A Sense of Family by Cass

Part three

The atmosphere lightened a little over dinner, although a little tension still remained, mainly exuding from the older doctor. Steve did his best to ignore it, concentrating on his three friends, bantering with them as though nothing was wrong.
After they had left, he tried to make a quick escape to his apartment. One word from his father, however, who had stopped to have a few words with Jack, warning him not to get Jesse into any trouble, stopped him.
"Steve."
Uh-oh. Steve knew that tone. His dad had been pondering his rejection of them all night and, as the detective had anticipated he would, had put two and two together and come up with four.
He turned, forcing a smile to his face. "Yes, dad?"
"The murder case," Mark said, softly. "It's very dangerous, isn't it?"
Bingo.
"Uh …I don't know what you mean. It's a murder case. Yeah, sure the victims were in danger but …"
"Steve."
His prevarications halted, the detective stood helplessly, wondering what he could say to prevent the other man's quest for the truth - only to reluctantly admit to himself that there was nothing he could say.
When Mark Sloan got the bit between his teeth, there was no stopping him.
"Look, dad, okay, yes, this is a dangerous case," he finally admitted. He was looking everywhere but at his father. He couldn't bear to see the bitter disappointment that this revelation would provoke. That his own son was trying to keep him away from doing something he loved doing - and was good at. "We're pretty sure that there's a mob connection. If that turns out to be the case …"
"Then you don't want us anywhere near it," Mark finished off for him. "Steve, why didn't you just say so?"
Defeated, Steve slumped into the nearest chair. "I don't know." Then he raised his head, looking the older man squarely in the eyes. "I didn't want any of you getting hurt. Is that so hard to understand?"
Mark sighed heavily as he took a seat himself opposite his despondent offspring. "No, it's not, Steve," he replied. "And I realise it can't have been easy for you. But wouldn't it have been easier to tell us the truth?"
Steve snorted inelegantly. "Easier? With you guys? No. No, it wouldn't. I know you, dad. I know all of you. Telling you it was dangerous wouldn't have kept you out of it. It would just have made you more determined to help. You would have argued that I shouldn't do it alone if it was dangerous. But this is my job, dad. It's what I do. I'm even good at it from time to time," he added, with a wry smile.
Mark nodded. "Yes, you are," he agreed, easily. "And you're right. Perhaps you were even right to insist they stay out of it. Certainly we can't get Jesse and Jack mixed up in something like that and Amanda knows better than to go against our wishes if we don't want her involved."
"Thanks," said the younger man, gratefully. Then it slowly dawned on him what his father had actually said. "Wait a minute … what d'you mean 'we'?"

"Steve is definitely hiding something," Jack declared the next day as he poured himself and Jesse some coffee in the doctor's room.
Vivid blue eyes stared at him. "You think so? You don't think it's just because he likes to solve the odd murder on his own?"
The dark haired Italian shot him a withering look. "Oh, come on, Jesse, don't tell me you fell for that one!"
Jesse shrugged. "I … well, it seemed reasonable to me. On the other hand," he went on, thoughtfully. "It does some a bit weird that he wouldn't want us to even discuss it casually."
"Exactly my point," said Jack, as he took a seat opposite his new friend, pushing the mug of steaming hot liquid toward him. "So, how about we do a little digging ourselves, try and find out what's going on?"
Jesse frowned. "I dunno," he said, dubiously. "Last time I did something behind Steve's back, I thought he wasn't gonna speak to me ever again. He really chewed me out."
"But he got over it, right?" prompted Jack, with a wicked smile.
"Yeah, but …"
"So he doesn't speak to us for a week or so. It's a small price to pay if we can help him, right?"
Jesse still wasn't sure if he entirely agreed with Jack's reasoning but on the other hand, he didn't want to jeopardise his newfound friendship with the other man.
He hadn't known Jack long enough to understand how easily he could manipulate others, playing on their weaknesses and convincing them that what they were doing was the right thing. It had worked well for the other man in the past and it was an inherent part of his nature. Indeed, Mark had often commented that it was one of his biggest assets and it had certainly proven to be so during the many cases on which he had assisted before moving to Colorado.
"Okay," he agreed, cautiously. "But how are we gonna find out without tipping off Steve?"
Jack eyed him with amusement. "You're not really scared of him, are ya?" It sounded like a challenge.
"No!" came the immediate response. "No, I'm not scared of him. He's my best friend, Jack. I'm just scared that he'll never let us help out again if we do anything dumb!"
"This is not dumb," the other man asserted. "This is us giving him a hand - even if he doesn't know it. Well?" he demanded, after a moment's silence. "Are you in or not?"
Jesse weighed the pros and cons. On the one hand, he was dying to know what Steve was keeping from them - because Jack was right. There was definitely something. On the other hand, he didn't want to antagonise his best friend.
Then again, Jack was right about something else. How long could Steve stay mad at him, anyway?
And they were only doing this to help him out, right?
Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "I'm in," he said.

"The two victims were both killed by a 9mm slug to the back of the head," mused Mark as he read Amanda's report. "It was quick and efficient. Definitely an execution. What have you got on the husband? Didn't you say he was at a dinner at the time of the murder?"
"Yes," Steve said. "Dad …"
"But that doesn't mean he didn't plan it," Mark went on, absent-mindedly running his forefinger over his moustache. "Does he have mob connections?"
"We don't know," Steve replied. "Dad …"
"On the other hand, David Cross's financial records show that he was heavily in debt. He'd incurred some huge losses at the gaming table in Las Vegas. I wonder if that's where he and Marcia met?"
"Dad …."
"Your father does know that we don't want him involved this time, doesn't he?" chipped in Cheryl, smirking as she watched her partner's futile attempts to gain the other man's attention.
Steve sighed. "I don't think he knows the meaning of the word, 'no'," he replied, morosely.
Mark glanced up from the files he was perusing, smiling at the two of them. "You need me," he stated. "Besides, am I not a consultant for this police force?"
"Yes," his son grudgingly conceded. "But …"
"So I'm perfectly entitled to help out."
"Not when I made every effort to keep you out of it," muttered the other man, sullenly.
"Don't worry, Steve," the older man said. "I can look after myself."
He chose to ignore the look which his offspring levelled at him- a look that clearly said 'since when'?
Just because he'd been threatened with a gun a few times and kidnapped and held as leverage once or twice … didn't mean that he didn't know the meaning of self-preservation.
He wasn't going to allow Steve's over-developed sense of protectiveness stop him.
Not this time.

Whilst Mark, Cheryl and Steve were going over the files at the precinct, Jack and Jesse had found Amanda's copies of the autopsy report.
Jesse had balked a little at the idea of sneaking into her path lab and messing with her precious files. He had seen Amanda mad - and he definitely didn't want that wrath directed toward him.
But Jack had convinced him that it would be okay.
Besides, the beautiful pathologist had left the hospital hours before. She was probably tucked up in bed by now, sleeping the sleep of the innocent.
"Looks like the two victims were killed by a 9mm," said Jack, squinting at the text. "You know, it looks like an execution."
Jesse blinked at him. "An execution?" he echoed, in horror. "You don't mean …?"
"That the mob could be involved?" the older doctor concluded for him. "Yeah."
The younger man swallowed. "No wonder Steve didn't want us anywhere near this," he said, in a low, strangled voice. "Jack, maybe we should leave this one alone. I've heard of what the mob can do …"
"And I know what they're capable of," his companion interjected, sharply. "Didn't the others ever tell you about my family, Jesse?"
"Huh?"
"My godfather's in the mob. Actually, 'godfather' is an accurate term for him."
Blue eyes as wide as saucers stared at him in utter shock. "What?"
Jack shrugged carelessly. "I distanced myself from the family," he explained. "I didn't want to be any part of what they did. That doesn't mean that I don't have connections, though. And it doesn't mean that they won't be willing to help out."
Jesse was still staring at him. More he had instinctively taken a step back - almost as though he feared Jack would suddenly turn 'native' on him or something. "I … uh … I …"
"Jesse, that's not who I am!" insisted the other man, hastily. "I told you - I walked away from it all. I didn't want to have anything to do with it!"
"But …"
"But I still know those people. They're still family. And they owe me a favour or two."
Jesse didn't want to know what Jack had done in order to procure those favours. Actually, he was beginning to wonder if he wanted to know Jack any more. He had only had one dealing with the mob and that had been scary enough at the time. This was something he wanted to stay well away from.
"Jack …"
"No, Jesse, listen to me," his friend interrupted him. Deep hazel eyes bored into his with a frightening intensity. "It'll be okay. I'm not a part of that world. I never have been, not really. But I do know the people in it. They're no danger to me, or to you, I promise. They're family. The favours they owe me? I saved someone's life - someone very important. Even Mark and Steve and Amanda don't know about this - it happened when I was in Colorado. They called me. I couldn't just turn my back on them. So I did what I could to help. I won't go into details but I had my own practice and it was fairly easy to conceal it. I didn't break the law - it wasn't a shooting or a stabbing or anything that needed to be reported. It was simply a sick man who needed emergency surgery. And it was within my power to help. So I did."
"So now they owe you?" whispered Jesse, uncertainly. He still wasn't entirely convinced that he shouldn't just walk away now - from the case and from Jack himself. But he liked the other man. He was easy to talk to and they shared a passion for medicine. He also had a great sense of humour.
He didn't want to turn his back on his new friend. It went against every instinct he had.
But every instinct was also screaming at him that this was wrong.
That they should just walk away whilst they could still actually walk.
Jack nodded. "All I want to do is ask them a couple of questions," he said. "That's the extent of our involvement with them, Jesse. I promise. And, despite what they do, despite who they are - these people are husbands, fathers and sons. They're just like you and me in every other respect."
Jesse highly doubted that, but Jack seemed so sincere, so sure of himself. And he had lived amongst these people - been a part of their world even though he had ultimately renounced it. His mouth was dry, he realised, and his heart was pounding in his chest.
But he didn't want to disappoint Jack.
"Okay," he said, softly. "Okay."

Meeting up with Jack's relatives proved to be a relatively simple matter. The dark-haired doctor put in one call and set it up for the next day. But as Jesse drove home that night, his doubts - never far from the surface now that he had discovered this uncomfortable detail about his new friend - returned to plague him.
Admittedly, the last time he had dealt with anyone remotely connected to 'organised crime' he had made a fast getaway - much to the disappointment of Nadia, the model whom he had dated very briefly, but whose boyfriends had a habit of turning up dead. Everyone had suspected her father - 'Mike' of committing the murders. He did, after all, have mob connections. Of course, it had transpired that Nadia herself had committed the crimes; her loyal and loving dad confessing himself in order to save his daughter from prison.
But that had been scary enough. Besides, Steve had told them all horror stories about the mob. He had assisted the Organised Crime unit on a couple of occasions and what he had seen had unnerved even the normally unflappable detective.
Add that to the news reports and the things he had seen on TV related to their activities and what befell those who crossed them and Jesse was understandably absolutely terrified.
But he couldn't back out now. He had promised Jack.
As he climbed into bed that night, his thoughts were still consumed by the peril in which they may be placing themselves.
Consequently, he didn't sleep well and when Mark commented on his less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed look the next day he had to think up an excuse - a lie.
It was one of the few times he had ever lied to his mentor and friend. And the only time he had kept something so important from him. It didn't sit well with him. In fact, his stomach was churning as he went to meet up with Jack so they could drive to the meeting together.
Although whether that was because of his deception or because of who they were going to meet, he couldn't truly be sure.

The rendezvous was at a little Italian restaurant, owned by Jack's friends. It was closed for two hours between lunch and dinner for a shift change and it was the ideal opportunity for them to get together with those with whom they needed to confer on the double murder.
They had no sooner set foot inside the place than Jesse felt himself begin to tremble violently. A bead of sweat made its way from his forehead and travelled down his hairline.
Striving to control himself, he managed a tremulous smile as they were met at the door by a large, dark-haired, swarthy-looking man with a huge moustache and bright green eyes.
"Jack!" he boomed, grasping the doctor by the shoulder and pulling him forward into an embrace. He kissed both cheeks and Jesse, despite his apprehension, had to stifle a giggle at the expression on his friend's face.
"Hey, Louigi," Jack said, good-naturedly. "How ya doin?"
"Good, good," came the jovial response. Then the man noticed Jesse. "And who's this? You got a new friend, Jacky?"
"Jesse Travis, meet Louigi Terranova," Jack said, by way of introduction. "Jesse and I work together at the hospital," he explained.
Louigi's grin widened as he stepped toward the younger doctor. "Jesse Travis!" he exclaimed. "Good to meet you! Any friend of Jacky's is a friend of mine. Come, come, we'll sit down and talk. Maria!"
At the sound of her name, a beautiful young woman with long, thick jet black hair caught up in a band at the nape of her neck emerged from behind the curtain at the back of the restaurant. "Yes, Louigi?"
"Bring us some drinks and some pasta! These two could do with some fattening up!"
Jesse swallowed heavily - and almost choked. The phrase had been perfectly innocuous but his over-active imagination had equated 'being fattened up' with 'for the kill'.
It wasn't until he felt Jack's hand on his back, gently urging him forward, that he realised his feet had actually ground to a complete halt.
Not wishing to draw undue attention to himself - indeed, any attention whatsoever - he allowed himself to be led toward a table at the back of the place. Little more than a booth, its blood-red leather seats only served to increase the younger doctor's panic.
'Blood red' …
He wondered how many people had died in this restaurant and where all the bodies were hidden …
Realising he was allowing his imagination to get completely carried away, he struggled to concentrate on what the other two men were talking about, only to discover that they seemed to be discussing family and how Jack's Aunt Suzanna and Uncle Lorenzo had fought like cat and dog at their niece's recent wedding.

"So, I made some enquiries," Louigi said as Jesse's attention returned to their conversation. "I don't have much, Jacky, but what I do have? You're not going to like."
"Tell me," Jack grated out.
"The young man had some debts. He was a compulsive gambler."
"Vegas?" the dark-haired doctor guessed.
The other man nodded. "He was in debt to the Fortune City casino to the tune of $100,000."
Jack whistled. "That's a lot of money!"
"But it looks like he had a running tab there."
"They let him accrue more debt? Why?"
Louigi shrugged. "The rumour is that he had something on Mr Sorrano. Something big."
"So they let him run up a huge tab in the casino in order to pay him off?" Jack deduced.
"Who knows?" said the other man. "Maybe."
"We need to find out for sure."
Jesse shot Jack a look of alarm. He didn't like where this was going. He'd been under the impression that they were just coming here for information. He hadn't even considered what Jack was going to do with it once he had it.
Or - actually, he had. He had just naturally assumed that the other man was going to share it with Mark and Steve, as they normally did.
Except, he realised, belatedly, they couldn't do that because they weren't even supposed to be here.
They weren't supposed to be investigating this case.
And now it appeared that Jack was impatient to pursue the paltry information they had been given - something Jesse was definitely opposed to.
This was the mob, for god's sake.
Just because Jack felt comfortable in their presence didn't mean that Jesse did.
He squirmed uncomfortably, then realised that he was being carefully scrutinised by hawk-like green eyes.
"You all right, Jesse?" enquired Louigi, concern lacing his voice.
Jesse's mouth went dry. "Um … I … "
"Maria!"
"Yes, Louigi?" responded the girl, popping her head round the curtain.
"Fetch us some drinks, girl. The young man doesn't look well."
That got Jack's attention. He swivelled in his seat to stare at the younger man, narrowing his eyes as he took in Jesse's pallor and the expression on his face - like a deer caught in headlights. "Jesse? Are you okay? Man, Louigi's right. You don't look well."
"I … I;m fine," replied the younger doctor, raggedly. "I … it's just … it's hot."
The older Italian threw up his hands in an expansive gesture. "Well, why didn't you say something before, boy?" he roared, his wide grin taking any sting out of the words. "Maria - turn the heat down! Before the young man faints!"
"I … I don't faint!" protested Jesse, somewhat weakly. "I just … I think I'll just go outside … for some air."
So saying, he rose, regretting the decision an instant later as he swayed and the room gave a sickening lurch. "Uh …" he gasped, clamping a hand over his mouth.
"This way!" exclaimed Jack, surging to his feet and taking a firm hold of his colleague's arm, manoeuvring him through the tables to a door at the back that read 'restrooms'.

"Feel better now?"
Jesse glared up at his friend through narrowed eyes. He felt thoroughly miserable. He was huddled on the floor, leaning against the cold tile wall, trembling like a leaf; his head was spinning, his stomach was still roiling and his mouth tasted like a sewer. "Great," he ground out, taking the wad of tissue paper the other man proffered to him and wiping his mouth with it.
"Want to get up off the floor then?"
Another glower was aimed in the dark-haired man's direction. He blithely ignored it. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, a little testily. "Jesse, if you'd told me you were sick, I would never have invited you to come along."
"Didn't invite me," Jesse mumbled, sullenly. "Practically forced me … an' I'm not sick. I just … I just …"
"You just what?" Jack enquired as the younger man's voice trailed away. "What? Jesse?"
"Didn'twannagetinvolvedwiththemob," Jesse said in a rush, his voice so quiet that Jack could barely understand what he was saying.
"Huh?"
"The mob!" the younger man snapped. "I don't think we should get involved with the mob! It's a bad idea!"
Jack stared at him for a full minute before the words sank in. "The … the mob?" he spluttered. "Just a minute - you think Louigi is in the Mafia?"
"Yeah. That's what we're doing here, isn't it … what?" This as he saw Jack's lips twitch, watching as he tried valiantly to control his mirth before he burst into a roar of laughter.
"Oh Jesse," he spluttered, helplessly. "Louigi isn't the mob! He's my Uncle and - sure - he has contacts, but he's just an old Italian guy who owns a restaurant!"
"B … But …"
"You thought he was a mobster?" Tears were streaming down Jack's face. Jesse felt a little insulted - not to mention completely humiliated.
He had just thrown up in the guy's bathroom because he had allowed his imagination to completely run away with him … and it turned out he wasn't a mobster after all.
"Oh god," he groaned, covering his face with his hands. He wished most profoundly that the floor would open up and swallow him.
It remained stubbornly solid.
"So, you gonna get up now?" asked Jack, mildly, making an effort to stifle his amusement, although as Jesse glanced up through his fingers he noted that the hazel eyes still twinkled with merriment and he was smirking.
"I guess," mumbled the younger man, allowing his friend to haul him upwards and steady him. Then he had to endure the other man's ministrations as Jack flattened down his collar and straightened out his jacket. He felt all of about five years old. Finally, he could take no more and stumbled backward, hitting the wall with a 'thump'. "Okay, quit that," he objected. "I'm fine."
"Then why don't you rinse out your mouth while I go back and try to explain to Louigi what you were doing in here?" suggested Jack.
Jesse's eyes widened in horror. "What? No … I mean - you're not gonna tell him what I thought … are you?"
The smirk widened and Jesse felt very much like punching his lights out. Only supreme control on his clenched fists and the fact that he still felt like crap stopped him. "Would I do that?" came the ambigious response.
The younger doctor eyed the Jack suspiciously. "I dunno - would you?"
Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "Nah … though it's tempting. Believe me. I'll just tell him you had some bad seafood last night. But don't be surprised if he insists on feeding you chicken soup to counteract it."
"Chicken soup?" Jesse echoed, confused. "I thought that was a Jewish thing?"
The other man shrugged. "I think it's a cure all for everyone," he stated. "Besides, Louigi is half-Jewish on his mom's side."
"Oh."
"So, you come out when you're ready. Okay?"
"Okay."

Left alone, Jesse turned to the sink, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror. He looked flushed, he realised - probably embarrassment. He couldn't believe he'd been so dumb, jumping to conclusions as he had. He knew that it was a facet of his character that had both amused and exasperated his friends in equal measures during his first few months at Community General. It was also something he thought he'd stopped doing - especially with the constant example of Mark Sloan, crimefighter extraordinaire. Mark's instincts had usually been spot on and Jesse, always keen to follow his mentor's example in all things, had watched and learned over the years, showing initiative and intelligence when working on the many cases that had come their way.
He was just grateful that Mark, Steve and Amanda would never hear about this retrograde step. It wasn't as if Jack could tell them, considering they weren't supposed to be working on this case in the first place.
"Thank god for small mercies," he muttered, as he ran the tap, scooping up some water in his hand and rinsing out his mouth, then running that same hand over his face, letting the coolness of the liquid go some way toward melting the heat of his shame.

"Have you seen anything of Jesse and Jack recently?" enquired Mark casually, over breakfast the following morning.
"No," Steve mumbled, around a mouthful of bacon. "Why?"
"Oh, no reason," came the easy reply.
A seed of suspicion planted itself in the detective's mind and he stopped chewing, put his fork down and speared his father with a look. "You think they're doing some investigating of their own?"
Mark smiled, grimly. "I wouldn't put it past them."
"Dammit!"
"Steve …"
"This is exactly what I didn't want to happen!"
"Steve …"
"I should've known better! Jack never knew when to leave well enough alone and Jesse - Jesse's just too damned curious for his own good! I'm gonna kill 'em both. I swear it."
"Steve …"
"Where are they this morning?" he grated out. "Are they on duty? Because I'm going over to Community General to give them a piece of my mind!"
"Steve!!"
"What?"
"Your breakfast is getting cold," Mark pointed out, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"My .. what?" Caught off guard by the innocuous statement, Steve just stared at the other man.
"That's better," said Mark. "Now, you roaring in there like you're threatening to do is not going to help the situation."
"Oh, I don't know," declared Steve, with a nasty smile. "I think it's just what those two need."
"And then what do you think is going to happen?"
The detective shrugged. "They'll leave it alone, like they were supposed to."
Mark eyed him incredulously. "And you really believe that?"
"Yes!" Then the younger Sloan remembered who they were discussing. "Oh - right. Yeah. We're talking about Jack and Jesse. But what the hell am I gonna do, dad? I can't let them get involved. If this is in any way connected with organised crime as we suspect then …"
"You don't have to tell me how dangerous it is," interjected Mark, seating himself opposite his agitated offspring. "We've dealt with them before. But you have to remember, Steve, Jack has family members who are a part of that world. He's not just going to stay out of it."
"And he's gonna drag Jesse into it," mourned Steve, dolefully.
Mark's lips quirked upward into a gentle smile. "I'm not sure if there'll be much 'dragging' going on," he mused.
"I don't know about that, dad," the other man said, shaking his head thoughtfully. "You know how Jesse felt about Nadia and when he found out her dad was a member of the Russian mafia …"
"Hmm - yes, there is that," Mark agreed, with a frown. "But then again, Jesse is naturally curious. You remember what he was like when he first came here?"
Steve smiled reminiscently. "Oh yeah," he replied. "All bright eyed, bushy-tailed eagerness to help. He even broke into a storage locker to find some evidence and almost got himself shot by me and some uniforms for his trouble. And even then he was all geared up to come on a stakeout with me."
"He was desperate to get involved in everything, wasn't he?" Mark recalled, fondly. "There was just no stopping him."
"And Amanda only encouraged him," Steve said. "There was the time the two of them broke into that hotel room when he 'procured' the keycard from the hotel manager …"
"And when they worked together to steal the ice skates to prove that the blade had killed a man," chipped in Mark.
"Still, he's calmed down a lot since then," said the detective. "Although he has his moments."
"And he's immensely loyal to his friends," the older man reminded him. "Even if he was apprehensive about meeting any of Jack's family, he'd probably go along if Jack asked him. They've only just become friends. He won't want to risk that relationship whilst it's still in its infancy."
"And, as you pointed out, he is naturally curious," Steve mused. His face darkened with anger. "If Jack has got him involved in something bad, I'm gonna kill him!"
"Now, now, Steve," his father cautioned him. "There's no need to lay all the blame on Jack. Besides, we're just speculating here. We don't know that any of this is actually the case."
"But you obviously suspect it is," stated Steve, glumly. "Otherwise you wouldn't have said anything."
Mark shrugged. He couldn't really refute those words. "Why don't I have a discreet word with them at the hospital today?" he suggested. "I'll start with Jesse. He never could lie to me. Not about anything important, anyway."
Steve compressed his lips. Whilst he wanted to do this himself - and make sure that both younger men listened to him and listened good, he knew his dad's words made sense. Mark could make a better case than he could - because he could do it calmly and reasonably. The way Steve felt at that moment he would be ripping heads from bodies before he got two minutes into the conversation.
But it was only because he cared about his friends.
He didn't want them anywhere near this case because it was potentially too dangerous.
If only his father could make them understand that and back off.
Because he was convinced now that the two of them had already started investigating on their own.

"This isn't a good idea," muttered Jesse, as he and Jack concealed themselves behind an oil drum.
"Ssshh!" hissed the other man. "They'll hear you!"
"What are we doing here anyway?" The younger doctor continued, oblivious to the glare that Jack was aiming his way. "What did your uncle tell you?"
"That he'd heard that Marco Sorrano was meeting up with someone this morning," the other man whispered back.
"But how do we know it's anything to do with the murder?" Jesse persisted.
"We don't!" Jack replied through gritted teeth. His companion's incessant questions were beginning to get on his nerves - which were already on edge because of the potentially dangerous situation in which they had placed themselves. "I just thought it would be a good idea to come and find out!"
"So this could just be a business meeting?"
The dark-haired man prayed to the heavens that Jesse would suddenly develop laryngitis or something. "Yes!" he grated out. "Now shut up!"
The annoyance in his tone finally had the desired effect as Jesse, who had opened his mouth to ask yet another question, quickly closed it again, shrugging a mute apology.
Then they had to shuffle further behind their cover as two men approached from the side door behind them.
"Jack …."
"Ssshh!"
"Mr Sorrano!" boomed one of the men amiably, as another, smartly-dressed man puffing on a huge cigar strode down the steps in front of them. "How are you doing?"
"Well," came the unequivocal response. "You?"
The man who had spoken - tall and thin with a bearded face and glasses - grinned as he extended his hand. "Fine, fine."
"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"We had a little business to conduct here in this part of town and we thought we'd pay you a visit - just a courtesy call, you understand?"
"Right," drawled Sorrano, with a cynical smile. "You thought you'd pay me a courtesy call? Come on, Taylor. You can do better than that."
The other man - a large, burly individual with powerful muscles which could be distinguished even through the expensive suit he wore, growled at the man's tone.
"It's all right, Carl," soothed Taylor, holding out a restraining arm as his companion made to move forward. "Mr Sorrano doesn't mean anything by that, do you, Mr Sorrano?"
The other man laughed derisively. "You think you scare me, Taylor?" he demanded. "Me? Marco Sorrano? Think again."
"Ah, but I have reason to believe I do scare you," came the dry response. "Don't forget that we know what you did."
"Did? What did I do?"
Instead of answering, Taylor reached into his suit jacket pocket, withdrawing a small Dictaphone. Depressing the 'play' button, he smiled as voices issued forth from the machine.
"I want you to take care of something for me." The disembodied voice that echoed around the warehouse was Marco Sorrano's
A different voice answered. It sounded rough and gravely and Jesse felt a chill run the length of his spine at the inherent menace in it. "Okay, boss. What d'you need me to do?"
"David Cross. He's become a big problem. I need you to deal with it."
A harsh laugh emanated from the tape. "Any particular method in mind?" the other man enquired.
"No. Just make sure nothing can be traced back to me."
"You got it, Mr Sorrano."
"Oh and, Franco?"
"Yeah?"
"I've made arrangements for you to visit your family in Rome after you've done. An extended visit. You understand?"
"Yeah. Thanks, boss."

Smiling triumphantly, Taylor switched the Dictaphone off.
Sorrano was staring at him in utter shock.
Meanwhile, Jesse and Jack, having listened with growing incredulity as the words implicated Sorrano in the murder of Marcia White and David Cross, exchanged glances with one another.
"Where the hell did you get that?" the casino owner demanded imperiously. "How …?"
"The where and the how is not important, Mr Sorrano," stated Taylor, smoothly. "The fact is that we have incontrovertible proof that you committed a murder. Or had a murder committed. Two, in fact. What we do with this information - well, that's entirely up to you."
"You want money," the Italian sneered.
Taylor shrugged dismissively. "Perhaps. Or perhaps we want a stake in your casino. We hear it's doing very well - especially since your biggest winner … shall we say 'left'?"
Sorrano took the cigar out of his mouth and stared at them incredulously. "You're not serious? You want a partnership my casino? Why the hell should I even consider the idea?"
Taylor waved the Dictaphone at him. "This, my friend," he said. "This is why. And by the way, my partners and I - not Carlo, incidentally. Carlo is merely here for my protection - but my partners and I have another copy of this tape. It's been hidden away and it will be submitted to the Organised Crime unit if anything happens to me. So don't even think of doing what I suspect you are considering."
"I don't know what you mean," Sorrano blustered. "You have nothing. That tape doesn't prove anything."
"You think so?" Taylor eyed the other man meaningfully. "I think it does. You mention David Cross by name. He was murdered a few nights ago, together with his girlfriend. You asked your friend, Franco, to 'take care of him'. And we all know what that means. Did I forget to mention that we know where Franco's family lives and we have already spoken with him? We made him an offer he couldn't refuse."
"What?"
Taylor shrugged carelessly. "He loves his family, Mr Sorrano. He's very worried for his mother. She's real sick. Let's just say that we offered to help her. We're not without resources of our own. Franco is loyal to you - but his loyalty to his parents and his brothers and sisters is far stronger. We have your hitman, Mr Sorrano and unless you do as we ask, we're going to have to take you in."
Sorrano swallowed, his face had blanched free of colour and he was tugging at his shirt collar, which suddenly appeared too tight around his throat.
"They're cops?" hissed Jack, his eyes widening in astonishment.
Jesse hitched in a breath, having reached the same conclusion as the other man after Taylor's words had sunk in. "Oh my god," he breathed.
"So, what's it to be?" Taylor demanded, icily. "A share in your profits or a fast trip to the executioner's chair?"
A trickle of sweat ran down the side of Sorrano's face. "Okay," he said, hoarsely. "All right. You get your way. But you won't get away with this for long."
Taylor laughed. It was a raw, ugly sound. "You think so? We've been getting away with it for quite some time so far. How d'you think we built up all those resources I spoke about? We don't like your kind, Mr Sorrano. You're a blight on society. But we believe that all that money you make from your little 'ventures' should be put to good use. And that's what we do. We put it to good use."
"Lining your own pockets?" grated out Sorrano, contemptuously. "You're nothing more than extortionists."
"We prefer the term 'liberators'," said Taylor. "But it doesn't matter. We do what we do and we're good at it. Now, Mr Sorrano, what say we meet you here again tomorrow - that gives us enough time to draw up the contracts."
"C … contract?" echoed the other man, weakly. "What contracts?"
"Between our company and yours, stating that we're in business together and that we share the profits of your casino - half and half."
"You gotta be joking!"
Taylor advanced a few steps, his face darkening menacingly as he did so. "I never joke about something like this," he growled. "The company can't be traced back to us, by the way. That's the way we designed it. We're not cops for nothing. We know the system. We use it to our advantage."
"I … " …"
Without waiting for the other man to recover what was left of his tattered composure, Taylor spun on his heel, gesturing to his bodyguard to follow him. "We'll meet you here tomorrow, Sorrano," was his parting shot as he strode to the door. "Don't be late."

Jesse and Jack waited until they heard the car outside start and then roar away and watched as Sorrano trudged back up the stairs, a defeated man. Then they eased themselves out of their hiding place and scurried out of the warehouse.
"We have to get that tape," Jack declared as they hurried to their own vehicle - parked several streets away where they had hoped it would be inconspicuous.
Jesse skidded to a halt. "What?" he practically screamed at the other man. "Are you nuts? Those guys are blackmailing the Mafia, Jack! And they're cops! Corrupt cops! They're dangerous! And you wanna steal the tape from them?"
"Hey, I've done this kinda thing before, ya know!" Jack protested, indignantly.
"Yeah?" Jesse retorted. "And you're still alive? Must be dumb luck!"
"You're calling me dumb?" Jack shot back. "You? The guy who thought he'd been kidnapped and experimented on by aliens?"
Jesse's face drained of colour as he stared at Jack with wounded disbelief. "You … you … I …" He couldn't believe that his friend had thrown one of his most terrible ordeals in his face like that. He stepped back involuntarily, putting a distance between them that was as emotional as it was physical
Jack swallowed at the stricken expression on the younger man's face. The vivid blue eyes were wide and dilated with shock and his mouth was working although nothing was coming out. He seemed to be lost for words. Remorse swept over him. He had had no right to fling what Mark had inferred was one of Jesse's worst nightmares at him as he had. It had just been a natural defensive reaction to Jesse's disparaging remarks to him.
Remarks which, he now realised, belatedly, had been borne of fear.
"Jesse, I'm sorry," he said, earnestly. "I didn't mean to say that. I …" He stepped forward, only to have Jesse retreat even further, his gaze never wavering from Jack's face. "Jesse, please …."
"It … it's all right, Jack," the younger man stammered, after a few more moments uncomfortable silence. "You're right. I don't have any right to judge you."
The dark-haired man winced at the defeated tone. He had no idea what his new friend had endured during the time he had been kidnapped and duped into believing that aliens were responsible. But it was clearly something that still had the power to unnerve him. Amanda had revealed to him that her young friend had been tortured and left for dead on a roadside. Dehydrated and disoriented, he had been rushed to Community General where they had tended his many superficial physical injuries and put him on fluids. But the psychological wounds had been buried and more or less forgotten about. The pathologist had told him she was pretty sure that Jesse still had nightmares about what he had suffered - but he had never talked about it to anyone since.
"And I had to bring it up and taunt him with it," he moaned silently. "Nice one, Jack!"
"Look, Jesse," he began. "I …"
"It doesn't matter, Jack," the younger man interrupted him, sharply. Gone now was the hurt bewilderment, and in its stead was a flinty hardness that he had never seen before. "Look, you're right. I … over-reacted, all right? I'm sorry. Let's just go, shall we?"
"But …" Jack's voice trailed away as Jesse strode past him, still maintaining the distance between them and he shook his head, wondering if there was anything he could say or do to breach the chasm that had appeared in their friendship.

The atmosphere at the beginning of their journey back to Jack's hotel, where Jesse's car was parked was strained, to say the least and neither of them seemed inclined to do anything to breach it. Jack wasn't sure what else he could say to repair their fledgling relationship whilst Jesse was dealing with his own turbulent emotions.
The younger man deeply regretted ever agreeing to accompany Jack to the warehouse. But when the other man had mooted the idea, Jesse had been appalled at the thought of him going alone - which he had threatened to do.
Whilst he balked at the idea of furthering their amateur investigations into the Sorrano family, his fear for his friend's welfare if Jack did indeed set out on a lone quest had prevailed and before he had known what he was doing he had told the other man that he would go with him.
Jesse berated himself inwardly now at his misguided sense of loyalty - a loyalty Jack obviously didn't feel, if he was so insensitive as to taunt him with such a painful subject.
He wondered who had told Jack about the incident, then realised that, despite Mark's and Amanda's efforts to purge the hospital of them, a few copies of the rag that had printed the stories about him still existed and were scattered throughout Community General. He cringed when he recalled the lead-in story emblazoned across the front page, complete with a photograph of him and a flying saucer. The article had been vastly embellished by its author, making him out to be some kind of lunatic, thereby discrediting him entirely.
It had taken a long time to live down - even when the plot against him had been circulated around the hospital. He had had to endure the occasional snigger and odd looks for weeks - mainly from those who enjoyed a salacious story and despite knowing the truth, milked it for all it was worth.
And then there were the nightmares …
He hadn't told anyone, although he figured that Amanda at least suspected. He had dealt with them alone; not wishing to burden his friends with the fact that occasionally he awoke with a hoarse cry, in a cold sweat, his mind full of a nameless, shapeless terror.
His five days as a prisoner of Paris Pharmaceuticals were still a complete blank and his amorphous, but terrifying nightmares had finally convinced him that he preferred it that way. He no longer wished to know what had been done to him during that time. The faded white scars on his torso were evidence enough that it had been something deeply unpleasant.
He shuddered as the memories he did have of the event assailed him once more - thanks mainly to Jack's cruel taunt.
Then he was suddenly thrown against the car door as, without warning, the vehicle veered violently to the left.
"What the hell …?!" he exclaimed, swinging around to glare at the driver.
"We're being followed," came the terse response as Jack swung them around another corner, pushing the gas pedal to the floor to increase their speed.
"What?" Alarmed, Jesse twisted around in his seat to look behind them. Sure enough, a black SUV was on their tail. "Jack …"
"They've been there since we left the warehouse," Jack informed him, grimly, never looking at him, but keeping his attention focused on the road ahead, searching desperately for some form of escape from their pursuers. "I didn't wanna say anything before now."
"Why? Did you think they might just give up and go away?"
The scathing note in the younger man's voice was borne of fear, Jack knew, so he didn't rise to the bait. Besides, he was too busy trying to concentrate on his driving. Something else he hadn't told Jesse was that he had seen the glint of metal as one man had leaned out of the darkened windows of the vehicle that was doggedly chasing them. He was under no illusions. If he let that car get any closer, those within would have no compunction about firing at them. At the moment they were too far away for a bullet to hit them - except by chance. But if they got closer …. He didn't even want to think about what would happen.
He was very fond of this car. It was a brand new model that he had picked up for a song at a dealership in Colorado and he'd had it fitted out with every conceivable extra, including a DVD player.
But more. He was very fond of his life.
And that was something he had no intention of losing.

The car chase continued through the back streets and side alleys. Despite everything he did, Jack was unable to shake the other vehicle as it determinedly pursued them. He had floored the gas, and they were accelerating at dizzying speeds round corners and down hills, Jesse clinging for dear life onto the dashboard and his seat. The dark-haired doctor's white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel was outward evidence of his increasing sense of panic, as was the pinched expression on his finely chiselled face. His lips were compressed into a thin line as he strove to keep control, swerving left and right in his attempts to elude the SUV.
Jesse's frequent glances behind them only served to increase the tension as they both realised the other car was gaining on them incrementally each time they reached a new street. The young doctor swallowed convulsively as they lost precious ground and he saw a hand reaching out of the passenger window, brandishing what looked suspiciously like …
"Gun!" he screamed at Jack, just as a shot went over their heads.
Instinctively, they both ducked and Jack cursed as he nearly sideswiped a wall. "We have to get outta here!" he yelled, above the roar of the engine and the pounding of his own heart.
Jesse shot him an incredulous look. "You think?" he responded. Then, "Watch out!"
Unexpectedly, they had emerged at a busy intersection and had narrowly avoided a head on collision with a truck. Jack cursed as he frantically spun the steering wheel round, trying desperately to merge with the oncoming traffic instead of drive against it.
Jesse closed his eyes and prayed harder than he had ever done in his life before as he heard the tyres screech in protest whilst the convertible spun around, horns blaring out warnings in a cacophony of sound, then the car was suddenly impelled forward and he cautiously lifted one eyelid, feeling the tension draining out of him as he realised that Jack had succeeded and they were now comfortably sandwiched between a Volvo and a Mustang - not unlike his own.
A brief glance backward revealed no sign of the black SUV and he sighed in relief.
"I think we've lost them," said Jack, a little unnecessarily.
"Thank god," breathed the younger man, sliding down in his seat and wiping a shaking hand over his face. "Who d'you think it was?"
His companion shrugged, his face grim. "Well, it was either the cops we saw or Sorrano's men."
Jesse shot him a withering look. "Right. Good thinking, Sherlock!"
Jack frowned at him, then, unbelievably, he smiled. "Right," he said, good-naturedly. "Sorry. It was hardly likely to be anyone else!"
A grin tugged at the corners of Jesse's mouth as relief, coupled with the absurdity of his friend's statement, made him giddy. "Sorry," he said, softly.
"No. I'm sorry, Jesse," said Jack, his smile replaced by a look of contrition. "I should never have said what I did back there. It was stupid of me. And pretty unfair. Mark told me … "
"Mark told you what?" demanded the younger man as his friend's voice trailed away. "What, Jack?"
"Well … it wasn't so much what he said as much as what he intimated," the dark-haired man admitted. "That it hadn't been exactly pleasant for you. I … I was just mad, Jesse. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean anything by it."
'It still hurt, though,' Jesse said, silently. "It doesn't matter," he said, aloud, although the pain in his voice told a different story. "I …. What?" he asked in sudden alarm, as the older man's expression suddenly darkened.
"They're back," he ground out.
"What?"
"Look."
Jesse complied. He felt sick as he saw the ominous shape of the black SUV bearing down on them on the outside lane.
"Hold on!" warned Jack as he pushed the accelerator to the floor, gunning the engine and speeding past the vehicle in front.
Panic flared in the younger man's chest as they weaved in and out of the traffic, ignoring the angry shouts of drivers and the strident sounds of various car horns. The SUV continued to follow them, looming ever larger as they closed in. There was no number plate, Jesse noted as he took a quick look in the rearview mirror. That meant the cops wouldn't be able to trace the vehicle.
"We've gotta call Steve!" he yelled, as this thought occurred to him. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before - probably because they had been scared of their friend's response should he discover that they had been doing what he had expressly forbidden them from doing. Now he realised he would far rather face a wrathful Steve Sloan and risk being torn off a strip than die in some stupid automobile accident - or get shot.
Jack nodded once. "Okay!" he agreed, tersely. "Do it!"
Trembling hands reached into his jacket pocket, extracting his cellphone. Punching in the short code he waited with bated breath as it rang out. An eternity seemed to pass before it was answered.
"Sloan!"
Jesse gulped as he heard the anger in his friend's voice. He knew. Somehow, he knew what they had done!
But he couldn't think of the consequences of their actions now. They had to get help.
"Steve?"
"Jesse! Where the hell are you!"
"Uh … Steve, we need help!"
"I repeat - where the hell are you?"
Oh man, Steve was really furious. He was beginning to wonder if it wouldn't be preferable to die rather than face the rage of his best friend.
Then he took another look behind him and realised the stupidity of that line of thinking.
"Steve, we're being chased by a black SUV!" he yelled into the phone. "They have guns!"
"What?" roared the detective. "Jesse, where are you?"
"We're at …"
Jesse never had the chance to finish his sentence as, without warning, the SUV appeared alongside them and even as the driver's window half-opened and a gun barrel appeared, they were side-swiped.
The violence of the impact sent Jesse careening sideways, only his seatbelt saving him from making contact with Jack. But his cell tumbled to the floor.
"Jack!" he screamed, desperately.
Jack tossed a quick look to his left, as his hands maintained their death grip on the steering wheel despite the force of the collision. He swallowed convulsively, his eyes widening as he too saw the gun. "Jesse …"
Then there was a sickening crunch as the vehicle crashed into them again, buckling Jack's door, and there was a small explosion.
A cry escaped Jack as the bullet ploughed through his left arm, missing Jesse by mere inches.
As blood blossomed on the other man's sleeve and his hand slipped, Jesse lunged for the wheel, intending to help him steer.
But even as he did so, the convertible veered sideways into the oncoming traffic in the other lane.
There was a split second of realisation as they were aimed toward the articulated vehicle next to them.
Then a thunderous sound rent the air as they collided and the whole right side of the convertible buckled. Jesse heard himself cry out as molten agony flooded through him.
Then all he knew was silence.

"Jesse! Jesse! Speak to me, dammit! Jesse!"
Steve was yelling ineffectually into the cellphone. Silence was his only response. The awful grinding sound of metal upon metal, then Jesse's desperate yell before the distinctive noise of a gunshot reverberated in his mind. He wasn't sure what had happened after that but he had a pretty good idea, and the implications of that horrified him. The screeching of tyres, the screaming of brakes and then the terrible, terrifying noise of destruction …
Without conscious thought, he punched a set of numbers on his cellphone. "Sergeant? I need you to do something for me …"

Pain dragged Jack back to consciousness. Everywhere seemed to hurt. He groaned and shifted involuntarily, the movement sending white heat coursing through his entire left side.
"Ahhhh …"
"J … Jack?"
The voice was familiar although it was barely a whisper. He frowned as he tried to recall a name, becoming irritable as his thoughts worked sluggishly in providing him with the answer he sought.
"J … Jack … you … you okay?"
Jesse!
There. He had it.
"Jesse?" he queried. "Where … where are you?"
"Huh?"
"Wha … what happened?"
There was a long silence - during which time he started to believe that he had imagined the other man's presence. Then, "Cr… crash," came the response. A jagged breath interrupted it and he heard a low moan.
"J … Jesse?"
"Oh god … I … Jack …."
"Jesse!"
Silence descended once more - except this time he realised it wasn't really quiet. The hush was punctuated by the sound of distant voices, by the hissing of steam, by the creaking and groaning of metal. Jack tried to turn his head, found he couldn't. A splinter of agony lanced through it at the attempt and he fought to retain his hold on to his senses.
His memory was returning. It was fragmented and accompanied by a terror he had never known but slowly, he recalled the events which had led to this moment.
The black SUV.
The chase.
The gunshot.
The explosion of agony in his arm.
The crunching, tearing, screeching sound of metal.
The hulking great brute of a truck which had borne down on them …
"Jesse? Jesse, can you hear me?"
There was no response from his companion.
He had to move. He had to. He had to find out what had happened to his friend. Jesse's side of the car had taken the full brunt of the impact with the other vehicle. He shuddered as he pictured the type of injuries the younger man could have sustained - injuries which could quite easily kill him.
If he wasn't already dead.

Jesse heard the voice filtering through the agony that was consuming him. But he couldn't make himself respond. His body spasmed as the unremitting torture continued, coiling itself around him, choking him, stealing the very air from his lungs.
He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything other than endure as he was wracked by its molten heat, lashing into him over and over and over … he just wanted it to stop. Please, just stop …
He didn't remember ever feeling such unspeakable pain before. His head tipped back with the force of it as his mouth opened reflexively, tiny sounds of distress bubbling from between blood-flecked lips.
There was a roaring sound in his ears. It was only exacerbating the headache that was pounding away behind his eyes.
"Jesse …. "
The voice wouldn't go away. It was relentless.
"Jesse …can you hear me?"
He couldn't move. Didn't move. He didn't dare. What he felt was excruciating, exquisite. He yearned for oblivion.
But it didn't come.
Instead, just as he was convinced that he couldn't endure any more, positive that no human could suffer this and live, the molten heat tearing his body apart diminished ever so slightly. He took an exploratory breath. Then another.
Tears seeped from beneath closed eyelids as the motion ripped something inside, but lucidity returned as the unremitting agony of before abated, allowing him to concentrate on his surroundings once more.
"J … Jack?" he managed to croak out.
"Oh thank god. I thought you were …"
"Y … Yeah …"
"How … how're you … holdin' up?"
Jesse didn't think he could answer that one. An involuntary groan issued from his throat even as he tried.
"Jesse … Jesse, you … you can't die, ya know?" Jack's voice was shaking, Jesse noted, idly. "Mark will blame me if you do."
"S … not your fault," Jesse managed to rasp out. It was still an effort to speak and something hurt inside every time he did so, but Jack sounded so distraught. He had to try to assuage some of his guilt. "W… wanted to … come along."
"Yeah." Jack shook his head, allowing a wry smile to curve his mouth. He knew Jesse couldn't see him, trapped as they were in the twisted wreckage of what had once been a sleek new sports car. The pain that had greeted him upon his awakening had ebbed a little, dispersing sufficiently for him to allow a self-diagnosis.
He ached from head to foot and was pretty sure that something had sliced open his left flank, having already felt the warm wetness of blood with exploratory fingers which had sparked off a new surge of agony when they had touched the lacerated flesh. His left leg was trapped beneath what remained of the dashboard and he was pretty sure that it was broken, if the white heat that had seared him when he had tried to move it was any indication. He was undoubtedly a mass of bruises, too, if the throbbing of various parts of his body was anything to go by.
But beyond that he didn't think he was too seriously injured.
Jesse, on the other hand …
When he had finally been able to turn his head to search out the younger man he had been horrified.
Jesse's side of the vehicle had taken the full force of the crash, buckling inwards. Jack wasn't sure what had happened after the initial collision, but the whole front of the car had caved in, pushing the engine inwards toward them. The airbags, intended to protect them from such an incident, had not deployed and he could only assume that they had been deactivated by someone before they had left the warehouse.
From the little he could see, the younger man was in a bad way. He was almost completely buried beneath the warped and twisted metal and blood was seeping from his mouth, an indication of internal injuries. There was blood in his hair too, thin streaks trailing down the frighteningly ashen face.
The car was lying on its left side, so Jack was scrunched up against his own door, but his friend was suspended from his own seatbelt, undoubtedly exacerbating the injuries and the pain.
He felt completely helpless, unable to even save himself, let alone the younger man, for whose welfare he was ultimately responsible. He had manipulated Jesse into accompanying him and now he was being forced to watch as the other doctor slowly bled out his life.
And for what?
"J … Jack?"
The weak, hoarse voice dragged him rudely from his morbid introspection and he focussed once more on the other man. "S … sorry," he responded. "I was just … I was thinking."
"'B … bout what?"
About what, indeed? He could hardly tell Jesse he had been contemplating his own culpability in the other man's impending demise. He racked his brains for something to say - something that would not only ease his conscience but would keep Jesse's attention. It was very important to him that he kept the other doctor awake until help could reach them. But what to say …?
Then he smiled again. "You … you know, ever since I got back, all I've heard is 'You'll like Jesse. He's a wonderful young man' and 'Jesse is one of the most brilliant doctors I've ever known'. Oh, and let's not forget 'You know, Jesse saved Steve's life. There's no one else I would entrust my son to but that boy …'"
Despite the agony coursing through him, Jesse felt a warm glow suffuse him at the words, even whilst part of his brain wondered why Jack was telling him and even if Mark had actually said as much. He knew, of course, that the older man regarded him highly, although he had always had a hard time accepting it, but hearing this from Jack added credence to his mentor's oft-stated opinions of his skill. He just wished he could reciprocate; tell Jack that Mark had echoed the sentiments about his former protégé. But all the other man had said to him about his current companion had been 'You'll like Jack, Jesse, I'm sure.'
"Jesse? Jesse!"
The strident - and somewhat panicked yell permeated Jesse's fast fading consciousness and he returned to reality with a start, turning his head slightly to find Jack staring at him, his chiselled features contorted in terror.
"Uh …" he managed.
"Oh, thank god!" gasped Jack, running one trembling hand across his eyes. "Jesse, don't do that to me. I thought I'd lost you!"
"S … sorry."
A fleeting smile touched the other man's bruised face. "Yeah, well, if I have to go back without you …"
"It'll … be … okay, Jack," the younger doctor whispered. "We … we're gonna be … fine."
"You think?" Jack grated out. "D'you know that Steve more or less told me to lay off you, Mark warned me not to get you into any trouble and I think even Amanda thinks I'm a bad influence on you? I can't believe how protective they are of you. I just … I grew up around Mark and Steve, ya know? And I've known Amanda for a long time. Once upon a time I thought … well, never mind. Anyway, the point is, however close I was to them, you've become even closer. The four of you - you know? It's like … you're a perfect fit. They love you and that makes me crazy."
Jesse squinted down at him, disbelief and anguish writ large across his expressive, blood-streaked features. "Jack, I …"
"No, no, it's okay," interjected the other man, hurriedly. He regretted his sudden outburst. He wasn't even sure where it had come from - he hadn't even realised he had still felt that way. He must have been burying his feelings since the day of the announcement of Jesse's award. "I … know they care about me. But you're family. If they had to make a choice about which one of us would live or die here - not that they would, because they're good people - but if they did? They'd choose you over me in a heartbeat."
He hadn't been able to quite conceal the bitterness in his voice and Jesse swallowed convulsively, not knowing what to say to this incredible declaration. It wasn't true, of course. Jack was important to Mark and Amanda and Steve. They would never be able to choose in that way. "Jack …"
"Nah, it doesn't matter," Jack went on almost as though Jesse hadn't even spoken. "They do care about me, Jesse. I know that. But it's different - especially now. And you know what? I can understand why. I mean, I should hate you - not just for taking my place, but for replacing me so completely. But I can't. And believe me, I've tried." He uttered a brief, humourless laugh. "Everything they've said about you is true. You are a good friend and you do care about people. Plus, I've seen you in action and you're every bit the doctor Mark says you are."
Jesse let the words wash over him, filling his heart with quiet joy even as he struggled to accept them. Feeling like you belonged and knowing you did were two entirely different things. He was secure in the knowledge that he had people who truly cared about him, unconditionally; people who would always be there, who would never leave. But equally, he had always been careful never to take this for granted, continuing to be a little wary despite the knowledge that with these friends around him, he felt complete for the first time in his life.
At least if he died here, he would do so feeling like a part of something special.
As his head lolled to one side and he felt himself sinking into the encroaching darkness, he thought he heard a voice telling him it was going to be all right. 'We're coming, Jesse,' it told him. It was warm and comforting and oddly familiar. 'Hold on. We're coming.'
"Mark," his mind called out, just before he succumbed to oblivion.

Sirens signalled the arrival of ambulances and the cops. Jack was starting to lapse into unconsciousness when he heard them. He smiled drowsily. "They'll free us now," he thought. 'S' good. Hey, Jesse. They're gonna get us out now."
It was the last thing he could remember thinking before darkness claimed him.

Steve drained the last of his coffee, then absently threw the empty Styrofoam cup into the trashcan. It clipped the edge and tumbled onto the floor, joining its four companions. Staring at them morosely, he made his way over to the coffee machine, inserted a few coins and watched as another cup appeared and was filled with more of the dark, potent liquid.
"Steve?"
He almost leapt out of his skin at the gentle voice. Striving to maintain some grip on his frazzled nerves, he dredged up a weak smile, hardly noticing when the hot coffee sloshed all over his hand. The pain acted as a counterpoint to the agony in his soul.
"Hey, Amanda."
"What are you doing out here?" he asked him.
"As opposed to where?"
He winced at the gruffness of his own voice. She didn't deserve his hostility. She wasn't the enemy. No, that position was reserved for someone else.
She sighed. "I thought you'd be waiting in the doctors' lounge," she clarified. "I went there looking for you."
"They just took him up to OR," he said, grimly, his gaze sliding toward the doors of the elevator, into which he had watched his grievously injured friend disappear only a few moments earlier. "I … I just …"
"It's all right, Steve," she said, softly, placing a warm hand on his arm, her face not registering her realisation that he was trembling. "I understand."
"Do you?" he demanded, harshly, trying in vain to suppress the sob that rose in his throat at the memory. "I wish I did."
He was lost. She could see that. He was lost and hurting and he didn't know what to do, or where to go.
She had been in the path lab when Jesse and Jack had been rushed into the ER. She had been forced to continue her own work on one of the other victims of the terrible crash, all the while only too well aware that two of her friends were injured god-knew how badly and she couldn't do anything to help them. She couldn't even be there for them.
It had been hard.
And then when she had finally managed to make it into ER, it was to discover that Jack was in one OR whilst Jesse had been taken to another. From the little she had been able to ascertain from the staff on duty, it seemed that Jack had sustained serious, but recoverable injuries. Jesse, on the other hand …
'Oh god, Jesse … '
And Steve had been nowhere to be found. She knew that he was here. He had apparently burst through the doors of the ER like the hounds of hell were after him barely minutes after his two friends had been admitted.
But he hadn't been where she would normally have expected to find him - in the doctors' lounge.
Instead he was here, outside the trauma room where Jesse's broken, bleeding body had been tended to, the extent of his stay here evidenced by the number of empty coffee cups littering the floor around the nearby trashcan; their presence there instead of inside the bin indicative of his traumatised condition.
It was as though he didn't know where else to go.
Or as if he didn't want to leave the last place he had seen his friend alive.
"Let's go sit down," she said, her hand transferring itself to his elbow as she gently steered him down the corridor, his lack of resistance another sign of how he was feeling.
She tried to ignore the way her stomach clenched as they passed the trauma room and its blood-stained floor and gory detritus …

"They were shot at, Amanda," said Steve, dully, as he sank onto one of the couches in the Doctors' Lounge.
Amanda hitched in a breath at the news. "Oh my god! Steve, why?"
"Why?" he spat out. "Why? Because Jack couldn't keep his nose where it belonged, that's why!"
"What …?!"
"They were snooping on someone," he informed her. "This is all Jack's fault."
"Steve, you don't know that," she reasoned.
"Don't I?" he demanded. "He admitted it to me, Amanda! He regained consciousness in the trauma room and asked to see me. And he told me that they'd been spying on someone called Marco Sorrano and some rogue cops - and that one of them was responsible for shooting at them."
"Steve …"
"And you know what else he had to say? Do you?" he growled, ignoring her attempt to placate him, as he sprang out of his seat to pace the floor like a caged tiger. "He said that he convinced Jesse to go with him. If it hadn't been for him, Jesse would never have been in that car. He would never have been in the middle of all this and he wouldn't be in OR right now! God, you should have seen him, Amanda," he went on, anguish replacing the fury in his voice. "He was a mess. He was barely breathing, there was blood everywhere - I hardly recognised him. And … he flatlined on the table. I saw it. I … I never want to live through anything like that again. I thought - I thought for sure he was gone."
Amanda felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest at his last words. This was the first time she had heard of how close they had come to losing their young friend.
"If he dies …"
"He's not going to die, Steve," she tried to reassure him, although the sentiment was hollow, given that she wasn't sure she believed it herself.
"You don't know that!" he shot back, his voice breaking. He stopped by the window, bracing his hands on the ledge and staring unseeingly out into the corridor, where the normal hustle and bustle of the bust hospital continued unabated, as though the world wasn't about to come to an end. His mind was still filled with images of Jesse as he had been when they had brought him in. "Why'd he have to come back?" he demanded. "Why'd he have to come here and ruin everything? He should have stayed away. If Jesse dies, if he … it'll be all his fault."
Amanda didn't need to ask whom the 'he' was. She smiled sadly. "You don't need to add to his guilt," she chided him, gently. "I'm sure he already blames himself."
"Well, he should," the detective pointed out acerbically. "If it hadn't been for Jack, Jesse wouldn't be in this mess! We all warned him - you, me, dad …"
"And who warned Jesse?" she asked. "Steve, I love him too, but he has a mind of his own, you know. He's a consenting adult. We can't run his life for him, and we shouldn't try."
"If he has a life after this," he said, his voice filled with quiet despair. "Amanda, we can't lose him. He's … he's the best friend I ever had. You know, I don't think I've ever told him that."
She made her way across the room to stand beside him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremors coursing anew through the sturdy frame. "Steve, he knows that," she whispered. "I know you two don't talk about things like that - because you're macho and it's not the 'done' thing, but he knows how you feel. You don't have to say it aloud for it to be true. It just is."
He nodded, too choked up to speak. A solitary tear rolled down his cheek. Swiping it away, irritably, he leaned his head against the glass, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat of his raging emotions. "I can't lose him," he said, in a low, pain-filled voice, closing his eyes against the burning sensation that was prickling in them. "I can't."
Then he let the tears fall.

"What about the bullet?" Amanda enquired.
Steve's loss of control over his emotions had not lasted long. The pathologist had known that it wouldn't. She knew her detective friend too well. Taciturn and gruff, his outward demeanour concealed a tender heart that had been too often bruised over the years. He didn't let anyone in to that heart easily because, when he did, they stayed there - and the people in Steve's life had had a habit of leaving or dying, leaving their places there empty and aching.
When he had first encountered Jesse, he had treated him as little more than his father's new intern - and a pretty infuriating one at that. Young Doctor Travis had been not only a fervent medical student - and a pretty exceptional one at that - but also a highly enthusiastic would-be crimefighter.
He hadn't needed much persuading by Mark to join the three of them on their many investigations. In fact, he hadn't needed any persuading at all. He had started off as he had intended to go on - inviting himself along on their enquiries, setting foot where angels feared to tread. He had insinuated himself into their home just as easily and before long they stopped questioning his presence beside them, instead, unable to remember a time when he hadn't been there,
And from initially being an annoying meddler in Steve's business, he had eventually become his best friend, business partner and the little brother he had never had.
Amanda knew Steve probably couldn't even remember how or when it had happened but Jesse had crept into his heart, carving out a permanent place for himself there just as surely as he had in her own and Mark's.
He was joyous, irrepressible and his naturally mischievous nature had re-awakened Steve's own sense of fun. They might tease and bait each other mercilessly but there was never any rancour behind it. Indeed, it seemed to energise them.
Jesse, with his sunny disposition and good-natured humour was good for Steve.
And Steve provided a little of the steadfastness that Jesse had been missing during his formative years.
She didn't know what the detective would do if he lost that comradeship now.
She didn't know what any of them would do.
But he had recovered his equilibrium - at least outwardly. Inside, she knew that each hour that passed with no word from the OR killed him a little more inside.
"It's going to ballistics just as soon as the team recover it from the car," he said, in answer to her question. "I placed the call as soon as Jack told me about it."
"You're not handling the investigation?" she asked, a little surprised. She had half expected him to be chomping at the bit, determined to nail whoever had done this to his friends. In fact, seeing him standing outside the trauma room earlier had been something of a shock. Steve's way of dealing with acts of violence against those he loved was to go into full 'cop' mode, becoming single minded in his resolve to hunt down those responsible. It was a way of channelling his emotions into something positive, something that he could do to help.
But instead he had been here, practically collapsed outside the room in which his closest friend had almost died.
And now they were in the Doctors' Lounge and at least two hours had passed since Jesse had been taken into surgery.
Whilst all they could do was wait.
And Steve didn't do 'waiting' very well. In fact, he didn't do it at all.
He smiled humourlessly at her astonishment. "Newman wouldn't let me," he said. "Said I'm too personally involved. Damned right I'm too personally involved! My best friend was almost killed today! He could still …" He choked the words back and tried to stifle the fresh sobs that were attempting to break free. "They're investigating the rogue cops as well," he went on, in a hushed, broken voice. "Someone called Taylor. We don't know who else. I don't know him. He's probably with Organised Crime. It would make sense."
"Cops in league with the Mob?" breathed Amanda, shaking her head in disbelief.
"It happens, Amanda," he said, dully. "It's not as rife as the public would like to believe or as is painted by the media, but of course there's still corruption in the force. And it usually stretches further upward - sometimes to the highest levels. We've all seen it. Remember?"
She nodded. She didn't need reminding of the last time they had fought dishonesty in the police. A previous Captain of Steve's had been indicted for murder and it had also brought down some public figures.
But Chief Marsters had been waging a one-man war against it ever since and they had seen the results firsthand. It had been a tough battle, but he was winning. And now there had been a fresh outbreak.
It tainted every cop out there, regardless of how clean they were. And the majority of them were. Good, decent and trying their best for a city that give them little credit for the things they did right yet was ready to crucify them all when one cop did wrong.
"Money talks," Steve went on, tiredly. "You know that. And a lot of money is a big temptation for some people - even cops. Sometimes especially cops."
"What about this Sorrano character?" she asked. "Are you going to investigate him?"
He nodded. "Jack didn't tell me too much. But he did say that Taylor apparently has a tape of Sorrano plotting to kill Marcia White and David Cross and that the guy who took the contract is now in Italy. We're gonna have to have a fresh look at our extradition treaties with Europe. The most we can get Sorrano on if we can prove it is conspiracy to commit murder. The other guys - well, we can nail them for extortion and a few other things - if we can ever find them."
"For not telling you too much, that was certainly a lot," mused the pathologist, thoughtfully.
"Yeah," he agreed. "And I have to hand it all over to someone else. I … I'm not sure I can, Amanda. I'm not sure I'm capable of sitting back and watching as someone else handles this. Dammit!" He swung round from the window, where he had been slouched for some time and slammed his fist on the table. The force of the blow almost splintered it. "I can't be here, doing this! I need to be out there - finding the people who shot at my friend!"
"I know," she soothed, approaching him a little warily. "I know, Steve. But you can't. Not right now. Besides, I … I need you right now. Jesse's my friend too, you know and … I just don't think I can do this alone right now."
Exhaustion, strain and fear for Jesse's life had taken its toll on the young pathologist and even as her face crumpled with distress, Steve enfolded her in his arms and they exchanged places as he became the comforter.
Stroking the sleek, dark hair tenderly, he held on tight as she sobbed raggedly into his chest and he whispered soft, soothing, nonsensical words neither of them would recall later.
He couldn't leave now.
As much as he wanted to be out there, focusing his energy and tumultuous emotions into doing something constructive for Jesse, he couldn't just abandon Amanda.
It was in times of adversity that friends turned to one another.
And this certainly classified as one of those times.
Besides, he couldn't just go without finding out about Jesse.
As long as he remained there, directing his thoughts and his strength toward the OR, where the younger man was undergoing surgery, Jesse would survive.
It was utterly illogical and bordered on superstitious.
Still, it was all he had to cling on to.
And Amanda and he had each other in the meantime.

Time crept inexorably forward.
At some point during those hours of waiting and praying and pacing, Jack's surgeon came to find them, imparting the news that his colleague was going to be just fine.
Amanda received this information gratefully, feeling a slight lessening of the tension that had gripped her.
Steve, on the other hand, grunted his thanks, his expression darkening.
It seemed that another nail had been hammered in the coffin in which Steve's and Jack's friendship lay.

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