Desperate part four

Steve crept into the ICU some twenty minutes later, having had to suffer a gentle but firm admonishment from his father about 'bullying' doctors who were only doing their job.
Still smarting from that - Mark Sloan had refused to accept his defence of being concerned about his best friend, he sank into the chair at Jesse's side.
"I don't know about you, Jess," he whispered, seeing that the younger man seemed to be deeply asleep. "But I'm gonna avoid doctors from now on."
"Tha … might be difficult …" came the weak voice from beneath the oxygen mask. "Seeing as your dad's a doctor an' …. so are your friends. An' … you spend lots of time here, too so …"
Steve gaped at his friend. He had had no idea that Jesse would be able hear his complaint - especially as he had looked so peaceful, lying there, bedclothes tucked up to his chin, looking for all the world like a cocooned waif and stray. "I … um .. God, sorry, Jess," he finally said. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Jesse smiled a little wanly. "You di'nt," he assured the older man. "'ve been lyin' here for a while. 'N close your mouth, Steve. You look like a … stranded fish."
Dazedly - still sorting through the feelings of surprise and delight that Jesse was not only awake but they were conversing again at last, Steve complied. Then he grinned crookedly. "You know you look like hell," he commented.
It was Jesse's turn to look shocked. Then he returned the grin. "Well, yeah …" he replied, amiably. "Got blown up."
There was no accusation in his tone but Steve flushed guiltily nonetheless. It had been a thoughtless comment but neither one of them were terribly comfortable in confronting their deepest feelings about their friendship. The banter in which they engaged covered a whole host of sins and it was also the way they communicated best. It didn't mean, however, that he had to be so tactless. "Sorry," he apologised. His guilt didn't diminish even when Jesse feebly waved away his apology with one hand which he could barely raise from the mattress. "So," he went on, striving for normal conversation despite the awkwardness he now felt, "how're you feeling?"
Jesse would have shrugged - except it hurt to move. Debating with himself whether or not to tell Steve the truth he noted with fond exasperation the look of remorse on his friend's face.
He hadn't taken the other man's initial comment about his appearance to heart and Steve should know that - but then, Steve had been through a lot in the last week or so. Jesse remembered being in his best friend's position a time or two himself. It wasn't pleasant not knowing whether someone you cared about was going to live or die. Steve was only dealing with it the best he knew how - the way Jesse would also have dealt - with lighthearted comments and a refusal to admit out loud how he was really feeling.
As all these thoughts raced through his over-active mind, he reached a decision, settling in the end for a half-truth and hoping would suffice. ""Oh, s'not so bad," he said, keeping a smile on his face in an effort to convince the other man of his sincerity. "'M getting there."
Steve wasn't fooled at all by the offhand response. He could see the lines of strain in the younger man's face - and he was still very pale. His eyes were ringed in dark bruising, serving to magnify the pastiness of his skin and his breathing was still a little shallow. He frowned. "You don't sound 'fine'," he said.
Jesse would have sighed - had he had the spare breath to do so. Instead he settled for levying a look at his friend. It didn't have much effect - Steve was worried. He was scowling and he was studying Jesse with an appraising look he didn't much like. "'ll be fine," he asserted. "Jus … give me time."
It didn't satisfy the detective, nor alleviate his growing concern over his best friend, but he nodded. Jesse was awake. He was talking. That was something, wasn't it? He should be grateful for that right now. "You got it, pal," he said, reaching out to ghost his hand gently across Jesse's sunbright hair. "Now, why don't you get some sleep?"
A small smirk appeared. "Why?" Jesse asked. "You … got somewhere to go?"
Steve didn't even dignify that with an answer. Instead, he just glared at the younger man. It didn't seem to phase him, but the blue eyes did flicker shut some moment later as Jesse lost the battle against the exhaustion that continued to dog him.

Amanda yawned as she finished up the report on the computer and closed the document. It had been a long day. A pile up on the freeway coupled with a tenement fire which had taken the lives of dozens of residents had all conspired to keep her busy from the moment she had walked through the doors that morning. Many of the dead had been burnt beyond recognition and painstaking identification through dental records and personal items had been necessary. Amongst the dead had been several children. It had taken every effort she could muster to reign in her emotions whilst recording onto tape their descriptions and the manner of their demise.
She was physically and emotionally drained. She needed to get out of the pathology lab, go home and see her two boys. Her thoughts had been drifting toward CJ and Dion all day, prompted by the hideously burned corpses of the deceased youngsters. Periodically, it had taken all her willpower simply to remain in the lab, doing her job, when all she really wanted to do was run out of there, get to her kids and take them in her arms, knowing they were safe and sound.

She rose from her chair with a groan. Her back ached. Everything ached. That reminded her with a pang of someone else she cared about.
Jesse.
He was still recuperating and had been moved from ICU to a normal room several days earlier. All the outward signs of his injuries were fading now and he looked brighter and his complexion had regained a little of it normal colour.
His back, however, was a different matter. He was still on a high level of medication because he was in almost constant pain. They had begun physiotherapy the day before and she had slipped by to see him shortly afterward. His face had been ashen, the resultant strain of the gentle exercising only too evident. He had smiled bravely for her benefit but had succumbed to sleep shortly after her arrival, aided no doubt by the sedative that had been added to his IV.
She hated to see him like this even as her heart cheered the fact that in every other way he was recovering from his encounter with death. He was suffering and he was trying his best to hide it - if not from Mark, who had craftily contrived to find a place onto his care team - then from her and most certainly from Steve, who was blissfully unaware of the seriousness of the situation.
Steve …
She was only too well aware of his protective nature - especially when extended to those whom he cared about. And Jesse, as his best friend, fit neatly into that category. Unfortunately, Jesse knew it too. He had been doing his utmost to hide his almost constant pain from the detective - with seemingly overwhelming success.
The initial prognosis from Dr Turner and his subsequent visit to see the younger doctor had scared Steve and he didn't do fear very well. The brisk, almost offhand behaviour he had begun exhibiting after that visit effectively masked any dread he might feel about Jesse's recovery, but Jesse wasn't blind, nor stupid. He was only too familiar with Steve's inability to cope with his own deeper emotions - mirrored as they were by his own limitations in that area.
So the younger doctor had been taking to pretending that all was well with him, putting on a show of feeling well when he was having to fight the urge to writhe with agony. All for Steve's benefit. But it was taking its toll. He had lost weight since his incarceration in the ICU - being fed through a tube was all very well but it didn't compensate for real sustenance - and the relentless agony he was enduring had ensured that he had lost any appetite he should have regained since finding his way back to consciousness.
The weight loss was most notable in his face - partly because his frighteningly diminished frame was concealed beneath and sheets and blankets. He looked gaunt - his cheekbones standing out prominently, the blue eyes enormous in the pared down features. But he seemed cheerful enough - at least on the occasions when Steve visited him.
And Steve never questioned it. Yet he had to have noticed the change in his younger friend.
He probably didn't want to question it - for fear of what his answer would be if he probed too far.
Damn the man!
He could be too stubborn for his own - or in this case, Jesse's own good.

Sighing heavily she shut off the lamp on her desk and exited the lab. Despite her overwhelming desire to go home, she couldn't leave without checking on Jesse.
She still hadn't forgiven herself for her behaviour toward him during that first 10 days. No way was she going to go through that again.
He needed her. And this time she was going to be there.

He was sleeping when she looked in on him. Or at least, that was what he wanted her to think. He heard the creak as the door opened, listened as her soft footsteps approached the bed and made every effort to remain still whilst she stood over him, her soft breathing the only other sound in the room apart from his own.
He stifled a sob as her lips brushed his forehead and she whispered "Goodnight, Jesse," then receding footfalls and the door opening and closing again signalled her departure.
Amanda's gentle touch lingered long after she had gone and Jesse felt warmth steal into his heart at both the gesture and the affection that her parting words had contained. Then he shifted uncomfortably on the bed, trying to find a way to sleep without exacerbating the agony that had become second nature to him.
It took a long time before he was able to fall asleep.

"The trauma to his spine was worse than we suspected," proclaimed Dr Turner a few days later.
Amanda, Mark and Steve exchanged looks. The two medical professionals seemed unruffled by the statement. Steve, meanwhile, found his emotions in turmoil.
"Worse?" he echoed, hoarsely, "what d'you mean 'worse'? Is he … is he paralysed?"
He hadn't wanted to say the word aloud. Speaking it only lent it a credence he didn't wish it to have. But it was out there now and he cringed as three pairs of eyes travelled in his direction, three identical expressions of shock adorning each face. "Well, someone had to ask the question," he went on, defensively. "I just want to know!"
Amanda shook her head sadly. "Steve, it's not a question of Jesse being paralysed. The x-rays don't show any damage to his spine. There's nothing broken, but it did undergo severe strain. That's going to take time to heal."
He frowned. "I … I don't understand," he said, returning his attention once more to Dr Turner. "I thought you said there was trauma, doc?"
Turner sighed heavily. He hadn't expected the younger Sloan to be present at this meeting. He had come prepared with complicated medical jargon, which he knew both Mark Sloan and Amanda Bentley would understand. He hadn't been prepared to have to explain it to a layman. "His spine was twisted whilst he was buried underneath that rubble," he said, launching into what he hoped would be an explanation which would ease Steve Sloan's fears. "It was placed into an unnatural position and held there by the weight of what had fallen on top of him. That put undue pressure on the nerves and muscles. What he's going through now is those nerves and muscles twisting back into the correct position. It's basically a more extreme form of sciatica - more extreme in that there is more to return to its rightful position …"
"And because it's infinitely more painful," added Mark, sombrely.
"So he's going to be all right?"
Turner compressed his lips. "We're … cautiously optimistic," he hedged.
"What the hell does that mean?" Steve exploded. "'Cautiously optimistic'? Is he gonna be okay, or what? What?" he demanded as he was pinned by a look from his father, an expression of long-suffering which was mirrored on Amanda's face.
"Steve, Dr Turner is trying to explain," he said, patiently.
"Well, all he's explained so far is that Jesse is in pain and his spine is traumatised and he's cautiously optimistic that he'll recover!" retorted Steve, irritably. "Why can't you guys ever say what you mean?"
"Because not everything is black and white," Amanda said. Then, in an effort to pacify the irascible detective, continued, "Steve, Dr Turner is saying that nothing is certain. Whilst it is probable that Jesse will recover, there is a chance that he won't. You have to be prepared to face that."
"He may not recover?" Steve's face had gone white. He hadn't seriously considered this prospect. He didn't know what he would do if it were to come to pass. He had no idea how he would face the news that his best friend would be crippled. He didn't even want to consider what Jesse might feel about it. He liked to think it would make no difference to their friendship … but he was pragmatic enough to acknowledge that he had difficulty in coping with disability - his own, other people's … He wiped his hands over his face, suddenly sagging against the table against which he had been leaning. "Jesus."
"We're not saying that it's what will happen, Steve," pointed out Mark, gently, winding one comforting arm around his son's broad shoulders. "But we all have to be prepared - just in case."
Steve peered at his dad through his fingers. "You're taking this awful calmly," he observed. "What happens if it does happen and you have to find a replacement for him here?"
Mark couldn't suppress a shudder at Steve's ominous words. The other man had a point - and it was not as if he hadn't considered it himself. He had, however, more or less dismissed it. Jesse was going to be all right. They had to believe that. He refused to contemplate the possibility that the younger man's medical career could be over or, at best, severely curtailed because of a disability incurred through no fault of his own. "We'll think about that if and when we have to," he said, more curtly than he had intended. "For the moment, let's listen to what Dr Turner actually has to say before we go jumping to any conclusions."
"I don't think it will come to that," Turner said, quietly. "But for the moment the trauma is affecting his ability to walk. I'm going to increase the time of his physiotherapy sessions from one hour to one and a half. That should help. Believe it or not," he went on, turning to Steve, who was glowering at him, "he is improving. It's a slow process but we are seeing a reduction in the swelling and he is getting better. You're just going to have to be patient."
Amanda and Mark exchanged amused glances. 'Patient' and 'Steve' were not generally two words that went together.
However, Steve surprised them. Perhaps because he had spotted their shared amusement at his expense, or maybe because he recognised, deep down, that Dr Turner was only doing his best and it wasn't his fault that Jesse wasn't making as fast a recovery as everyone wanted - as fast as he wanted. The case was making him crazy. He had tried to inveigle his way onto the investigative team that was probing the explosion, but unfortunately, his overtures had been ignored. His Captain had been sympathetic but had pointed out that the case was too personal. 'Hell, yes," he had wanted to scream. 'You're damned right it's personal! That was my best friend who nearly died!' But he had bitten back those words and instead tried to accept the situation with some grace. The team who were responsible for the investigation had let him know that they were still no nearer to finding the reason behind the explosion, although they had found the cause. It was beginning to look like the perpetrators - whoever they were - were going to get away with it. And that gnawed at him. Three people were dead, including a baby. One had been seriously injured. Someone should pay.
But that didn't mean that he had to take his frustrations out on the man who was helping care for his injured friend. Which was what he had been doing. He would have to find another target - perhaps someone who was more deserving of it.
Dr Turner had asked him to be patient and dammit, he was going to be. Even if he wanted to scream to the heavens about the injustice of it all. So … "Okay, doc," he said, tiredly. "If you want us to be patient we can do that. Right, dad, Amanda?"
He wasn't sure who looked more shocked. Dr Turner, his dad or Amanda. They were staring at him as though they had never seen him before. Part of him felt insulted by this observation - like he was some kind of cantankerous bully! - but another part found it rather funny.
He smiled. "It's okay, guys," he continued, his mouth twitching upwards into a smile. "I'm not gonna bite."
"Oh, I don't know, Steve," chuckled Amanda, recovering quickly from her surprise at his fast turnaround. "That's not what I've heard!"

The meeting finished on a far better note than it had commenced. Dr Turner had rounds to make and Mark had a meeting to go to. That left Steve and Amanda to mull over what had transpired.
For a long moment after the departure of the others, there was an awkward silence. Finally, Steve slumped onto the sofa and Amanda took a seat beside him.
"How're you doing?" she enquired gently as he rubbed his hands over his face. He suddenly felt the exhaustion of the last few weeks pressing in on him.
"Tired," he admitted. He lifted his head and met her concerned gaze. "Doesn't this bother you?" he asked.
She smiled sadly. "Steve, I'm a doctor. Well, a pathologist, but that doesn't mean that I don't know the human body and what it's capable of. Jesse will be fine. But Martin Turner wouldn't be doing his job correctly if he didn't point out the risks. We do the same to any patient who's electing to undergo surgery - the surgery may save their life, but there are risks from the anaesthetic, from the procedure itself - heck, even during the recovery period. Infection can set in … we have to warn people what to expect."
He winced. He had been under the knife a few times himself - although at the time he hadn't exactly been able to make any decisions on his own behalf. He wondered what his dad had been through on those occasions. Even as an experienced doctor with all the knowledge at his disposal, it must have been hell knowing his only son was going to be susceptible to all the dangers inherent in surgery - that was if he wasn't already terrified about the reason for the surgery itself.
He didn't know if he would be able to be so stoic if the situation were reversed.
"It's just that … it's just … It's Jesse," he finished, lamely, not knowing how to put into words what he felt - hell, he couldn't even describe the way he was feeling to himself, let alone anyone else.
Amanda's hand covered his. "I know," she said, quietly. The sympathy in her voice was tinged with apprehension. She understood. She was going through the same thing as he was - she was better at concealing it.
"I over reacted, didn't I?"
"Just a bit." Her tone was gentle.
"Thanks," he said, dryly.
She shrugged. "Don't mention it!" Then, "Steve, Jesse is going to be fine. This is just another stage in his recovery. You do know that, don't you? Do Mark and I look worried?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Well, then. Do you think maybe you could stop worrying so much? Jesse is going to need us to be there for him over the next few weeks. The last thing he needs is morose looking visitors …"
"I am not morose!" he protested.
She studied him intently for a moment then broke out into a broad grin. "You seen yourself in a mirror recently, mister? If that's not the picture of 'morose' …" Her voice tailed off as the beginnings of a smile appeared on Steve's face and he acknowledged the truth of her words.
"Okay," he admitted. "It's just that … the investigation and now this with Jess… I'm tired, Amanda."
"Then maybe you should go home and get some sleep?"
The idea sounded good. What he wouldn't give for a few hours of undisturbed rest. Between his own murder investigation and the probe into the explosion, not to mention the long hours he had been putting in at the hospital, keeping vigil at his friend's side, he felt like he could sleep for a week. "Maybe I should," he eventually conceded. "I'll just go and see Jess first …"

The next few days were hell for Jesse. As per Martin Turner's instructions, the length of the physiotherapy sessions was increased and although he tried his best to be stoic and endure the torture of having his muscles manipulated and tried to walk unaided however much pain he was in, there were times when all Jesse wanted to do was die. It wasn't worth it. The agony he was forced to bear, day after day, was wearing him down and he was sick of putting on a brave face for his friends. Mark and Amanda could see beyond the pasted on smiles anyway. His mentor had more or less told him he shouldn't put on an act for them - but he couldn't help it. He was accustomed to taking care of himself. He didn't need their sympathy. It only made things seem so much worse. He could cope. He had to.
Steve - Steve seemed happy to assume that he was doing okay. Jesse couldn't blame him; after all, he always smiled and told Steve he was doing just fine when the detective came by. The older man's visits decreased as soon as Jesse was up and walking - although Jesse never revealed the full extent of that particular exercise to him, nor what it cost him. Besides, the murder investigation Steve was running was taking up a lot of his time. Mark had voiced his concern about his son on several occasions when he had dropped by to see how Jesse was doing. The conversations about Steve served as a distraction for the young doctor - at least when they were talking about him they weren't focusing on how the sessions were going - those particular discussions were both uncomfortable and irritating. Mark was disappointed that he wasn't recovering as fast as they had expected but he tried to disguise it from Jesse - and Jesse could always see right through his friend's cheerful demeanour to the concern below. It made him crazy. How did they think he felt about it? Didn't they think that he wanted to get well? Did they think he enjoyed the constant, nagging ache in his back? He constantly had to bite his tongue, to keep from telling Mark and Amanda and, to some extent, Steve, just how he really felt. He wanted to scream his pain to the world, make them understand just what all this was costing him. But he didn't. He suppressed all his feelings of helplessness, of rage against his excruciatingly slow recovery. He buried them deep inside, where the emotions he still harboured from the explosion still resided. Terror - a terror so deeply ingrained that the nightmares woke him on a regular basis. Guilt - for failing to save the young woman and her baby. And an increasing sense of self-loathing for what he perceived as his own weaknesses as these feelings constantly threatened to swamp him.
He was a doctor, goddamit, he should have been able to do something to save the young mother. And she had begged him to take care of her child. He had promised her. And he had failed.
Maybe he deserved this.

During his more rational periods, he recognised the quagmire of depression into which he was fast sinking. A consequence of his narrow escape and the subsequent surgery and slow recuperation but fuelled by the remorse he felt at the death of two innocents and his own self-condemnation. However, he was so tired and in so much pain all of the time
that he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.
Fortunately, Mark recognised the signs. He had seen survivor's guilt before - had even been a victim of it when Caitlin Sweeney had bombed Community General and several people, including patients and members of his own staff had died. He also realised that Jesse was sublimating a lot of the physical pain he was feeling - even though he had practically begged him not to - at least not with his friends.
He didn't know the circumstances of the self-reproach with which Jesse was so obviously burdening himself, but guessed that it probably had something to do with the other corpses they had discovered. The burned and crushed body of a baby had been found two days after Jesse's rescue. Mark hadn't mentioned it to Jesse before, partly because he hadn't been entirely sure that the younger man knew about its existence. However, he knew his protégé. This rapid emotional decline was being triggered by something other than his lengthy recovery and the pain he was still going through. Jesse was one of the gentlest, most compassionate people he had ever known. He would have tried his utmost to help those who had been in the store if he had had the chance. He had barely spoken about the explosion except to say that he had been too late to save everyone. Had he been aware that there was a child trapped somewhere in the decimated building he would have done his utmost to find and save it. His inability to do so would haunt him and would account for some of the decline in his emotional state.
It was time for Mark to intercede. He couldn't allow this to go on any longer. True, he was no psychologist but he did understand what Jesse was going through - had experienced it himself and dealt with it. He had a unique perspective of both the situation and the patient. Jesse and he were very much alike - both consummate doctors with a stubborn streak a mile wide, not that he would ever admit to the latter trait aloud. They had both been put on this earth to help people and had difficulty admitting defeat, choosing instead to castigate themselves over situations that were out of their control, again, not something he himself would ever have admitted to anyone.

He paused for a long moment outside Jesse's room, going over in his mind how he would broach the subject of his friend's emotional state and what he would say to help him. Then, squaring his shoulders, he opened the door and walked into the room.

"Hello, Jess."
The younger man looked up as he entered the room, flashing him a quick grin. Mark wasn't fooled by the _expression. He could see the effort it took and the fact that it wasn't reflected in those expressive blue eyes was also very telling. "Hi, Mark," came the automatic response.
The older man walked slowly over to the end of the bed and, picking up Jesse's chart, pretended to study it for a moment whilst surreptitiously studying his patient. Jesse looked exhausted. He also seemed distant - his thoughts obviously troubling him even as he was doing his utmost to stop himself from thinking.
"How're you feeling?" Mark asked nonchalantly, replacing the chart and stepping
round the bed to perch on the edge of it where he could scrutinise his friend more thoroughly.
Jesse squirmed uncomfortably under his mentor's gaze. Mark had a knack for making people who were hiding something feel very uneasy and he was suddenly discovering that he was no exception. This was a new experience. Mark had never directed this particular talent toward him before. It was very difficult to hide. Even as he averted his gaze from that piercing look, he could feel it follow him,
reading him, seeing all the insecurities and self-reproach he was usually so adept at concealing. "'M fine," he finally mumbled after a lengthy pause.
Mark narrowed his eyes. So Jesse wasn't going to make it easy. That was no surprise. He was only too well aware of how much his friend hid beneath his outward demeanour of seemingly carefree effervescence. Jesse's life had not been a bed of roses. Forced to mature early because of his father's abrupt departure and his mother's single-minded
concentration on her career, he compensated for it with a boyish wonder and a devil-may-care attitude that sometimes bordered on suicidal.
He well remembered the occasion when Jesse had persuaded Amanda to go with him to a suspect's hotel room, where they had found the evidence they had needed to help convict him. Unfortunately, Steve had arrived in the midst of their visit and they had been forced to hide, convinced they had got away with it. The younger Sloan had seen them however and it was only Mark's intervention that had saved Jesse from having his neck wrung by the irate detective. He smiled now when he recollected the fleeting _expression of fear that had crossed the young doctor's face at Steve's wrath. He had covered well by assuming an attitude of righteous indignation - after all, they had helped out, hadn't they? - but for a moment there, Jesse hadn't been sure that Steve wouldn't just haul him off and lock him up for interfering with a police investigation.
"Oh yes," he mused, silently. "Definitely suicidal!"

But right now, Jesse was more focused on his own shortcomings - something that he also tended toward with alarming regularity. He could be very hard on himself, especially when something wasn't his fault. His sense of responsibility tended to kick in at the most inopportune and least expected times and it was having a detrimental effect on him now. It was time for Mark to put everything into context for him. He knew how much his friend respected him and how important his opinion of
the younger man was to Jesse and he intended to use that knowledge to his advantage now.
"You're not 'fine'," he said, sternly, at last, shocking Jesse temporarily out of his self-imposed shell - he had not been blind to the younger man's attempt to block his gaze. "You're in pain and you're also bordering on depression."
"I'm not!" It was an automatic response which bore no resemblance to the truth and both of them knew it. "I'm not," he repeated, sullenly, all pretence at good humour evaporating.
Mark sighed heavily. "Jesse, I know you. You're feeling guilty for something that you couldn't possibly prevent and you're also allowing your slow recovery to get to you."
Jesse pouted, folding his arms across his chest in a classic defensive pose. "How would you know?" he muttered.
His insolence startled them both. It took Mark a moment to recover. He fought the urge to smile - this was a Jesse they rarely saw, if ever. At least he wasn't pretending any longer. "Because I know you," he repeated. "Jess, what happened …
you couldn't do anything to save those people. I know you tried," he went on, ignoring the younger man's attempt at a protest. "You did what I would have done. You and I are very much alike."
"'Cept I don't have your crimefighting talents," mumbled Jesse, flashing a wan smile as he briefly met his friend's eyes.
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know about that," he said. "I seem to remember several occasions when something you've pointed out has proved a casebreaker."
That elicited a more genuine smile. "Yeah," agreed the young doctor. "I do have a talent for that, don't I?"
"That you do," agreed Mark. Then, "Jesse, is this about the baby?"
Jesse's eyes widened in shock as he stared at Mark. "How … how d'you know about that?" he gasped.
So that was it. Mark felt a flare of triumph. He'd been right. "Oh, I have my methods," he replied. "Jesse …"
"I made a promise," came the interruption in a rough, pain-filled voice. "I promised her that I'd find her baby and … " the admission ended on a sob that he couldn't quite suppress.
Mark closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them he met a tear-filled gaze. Reaching out instinctively, he placed his hand over his friend's, squeezing tightly. "Jesse, whatever promise you made … to the baby's mother?" he guessed. At the curt nod, he went on, "Jess, I know that if you'd had the chance then nothing would have stopped you from keeping that promise. But you were stopped. You were trapped and helpless and you couldn't do anything - and that's not your failing. That's just circumstance. It happened to you. You didn't cause it. My god, we almost lost you. You nearly died. Do you know that? How can you possibly blame yourself for something over which you had no control?"
A sniffle and then, "Because … because … I just …"
"You just blame yourself because that's the only alternative?" interjected Mark as his friend's words trailed away. "You do realise you're being foolish, don't you?"
That got a reaction. Jesse managed to look shocked, distraught and insulted all at the same time. Mark had never seen an expression quite like it before. "I … I … foolish?" he echoed with a trace of indignation.
"Yes, foolish," emphasised Mark. "What would you say to me or to Steve in the same situation? Hmm? What if Steve or I had made a similar promise and then the same thing that happened to you happened to us. Would you blame us? Would you expect us to blame ourselves? Think about it. Would you?"
"No!" came the immediate response. Then, "No … no it wouldn't be your fault."
"Then why is it yours?" demanded Mark.
It was unerring logic and it made sense. Yet Jesse couldn't let go his demons just yet. He had harboured them for too long and they had gained a strong foothold. And his back was throbbing in tandem with his heartbeat. The medication he was being given to keep the pain at bay was wearing off again. "I …" he stammered. "I …" Mark was staring at him intently, almost daring him to argue. He didn't feel much like it - mostly because he was exhausted, but he couldn't stop thinking about the last words the mother had spoken to him. "… No! You … get my baby! You … save her! You …"
He shuddered. Intellectually, he acknowledged that the baby had more than likely been dead at this point. It certainly would have died whilst he was mounting his one-man search for it. That didn't negate the fact that he had not kept his word even if the reason for that was, as Mark had so reasonably pointed out, 'beyond his control'.
And then there were the recollections of his time beneath the rubble. The inability to move, fighting to breathe and with every breath inhaling toxic fumes, the overwhelming silence and the dark … The dark still had the power to scare him although he had said nothing to either the nursing staff nor his friends about his irrational fears. He suspected they knew anyway but reasoned that if no-one mentioned it then they could all pretend that everything was all right.
But he wasn't 'all right'. He understood that. He just didn't know what he could do to make everything better.
"Accepting things you can't change would be a start," said Mark with an affectionate smile.
Jesse stared at him. "Wh … what?" he stammered. Had Mark been able to hear his thoughts or something? Not for the first time, he wondered at what talents Mark Sloan actually possessed. He had often voiced the opinion that the man could read minds and now he was utterly convinced of it.
"Give yourself a break, Jess," Mark went on, blithely, ignoring the young man's open mouthed look of utter bewilderment. He had a good idea what was going through Jesse's mind anyway - which he knew would terrify his friend if he told him. By the look on his face, Jesse fully believed him capable of telepathy! But it hadn't been so difficult to figure out what the younger doctor had been thinking, nor where his thoughts would lead him. Of course, it did help that he was both astute and that he knew his subject so well! "You're making yourself miserable and that's not going to help in your recovery. And I can practically guarantee that you will recover. I know how that's frustrating you."
'Well, that wasn't so hard to figure out,' mused Jesse, silently, narrowing his eyes, however, as his gaze continued to be transfixed upon the older man. He wasn't the best of patients and Mark knew that - although Mark himself was far worse. He could well remember how relieved the nursing staff had been to see the back of him the last time the Chief of Internal Medicine had been laid up with a broken ankle. Having Mark Sloan criticise everything from the care he had received up to and including the packaging of the milk cartons was enough to drive anyone to distraction!
Then again, when it came to being a bad patient, Steve Sloan had them both beat hands down!
"I … I guess …" he finally said, confessing at last what Mark already knew. "I just … I can't get that woman's voice out of my head."
"I know." Mark's voice was gentle, as was the touch of his hand as it patted the back of Jesse's. "Jess, you went through a terrible ordeal. You were buried alive. I know a little of how that feels …"
"The explosion here," Jesse interjected, horrified that it hadn't occurred to him sooner, remembering now, belatedly, that awful day when Caitlin Sweeney had planted a bomb at the hospital. They had lost many good friends that day. And several patients - one of whom he had tried to help after waking to discover he and Steve had been thrown into the man's room. He had felt guilty then, too, for being too late to do anything but had pushed that feeling aside when he had realised that Steve was bleeding. After that they had had no time to think of anything other than getting out and helping those who could be helped, which they had both prayed would include Mark and Amanda, whom they hadn't seen since the blast had trapped them. "I .. I almost forgot."
"I didn't," said Mark, heavily. His smile faded as recollections of that terrible day invaded his mind once more. Trapped with a badly injured Amanda with no idea where Steve or Jesse were or if they were even alive. It had been one of the worst and longest days of his life. "And don't you think I felt guilty then, too? And with good reason. I was the catalyst for that bomb. Had it not been for my single-minded determination to see Carter put away then Caitlin would never have targeted the place where I work and killed and injured so many people."
"But you couldn't have known she was as crazy as her brother!" Jesse protested, appalled that Mark should still consider himself responsible for the actions of the psychopathic siblings. "Mark, it wasn't your fault!"
"I don't know, Jess." The older man shivered as he remembered the feeling of being thrown through the air, the dust, the clammy atmosphere, the gasping sounds from Amanda as she struggled to breathe … It was still too recent, too fresh in his mind. It would be a long time before he could forgive himself for the deaths of so many innocents, even if he hadn't been the one to plant the bomb.
"Mark, you can't possibly still think …"
The younger doctor's shocked objection broke through the miasma in his mind and he pulled himself back to the present with what seemed like a monumental effort. "Jesse …"
"It was Caitlin!" Jesse said, his tone brooking no argument. "It wasn't your fault!"
"I don't know that I'll ever believe that, Jess, but - weren't we talking about you?"
"Oh." Caught off guard, Jesse coloured. He had been so busy defending his mentor that he had forgotten the whole point of their conversation. "I … um .."
Mark sighed again, looking down as he absent-mindedly rubbed his friend's hand. "Son, what I was trying say - before I got … sidetracked - was that after the explosion I had to put the dead out of my mind. I had to concentrate on the living. There were people who needed my help. People who needed me, not least my family. I had to accept what I couldn't change and move on. Can you do the same - for
me?"
That was an unfair question and he knew it. Jesse couldn't refuse his older friend anything, no matter that he sometimes considered the man a little eccentric. He was also kind-hearted and compassionate and very wise - and the younger doctor still held him in a certain reverent awe.. It was manipulative and they both recognised that fact.
Still … "I … I'll try," conceded Jesse, eventually.
Mark beamed at him and patted him on the shoulder. "Good man." Then, "Now, are you in pain?"
Jesse nodded. He had decided to stop being surprised by Mark's insight. Besides, the agony in his back was reaching a crescendo and he could barely even breathe.
"I'll order up some medication," came Mark's voice through the roar in his ears. "Hold on, Jess …"

His conversation with Mark did much to restore Jesse's characteristic sparkle and he set to his physiotherapy with renewed determination. His pain seemed to diminish a little more with each passing day to the extent that there were periods of time when it vanished completely. He relished those moments, happy just to be laying still when they happened, without the fear that the lest movement would set it off.
Fully cognizant now that he didn't have to bear things alone, he didn't try as hard to hide the occasions when he was suffering - except when Steve visited.
His friend looked terrible. The long hours he had been pulling combined with the frustrations inherent in both his own murder case and the stalled investigation into the explosion were taking their toll. Dark circles ringed his vivid blue eyes and constant fatigue made him grey and worn looking.
His visits were of necessity brief and frequently ended with Jesse ordering him to go home and get some sleep. The forced smile which usually appeared at this command tore at Jesse's heart. He desperately wanted to help his friend but didn't know what else he could do other than be there to support him and give him an outlet as Steve voiced his irritation with lack of evidence, stakeouts which yielded nothing and the distinct lack of suspects.
It seemed the detective was fighting a losing battle and it was aggravating him to such an extent that he grudgingly admitted to the young doctor that even when he finally went to bed he found it almost impossible to get any rest. He spent his nights tossing and turning restlessly before finally admitting defeat and dragging himself into the shower and driving to the precinct where the whole endless cycle began all over again. The very fact that he had confessed to this weakness evidenced his physical and emotional state and Jesse was very worried about him
He wouldn't burden his friend with his own inconsequential problems. It wasn't right. Not when Steve was doing so much on his behalf even though he wasn't even officially on the case. Not that the detective had admitted that but Jesse knew him well enough to be able to read inbetween the lines and although he tried not to, he felt partly responsible for the amount of time Steve was dedicating to finding the people responsible for the deaths of four innocents and Jesse's own grievous injuries.
Jesse was recovering, however. Slowly, it had to be said, but he would be fine. Steve, on the other hand … The older man seemed on the verge of collapse and Jesse wasn't about to add to his concerns and hasten the condition.

Mark was desperately worried about his son and had tried - to no avail - to persuade him to rest more. Steve was as stubborn as his father and doggedly kept going, despite the toll it was taking on his health. The older Sloan had even considered speaking to Steve's Captain - only the knowledge that his son would never forgive him if he did so preventing him from following that course of action. The detective was a grown man; an adult - even if at times he and Jesse tended to behave like errant teenagers. The older doctor had shared his earlier concerns about Steve's workload with Jesse and the more ragged Steve looked, the more anxious Mark grew. He was distracted by thoughts of his son, to the extent that it was beginning to show in his manner toward his colleagues. A consummate professional, it would have troubled the older doctor greatly to find out that those around him had noticed this but his pre-occupation with Steve's health and the fact that Amanda and, to a certain, limited extent Jesse were protecting him from any possible criticism prevented him from doing so.

Fortunately for everyone concerned, there came a huge break in the murder case with the discovery of some forensic evidence which had, heretofore, been overlooked and which led to the arrest of a suspect and, similarly, forensics proved that the explosion in the grocery store had been nothing more sinister than an accident. A terrible, fatal accident which could have been prevented had the store owner been more diligent about what he kept in his backroom, but it was not a bomb or an incendiary device of any description.
The store owner was dead. He had already paid for his carelessness with his life. Three other people had died - one of them a child under one. But there had been no malice in the incident and no-one could be held accountable in court. The relatives of those killed would find no satisfaction in this but there was nothing anyone could do to change the facts and, in fact, those investigating the explosion were relieved that this hadn't been the work of some mad bomber who may still target something else.
Sometimes, bad things happened to good people and there was no reason for it other than them being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now that his murder case had been solved and the investigation into the explosion brought to a conclusion, Steve was given the time off that he so desperately needed. His Captain had not been blind to his Lieutenant's deteriorating physical condition and had been very troubled by it, partly because of his personal regard for Steve, but also because he was well aware that his instincts were all that a cop had when he was on the job. With those instincts severely compromised by his all pervading exhaustion, Steve was fast becoming a danger not only to himself but to his partner.
Thus the detective was ordered to take a week off. It had not been a suggestion and he had realised, by the steely glint in his superior's eyes that to argue against it was a very bad idea. It was with bad grace that he left the precinct that evening and drove home, where he exchanged a few words with his father before going to bed.
Where he crashed out for eighteen hours, thereby proving the wisdom of the Captain's order.
It was a much more refreshed Steve Sloan therefore who put in an appearance at Community General two days later. Unfortunately, his arrival coincided with the discovery of a dead body in a hotel room. Amanda was just about to perform the autopsy when he got there and, having been devoid of anything to challenge him over the last few days, he was eager to stick around to find out what was going on.
Mark had raised his eyes heavenward in exasperation when Steve had announced his intention to stay and see what Amanda found out. The older Sloan knew better than to argue with his son, however. Once Steve was set on a course of action, nothing could sway him from it.

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