By Kellyanne Lynch
* Please e-mail ScullySloan@juno.com with questions, comments, theories, complaints, or words of wisdom.
Friday, 2:19 A.M.
Mark lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. Its nightly tones of slate stared back. The moonlight spilled into the room and shone a ray of light across the ceiling and down one wall. He blinked and sighed.]
He swung his legs to the side of the bed and got to his feet. Strolling out of the room, he headed to the kitchen. He found the lights on. Sitting at the table, staring into a glass of milk was Steve. He continued to gaze at the milk and the condensation on the side of the glass. Mark stood beside him, but still, Steve did not look up.
"No game tonight, son?"
Steve jumped, then looked to his left. "Hey, Dad!" He gave Mark a half-smile. "No game tonight. I didn't want to disturb you."
Sitting down beside his son, Mark put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "It's been a tough day, for all of us. Do you want to talk about it?"
Steve shook his head. "I just need some time to sort out everything on my own."
Steve looked over at his father. Mark nodded and got to his feet. "I was about to have a midnight snack," he informed his son, gesturing toward the refrigerator.
"The cold cuts are waiting," Steve replied with a smile. Sighing, Mark smiled back.
"No, Dad, I'm fine."
Opening the refrigerator door, Mark said, "All right then, son. You know where to find me."
Mark turned to the fridge. He took one last look behind his shoulder before attending to his sandwich meats.