I'm Lt. John Smithson and I'd just like to ask you a few questions if I may." "I don't know that I will be of much help to you Lieutenant. I can't remember a thing about the accident or what happened prior to it." "That's okay Steve. I just need to hear from you exactly what you can remember." As Steve was haltingly telling what he could remember, Mark came back into the room with the coffee. "Here we are. Do you want cream and sugar Lieutenant?" "Black please," replied Smithson, "I don't take cream, I'm allergic to dairy products." Mark happened to glance at Steve and only he saw the slight frown that creased his son's forehead. Steve stood up and said, "I have a bit of a headache. Did you say the medicine cabinet in the downstairs toilet dad?" Catching something in the tone of Steve's voice Mark simply agreed and commented, "second door on the right as you get down the stairs." "Thanks," Steve said, "I'll be back in a minute Lieutenant." As Steve disappeared downstairs Mark turned to Smithson and said, "Do you have any idea what happened to Steve?" Smithson replied, "From what the eyewitnesses have said, Steve was chasing a suspect, tried to get through a red light and was hit side on by a white van. His car rolled over and the suspect got away." Smithson wavered in his seat a little and rubbing his hand across his forehead asked, "Doc, could you open a window or something? I'm feeling a bit light headed and some fresh air might help." "Sure," said Mark. As he walked across to the large doors opening out onto the decking Mark heard a small sigh and the sound of a coffee cup hitting the floor. Turning round he saw that Smithson was laid back on the sofa, out cold. Moving back, Mark checked the pulse and was just straightening up when Steve reached the top of the stairs. "What happened?" he asked, bringing his hands out from behind his back, to reveal a gun in his left hand. "When he arrived and showed me his ID, I recognised your badge number. So when I made the coffee I stuck a fast acting sedative in his cup," Mark looked up at his son, "When did your memory return?" "When he said that he was allergic to dairy products. I remembered one of the witnesses in the case I was dealing with, saying that the guy who beat him up always had his coffee black because he had a dairy allergy." At that point the door bell rang again. Leaving Steve to cuff the unconscious Smithson, Mark went and answered it, letting in Captain Newman and a couple of uniformed officers and the paramedics. As Captain Newman entered the lounge he took in the scene and, laughing, said, "Well, we needn't have hurried quite so fast. It seems you two have the situation under control." Steve said, "When did you ring Captain Newman dad?" "I rang him and the paramedics when I was in the kitchen doctoring the coffee." Captain Newman gave Steve and Mark a look of surprise, "I thought your memory had gone." "It came back just now, when Smithson said something." After Smithson had been taken away, Captain Newman said, "I'll be going now. Take the weekend off Sloan, but I want to see you in my office on Monday morning." "Yes sir!" said Steve. Later Mark and Steve were sitting outside on the deck drinking their coffee, when they heard footsteps coming up the outside steps. "Hi guys," called a disembodied voice. It was Jesse. Steve looked at Mark and mouthed, "Don't tell him I've got my memory back." Mark grinned and nodded. Jesse's smiling face appeared over the stair rail, "I've just come off duty and I thought I'd pop out to see how you both were." "I'm fine Jesse," replied Mark. Jesse looked across at Steve who had assumed a vacant expression and was looking out over the ocean. "How are you Steve?" he asked "Mmmm?" replied Steve, like he was far, far away, " Oh, okay, I guess. Can you answer me something?" "Anything," Jesse answered, laying his hand on Steve's shoulder schooling his features into his best 'I'm here for you buddy' look. "With a dress sense like yours, how on earth did you manage to get Susan to go out with you?" "Ha, ha very funny. You know very well that Susan...," he stopped in mid sentence, "You DO know very well. You've got your memory back!" "For the most part Jess," Steve acknowledged, "but there are still bits that are fuzzy..." "There always were pal," jumped in Jesse. "Ha, ha, very funny," replied Steve, reaching out to grab Jesse around the neck and wrestled him to the floor. Mark emerged from the house, where he had gone to pour Jess a cup of coffee, to find his son and his best friend engaged in a gentle tussle. "Boys, boys!" he admonished, "How many times have I told you two not to fight?" Steve looked up from where he was kneeling on Jesse and grinned. Mark sat down, smiled and said, "It's good to have you back son." THE END home | vs home | season one | season two | season three | join dmvs | e-mail us | guestbook |
