Disclaimer - all the bad guys belong to me. The others don't and no, I'm making no money from this, more's the pity!
A Sense of Family
By Cass
The doctors' lounge was quiet, an island of peace and tranquillity in
a sea of chaos. Outside in ER utter madness ruled. A freeway accident involving
a school bus and several cars, a fire in an abandoned warehouse used by
indigents and food poisoning at a Greek wedding had all combined to create
a situation which was totally untenable, with Community General's trauma
department being stretched far beyond its limits. Doctors and nurses were
trying their best to cope with all the casualties but it was an impossible
task, with one ambulance after the other pulling up outside, discharging
patient after patient. Gurneys lined the hallways, bearing victims with
various injuries. They had been assessed immediately upon arrival, the triage
having been set up by the head of the ER as soon as they had discovered
that they were the major receiving centre for the various incidents.
Groans issued from the injured, adding to the general clamour of voices
as doctors issued commands and nursing staff called out for various instruments
and more help.
Norman Briggs, recently returned to Community General from a lengthy spell
in New York, where he had spent some time on a sabbatical, was on the phone
at the nurses' station, screaming down the phone for other hospitals to
take some of the afflicted. His own was bearing the brunt of it and his
staff were under enormous pressure - too much pressure. Most of them had
been working flat out now for close to twenty hours; assessing and treating
the more serious injuries in the OR and attending to those whose wounds
could be left for a little longer in the various trauma rooms and side cubicles.
His surgeons were exhausted, making them prone to mistakes. This wasn't
some field army hospital where they could bag 'em and tag 'em for gods'
sake. This was a city hospital. And whilst his staff were superb at what
they did, too much was being asked of them. They couldn't sustain this level
of stress for much longer. His Chief of Internal Medicine had already informed
him that they all had at least another ten hours ahead of them just to treat
those who had already arrived. Piling more on top was simply unfair and
he wouldn't tolerate it.
He obviously received the answer he wanted because he replaced the receiver
with a weary yet satisfied smile. His good humour didn't last long, however
as he was accosted by the head nurse, demanding that he send for more agency
staff. She simply didn't have enough to cope with what was being asked of
them.
With a heavy sigh, he picked up the telephone again and started to punch
in a number.
Jesse Travis sat at the table in the one place of refuge amidst the carnage,
nursing his first cup of coffee since coming on duty the day before. He
couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, let alone when he had last
slept. He thought he might have grabbed something before leaving his apartment
fifteen hours before but he wasn't entirely sure. He had fully intended
going to the canteen to get something - then the deluge had begun and he
had barely had the time to even draw breath between each patient.
It was Mark who had ordered him to take a break. He had taken one look at
the younger doctor, seen the slightly glazed expression in the normally
clear blue eyes and decided that a few minutes away from the pandemonium
would perhaps re-charge his protégé's flagging energy. It
certainly couldn't hurt. "I think we can cope for ten minutes without
our best surgeon," he had said, gently.
The unsolicited praise had warmed Jesse's heart and he had gladly acquiesced
to his mentor's suggestion.
Now he stared down into a rapidly cooling cup of coffee, ruminating on the
odd little twists and turns that could take place in a person's life.
*One year earlier*
Bored and at a loss for something to do, Jesse wandered into the path
lab, idly hoping that perhaps a corpse had been brought in which could initiate
a murder enquiry.
Not that he particularly relished the thought that someone might have been
killed. But things had been hectic at Community General and 'Bob's' of late
and he hadn't had much chance to spend any time with his three friends.
Oh sure, he had seen Mark around the hospital - they had passed in corridors
like ships in the night - and occasionally Steve's hours at 'Bob's had overlapped
with his before his new assignment had taken the detective away from the
restaurant, but the demands on their time were threatening to drive their
close-knit little circle apart.
He mentally chided himself for this thought. He was becoming paranoid. It
must have been all those late night tacos from the Mexican place down the
road - purchased mainly because by the time he got home he was too exhausted
to even think about cooking himself a meal.
And that was another thing. There hadn't even been time of late for the
customary mid-week and weekend meal at the beach house. In fact, he was
beginning to forget what the place looked like, it had been so long since
he'd been there.
He knew that Steve and Mark had also barely seen the inside of their own
home for several weeks. Mark had been involved in another fight with the
Hospital Board, spending his supposed off-duty hours in his office preparing
graphs and charts and wading through various reports in his effort to maintain
their current staffing levels and attempting to persuade them that another
wing in the hospital would be a good thing.
Steve's assignment, meanwhile, had meant working undercover, which Jesse
knew had worried Mark greatly and had only added to the stress the older
man had been under. The detective had thus, inevitably, been unavailable
to help out at 'Bob's' - after all, he wasn't supposed to be Steve Sloan,
part-owner of a BBQ joint. He was a hired hit man in from Detroit.
That had meant, however, that Jesse had pulled more than his fair share
of shifts there and, coupled with his work at the hospital, where a viral
infection had struck down more than half of the staff, plus the extra curricular
activities that he had found for himself - writing a couple of review articles
for a noted medical journal and doing two more drug trials - the result
was one very tired, very irritable ER doctor.
He hadn't seen Amanda much, either. First CJ then Dion had been sick with
the same nasty illness that had affected the hospital and was beginning
to grip the whole of LA and she had taken some time off to be with them.
They were both well on the road to recovery now, however and she had been
back at work for a couple of days.
And today had, miraculously, been a slow one. The casualties that had rolled
through Community General's ER doors had been minor ones and Jesse hadn't
even had to don his OR gown to operate. A suture or two and some resetting
of bones had been all that had been necessary.
Unfortunately, it had given him a lot of time to think. And the thinking
he was doing wasn't entirely pleasant.
He was feeling lonely. He needed to reconnect with his friends - his family
if truth be told - and Amanda was first on the list.
And if there was a murder to solve - which could involve all four of them,
like in the old days - then all the better!
The pathologist was on the telephone as he ambled into the path lab.
She was laughing heartily and sharing an obviously intimate joke with someone
on the other end.
"
no, no, you didn't?! Oh my god! And then what happened?!
It did? Well, only you! No, I mean it - no-one else would have dared
what? Hey, listen, mister, you forget how long I've known you! Oh
yes! That too! I
" Her voice trailed away as she suddenly became
aware that she was no longer alone and she half turned to see Jesse lounging
beside the door.
He waved at her, grinning widely. "Hey, Amanda," he said. "I
just came
"
"Jesse, I'm on the phone!" she hissed. "Can whatever it is
wait until later?"
Frowning and trying not to show on his face how wounded he felt at her offhand
attitude - a consequence, he knew, of his increasing paranoia - he nodded.
"Sure," he said, as lightly as he could. "I'll
I'll
see you around."
Turning to leave, he heard her return to her phone call, tinkling laughter
echoing after him as he shut the door behind him.
The afternoon brought an influx of more serious casualties and he didn't
have the time to ponder over Amanda or his own hurt feelings. Much later,
changing out of his scrubs and donning his t-shirt and pants he reflected
that he was probably over-reacting anyway. It was just that he missed his
friends. He missed the familial atmosphere that surrounded him when he was
amongst them.
They could hardly help it, though, if they were all busy.
He had been busy too, after all.
And he shouldn't - and didn't - begrudge Amanda a moment of relaxation and
- it had to be said, from the look on her face and the expression in her
voice - pure joy. She certainly deserved it after the last couple of weeks.
Putting aside his wounded pride - because that was all it was, he told himself
- he resolved to talk to his friends tomorrow.
At least Mark had finally won his battle with the Board, or so hospital
gossip had it. Maybe he would see his mentor around a bit more now.
As he slid into the driver's side of his car he made himself relax.
It would all look a whole lot better in the morning.
Unfortunately, morning brought with it a splitting headache - which worsened
as the day went on. It was busy, too, leaving him no time for shared niceties
with either Mark or Amanda.
He spotted both of them at different times of the day - but only from a
distance. At one point they were both standing together at the nurse's station
and Amanda was obviously sharing some good news with Mark because he looked
extraordinarily pleased about something.
He wished he could go over and share in the joy, because the way he was
feeling he could certainly use some of what they had. But yet another casualty
pulled him away and the next time he emerged from the OR there was no sign
of either of them.
He trudged back to his locker that night, feeling like death warmed over.
When he got home, the first thing he did was turn up the heating. He was
freezing. He didn't feel like eating - which should have set alarm bells
ringing but he was too exhausted and, by this time, too sick to realise
it - instead opting to crawl into bed and shiver incessantly under the covers.
At some point he drifted off to sleep but when he awoke the next morning
to the sun streaming through the window, he felt even worse than the day
before. Something he hadn't thought was possible.
He considered calling in sick, but realised that he couldn't. The viral
infection that had already felled more than half of the ER staff was proving
more virulent than had been anticipated and all of them were still off sick.
He had half hoped that at least a couple of them would turn up the day before,
but had been sorely disappointed. As head of the ER it was his duty, therefore,
to go in and hold down the fort, regardless of the fact that he felt like
crap.
He looked it too, he realised, when he caught sight of himself in the bathroom
mirror. His eyes were all puffy and red and large dark shadows had taken
up residence beneath them. His skin was pale and sallow looking and his
tongue was a very strange shade of yellow.
His attempt to shave was severely hampered by the trembling of his hands
and it took him almost fifteen minutes to complete a task that should have
taken him five. And even then he ended up almost slashing his own throat.
He left the apartment on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.
They certainly didn't want to co-operate with his brain as he stumbled shakily
down the steps to where he had parked his car.
Once in the vehicle, he fumbled with the keys, the jangling noise exacerbating
the headache that had returned with a vengeance. Finally he managed to switch
on the ignition but then he just sat there, knowing that he wasn't going
to be able to drive.
With a sigh of utter defeat, he turned off the power and reached for his
cell. He would have to call someone. He was feeling worse by the minute
and it occurred to him - belatedly and he had no idea why he had not realised
it sooner - that he must have picked up the infection that had taken out
his other colleagues.
Only he didn't remember anyone saying that it had started off this badly.
He barely managed to punch in the number, or hear the distant voice say
'Mark Sloan," before darkness zeroed in and the cellphone fell to the
floor as he slumped sideways in his seat.
Mark stared at the phone in his hand for long seconds, momentarily frozen
to his seat. Then he jammed down the receiver rest and punched in a short
series of numbers.
"I want an ambulance sent to this address! Immediately!" he ground
out as soon as he got an answer from the other end. Reading out Jesse's
apartment address he tried to control the fear that was tying a knot in
his stomach, but the memory of the soft sigh and the sound of the cellphone
impacting with the floor rang in his ears.
He should have realised sooner.
He should have seen how sick Jesse was.
Correction, he had seen it - yesterday. He had noticed the young man slumped
by the doorway to one of the trauma rooms, looking distinctly green around
the gills. He had intended going to him then, insisting that he went home
and rested, or possibly admitting him where he could keep an eye on him
personally. But he had been distracted by Amanda and her news about Jack.
His first protégé was coming back to LA.
He had been offered a position at Community General.
Mark had been so thrilled about the prospect of having his friend and oft-times
surrogate son back that all thoughts of Jesse - his other surrogate son
- had slipped from his mind.
And now he was paying the price.
Correction. Jesse was paying the price.
Mark was waiting by the nurse's station when the ambulance drew up outside.
He had been kept informed of Jesse's condition by the EMT's, who had found
him sprawled unconscious on the front seat of his Mustang. They had reported
his exceptionally high temperature, his rapid pulse and his laboured breathing
and Mark's own heart had quickened.
Jesse had obviously been sick for some days and had not realised it. He
must have known something was wrong the day before, however and had still
come in, manning the ER like it was his own personal responsibility - which
it was, of course, as head of the department. Yet he shouldn't have had
to do that. Mark should have offered him some support - or he should have
asked for some himself.
But Jesse Travis - Mark also knew - was not one to admit defeat easily.
He would rather die than confess to being really sick. And his conscience
wouldn't have allowed him to leave the ER yet another doctor down - especially
the one who was actually in charge of it. He had undoubtedly tried to get
some cover for those who were off ill, but it was a city-wide epidemic.
They had even had a few cases brought here in the beginning.
And late last night and this morning, two people had actually died of it.
And that was what was playing on Mark's mind as the gurney carrying his
young friend crashed through the ER doors.
The virus had been raging unchecked but mostly harmlessly for some time
but had escalated overnight.
Two people had died.
Admittedly, one of them had had a heart condition and the other was suffering
from terminal cancer.
Still ..
He didn't want this particular victim to be the third.
Steve knocked on the door to Jesse's room and, as his father half-turned
at the sound, entered.
"How's he doing, dad?" he whispered. Somehow ICU always had that
effect on him. He had no idea why. If someone was in ICU then generally
they were so deeply unconscious that even had he been yelling he wouldn't
have awoken them. He guessed it was out of respect for the condition those
who were housed here were usually in.
And Jesse was no exception.
He looked awful.
His face was bleached free of colour, dark smudges circled his tightly closed
eyes and his breathing was ragged. He was also utterly still and that frightened
Steve more than any of the other symptoms. Jesse was never still. He was
a literal whirlwind of energy. Steve hadn't been at all surprised to hear
from his father that his young friend had taken so long to succumb to the
disease that was now running rampant through the city. It probably hadn't
been able to catch up with him until sheer exhaustion had forced him to
slow down.
That was where any levity at his friend's condition ended, however. He was
only too well aware that this thing had taken the lives of a couple of people
already and could conceivably do the same with others.
The CDC had already been made aware of its existence, he knew, but the fact
that most of the victims had responded so positively to treatment had prevented
their arrival here en masse. One or two of their number had made the journey
- simply to offer their assistance and to run tests on the infection. But
fortunately, the city had not been subjected to a major lockdown nor had
panic or hysteria set in - although if any more deaths occurred he knew
that would soon change. All the cops at his precinct and others had been
put on standby as had the National Guard. The city council was taking no
chances.
Ambling nearer the bed in which Jesse lay, Steve felt a prickle of fear
for his friend. He had been forced to don mask and protective clothing to
even enter the room and his father was garbed in something similar. He was
holding Jesse's limp hand in his gloved one, absently stroking the back
of it with one thumb. It was a gesture Steve recalled from when he had been
very sick once and it only emphasised his dad's state of mind and the way
in which he regarded Jesse - as a younger son.
Mark shook his head as Steve reached him. "He's not improved,"
he said, in a choked voice, muffled by the sterile mask. "The virus
has had a chance to take a real hold on him. It's not surprising - he's
had to cover nearly every shift just lately and couple that with his shift
at 'Bob's', the drug trials and everything else he manages to fit into 24
hours - he's just worn himself out. He didn't stand a chance against it
and because his system is so weakened due to the fatigue this thing has
affected him very, very badly."
Steve forced himself to remain calm. Panicking was going to help no-one
- least of all Jesse, or his father. The fact that he felt very much like
screaming was just something he was going to have to get over.
"He
he's not gonna
" He couldn't say the word. It
wasn't like it wasn't in his vocabulary. He was a homicide detective, after
all. He dealt with death every day. But nothing had ever prepared him for
the possible demise of someone he cared about.
Mark's eyes were bleak. "I don't know, Steve," he replied. His
distress was palpable. "I just don't know."
A little while later Steve sat in the doctors' lounge, staring broodingly
into a cup of cold coffee. He couldn't get Jesse's fast deteriorating condition
nor his father's words out of his mind.
Amanda found him there. She had heard about Jesse's admission to the ICU
and had been to visit, shocked at the ashen features and tortured breathing.
She couldn't help but remember how she had treated him the day before, dismissing
him so easily whilst she chatted to Jack. She hadn't missed the brief flare
of pain in his eyes - quickly concealed but had chosen to ignore it. She
would apologise later. The thought that she may now never be able to apologise
at all ate away at her like a living thing and she bitterly regretted her
words.
"Hey, Steve," she said, dismally, slumping into a chair at the
table, next to him.
"Hey, Amanda," he replied, sounding equally wretched. But he
didn't have anything to reproach himself for, she reflected. He wasn't
the one whose last words to their friend had been so thoughtless. The last
time Steve and Jesse had spent time together they had been engaged in a
verbal sparring match at 'BBQ Bob's', which had descended into out and out
chaos, culminating in a battle of sauce bottles from behind the counter,
under the tables and from the relative shelter of doorways.
She had received a direct hit, she recalled now, fondly. Jesse had been
mortified but had been forced to duck before he could apologise properly
as Steve took the opportunity offered by his opponent's momentary carelessness
to launch an all out attack, squirting ketchup straight toward his face.
They had still been laughing hours later as they cleaned up the mess the
two had made of their own restaurant and Jesse had bemoaned the fact that
they would have to buy fresh sauce, Steve's retort that he had enough sauce
for an entire city earning him a pouty glare from the young doctor.
The very thought that there may never be any more times like that sent a
shudder up and down her spine and she found she couldn't control the rising
tide of emotions.
"Oh, Steve," she sobbed. "We can't lose him. We just can't!"
Jack Stewart strode through the doors of Community General and then paused,
drinking in the atmosphere.
My god, he had missed this place.
He had missed the people too.
It was a little strange that none of them had been at the airport to greet
him, but then, he reasoned, he had been a little vague about flight times.
Mark had seemed unduly distracted the last time he had spoken to him, too
and he had got the distinct impression that his friend had not really listened
to a word he had said. The older man had muttered something about getting
back to a patient and Jack had reluctantly said 'goodbye'. If he had felt
at all uneasy about his return here, the welcoming environment - much changed
since his departure, a result, he knew of the explosion that had almost
flattened the place a few years before - banished that feeling.
Exchanging a smile with the nurse on duty he leaned on the desk and extended
a hand. "Hi," he drawled. "I'm Dr Jack Stewart. Dr Mark Sloan's
expecting me. Can you tell me where his new
I mean his office is?"
The young woman, whose name badge proclaimed her to be 'Tiffany' smiled
as she shook his hand and he held on for a little while longer than necessary.
She liked what she saw. He was tall, dark and handsome and he had a fabulous
smile. She felt as though she was drowning in his deep hazel eyes and it
took her a full five seconds before she realised he had asked her a question
and a couple more before she realised what that question was. "Oh,
he's not in his office," she said, sweetly. "He's in ICU. He's
been there all night."
Jack sniggered. "Devotion to duty? That sounds like Mark. Must be a
very important patient to keep him there that long."
Her smile faded at the knowledge of who that patient was. "It's Doctor
Travis," she said. "Jesse. He's head of the ER, you know. He's
he's real sick with this viral thing that's been going around. He's
been there for a couple of days now and Dr Sloan refuses to leave his side."
Jack frowned. Jesse Travis. He had heard that name somewhere. Oh
yeah. A few years back, Amanda had told him that a new intern had started.
His name had been Jesse Travis. She had mentioned that Mark had taken him
under his wing. Jack had been pleased that his mentor and friend had taken
up his suggestion to teach again and it had sounded like he had found a
new protégé already.
But he hadn't been aware that said protégé had progressed
so quickly to the position he himself had been considering all those years
ago before his abrupt departure for pastures new and much more lucrative,
nor, more tellingly, that Mark had apparently become so attached that he
spent entire nights at his bedside when the other man was ill.
"He must be real special to Dr Sloan," he mused to Tiffany.
She nodded sadly. "Oh, he is. People around here say he's like a son
to him. He's a really nice guy too. Everyone likes him. I don't know anyone
who doesn't."
Jack forebore to say that he might wind up being the exception to that particular
rule. After all, it was entirely possible that he might like this guy. They
did have a few things in common. They were both doctors; they were both
protégés of Mark Sloan and apparently they were both family.
The latter might, however, be the one thing that stood against Jesse Travis.
Jesse slowly became aware that he was too hot. He couldn't quite figure
this out because, as far as he recalled, earlier, he had been chilled to
the bone.
He was cocooned, too. He was lying on something soft and yielding and something
heavy lay across his body. Panic filtered through his mind, only to be chased
away by his next thought.
Feel sick
The next moment action fitted words as bile rose in his throat and he gagged
helplessly. Then he was being turned on his side, something hard and restricting
was removed from his face and a warm, familiar voice was comforting him
as a soothing hand stroked his back.
Finally he lay back, gasping for breath and the hard restricting 'something'
was placed back over his nose and mouth. Air flowed over his nostrils, and
he inhaled deeply, desperate to be able to breathe.
"Take it easy, Jesse," the voice told him. He felt a touch on
his arm and something stroked his skin. It didn't feel like flesh though.
It was dry, brittle and strange.
He struggled to open his eyes, his own innate curiosity getting the better
of his desire to just lay there and breathe. It was hard going. His eyelids
felt like they were superglued to his face. Eventually, though, he managed
it and squinted upwards, staring blearily at the fuzzy figure who loomed
over him.
"Well, welcome back, Jess," the voice said. "It's all right,
you don't have to do anything. Just lie there. Don't even think about moving."
He wanted to say that he couldn't have moved if all the hounds of hell had
been after him, but his voice appeared to have taken a vacation as all that
emerged was the tiniest whimper. Something touched his brow - it was the
same dry, brittle thing from before. Blinking rapidly he tried to clear
his vision so that he could find out what it was and gasped in alarm when
he was finally able to make out the garbed figure beside him.
"It's all right, Jesse," the strangely attired form told him in
Mark's melodious voice. He peered more closely at the man and slowly relaxed
as he recognised the blue eyes gazing down at him from above the mask. A
frown creased his forehead as he struggled to make sense of what was going
on and why Mark would be dressed like that.
"You've been very sick, son," Mark enlightened him, seeing the
bewilderment on his young friend's face. "You caught that viral infection.
It's become very contagious. That's why I'm dressed like this - it's procedure.
It's so I can stay with you without catching it."
Jesse shook his head. He didn't understand any of this. Viral infection?
People dead?
What was going on?
Mark sighed as he grabbed the younger man's hand, squeezing it tightly in
reassurance. "Jesse, remember that illness that took out most of our
doctors and nurses and was sweeping through LA?"
Jesse searched through his memories and finally found one that corresponded
with what Mark was saying. Slowly he nodded.
"All right then," the older man went on. "Well, it finally
caught up with you. You tried to call me from your car but you passed out
before you could let me know how you were feeling."
The young doctor shuddered. That he remembered. The headache, the feeling
of cold, the tremors. He had nearly cut his throat whilst trying to shave
! Reluctantly, he nodded again.
"The virus escalated whilst you were sick, Jesse," Mark told him,
gravely. "Some people died from it - or from the effects it had on
their already weakened systems."
And Mark had said he'd stayed with him. Had they been afraid that he would
succumb too?
But why? He was young, healthy, with no underlying problems. There was no
earthly reason they should have thought that.
"You were exhausted from the double shifts, Jess," Mark continued,
almost as though he had been reading the younger man's mind. Jesse had often
suspected that he could and this only emphasised that belief. "The
infection took a very strong hold on you. You've been non responsive for
two days, your fever climbing higher and higher. If it had gone on much
longer then your heart would have stopped and you would have died."
Stunned, Jesse could only stare upward at his mentor. He'd nearly died?
Oh my god
.
Mark tightened his hold on the hand that he held. "Your fever broke
early this morning," he said, sounding relieved and grateful. "You're
going to be all right."
I am?
Of course, he couldn't say it. The will was there, but there was too much
effort involved in making the words come out of his mouth. Mark seemed to
understand though because he smiled. Or at least, Jesse assumed he did when
he saw the older man's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Yes, you are.
Thank god."
He didn't actually know who to thank. He suspected that a large part
of his gratitude belonged to the man beside him, the man who had apparently
been keeping a bedside vigil.
Had Mark been at his side throughout?
Looking at him properly, he began to think that might be true. His mentor
looked pretty wiped. He looked like he hadn't been to bed in a couple of
days.
Had it only been a few days ago that he had been bemoaning the loss of his
adopted family? He smiled faintly. It all seemed so stupid now. He should
have known better - usually did, in fact. Maybe it had been the infection
clouding his mind. He must have been sick for several days without realising
it till the first symptoms had hit.
Then he remembered that Mark had told him some of the victims of this sickness
had died and dismay crept over him.
The older man couldn't help but notice the lightning change in facial expressions
on his young friend's mobile features. He couldn't quite figure out the
sadness in Jesse's eyes, though. "You're going to be just fine, Jesse,"
he reiterated, hoping that would help. "And as soon as you're able,
I know two people who are desperate to come see you."
Steve and Amanda, Jesse guessed, his sorrow at the loss of life momentarily
displaced by the sense of relief that was creeping over him.
He couldn't wait to see them, either.
But right now he was tired. Very tired. He couldn't keep his eyes open any
more. It required too much of an effort and he didn't have the energy left
to make it. Reluctantly, he allowed his eyelids to drift shut, then they
flickered opened again, just to make sure.
Yep, Mark was still there; still smiling and still holding his hand.
He was wearing sterile gloves. Ah, so that was why they had felt so weird.
He knew he should feel embarrassed about the fact that Mark was actually
clasping his hand so tightly in his own but it felt too good.
It felt like he had someone who cared about him.
He'd be self-conscious about it later.
Mark watched as Jesse slowly slid into a natural healing sleep, the long,
slender fingers slackening in his grip as the tension eased away from the
young man's body.
Carefully, he relinquished his hold on his protégé's hand
and placed it gently back on the bed. Then he leaned back in his chair,
feeling for the first time the aches and pains that had been held at bay
by two days of unremitting fear for his friend's life.
Jesse was going to be okay now. A couple more days and he would be out of
ICU and in an ordinary room, where he could recuperate before being released.
Mark smiled to himself as he envisioned the inevitable arguments that would
commence once the younger doctor located his voice. Jesse was notoriously
difficult as a patient - especially once he started recovering. His constant
entreaties to be discharged bordered on whining and his whining usually
deteriorated into brief periods of sulking, complete with the famous Travis
pout.
He reflected somewhat ruefully that they would undoubtedly have to endure
similar behaviour this time, as well.
Rising from his chair, he stretched, working out the kinks in his body.
The last two days had taken its physical toll on him, too. He just hadn't
felt able to leave the younger man - not whilst he was in so much danger.
He had no idea whether Jesse had been aware of his presence beside him during
the long, terrifying hours of his illness but Mark had wanted to be there
just in case. Perhaps, subliminally, the younger man had known that someone
was with him. Perhaps that was what had helped him turn the corner.
The fact that he had was enough for Mark right now, though.
Now all the older man wanted to do was sleep.
And now he could.
With a last, fond look at his young friend, who had curled up into a ball
under the covers, he ambled toward the door, intent on going home and climbing
into his own bed.
After exchanging a few words with the nurse on duty, asking her to call
him at home when Jesse showed signs of waking up, he made his way toward
the elevator. So tired and lost in thought was he that it wasn't until he
heard the doors opening that he even realised that the car had arrived.
He moved forward, intending to step inside, but before he could do so, he
was bowled over by someone barrelling into him from the other side of the
doors.
"Ooof!" he exclaimed, as he was knocked to the floor, landing
with a distinct thud on the hard linoleum.
"Mark!" came the mortified exclamation in a voice he recognised.
"Gee, Mark, I'm sorry! You okay? Here."
Gazing upward in mild shock, Mark took the hand that had been extended downward
toward him, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet, where he stood for
a moment, swaying with fatigue, trying to make sense of the figure who stood
before him. "Jack?" he gasped, thoroughly confused. "What
are you doing here?"
The grin that had appeared on the handsome face at seeing his old friend
faded at the question. "Mark? Mark, you knew I was coming. We spoke
on the phone - remember?"
Searching his memory, the older man vaguely recalled a conversation that
had taken place on the telephone a day ago. He had left Jesse's side for
perhaps a total of ten minutes that day. Wait - that had been Jack? "I
I'm sorry. He smiled tiredly at the other man. "Its
been
a rough few days."
"Yeah." Jack nodded understandingly. "You've been sitting
up with a sick friend, I hear?"
If there was any rancour in the younger man's voice, Mark didn't pick up
on it. His thoughts were still focussed on the man he had just left. Rubbing
shaky hands over eyes gritty with the lack of sleep, he nodded. "That
I have. But he's doing a lot better now."
"Glad to hear it." Jack sounded genuinely pleased and Mark's heart
lifted just a little. A hand slapped his shoulder and the grin returned
in full, devastating force. "So, what d'you say we go and get a cup
of that godawful coffee and talk about old times and new?"
"That would be great, Jack," replied Mark. "But
can
we do it another time? I'm exhausted. I was just about to go home and get
some sleep."
"Oh. Right. Yes, of course." Bitter disappointment coloured the
younger man's voice. "I
er
I guess I'll see you later,
then?"
Mark nodded, grateful that Jack wasn't going to make a big deal out of it.
Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to relax and spend some time with
his newly returned friend, but he was wise enough to admit that if he even
sat down right now he wouldn't stay awake long and that wasn't fair to Jack
- not after coming all this way. Stepping away from the other man to enter
the elevator, he leaned on the 'hold' button for a moment, regarding his
ex-protege with an amiable smile. "It is good to see you, Jack,"
he said, warmly. "Really good." Then he allowed the doors to close
and the next moment, he and the elevator were gone.
Jack remained where he was for the longest moment, trying to sift through
the feelings of hurt, disappointment and betrayal that the encounter had
engendered.
He hadn't been expecting a hero's welcome exactly, but he certainly had
been anticipating something better than that. He tried to tell himself that
Mark was tired; that he was in fact practically dead on his feet after his
long vigil, but somehow, that didn't assuage the anger that was slowly being
fanned into existence. Mark had been tired, yes and he obviously needed
to rest. But that didn't give him the right to treat him like a stranger.
He wasn't a stranger. He was practically a member of the family.
And the members of that family had so far failed to meet him at the airport
and had barely managed a civil greeting.
And he was beginning to resent the reason for that.
Jesse Travis.
Before he left the hospital, Mark knew that he had one very important
task to perform - imparting the good news about Jesse to two very anxious
people.
As the elevator reached the first floor, he thought back over his brief
encounter with Jack, troubled by a feeling he couldn't identify. Then he
realised what it was - exasperation with himself.
What had he been thinking? He should have asked the younger man to accompany
him. He knew Steve and Amanda had been looking forward to their friend's
return and they would have kept Jack entertained whilst he headed off home
for some much needed rest.
He sighed heavily. Jack had looked so disillusioned by his rather offhand
greeting - and no wonder. After all, before his departure to pastures new,
they had all been very close.
He must have felt as though his place had been usurped by someone else -
especially as Mark had obviously found all the time in the world to sit
at the bedside of his latest protégé yet had barely managed
the few moments for a civil greeting to his first one. How that must have
rankled.
And that was something else that troubled the older man. He didn't want
Jesse and Jack to hate each other - not that Jesse had a vindictive bone
in his body. But Jack was not Jesse and he certainly would have cause to
hate the younger man after being virtually ignored by his mentor.
Mark wanted them to get on.
He sighed deeply.
Why was life never simple?
Making a firm resolve to make it up to the younger man, he continued his
journey toward the doctor's lounge where Amanda and Steve awaited him. He
would ask if they could go rescue their old friend from the ICU, and reassure
him that he was still welcome here - both at the hospital and in their hearts.
Two heads swivelled at his entrance, two sets of fear-filled eyes locking
onto his as he shut the door and made his way to a seat.
"Well?" ground out Steve, impatiently. His hands were clenched
into fists, Mark noticed absently and he looked tense and strained.
"He's going to be just fine," Mark said, not wishing to keep them
in suspense any longer than necessary. "He woke up a few minutes ago.
The fever's dropping and he's gone back to sleep."
"Oh, thank god!" breathed Amanda, dropping her head into her hands.
Steve smiled - it lit up his entire face, bringing a sparkle back to eyes
dulled with days old dread. "That's great news, dad!" he exclaimed,
clapping his father on the shoulder in delight. Then his eyes narrowed as
he took in the older man's condition. "My god, you look exhausted,"
he went on. "Are you going home now?"
Mark nodded. He didn't feel up to much else.
"Well, you can't drive in your condition," Steve said, crisply.
"Let me drive you."
He looked up at the younger Sloan, reaching up to cover the hand that was
squeezing his shoulder. "Thanks, Steve," he said, appreciatively.
"I think I'll just pop up and look in on Jesse," Amanda said.
Tears stood in her eyes - but they were tears of relief and joy and she
looked like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulder.
"Jesse
" murmured Mark. "Right. Oh! Amanda, Steve!
I forgot to tell you! Jack's back!"
"He is? Where is he?" The pathologist glanced around as though
she half-expected Mark to produce him from thin air.
"He's up on ICU. It's a long story," he went on, at her quizzical
look. "I just met him up there. Anyway, perhaps you'd look after him
whilst I
?"
"Of course I will, Mark!" she interjected as his voice trailed
away. He looked grey and haggard with fatigue and all she wanted was to
see Steve take him home. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll look
in on Jesse and bring Jack down here. It'll be wonderful to see him again."
"Thanks, honey," He smiled at her gratefully.
"Think nothing of it," she replied, rising from her chair and
pausing on her way to the door to plant a kiss on top of his shock of white
hair. "Just you look after yourself, now. Okay?"
Amanda found Jack hovering beside the nurse's station in ICU. She paused
for a moment after disembarking from the elevator, eyeing him with keen
appraisal.
He looked good, she decided, after a while. Darned good. Colorado had obviously
suited him. He was lean and tanned and athletic-looking. It was no wonder
all the women up there had been falling over themselves trying to date him!
"This'll never do, Bentley!" she chided herself mentally.
"He's your friend, not a prospective date! Still
"
She couldn't help but admire the muscular physique nor was she immune to
the powerful aura emanating from him. She watched with amusement as the
nurse with whom he was conversing practically salivated at his proximity,
her words stumbling over themselves as she attempted to respond.
Then Amanda realised he was asking for directions to Jesse's room, and she
frowned.
What would Jack want with Jesse?
Suddenly bristling protectively, without really understanding the reason
why, she stepped forward, planting a grin on her face as she did so. "Jack!"
she exclaimed. "Jack Stewart!"
His head whipped around at her greeting and before she knew what was happening
she was in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder. He smelt of cologne
and fresh mountain air and she inhaled deeply as she returned the hug.
"Amanda," he said, her name sounding like a sigh. "Amanda,
my god, it's wonderful to see you!"
"It'd be wonderful to see you too," she gasped, as he tightened
his hold, threatening to take her breath away. "If only you'd let me
go a moment so I could!"
With a chuckle reminiscent of Mark's he obediently relinquished his hold
on her, stepping back slightly so that she could look at him but still keeping
her in the circle of his arms. "Well?" he demanded, his smile
not having changed one bit. It was still as charming and rakish as ever.
"What d'ya think? Do I look like a prominent doctor from the city or
what?"
"Very nice," she told him, admiringly, giving him the once-over.
Her hands rested on his upper arms and she couldn't resist giving the muscles
she could feel beneath the expensive beige wool coat he was wearing a squeeze.
"Nice biceps," she murmured.
He sniggered. "Is that a medical opinion, Dr Bentley?"
Realising what she had just said - aloud! - she clutched his coat lapels,
her head falling forward into his chest. "Oh my god," she muttered,
her words muffled by the thick cable sweater he was wearing. "I can't
believe I said that!"
"Well, you did," he said, amused by her reaction. His hand rose
upward to rest on her head, long fingers instinctively drifting through
her thick dark hair.
For a moment neither one of them spoke, lost in the moment.
It was Amanda who recovered first, moving backward until she stood at a
discreet distance from him. She laughed, a false, nervous sound. "I
er
well, it's good to see you, anyway, Jack."
Similarly nervous, and mortified at allowing long-since buried emotions
to hold sway over him as they had he laughed too. It was equally uneasy,
equally insincere. "So," he said, brusquely, looking everywhere
but in her direction. "What's new at Community General since I left?"
"What's new?" she echoed. "Well, let's see, I've had a baby,
who's now at kindergarten, thank you very much; I'm divorced - although
it turned out we were never really married so we had to get married over
the radio and Jesse is still convinced I married the pilot. Steve has dated
"
"Steve always dates," interjected Jack scornfully, digesting the
rest of her news for later and saying nothing about her reference to 'Jesse'.
"It's keeping a woman he has problems with."
"Well, he's engaged, thank you!" Amanda informed him, archly.
His eyebrows rose. "Steve? Engaged?" he echoed incredulously.
"What woman would be crazy enough to take on that reprobate?"
"Her name's Ellen," the pathologist said. "She's a reporter.
She's on a big story somewhere in East Asia right now. But you'll meet her
- if you're here long enough."
"Oho! Is that a challenge, Dr Bentley?"
She shrugged indifferently. "It might be."
"Well, I might just have to take you up on that!"
"I hope you do!" she replied. "So, what else do I have to
tell you? Oh, yes, as you can see, we redecorated
"
"I heard you had to do that when the hospital got blown up," he
interjected.
She winced. "Yeah. That was
that was
"
Immediately regretting his flippant attitude at the nightmare event that
must still cause her some sleepless nights, he wound a comforting arm around
her shoulders. "Sorry, Amanda," he apologised. "You know
me and my big mouth."
"I certainly do, mister," she responded, a little ruefully. "It
certainly got you and me into trouble more than once."
"Ah, those were the days, huh?"
"Hmmm," she agreed, somewhat dubiously. "They certainly were."
"So, gonna give me a guided tour, then, Doctor?" he asked, his
eyes twinkling with mirth as he gazed down at her.
She eyed him suspiciously. She had seen that expression before and it boded
no good. Still
"Very well, then," she agreed, trying to
sound put upon. "Come on."
Steve wanted to ask his father about his encounter with Jack, but the
older man fell asleep almost as soon as he had buckled himself into Steve's
car. The detective smiled affectionately at Mark as he reached into the
back seat, to drag a travel blanket out from under the torch, tools and
files that lay strewn across it. There was also a menu there from 'BBQ Bob's'.
He had been meaning to talk to Jesse about updating it - but that had been
before his friend had been struck down with the virus. His smile faded as
he tucked the blanket over his father and his thoughts drifted back to the
younger doctor.
They had so nearly lost Jesse. Steve understood only too well how serious
it had all been, how desperately sick his friend had become. He had seen
the younger man, for god's sake, had watched as he struggled to breathe,
witnessed the fragile body holding on determinedly to life, his father's
expression telling him what he had fought so hard to deny. That they may
very well lose the youngest member of their tight-knit group.
But he was going to be just fine. He hadn't succumbed to the virus like
others had - five in all. They had included a young woman on drugs and one
child. The tally had been too high - but could have been even more costly.
The infection had run its course, with those who had been affected by it
now almost fully recovered. Even most of its afflicted staff had now returned
to Community General
But still - five people had died.
Steve was very blinkered when it came to death. It was inherent in the job
he did - a job he loved. Murder was something he could understand to a certain
degree and the loss of life at someone else's hand was something he could
do something about. He could pursue those responsible and get the victims
the justice they deserved.
But death had a habit of sneaking up on you unawares - as it had so many
years before with his mother, who had put up a lengthy battle against cancer
before it finally claimed victory. Then there had been the occasion when
both his father and Jesse had been existing in an 8-hour timeframe whilst
he and Amanda frantically attempted to locate an antigen to the smallpox
virus they had inadvertently contracted.
The Grim Reaper had been too close that time, grinning over his shoulder
as he desperately sought the means to keep it at bay. They had been lucky.
His dad and Jesse between them had figured out the clues and with Amanda's
help had duped the man who had the antigen in his possession into giving
it up.
Not a moment too soon.
His dad's symptoms had just started to appear by the time he had reached
the beach house with the vial. Jesse, on the other hand
Even now, that memory had the power to make him shudder. It was the last
time he remembered seeing his young friend look so sick.
Pale, sweating, covered with the smallpox rash, his breathing laboured,
Jesse had been comatose by this time, teetering on the precipice of death.
Steve had been convinced that he had been too late. But his young friend
was nothing if not stubborn and had clawed his way back. It had been a close
thing though and if Jesse had been at all aggrieved at being treated like
glass for days afterward by both Steve and Amanda, he hadn't said anything.
And now this current virus
Steve didn't know how to fight against something so all-pervading. All he
had been able to do was pray and make promises to a god he wasn't sure he
believed in any more - not after all the things he'd seen in his lifetime.
And He'd come through. Or at least, someone had. Now Steve had to keep all
those promises and, as one involved him never yelling at Jesse again and
another allowing him to have any kind of coffee he damned well wanted for
'Bob's' and hang the expense, he was now wondering if he hadn't been a little
too rash.
Then he recalled the terror he had felt and realised that no promise was
too hard to make, no price high enough to keep his friend here on Earth,
where he belonged.
These thoughts occupied him completely as he made the journey back home
and before he knew it, he was pulling into the yard of the beach house,
where the outside lights illuminated the multi-hued paving stones with a
welcoming glow.
"Dad, we're home," he said, in a low voice, nudging the older
man slightly with his arm. "Dad!"
"Hmmm? Uh
. What?" Slow to come awake, Mark's eyelids flickered
open and he stared round him, confusedly.
"Home," Steve clarified. "Bed. You. Now."
A slow smile drifted across the older man's face at Steve's words. When
had their roles as parent and child reversed? Some time during the drive
home, he suspected.
Ah well, he would let it go just this once. He was exhausted - the
sleep he had obviously got in the car not even beginning to dent the fatigue
that dragged at him. Fumbling a little for the door catch, he stumbled out
of his seat, drinking in the slightly salty sea air before staggering toward
the house, where Steve was already inserting the key into the lock in the
door. "You staying up?" he mumbled as he made his way up the steps
to the living room.
Steve shook his head. "Nah, I'm pretty tired myself. I think I'll head
off to bed myself. I'll see you in the morning, dad."
The older Sloan smiled and started to move in the direction of his bedroom.
He paused as he heard a hesitant 'Dad?"
"Yes, Steve?" he asked, half-turning to find his son regarding
him with an anxious expression.
"Jesse is gonna be okay now, right?"
Ah. So that was the problem. Steve had probably been brooding all the way
home, thinking about all the things he could have done to prevent the virus
from reaching his friend. In reality, of course, he could have done nothing.
Even Mark, a doctor, had been helpless, his only contribution to Jesse's
survival his unwillingness to leave him and the prayers he had silently
uttered whilst keeping his vigil at his friend's bedside.
But it was what Steve did - brood - and he did it very well. Mark had often
reflected that if brooding had been an Olympic sport, Steve would have been
a shoe in for the gold medal.
"He's going to be just fine, Steve," he reassured him. "In
fact, he should be ready to move to a normal room in a day or so. You can
come and see him there without getting all dressed up. I'm sure Jesse will
appreciate seeing our faces again."
The detective nodded. If his dad was sure then he was convinced. But the
other man's words had started him thinking about something else - something
he hadn't even considered until just now. How terrified his friend must
have felt waking up to discover his mentor and friend garbed in the protective
gear. He swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, resolving there
and then to see Jesse as soon as he was allowed to have visitors. His might
not be the prettiest face that Jesse would see, but he wanted it to be the
first.
Steve smiled as he stepped from the elevator. He was finally on his way
to see Jesse. A court appointment the previous day had kept him from the
hospital and he had arrived home very late. He had been testifying against
a particularly vicious murderer, who had killed his wife, dismembered her
and then disposed of her remains in a meat grinder at his factory. Forensics
had finally proved he was responsible for her death by virtue of identifying
the remains through DNA retrieved from flesh surrounding one tooth and a
fingerprint at the scene, together with a large pool of dried blood which
had been found at the house, proof that she had died there. Steve himself
had made the arrest, whereupon the man had tried to shoot him. That had
been several months ago and he had actually ended up in Community General
to have the bullet removed from his shoulder.
Jesse had been on call that night and had shaken his head in mock dismay
when Steve had been rolled into his treatment room. "Oh, Steve, not
another girlfriend trying to kill you!" he had quipped. "What'd
you do to Ellen this time? And please tell me she didn't call off the wedding.
It's taken us long enough to find you someone who's vaguely normal ... well,
at least not psychotic!"
The detective had growled at his oh-so-unfunny friend, partly because of
the unintended slur against his fiance, citing the man he had tried to arrest
as the shooter. This hadn't daunted Jesse's enthusiasm for his topic, however,
and the ensuing argument had only ended when the young doctor had held up
a particularly nasty looking surgical instrument and threatened to do a
rectal exam with it.
Steve, wise enough to know when he was beaten and not entirely sure his
so-called friend wouldn't actually carry out his threat, had surrendered.
Payback was still due, though and he had been coming up with possibilities
during his journey to the hospital that morning.
Hmmm
Jesse would be staying at the beach house whilst he recuperated
and everyone knew there was nothing he liked better than watching Steve's
pay-per-view whilst munching on snacks that Mark had prepared
So what better revenge than to cut him off from the former and take over
the cooking duties from his father
?
He was still contemplating this particularly delicious form of retribution
when he heard himself being hailed.
"Steve! Hey, Steve!"
Turning, he saw Jack heading toward him. As pleased as he was to see his
old friend, he was more than eager to live up to his vow to be the first
face Jesse saw that morning. Waving at the other man, he smiled and then
continued on his way.
But Jack was not so easily deterred. Before Steve could move another foot,
the other man was falling into step beside him, slinging a companiable arm
around his shoulder. "Hey, buddy, what're you doing here?" he
asked.
The detective didn't break his stride. "I'm here to see a friend,"
he replied, somewhat vaguely. "How're you doing, Jack?"
The roguish smile appeared. "Fine, fine. Everything's going just great.
Couldn't be better, in fact. Hey, I'm off duty for an hour or so. How about
we go get a cup of coffee and talk over old times?"
"I can't," Steve said. "I
"
"Ah, come on," wheedled the other man. "Ten minutes - fifteen,
tops. What, you can't spare an old buddy some of your precious time?"
Steve wanted to point out that it wasn't his precious time he'd be wasting
but that it belonged to his best friend, but thought better of it. "I
can't," he insisted. "I have some place I need to be."
"Oh, come on," pleaded Jack, tightening his hold around Steve's
shoulder. "What's so important that we don't have time to talk?"
"No, really, I
"
"Steve, Steve, we haven't had a chance to catch up since I got back!
I didn't expect the welcome flags but this cold shoulder you're giving me
"
"I am not giving you the cold shoulder," Steve protested.
"I just have to be somewhere."
The doctor's arm fell away and he stepped back as though stung, his mouth
tightening into a thin line. "Fine," he snapped, all trace of
good humour erased from his manner. "Well, be seeing you then."
"Jack
"
"No, no, it's fine," came the sharp interjection. Jack smiled
humourlessly. "I'll see you later, Steve. Maybe." With that, he
turned on his heel and strode back the way he had come.
Steve remained where he was for several minutes afterward, feeling strangely
discomfited about the whole encounter. He wasn't entirely sure why. He hadn't
intended to upset the other man but Jack's pushiness had irritated him.
For all the other man knew, the person Steve was on his way to see could
have been on his or her death bed - which thought induced a shudder as it
had so very nearly been true - but Jack had arrogantly assumed that his
wishes should come first. The doctor also hadn't even asked after his friend,
which for some reason prompted alarm bells to go off in Steve's mind.
It was true that they hadn't had the chance to sit down and talk since the
other man's return from Colorado, but Jack understood the nature of his
job and knew Steve well enough to realise that the detective wasn't deliberately
avoiding him.
Or did he?
It had been eight years since they had seen each other. A lot could happen
in that time. Certainly a lot had happened in Steve's life and he was pretty
sure that he'd changed at least a little in that period.
Obviously Jack had to have changed as well.
Although, strangely, he had seemed just like the old Jack - charming, confident
and slightly overbearing.
Steve reluctantly came to the conclusion that they didn't really know each
other any more - and theirs had never been the closest of friendships in
the first place.
So was there really anything so wrong in Jack's obvious desire to rekindle
and perhaps strengthen their relationship?
No.
It was just
his sheer persistence had made Steve slightly uneasy
and he couldn't quite figure out why.
He wasn't going to figure it out in the next ten seconds either, he realised,
as he glanced at his watch and was slightly shocked at how much time had
passed since he had arrived. Tabling the problem of Jack for the moment
- he would seek out the other man later and apologise for his behaviour
and maybe get that coffee he had been so eager for - he resumed his journey
to Jesse's room.
The young doctor wasn't alone when Steve got there - much to the detective's
chagrin. Amanda was there, regaling him with gossip about some of Community
General's more colourful characters. She was in the middle of a story about
a certain Puerto Rican nurse and a rather over-enthusiastic and somewhat
clumsy intern when Steve knocked on the door and entered the room.
"Hey," he greeted them both.
Two sets of eyes turned toward him as he shut the door, two beaming smiles
greeting him as he approached the bed.
"Hi there," Jesse said, cheerfully. He was sitting up in bed,
looking a hell of a lot healthier than he had the last time Steve had seen
him. He was still a little too pale and new lines of strain on the still
youthful face spoke eloquently of his recent ordeal. Still, the older man
felt a tension he hadn't been aware of drain from him at the bright smile.
"Amanda was just telling me about Wayne and Nurse Hernandez."
"Sandy," corrected Amanda with a snigger.
Jesse snorted - it was obviously an in-joke. "Right, Sandy!"
"How're you feeling, Jess?" enquired Steve, settling himself on
the bed beside his friend and shaking his head in mute exasperation. These
two people were supposedly adults and yet sometimes they behaved no better
than a couple of giddy children. The irony of this observation, considering
that his last conversation with Jesse had taken place in the heat of a sauce
bottle battle was lost on the detective.
"Better," the young doctor told him. "Itching to get outta
here."
The words prompted an abrupt change in Amanda as Jesse's co-conspirator
disappeared and 'Dr Bentley' took her place. "Yes, well, young man,
you just rest and do as you're told and maybe - maybe Mark will release
you in a couple of days," she said, firmly.
"Couple of days?" Jesse cried in a plaintive voice. "Aw,
Amanda
!"
Mustering her sternest expression, Amanda turned it on the young doctor.
Jesse immediately subsided, folding his arms across his chest and pouting,
before sliding a sly glance toward his other friend.
"Steve, tell her!" he pleaded.
The detective raised his hands. "Uh-uh. No. No way, pal! You're on
your own in this one! No way am I getting into the middle of a battle with
your doctors!"
"Amanda isn't my doctor. She's Mark's informant," muttered Jesse
rebelliously.
"Jesse Travis!" exclaimed the pathologist, managing to sound aggrieved
and amused at the same time. "How can you say that?"
"Cuz it's true?" offered Jesse, with a winning smile toward the
young woman.
She narrowed her eyes, but there was amusement sparkling within the hazel
depths. "You're impossible," she scolded him, although her tone
belied her words.
He shrugged, the smile never wavering. "But you love me anyway,"
he retorted mischievously.
There was no answer they could give to that one. At least not without either
lying or fuelling his ego. So, exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Amanda,
Steve leaned forward to ruffle the young man's blond hair.
"Hey!" came the immediate protest as Jesse tried to duck out of
his friend's way. "Quit that!"
"Annoying you is it?" asked Steve, casually.
Blue eyes narrowed as Jesse glared at him and the little pout became even
more pronounced. Then a snigger came from the other side of the bed and
the young doctor's head whipped round to face Amanda. "I hate you both,"
he muttered, not very convincingly.
"There, there," Amanda comforted him, reaching out to quickly
run her own fingers through the by now thoroughly dishevelled blond locks,
giggling as Jesse instantly recoiled from her too, fixing her with his best
glower. "Doesn't Doctor Jesse like having his hair tousled, then?"
"No, 'Doctor Jesse' doesn't!" he retorted, aggrieved. "So
cut it out - the both of you!"
By mutual, silent consent his two tormenters obediently stopped teasing
him. He was looking tired, they both noted, his complexion slowly changing
from pale to grey.
"We're sorry, Jesse," The pathologist planted an affectionate
kiss of apology on the top of his head. "It's just - we don't often
get a chance to get you where we both want you - where we can torment you
to our heart's content. It was just too hard to resist."
Jesse's scowl faded just a little at the twin expressions of contrition
on both faces. They seemed genuine enough, although that 'torment'
line was a little much
"Yeah, well, just
next time, try,
okay?" he grumbled.
Amanda grinned as she discreetly helped to ease him back down in bed, pulling
up the covers and flicking them over him with professional ease. "I'm
not sure I can promise that," she said, in a low voice. She kissed
him softly on the cheek. "But maybe whilst you're stuck here you can
plot your revenge."
His eyes lit up at that and a slow smile appeared on his face. "Yeah.
Maybe I can at that!"
He wasn't going to be able to stay awake for much longer. They could both
see that. His eyelids were drooping and although he was making a valiant
attempt to fight against it, sleep was beginning to overpower him.
"Go to sleep, sweetheart," Amanda whispered in his ear. Her voice
was low and gentle and soothing, having been honed from years of persuading
small children to do likewise. "We'll come back later, okay?"
"'Kay
" he mumbled, as his eyes finally drifted shut. "See
ya later
guys .."
"Yeah, see ya later, pal," said Steve, softly, smiling fondly
down at the younger man as he finally succumbed.
They studied him for several minutes, neither of them wanting to be the
first to leave. It had been like this after the smallpox scare all those
years before, too. Steve remembered one night in particular - the day after
Jesse had been given the antigen - when he had sat for hours beside him,
just watching him whilst he slept. He had tried on several occasions to
leave but as he was about to rise to his feet Jesse would mumble something
under his breath, he would bend down to try to catch what he was saying
and then he would sink back into the chair at his bed.
His father had found him there at dawn, and they had shared a few quiet
moments gazing down at the peacefully sleeping form. There had been something
almost holy about that morning, with the sun rising over the ocean, casting
its pale glow on the room, Jesse's pale, pert features outlined by the lambent
radiance.
He couldn't remember a time when Jesse had not been in their lives.
And yet such a time had existed.
And Jack was back at Community General to remind him of that fact.
Steve smiled a little sadly at the thought.
Jack and Jesse.
As different as chalk and cheese.
Would he have sat at Jack's bedside like this?
Would he have been so terrified of losing him if he had been so desperately
sick?
The answer was starkly obvious.
And it made him feel a little uncomfortable.
Jack would never be to him what Jesse had so easily become in such a short
time.
And that also made him feel a little sad.
A few minutes later, the two friends finally made left Jesse's room,
Amanda closing the door softly behind her.
"He's putting up a good front," she said, quietly.
Steve frowned, peering over her shoulder at the slumbering occupant of the
room. "I thought he was getting better? He looked a lot better."
"Oh, he is," she assured him. "But, Steve, that virus took
a lot out of him. And his energy was already badly depleted from all the
extra shifts and his other extra-curricular activities. He was even covering
for you at 'Bob's'
not that that was your fault," she hastily
added as a horrified expression crept over his chiselled features. "Steve,
Steve, you know what he's like. He's a workaholic - although he plays just
as hard. But he has a strong sense of responsibility and .."
"He saw it as his responsibility to cover all the extra shifts here
for the doctors who were out because he's head of the ER and then cover
all of my shifts at 'Bob's' because we're part-owners," Steve finished
for her in a heavy voice. "I know, Amanda. You don't have to remind
me. He nearly worked himself to death."
"But he loves what he does," she reminded him, gently. "You
know that. And you also know that part of why he loves it is because of
who he gets to be with."
Steve nodded, aiming an affectionate smile in the direction of his slumbering
friend. "Yeah, us," he said. "We're a team, Amanda."
"I know."
"I just
this time we came close
I don't want to go through
this again."
"Well, I'll be sure to tell Jesse that," she quipped. "I'll
just order him never to get sick again and he most certainly can never die."
He gave her a withering look. "Yeah, if you could, please," he
retorted, dryly. "That'd be great."
Jack had wandered into the doctors' lounge after he had stalked away
from Steve. He was seething and it reflected on his face, in his narrowed
eyes and thinned out mouth.
Mark glanced up from his coffee and the paper he had been reading to smile
at the other man, but his cheery greeting died before it could be spoken
at the scowl darkening the other man's normally pleasant features.
"Jack?" he queried. "What's wrong?"
The other doctor had been so immersed in his own dark thoughts that he hadn't
even realised anyone else was in the lounge and was startled at Mark's words.
He recovered quickly, though, forcing a smile - although it was far from
convincing. "Nothing, Mark," he replied, tightly. "Everything's
great. What could possibly be wrong?"
"Well, something obviously is," commented Mark, astutely. "You
look like you've just lost your best friend."
Jack uttered a brief, harsh laugh. "Maybe I have," he said, cryptically.
"Jack?"
Deflating a little at the older man's concern, the dark-haired man poured
himself a cup of coffee and came to sit beside his older friend. "It's
Steve," he confessed.
Mark frowned. "Steve?" he echoed, perplexed. "What about
him?"
"I just saw him, Mark - for the first time since I got back, might
I add - and all I got was a 'oh, hi, Jack, bye, Jack' from him."
Mark shook his head. "That doesn't sound like Steve. He was happy that
you were coming back. He must have been distracted by something - maybe
the case he's working on? Did you ask him what he was doing here?"
"Yeah," said the other man heavily. "He said he was on his
way to see a sick friend."
"Oh." Now it all made sense to the older Sloan. His son had expressed
his desire to be Jesse's first visitor of the day once his dad had informed
him that the young doctor had been moved from ICU to a regular room. Once
Steve got an idea into his head it was pretty difficult to sway him from
it. Besides, they had had a close call with their friend this time and he
knew Steve was eager to put his own mind at rest regarding Jesse's condition.
But he didn't know how to tell Jack this without making it seem like Steve
was playing favourites. The younger doctor had not met Jesse yet - although
Mark was convinced that once he did he would like him. Everyone liked Jesse.
Until such time, however, Jack would see him as some kind of usurper, taking
his rightful place within their small group. Mark knew how Jack's thought
processes worked and he was painfully aware of his own careless treatment
of the other man when he had first arrived back. That had also been attributable
to Jesse and Jack knew that.
The young Italian man was probably building up a seething resentment to
the Jesse and that was the last thing Mark either wanted or needed.
"Mark?"
The older doctor was dragged out of his contemplation with a start, and
found himself looking into concerned brown eyes. "I'm okay, Jack,"
he assured him, with a smile. "I was just
"
"Thinking?" guessed Jack. "Yeah, you looked like you were
miles away."
"I was," the other man admitted, ruefully. He sighed, wrapping
his hands around his own coffee cup, trying to come up with an explanation
for Steve's behaviour which would not further aggravate Jack, nor further
alienate him from the young man he had yet to meet. "Look, Jack, Steve
- I'm sure it was nothing personal
"
"It sure felt personal," interjected Jack, a little bitterly.
"I mean, I haven't seen him for eight years, dammit. I expected a little
more than just 'I'm busy.'"
"You know Steve," Mark commented. "Once he has an idea in
his head
"
"Yeah, yeah. I know." A huge sigh escaped the dark haired doctor.
"And I know people change over the years but
I don't know. Maybe
I was expecting too much?"
The older man shook his head. "I don't think so. You were expecting
to come back and fit right back in as though you'd never been gone. It's
a natural desire. But it's not often too realistic."
That prompted a wistful smile. "Yeah, tell me about it. LA has changed
beyond all recognition; Amanda has two kids and I've had to throw my little
black book away. All my old girlfriends are either married or have moved
away."
"You've tried to contact them all already?" Mark couldn't keep
the surprise from his voice.
Jack shrugged indifferently. "I had a few hours on my hands. Still,
you haven't changed," he went on. "And I didn't think Steve had
either. Course, then again, according to Amanda, he has a fiancé
now."
A proud smile illuminated Mark's craggy features. "He does that. Ellen.
She's away on assignment right now. We'll introduce you when she gets back
- if you promise not to make a move on her!" he teased.
Jack smirked. "I can't promise that, Mark!" he retorted. "You
know what it's like - women are drawn to me. I can't help it if I'm irresistible!"
Chuckling, Mark shook his head in mock despair. "What am I going to
do with you?"
The young man shrugged good naturedly and took a sip of his coffee.
Mark regarded his friend fondly, even whilst he reflected that the other
man's joking remark was not entirely made in jest. Jack had always been
something of a 'babe magnet' as he had heard it termed somewhere. The young
doctor had dated more than his fair share of pretty nurses at Community
General during his time there. There had also been a number of models, actresses
and a gorgeous personal trainer. One woman in particular stood out in Mark's
memory - a kindergarten teacher, she had not been Jack's usual 'type' at
all. She was beautiful, true, but she had also been smart, witty and intelligent.
Definitely a match for the young man. The older doctor had harboured a secret
desire that she would be the one that would prompt his friend to settle
down.
Sadly, like all the others, their relationship had fizzled out before it
had really even begun. Mark often wondered what had happened to her.
"Mark! Hey, Mark!"
"What?" He returned to earth with a start, to discover his companion
regarding him with open amusement.
"I lost you again," Jack declared. "What were you thinking
about?"
The older man shrugged. "Oh, just reminiscing," he replied, vaguely.
"So, has there been anyone special since you've been away?"
"Nah, no one." The other doctor's grin faded as he stared disconsolately
down into his coffee. "I guess I just can't seem to find that 'special
someone'."
Instinctively, Mark reached over to pat him on the arm. "Well, don't
give up, Jack. She's out there - somewhere. You'll find her," he consoled
him.
"Yeah?" Bleak hazel eyes met his then the morose mood vanished,
replaced once again by the disarming grin. "But in the meantime, I'm
having a lot of fun just looking!"
Mark had forgotten just how mercurial his friend could be. It had certainly
been a challenge keeping up with his many different mood swings in the old
days. It looked like Jack hadn't changed at all during the last eight years.
The rest of them, on the other hand
Absently, he glanced down at his watch, sighing heavily as he realised he
was going to be late for a Board meeting. "I'm sorry, Jack," he
apologised, as he rose to his feet. "I have to go. Meeting with the
Board."
Jack grimaced in sympathy. "I bet you must miss ol' Norman," he
commented, recalling how it had been the ex Administrator's job to tackle
the old fuddy duddies who ran the hospital and liked to interfere in its
smooth running as much as possible.
Mark nodded. "I do," he agreed, a little wistfully. "Norman
had his moments, but he was a good friend - to me and to this hospital."
"Well, go get 'em, Mark," teased Jack. "Don't let 'em get
away with anything."
That earned him a grateful smile. "I'll do my very best," Mark
vowed.
Then he was gone.
And Jack, alone once more, returned to his brooding.