Hostages by Cass

Part two

"We got the pizza."
Steve half-turned at Tanis's announcement. Actually, the delicious aroma was making him feel hungry although he didn't think he'd be able to choke any food down - not until his dad was safe, anyway.
"Where did these come from?" he asked, slightly bewildered at how she'd managed to procure pizza, fries and coke when no vehicles had been able to make it through the traffic build up.
She smirked at him. "How long have you lived here, Sloan?" she asked. "And you didn't notice the big Pizza place on the corner of 3rd and Devonshire?"
Of course he had. He and Jesse and his dad had eaten there a few nights before. He felt sick as his thoughts returned once again to the two people he cared about and their present predicament. He smiled thinly at her. "Well, now we have Kyle's food, let's see about getting those hostages out," he said. He felt his gut tighten as he said the words. This was going to be his father's ticket to hospital. He could only pray that Kyle hadn't changed his mind since the kid had abruptly hung up on him.
Nodding to the guys in the truck, who were eying the pizza with a certain amount of longing, he waited till they had dialled the number then sat, listening whilst it rang endlessly.
Finally, just when he had been about to give up hope. "Hello?"
"Kyle?"
"Yeah? You got my food? Man, I'm starving'"
"We've got your food," confirmed Steve. He was biting the inside of his lip. It was a nervous habit, one his dad had lectured him about many times over the years. He had never quite managed to rid himself of it. Realising he was doing it now and recalling the older man's words to him on previous occasions he figured it was kind of appropriate. "Now, how we're gonna play this, Kyle, is …"
"You bring it."
He was momentarily taken aback by the sheer gall of the suggestion - never mind that it had actually been his intention from the get go. "What?"
"You bring it," Kyle repeated. "And you leave your gun where I can see it. I don't want no surprises. And I'm gonna have your friend, Jesse, in front of me so if anyone's thinkin' of shootin' then maybe they better think again."
This kid had learned real fast how to manipulate the situation to his advantage. Steve swore under his breath. "Okay," he said, finally. "And no-one wants to shoot you, Kyle, I swear." "Apart from me," he added, silently.
"Yeah, well … if they do they're gonna kill Jesse here and he's okay. I don't wanna hurt him."
A wave of relief washed through him at that proclamation. "Well, that's good, Kyle," he said, evenly. "No-one wants anyone hurt. I promise. Now, I'm gonna come over there in a second. I'll remove my weapon from its holster in plain view so you can see it and then I'll walk to the door. Okay?"
"Okay," agreed Kyle.
"Then once I'm there you can let those hostages go. The injured man, the EMT's and the rest of them."
"Yeah, yeah," came the impatient response. "I know the drill. Let's just get that food here."
"Kyle …"
"Just do it!"
The kid was beginning to lose it. Steve took a deep breath. "Okay," he said, as calmly as he could muster. He couldn't stop thinking of all the things that could go wrong in the next few moments. So many different scenarios were playing out in his mind it was making him dizzy. And none of them were particularly pleasant. "Okay, I'm coming over now."

Tanis stepped forward as her partner made to walk across the road to the store. Catching the movement in the periphery of his vision, he jerked his head, motioning her back. With obvious reluctance, she did so, but shot him a glare that spoke volumes about what she would have to say later.
He inhaled deeply then, stopping short of the sidewalk, reached into his holster and, removing his police special one-handed, dropping it to the tarmac. He couldn't see any movement behind the blinds and for a moment, he wondered if this was all some ruse so that Kyle could just shoot him where he stood. Then the door opened a crack and a weather-beaten face peered out. The man's hands were raised in surrender.
"I'm Mike," he declared as Steve got a little closer. "I'm one of the EMT's who were called to the scene."
Steve scrutinised him carefully. He was certainly older than the voice on the telephone had appeared and he was indeed garbed in the familiar uniform of a medic. Plus, Steve vaguely recognised him from the hospital. Satisfied that the man was who he said he was he nodded. "Where's the other hostages?" he asked.
"Inside," Mike told him. He held out his hands for the pizza and drinks. "He's asked if we can get this inside then he'll let us go."
Steve regarded him in consternation. He was pretty sure that he shouldn't just capitulate like this, but he couldn't see any other way of securing their release. If he refused, Kyle might very well take his anger out on the nearest victim and the detective had a horrible feeling he knew who that might be. Clenching one fist he reluctantly handed over the food, watching as Mike took it and hurried back inside.
A long, tense moment passed. Then the door opened again and Mike re-appeared. He was smiling. Before Steve could react to that expression he had turned back and the next instant he and a woman wearing the same uniform rolled a gurney out into the street. Steve signalled to the sharpshooters, warning them not to fire. These were the hostages.
The Two EMT's were followed by a sweaty man in a business suit, a frightened looking middle-aged woman and a younger woman with blonde hair. Steve didn't even notice her. His attention was riveted on the man on the gurney. "Dad!"
Before anyone could stop him - not that there was anyone in range who could - Steve had closed the short distance between himself and his father. What he saw when he looked down at the older man caused a sharp intake of breath.
His dad looked awful. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face, which was leeched of all colour. Dark smudges that looked more like bruises ringed the blue eyes and droplets of blood stained his lips where he had bitten through against the tremors of pain that continued to run through him.
"Oh god, Dad!" Steve breathed. He lay a gentle hand on the older man's shoulder, not sure if his father was aware of his presence there. He was shocked, therefore, when Mark turned his bleary gaze on him, his mouth weakly forming words which were muffled by the oxygen mask. "What?" he demanded, putting his ear to the mask and listening carefully.
"St … Steve … Jesse …"
He smiled, grimly as he lifted his head. "I know, dad. I know," he soothed him. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay now."
A hand shot out from beneath the blanket covering the bloody figure, surprisingly strong fingers curling around Steve's wrist. "No!" protested Mark. "No, don … understand … Jesse …hurt!"
Steve felt the weight of his burdens crushing him. He had known of course that Jesse wasn't exactly okay, but he had been trying his best not to think about it. He had had too many problems to deal with - getting his dad out, saving the other hostages, trying to ensure that his relationship with Kyle remained on an even keel despite his craving to storm into the bookstore and wring the kid's neck with his bare hands … his concern for Jesse's welfare had been pushed to the back of his mind, to be dealt with later - if at all. Now it was all tumbling in on him - especially since he had achieved most of his other objectives.
Only his friend remained in the bookstore, together with the woman hostage. And the news that Jesse was hurt had just confirmed his worst fears. His scrubbed a weary hand over his face. My god, was there no end in sight to this nightmare?
"It … it's okay, Dad," he said, at length, trying to placate the older man, desperate not to upset him and worsen his already precarious condition. "It's okay. We're gonna get Jesse and the clerk out. I'll take care of it. Okay? You just - you just go to the hospital and … and - you know, get taken care of."
Mark wasn't happy, but he knew there was nothing more he could do. He hurt. He hurt so badly. He had never known such terrible pain. It made it difficult to breathe, to think, to talk, but he had felt compelled to say something to his son now that he was relatively safe. Jesse was more than just a protégé, he was a friend and he was fast becoming a member of Mark's family - a very important member. He didn't want anything to happen to the young man. He wasn't sure what he would do if it did. He'd had to let Steve know how badly Kyle was treating their friend, how beaten up he was, but he hadn't been able to articulate all that. All he had been able to get out was that Jesse was hurt. It hadn't been much, but it was all he had. His energy was depleted and he was running on pure tenacity. He desperately wanted to sleep, but was scared to close his eyes in case he never awoke again. He wanted to ask Steve to come with him. He would have given anything for the comfort of having his son there, in the ambulance, close by in case anything did happen. God, he didn't want to die alone!
But he couldn't ask the younger man to abandon his post. He couldn't ask him to abandon Jesse. And he wouldn't. Steve had a job to do - something he had to see though to the end. And so did he. His job was to stay alive, so that he could see both his boys when he woke up again.
So he allowed them to wheel him toward the ambulance, feeling Steve's cool fingers brushing his cheek as they prepared to load him up. He wanted to say 'goodbye', but didn't have the strength left to do much of anything except smile.
"I'll see you later, dad," came the soft voice in his ear, the whisper of warm breath tickling his cheek, "I love you."

Steve stood back as the ambulance roared off, siren wailing, watching through a haze of tears as it disappeared into the traffic that the cops had cleared at the other end of the street. Then he turned on his heel and stared at the bookstore. The door had been closed again after the exit of the hostages. He didn't know who had done that. He hadn't been paying attention. His entire focus had been on his father and that ghastly wound in his chest. He shuddered as he considered the implications of such an injury. Massive blood loss, lead poisoning from the bullet, the list was endless. He was not a doctor but he had been around one long enough to know that getting his dad out of there had only been the first step. One that might not matter in the long run. The older man might not survive the trip to the hospital and even if he did, he might not live long enough for surgery to do any good. And if, by some miracle, he made it through surgery, any number of complications could set in and he could die later.
The detective could barely breathe at the thought. All he had wanted to do was climb in that ambulance with his dad, be there beside him, letting him know he was there, plead with him not to give up, to hold on, just a little longer.
But his place was here. His duty was here. He wished he could just screw his duty.
If only Jesse had kept his mouth shut when he had answered the phone in the first place. Making very clear to Kyle that he was a friend of the cop who was negotiating the release of the hostages had been a stupid thing to do. A very Jesse-like thing to do. If and when he got the young doctor out of there, they were going to have a serious conversation about when to keep one's mouth closed and what not to say when you were being held hostage.
With slow, deliberate steps, he trudged morosely back to the truck. Maybe they would get lucky and Kyle would give it up in the next few minutes. That way he could go be with his dad.
Who was he kidding?
Kyle was going to make this last as long as he possibly could.
He was stuck here for the duration - or at least as long as it took the negotiator to work his way around the accident road blocks, miles of traffic and everything else that had kept him from fulfilling his role today, leaving Steve to perform it for him.
The detective was seething with resentment and anger at the way everything was turning out, and he didn't give a thought to the fact that he was once more beginning to turn his tumultuous emotions against his friend.

"You should try some of this," said Kyle around a mouthful of pizza, which he had torn into as soon as the door had been shut. He had finally decided to take the precaution of hiding behind the counter with the clerk, as the others left. He hadn't had to worry about Jesse. The young doctor was far too dazed to know what was going on. He had been practically passed out on the floor and hadn't even noticed his friends' departure. It was a lot quieter without them, that was for sure. The old woman had whimpered incessantly, the suit had rocked to and fro, moaning and the other woman - the pretty one - had squealed pathetically whenever he had gone near her. The clerk was far quieter - at least she was now she was gagged. And Jesse - well, he was okay. Course, he wasn't talking much now that he'd almost been strangled but that hadn't been Kyle's fault.
It wasn't.

Jesse looked up dazedly from where he lay sprawled on the floor. The pungent smell of pizza and fries wafted over toward him, succeeding in making him feel even more nauseous. He could hear a voice in the background, but couldn't figure out what it was saying and wasn't even sure it related to him, anyway. With a feeble groan, he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Steve returned to the truck to find Tanis observing him appraisingly. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm just fine!" he shot back. "My dad's been shot and is off to hospital where he may or may not survive surgery - that's if he even gets there alive. My best friend is a still a hostage and - hey, what d'you know? He's gotten so friendly with the hostage taker that the guy wants to keep him and I'm stuck here, trying to get the both of them out of there!"
She stared at him incredulously for a moment. Then, "Oh get over yourself, Sloan!" she snapped. "So you get to be negotiator. Tough! I know your dad has been shot. He'd been shot all the time he was in there. You're just sulking because you can't go off with him and hold his hand. And as for your friend in there - if you seriously think that Travis has befriended this guy just to piss you off, then you're crazy. The kid's unstable, for christ's sake!"
"Which one?" countered Steve, stung by her words, but suddenly ashamed to admit, privately at least, that she wasn't far wrong.
She uttered a brief, humourless laugh. "Kyle, you moron. Travis wouldn't hurt a fly, and you know that. He hasn't got a mean bone in his body - or so you've told me. He isn't doing this just to get you to stay. Tell me something. If you could ask him now what you should do, what do you think his answer would be?"
"He'd tell me to go be with my dad," was Steve's instantaneous response. He closed his eyes briefly as realisation of what he had been doing swept over him. "Christ, I've been blaming him for the fact that I have to stay here!"
"You see, that's why you're a Lieutenant," came the dry response. "You're able to figure these things out all on your own."
He pulled a face at her, but he knew he deserved the comment. "I just … I wanted to be with him, Tanis," he said, miserably. "You should have seen how my dad looked. I … I just can't help thinking that I'm never gonna see him alive again."
His partner eyed him critically. She knew how hard this was for him. He wasn't the right person for this particular job - not on this occasion, anyway. He was far too emotionally invested in the hostages. After all, one of them was his father and the other his best friend. Unfortunately there had been no other choice and anyway, Steve had done this before - successfully, too. The Captain hadn't been pleased about it, knowing how volatile the situation might become and how unfair it was on his detective, asking him to put personal feelings aside for the good of the rest of the hostages, but he had faith in his detective to pull it off.
Unfortunately it was all taking its toll on Steve. Where he should have felt a modicum of relief at the fact that his dad was out of there and on his way to Community General, instead, his fear for the man's life had been amplified by his first glimpse of the injury the he had sustained. The grim expressions on the faces of the EMT's hadn't exactly helped matters, either.
"Hey, Steve, don't sweat it," she said, her tone imbued with an uncharacteristic sympathy. "Just focus on the matter at hand - getting Travis and the clerk out of there."
He nodded. Then, "Anything from the interviews with the other hostages?"
She bit her lip. Actually, she'd just finished speaking to the cops who had talked to the three people. It wasn't good news. "Uh - yeah," she admitted. "They confirmed that Kyle has Travis and the clerk but no-one else. He stuck to his word and let everyone go."
Steve nodded. "My dad said that Jesse was hurt," he said, quietly. "Have any of them said anything about that?"
"Steve …" Her expression told him that they had and she preferred not to say anything.
"Tanis - what did they say?"
Sighing heavily, she told him. "Apparently Kyle's hit him a couple of times - once he was practically pistol-whipped." She paused at the shocked intake of breath from her partner. "Steve …"
"What else?" he grated out, knowing she was holding something back.
"Kyle choked him," she said.
"What?"
"Travis passed out and the kid let go. He's been having problems staying on his feet since. Between that and the pistol-whipping …"
The other detective stared at her in shocked silence for a moment. "Why?" he demanded, in quiet fury. "Why would he do that? What has Jesse done to him?"
She shrugged helplessly. "Nothing," she replied. "Must be how he gets his jollies."
Her partner's face was dark with suppressed rage. "Jollies," he echoed derisively, in a low growl. "Right."
"Steve, you can't let this affect how you deal with him," she warned him. "You have to try and remain detached. I know it's hard, but if you even give him a hint of what you're feeling, you give him an even bigger advantage than the one he already has and you put Jesse's life in further jeopardy."
"I know that!" He rounded on her, eyes blazing. "I just - I'm not ready to deal with him just yet, Tanis. I can't … I can't even talk to him. If I do, then I might say something I'll have cause to regret later."
"Yeah," she said, on a heavy sigh. "I know. Believe me, I know. So what are you gonna do? We can't let this go on much longer."
"I don't know," he admitted, grimly. "He's wising up to the situation, now. That's why he kept the girl - although I don't even want to think about what he's going to do to her."
"Maybe Travis can keep his mind occupied so he doesn't do anything to her," she suggested.
The look he shot her made her wish she had kept her mouth shut. "I don't doubt that he will," he said, darkly. "Jesse won't let any harm come to anyone else if he can do anything to prevent it. He's kinda noble that way."
'And you aren't?' she wanted to say, but didn't. "Well, that's good, isn't it?" she muttered, instead.
"Maybe," he agreed, although he looked extremely dubious about it. "But Kyle's unstable and I wouldn't trust him not to turn on Jesse if he thinks he's standing in the way of him getting something."
"Well, he's already hurt him," mused Tanis. "You're probably right. You're gonna have to think of something else to offer him in order to get those two people out of there."
"Yeah." Steve didn't sound convinced of his ability to do that. "And short of immunity from all charges and a pot load of money - which he's gonna ask for next, by the way, together with free passage out of the country if I'm not mistaken, what do you suggest?"
Tanis didn't have an answer for him.

Jesse regained his senses to the sound of muffled screams. For a long moment, he remained still, completely disoriented, unable to figure out where he was or what was going on. His head ached incessantly and the light from above was hurting his eyes. With a groan, he half rolled over, seeking the softness of his pillow in which to bury his face, to hide from the piercing brightness. But the bed was hard and unyielding and it took long moments before it slowly registered in his befuddled mind that he was lying on the floor.

The screams were becoming more intense, more frantic and he struggled to make sense of where he was and what was happening as memories began slowly filtering back.
The bookstore.
Kyle!
His eyes sprang open as he remembered the events of the morning. From his prone position on the floor, he could see the bookcases where the hostages had been huddled. There was no-one there. His palm splayed outward on the floor, he struggled to rise, only making it halfway before the room began to spin dizzyingly around him.
'Concussion' he noted, pragmatically. Well, it wasn't like he'd never had one before. He knew the drill. Take it easy, don't move too fast.
At least he didn't have far to fall.
Blinking rapidly in an effort to clear his blurred vision, he turned his head, seeking out the others.
The store appeared to be empty.
No, that couldn't be right.
If that were the case, Steve knew he was here and wouldn't he have come to find him?
Then he remembered their last, acrimonious exchange and sighed, heavily.
No, maybe not, then.
But if the store was empty, that meant that Mark had been taken to the hospital.
Relief rushed through him at this thought.
Thank god.
That was probably where Steve was, then - with his dad. It was the way it should be.
He deeply regretted the way their last conversation had gone, although a niggling memory deep in his mind told him that they had spoken since. He had no clear recollection of that, however and wasn't entirely sure it wasn't the product of his admittedly fertile imagination.
But he didn't begrudge his friend leaving him there to accompany the older man. Mark was his father, after all and they had a wonderful, amazing relationship. Jesse remembered remarking on it recently, wondering aloud at the fact that they lived together, worked together a lot and even played chess together. Mark had asked him why it wasn't like that with his own father. Jesse smiled wryly now as he recalled his response.
"Oh I get a birthday card every year,' he had replied. He had opened up to Mark that day - probably because he had truly believed that as he was dying, why not? Under normal circumstances of course he would never have revealed so much about the non relationship he had with his dad. It was something he deeply regretted and had tried - without too much success, it appeared - not to be bitter about. It wasn't like he resented his dad's new family. After all, it was hardly their fault the man had left him and his mom. But he couldn't help wondering what they had that he didn't.
Even Mark's admission that he and his daughter barely spoke hadn't made much difference. He would have given anything to have had Mark Sloan for a father. The man was warm, compassionate and obviously loved Steve very much. It was so obvious and yet not in an overt kind of way. Instead he had - what did he have? A 'nothing' relationship with a father with whom he had barely exchanged two civil words since he had walked out on Jesse and his mom so many years earlier.
Well, apart from the phone call after his brush with smallpox.
His dad had seemed genuinely concerned about him, even a little frightened. He had been all set to come out and make sure for himself that Jesse was okay. It had sent a feeling of warmth through the young doctor's aching heart. His dad cared. He truly cared.
Of course, he hadn't come. He had telephoned again a couple of days later. He had somewhere he had to be, he had told Jesse. Something important to do.
'Yeah, right, dad. Anything's more important than your son, right? Oh, sorry, your firstborn son.'
Tears sprang to his eyes as the memory washed over him, banishing for a moment the present.
Until another sound of terror jerked him rudely back to the present.
"Wh …?" His throat closed around the word, the residual soreness preventing it from escaping, as he struggled to his knees.
He gazed around, finally realising that the piteous sounds were originating from behind the counter. Cautiously, he crawled across the floor, to peer around it, and froze in momentary horror at what he found.
The next moment he exploded into action, launching himself at one of the two figures, impacting hard with the larger of the two as they writhed on the floor.
Kyle never knew what hit him. Admittedly, Jesse was shorter and a lot lighter than the younger man, but his momentum succeeded in driving Kyle off the young woman, impelling him into the wall.
The gunman lay there stunned, for a full moment, as Jesse fought to recover from the sudden movement - which had only made him feel dizzier and had re-awakened his previous nausea. Then, before the doctor could do more than haul himself upward to lean against the counter, head in his hands, Kyle surged to his feet and in two quick steps was beside the other man, dragging him to his feet by his shirt collar.
Jesse blinked open his eyes to find himself staring into a face darkened with rage. Kyle's teeth were bared and insanity glinted in the brown eyes.
"She was mine!" he roared, spittle flying from his mouth and hitting Jesse in the face. "You had no right!"
"Ky … Kyle …" Jesse couldn't breathe. He was utterly terrified of what might happen to him now. And, if something were to befall him, then the clerk would be at Kyle's mercy. "I … I'm sorry," he managed. "I … I didn't …"
The young gunman backhanded him once then, evidently not satisfied with the punishment he had meted out, repeated the gesture several more times.
Jesse's head jerked backwards and forwards with the force of the blows, trying desperately to go with the pain but unable to suppress one whimper after another as the punishment continued. The beating was relentless and his agony went on until Kyle grew tired of hitting him and let him go, watching dispassionately as his victim sank to the floor, face red from the force of the blows and fresh blood flowing from where the young man's ring had caught the tender flesh.
"You … shouldn't have done that," he snarled, breathlessly. "I like you, Jesse. You're okay. But … you made me do it. It wasn't my fault. She's mine. You can't have her. I'm keeping her."
The words washed over him as Jesse writhed in pain, his cheeks stinging from the aftermath of the slaps. All of Kyle's not inconsiderable strength had been behind them and he had a feeling that he was going to end up with a face three sizes bigger than it should be by the time the day ended. That was, of course, unless Kyle killed him first, which still seemed a distinct possibility.
"S … sorry!" he gasped out. "Ky … Kyle …"
Gentle hands touched his shoulder and he flinched. It was an instinctive reaction.
"It's okay, Jesse. I forgive you." Kyle's voice had calmed and now he seemed truly repentant about his actions. Jesse wasn't fooled though. He might seem sorry now but who knew what would goad him into another attack and what might that consist of? He just hadn't been able to sit by and watch the young woman being sexually assaulted - which was what had compelled him to attack Kyle in the first place.
God, why couldn't he ever let well alone?
He'd been pretty badly beaten up in college once - he'd wound up in the hospital with a pretty nasty concussion and bruised kidneys as a result of defending a young woman who had been beset by some of his peers. They hadn't taken too kindly to his interference either, setting about him with their fists and feet, finally rendering him unconscious before fleeing the scene. At least the young woman had escaped. It had been the only bright spot in the whole situation.
His mother had been called and had been forced to cancel her appearance at an important medical seminar to see her only son in the hospital. To say she hadn't been happy with him would have been an understatement. She had launched into a bitter tirade as soon as she had walked into his room, blaming him for pulling her away at a crucial time and demanding to know what he thought he had been doing, getting involved in something he should have left alone.
Not once had she asked him how he was feeling.
The only iota of sympathy had come when he had moved and then winced as the stitches had pulled. Even then it had been evident that she was there under sufferance as she pulled away the blankets, jerked away his hospital gown and inspected the wound. A disapproving expression had crossed her face and she had summoned the doctor taking care of him, telling him in no uncertain terms that her 'baby' wasn't being taken care of well enough and that she was not pleased about the level of care he had been receiving. "What's more, those sutures are a disgrace!" she had told the bemused man. "A twelve-year old could have done better. I expect to be informed that you are taking better care of my son in the future." Then she had stormed out in high indignation, telling Jesse that she had important things to take care of.
'Yeah, mom' he remembered thinking. 'Anything's more important than your only son, isn't it?'
Mrs Travis had not been pleased when he had entered medical school. Instead, she had lectured him about the necessities of making money and ensuring a life for himself - something he obviously wouldn't be able to do with a medical career because he would never be a good doctor, like she was. She had brought up the subject of his cousin, Morty, a successful businessman already at a young age. Comparing the two of them had become something of a habit with her. Apparently, Morty was everything he wasn't. Brilliant, successful, handsome and a real hit with the ladies. Jesse knew he would never be able to emulate his cousin - especially in the area of women. Not that he wanted to. Morty was a playboy and had broken a lot of hearts. Jesse was more circumspect in his relationships. He truly cared about his - admittedly few - girlfriends. He saw them as people - to be respected and cherished. Not as a trophy to be shown off to his friends.
He reflected that it was just as well he and Morty were pals, because otherwise, especially with his mother's constant, unfavourable comparison of the two of them, he might have hated the other young man.
It was a wonder he hadn't wound up bitter and twisted, he mused, as he fought to stay conscious, whilst Kyle rubbed his shoulder and he tried not to shy away from the insidious touch.
Idly, he wondered whether something similar in Kyle's background had actually moulded his volatile nature. It was strange - the two of them having so much in common and yet not being at all alike.
"You know, we should be pals," Kyle was saying, obviously completely oblivious to the fact that his victim was probably seconds away from passing out again. His hand continued to massage Jesse's shoulder as he squatted on the floor next to the young doctor. "I mean, we both have rotten dads, right? What about your mom, Jesse? She any good? My mom - well, she was okay, I guess. She tried real hard. Went out to work two jobs to support me and my sister. Did I tell ya, I had a sister? She was real pretty. Well, until that group of guys got her. Then she wasn't pretty no more." He laughed. It was a harsh, brutal sound. "My mom was never the same after that," he went on, absently. "My sister wasn't either. She killed herself, ya know? Blew her brains out in the bathroom. Police told us women don't usually do it with guns. Don't know where she got it, either. It was a real small gun - didn't look like it had the power to do what it did. Took us months to get the blood off the walls. Floorboards never really got clean. After that my mom more or less gave up. Quit her jobs, went on welfare, started drinkin' … I tried, man. I tried but I couldn't get through to her. She died two weeks ago. 'Cirrhosis of the liver', they told me. Then they had to explain what they meant. Seems she'd damaged it by drinkin' so much and it had just stopped workin'. But I don't understand how that could happen, ya know? I mean, she still had her heart and lungs and they'd been workin' fine. What'd she need her liver for, anyway?"
'Because it removes or neutralises poisons and eliminates bacteria and germs from the blood. It also produces immune agents which control infection, amongst other things," Jesse wanted to say. "You can't survive without a functioning liver." Unfortunately, he couldn't summon his voice.
"Had to bury her last week," sniffed Kyle. He wiped irritably at a stray tear. "Lost my whole family, man and my dad didn't even come to the funeral. Didn't care enough, I guess."
"I …. I'm sorry," Jesse finally managed to say, if only in a strained whisper. "S'awful."
"Yeah, well - y' know, ya live with it, dontcha?"
Evidently not. No wonder the kid was so screwed up. Jesse couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He'd been through hell. "Kyle …" he began, before the shrill sound of the telephone interrupted what he had been about to say.
With a sigh, Kyle removed his hand from Jesse's shoulder and rose to his feet, padding slowly across to the telephone and picking it up. "Yeah?" he ground out.

Steve's waning patience had almost worn out by the time the phone was answered. He resisted the urge to demand 'where the hell were you?', instead, amending it to a terse "Hello, Kyle."
"Oh, it's you," came the indifferent response. "What d'you want?"
"What do I want?" thought Steve. 'I want to come in there and beat the hell out of you for what you've done to my father and my friend!' "Enjoy your pizza, Kyle?" he asked, instead.
"It was okay. Needed more cheese."
"So, what shall we do now, Kyle?"
"I dunno. What d'you wanna do?"
"I want to go home. And I suspect those people you have in there would like to go home too."
"Uh-huh. No way, man."
Steve hadn't expected it to be easy. Nevertheless, his heart sank at the resolute tone of the young man's voice. "So how long are you going to keep them in there?" he demanded. "You can't stay there forever, Kyle. And we can't keep bringing you food."
"Why not?" came the petulant response. "It worked okay last time."
Steve gritted his teeth. "Yes, it worked okay. But you're holding those people against their will, Kyle. They want to get out of there. And the bookstore has to open again some time. You can't stay there indefinitely."
"Uh …"
"Kyle?"
"Look, don't rush me, okay, man!" the young man's tone was sharp and irritable. "I … I gotta think."
Steve sighed. Then he decided to try a different tack. "So, how are the other two people?"
"They're … they're fine," Kyle said, somewhat evasively.
"Can I talk to them?"
"No! No … I mean, what's wrong with talkin' to me?"
Striving to retain his composure, Steve balled his hands into fists at his side. However, his voice was even when he answered the young man's question. "Because I just need to know how they are."
"You asked me how they were!" Kyle pointed out, acidly. "You don't trust me?"
"It's not that I don't trust you, Kyle. It's just that I .."
"Screw you!"
"Kyle …"
"No! Screw you, Mr detective! You call me back when you have something good to say!"
Before Steve could respond to that, the line went dead. He hesitated for the merest instant then nodded to the guys at the back of the truck. "Dial it again," he ordered in a terse voice.

"He's playin' me! That bastard is playin' me! He wants to kill me, I know he does! He wants me dead!"
Jesse covered his ears with his hands and curled into a tight ball as Kyle stormed around the store, screaming out his fury and venting it on anything that stood in his way. A lamp was torn from its socket and flung into a bookcase, where it smashed, sending shards of glass catapulting around the small space. A shelf was kicked viciously, culminating in several books falling onto the floor, whereupon one of them was picked up and torn apart, the sound of ripping paper an apt accompaniment to the violent proclamations spewing out of Kyle's mouth.
Jesse was terrified of what Kyle was going to do next. He had visions of being treated like the bookcase, could almost feel the booted foot striking him a direct blow in the stomach or the chest. He didn't think he could endure that form of beating - no, scratch that. He knew he couldn't.
Then there was the clerk. He could hear her ragged breathing nearby. She was whimpering softly, still in distress after what Kyle had been trying to do to her. Jesse risked glancing up, his eyes darting around in search of the young woman. He found her at the far edge of the counter. She was lying curled on her side, tears streaming down her wan cheeks, eyes wide with fear. She was trembling violently. The top of her shirt had been torn and one short sleeve hung in tatters. There were scratches on her neck and her blonde hair was in total disarray.
"It's okay," Jesse hastened to reassure her, in a voice which sounded like sandpaper and felt the same way. "It's okay."
She obviously didn't believe him. He had to admit that it was difficult to be convincing with their captor throwing a violent temper tantrum around the store, finding expression for his rage in destroying everything he could lay his hands and feet on.
The sound of the telephone almost made him jump out of his skin - it had a similar effect on the young woman.
Kyle didn't appear to have noticed it. He was too intent on the crazed path of destruction he was wreaking.
The sound was beginning to jar on Jesse's already shredded nerves. Cautiously, he raised himself off the floor, as much in deference to the pain he was in than his fear of Kyle spotting him and deciding it would be a good idea to take out his frustrations on one of his captives.
Picking up the instrument gingerly, he ducked back behind the counter with it, then spoke into the receiver. "H … hello?"

The hoarse voice was such a surprise that Steve was lost for a words for a moment. Then they came back in a rush. "Jesse!" he exclaimed. "Are you okay?"
"Uh …"
"Jess?" Steve didn't like the sound of the young doctor's voice. Not at all. It was layered with pain and exhaustion. Plus it was almost inaudible - a consequence, he knew, of the near-strangulation Jesse had been on the wrong end of.
The urge to simply burst in to the bookstore and rescue his friend was becoming overwhelming and he had to fight not to just slam the phone down now and do just that.
But the odds of him reaching Jesse before Kyle did something stupid were astronomical. He couldn't put his friend's life in danger - not any more than it was already.
"Jesse, listen, we're doing everything we can … " his voice trailed off as the tinkling of glass and an infuriated roar echoed through the phone. "What the hell is going on there?"
"Kyle … he thinks you're … gonna kill him." It was obviously an effort just for the younger man to speak, let alone string a sentence together. "He's … not happy."
'Not happy'. That was an understatement. If the young gunman carried on this way there would be nothing remaining in the store for him to destroy - apart from his hostages.
"Will he … will he talk to me?" asked Steve, alarmed by the implications that were running through his mind at this latest quirk in Kyle's behaviour. It was becoming more and more erratic and more and more dangerous. He had to get Jesse and the girl out of there.
"Uh … I don't think that's … a good idea, Steve," croaked Jesse. "The last call … set him off."
Steve wiped a hand over his face, trying desperately to come up with a solution to this situation. He couldn't. Until Kyle calmed down he couldn't talk to him. But what if he didn't calm down? What if his next targets were Jesse and the girl? How could he help them when he was out here, so far away from them? God, he hated this. "Jess …"
"Who're you talkin' to, Jesse?"
The low voice from beside him startled Jesse so much that he nearly shot a mile into the air. The phone dropped from suddenly nerveless hands as he looked around to find Kyle not two inches away, the gun levelled at his head. There was an implacable expression on the other young man's face and he started to shake in earnest as he waited for the moment that the weapon would discharge. "I … I …"
Retrieving the telephone, Kyle deliberately replaced the receiver then, with one fluid motion, jerked the lead from the wall. "Now he won't be interruptin' us any more," he said. There was a distinct edge to his voice and his eyes were as hard as flint. "Didya call him, Jesse?" he went on, gently caressing the young doctor's cheek with the barrel of the gun. "Didya?"
Jesse couldn't speak. His breathing was ragged and his heart was pounding so loudly he could swear that Kyle could hear it. He wished it would quieten down - the last thing he wanted to do was antagonise him. He shook his head, swallowing hard
"Did he call us?"
A nod.
Kyle seemed satisfied with that.
He started to draw away from his captive, then suddenly swung back, the barrel of the gun impacting hard against Jesse's bruised cheekbone.
A strangled screech of pain escaped his abused throat and the world spun dizzyingly around him for several moments.
When it receded, he prised open his eyes to find Kyle crouched before him, regarding him with something akin to bewilderment. "I don't understand," the younger man said. "I thought we were friends. I offered you pizza, ya know? I didn't mean to hurt ya, Jesse. But you made me. I just … " He paused, reaching out his free hand to trail his fingers down the doctor's cheek. The contact stung but Jesse tried hard not to flinch, not knowing what would set the boy off again. "I'm sorry," he offered. "Does it hurt?"
Jesse didn't know what to reply. Did he say 'no' and risk incurring Kyle's wrath because he maybe hadn't hit him hard enough? Or did he say 'yes' and lay himself open for yet more of the same because Kyle might see an affirmative answer as resentment? He just stared at the younger man, his breathing emerging as short, painful gasps. "I … I …"
"We should get some ice, maybe," Kyle went on solicitously, as though he hadn't even asked the previous question. He turned to the wild-eyed clerk, who was cowering in the far corner of the counter. "Hey, is there somewhere we can get some ice?" he demanded, querulously. She merely stared at him, unable to answer because of the gag in her mouth. He uttered a brief laugh. "Oh, right. Never mind. I'll look for myself."
As he rose to his feet, he cast another look down at the barely conscious Jesse. Blood was trickling from his hairline, running over the drying blood that had already seeped out from the earlier gash. "Don't go away!" he ordered, cheerfully.

Steve was in an agony of apprehension. According to the tech guys the telephone line was now dead. It looked like Kyle had ripped it out of the wall after he had caught Jesse with it. The detective had caught those few words, 'Who're you talkin' to, Jesse?' just before the line had gone dead. He could picture the scene in his head as Kyle discovered Jesse talking to him. Unfortunately he had no idea what had transpired after, although his imagination was conjuring up all kinds of scenarios and he didn't much care for any of them. Not at all.
There had to be some way to get in there.
He had to get Jesse out.
Unfortunately, he had no ideas about how to do that that didn't involve getting someone killed.
And he had a pretty good idea about who would get caught in the crossfire.
God, this was all such a mess.

Kyle returned to Jesse with a triumphant smile on his face. Before the young doctor could protest, the gunman placed something ice-cold in his hand and carefully raised it to his aching face. "Ice," he declared, obviously highly pleased with himself. "Jus … keep it there. You'll be okay."
Jesse stared at him in incomprehension. "Why are you doing this, Kyle?" he asked, huskily. "I … I don't …"
The other young man placed his hand to Jesse's other cheek, cupping it gently. "Ssshh," he urged. "You know, you don' look well. Maybe we should get outta here."
"That … that'd be good."
Smiling, Kyle rose and picked up the receiver, then scowled as he remembered what he had done. "No!" he exclaimed, furiously. "I can't … Jesse, do you have a cellphone?"
Jesse's head was spinning and although the ice chips felt good against his burning cheek, the throb of pain in his head and face was constant. He could barely hold himself upright against the counter against which he was leaning and had to fight to remain conscious. He didn't dare pass out again. He didn't know what would happen to the girl if he did. He had to protect her at all costs. He had to.
The vow had become his mantra - and he was so focused on it that he didn't hear Kyle's question. It was only the soft breathing next to him that told him there was someone close by. Slowly, he focused his fuzzy vision on the other man, trying to make out the words through the ringing in his ears. "Wh … what?" he managed through thick lips.
"Cellphone?" Kyle enunciated, realising that Jesse was becoming incapable of coherency. He hadn't meant to hurt the guy this bad! God, he was bleeding heavily. His hair was matted with the stuff. It turned Kyle's stomach. It reminded him too much of the bathroom - the walls, the tub, the carpet. They had all been drenched. His sister's blood had been everywhere. There had been the biggest hole in her skull where the bullet had entered. The cops had found the slug in the wall above the shower. It had made a nice little hole. Funny, his mom had never fixed that up. Just kept it - like some kind of memento of his sister's life. He remembered the cops saying something about 'brain matter' and had almost thrown up on the spot when he had slipped on something soft and gelatinous and blood-streaked …
And now he had made Jesse bleed. He hadn't meant to. God, he hadn't. This was all wrong! He shouldn't be here. None of them should be here!
He glanced around at the clerk. She was crying silently, her body shaking from reaction. He hadn't meant to hurt her, either. Just … he just wanted someone to love him. He'd thought she would, but she'd just turned away and gotten him mad and … he'd hurt her too.
He had to do something. Had to stop this before it got out of control. As Jesse wasn't answering him, he thrust his hand into the doctor's pants pockets, swearing as all he pulled out was a slip of paper with an address on it and some keys. The other pocket yielded some success, however, as his fingers closed around something hard and metallic. God, let it be ..
Yes!
He stared at the phone for a moment. Then he realised he didn't know who to call. Whenever he'd spoken to 'Steve', the cop had initiated the call. With a sound of sheer frustration, he tightened his grip on the instrument, in an agony of indecision about what to do next.
Then he realised that Jesse was staring at him and hope began to flare again.
"You gotta call your friend," he urged.
"Wh … what?"
"You gotta call that cop. You know - Steve. You got his number, right?"
"Uh … Steve?" Jesse echoed, his perplexed expression clearly telling Kyle he hadn't the faintest clue what was going on.
Kyle wanted to hit him again. He wanted to drag the information out of him. He wanted to inflict pain. But he resisted the urge. The other man's blue eyes were clouded by pain and confusion, and he looked like he was going to pass out at any moment. "Jesse, listen," he said, grabbing the young doctor by the collar and forcing him upright as he started to slump to one side. "You got speed dial on this thing?"
"Sp … speed dial?"
"Yeah. You gotta number for Steve?"
"St … Steve? Uh … "
"Yeah, Steve - your buddy. Your pal. You got his number on here?"
Slowly, Jesse nodded. "Uh, yeah," he managed, dully. "Uh … it's … it's number two."
A wave of relief rushed through the young gunman. "Two, huh? Okay."

The vibration of his cellphone surprised Steve. Fumbling in his jacket pocket, he dragged it out and flipped it open. "Sloan!" he growled.
"Steve?"
"Amanda?"
"Oh, Steve, thank god. What's going on?"
She sounded scared and confused. He didn't blame her. Quickly, he recounted the morning's events to her, bare facts only, omitting the fact that Jesse had been hurt. "Are you at the hospital?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "Steve, Mark …"
A knot suddenly formed in his stomach and started to tighten. "Dad …?" His throat was dry and he couldn't form the question he knew he should ask next.
"It's okay, Steve," she said, seeking to reassure him. "He's in surgery. They're hopeful."
"Hope … hopeful?" he echoed. "What the hell does that mean?"
A heavy sigh echoed down the line. "Steve …."
"No, just tell me, Amanda," he grated out. "Is he gonna make it?"
"I don't know, Steve. But Mark's a fighter. He won't go anywhere if he can help it."
Steve felt sick. He had seen the injury. He knew how critical his father's condition was, even if Amanda wasn't admitting it. "Amanda, I …"
"I know, Steve. I know." Her gentle voice was a balm to his shattered soul and he realised she understood instinctively what he was trying to say. "I'll be here," she went on, confirming his belief. "I'll be here with him and he knows you would be if you could."
"I would," he said, heavily. "God, I wish I could be, but …"
"But Jesse needs you," she said. "I know. Steve, tell me. Is it as bad as they're making out on the news?"
"The … the news?" he echoed, stupidly, then groaned as he realised that was the reason she was calling him. She hadn't been calling to update him on his dad's condition - what was the point when she really didn't know herself? She had seen the item about the hostage situation on the hospital television. But what had she seen? How much had they sensationalised it? "Amanda … what are they saying?"
"That … that one of the hostages is hurt, that the gunman is psychotic and ready to kill both of them at any moment; that one of them is Jesse - that's why I was calling. Oh Steve …"
There was an unmistakeable sob in her voice. She and Jesse had become very close very quickly - she had practically become the older sister the young doctor had never had. She must have been distraught when she had heard that he was about to be killed. "Amanda, listen. He's okay. I promise you. He's a little beat up, but he's okay. We're gonna … "
"What?" she practically screamed down the phone.
"What, what?"
"You didn't tell me he was the one who was hurt, Steve! The news didn't say anything either! They just said one of them was … oh god. How bad is it? How bad?"
"He's okay!" he tried to insist, even though he knew it was a lie. "Amanda, I won't let anything happen to him. I promise."
"You better not, mister!" she ground out, through another sob. "You'd better get him out safe and sound! St … Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"Tell him … just tell him … I'm here, okay?"
"I will," he promised. "And, Amanda, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd seen it already and … I was just trying to spare you. You know?"
"I know. Look, I .. I have to go. I want to go up to the OR and see how Mark is doing. I'll call you when there's any news. I promise."
"And I'll do the same," he said.

"It's busy!" raged Kyle, gripping the cellphone so hard that Jesse thought he was going to break it with his bare hands. "Why's it busy? Here!" He thrust the instrument toward the dazed young doctor. "You try!"
Jesse stared in utter bewilderment at the phone. He couldn't figure out what he was supposed to be doing. He flicked a confused glance toward the other young man.
"Press two!" Kyle ordered him. "You speak to your friend!"
Obediently, Jesse put his finger against the number 'two', not even noticing that he had dropped the ice as he did so. The telephone beeped and then a ringing tone could be heard. Kyle beamed at him. "You did it, Jesse!" he exulted. "You did it!"
"Sloan here," came the response, almost immediately.
"St … Steve?"
"Oh thank god! Jesse?"
"S'me," he confirmed, dully.
"Jesse, are you hurt?"
He paused to think about that one. Kyle was staring at him with an intensity that was truly terrifying. The smile on his face was pleasant enough but it made Jesse shiver. "N … no," he finally replied, softly. "N…not really."

He was lying. Steve knew. He sounded worse than he had before. What the hell had Kyle done to him now, or was this simply a deterioration of his previous condition? Unfortunately, he didn't have the time to prise the truth out of his friend. "Okay," he said, as steadily as he could given how scared he was for the younger man. "Okay, well, just … hang in there and … don't do anything to antagonise the guy, okay?"
There was a brief snort of laughter from the other end. It sounded almost hysterical. "Okay," agreed Jesse. Then, "Steve?"
"Yeah, pal."
"How … how's Mark?"
The detective closed his eyes as anguish swept through him. Amanda's phone call was fresh in his mind, as was her promise to let him know the outcome of his father's surgery. He couldn't get that last picture of him out of his mind. The way he had looked - grey, old, practically dead. "I … I don't know yet, Jess," he forced out. "But he's at Community General and they're taking good care of him."
"Okay."
"Okay, that's enough." The harsh grating voice of the young gunman replaced Jesse's as the phone was torn out of his hands. He yelped as Kyle's fingers scraped his bloodied cheek and fell back against the counter, his strength draining away.

Steve heard the faint cry and felt his jaw tighten in response. If this bastard thought he was going to get away with continually hurting his best friend, he had another think coming.
Expending a huge effort, he fought to control the anger that was being fuelled by the rough treatment being meted out to Jesse. He had to remain calm and detached. He couldn't afford to give Kyle any more advantage over him. The price might be one he couldn't afford. "So, Kyle," he said, evenly. "You ready to talk now?"

Kyle narrowed his eyes. The cop's tone was condescending and it was grating on his nerves. He glanced toward Jesse. His new friend looked terrible. "Okay," he said. "I wanna make a deal."
Steve sighed. He had known this was coming. "Okay, Kyle" he said, carefully. "What kind of a deal?"
"I wanna let the clerk go."
If Steve was disappointed by his choice of hostages it wasn't evident in his voice. "Okay. What do you want for her?"
"I want … uh … I need a doctor."
Steve frowned. "Uh, why do you need a doctor, Kyle?" he asked.
"My friend's hurt."
Utterly bewildered now, the detective traded glances with Tanis, who was listening to the conversation on another set of headphones. She shook her head, equally confused. "Friend? What friend?"
"Jesse, of course!" came the exasperated response. "My friend, Jesse!"
"What?" Steve thundered. "Why? What the hell did you do to him, Kyle?"
Silence. Immediately, Steve regretted his outburst. But the request had struck terror in his heart - and seemed to have come out of left field. He didn't even want to contemplate the kinds of injuries Kyle may have inflicted on the young doctor to warrant him requiring medical assistance. And what was with Kyle's sudden concern for his hostage now? What gave him the audacity to call Jesse his friend when he'd done nothing but hold him hostage and beat him up? He raged inwardly, aching to storm in and rescue the young doctor from Kyle's clutches. He knew he was losing all control of his emotions but he was completely powerless to prevent it from happening.
Tanis eyed her partner in concern, noting his ragged breathing and the barely contained fury on his face. He was on the verge of losing it completely, Kyle's statement having snapped his already severely tested patience.
She sincerely hoped that his outburst had not provoked the young gunman into further violence against his hostages. If Travis was killed now, Steve would forever blame himself. She didn't want to see that happen. She respected her partner too much to see him destroy himself over something like this. Not when it wasn't his fault that he had been caught up in it in the first place.
Kyle was unpredictable, veering from what seemed like genuine concern for his victims on one hand to violent temper tantrums on the other. His behaviour was almost childlike in its simplicity - fractious, self-absorbed and wilful. She prayed that the next sound she heard would be his voice and not that of a gunshot.
"St … Steve?"
Jesse's voice was the most beautiful sound Steve - and Tanis for that matter- had ever heard. But they could both tell that he was practically at the end of his endurance. Whatever Kyle had done to him was taking its toll. No wonder he needed a doctor.
"Jesse!" Steve exclaimed. "Jess, are you …"
"N … no, listen," his friend interrupted. His voice was faint and shaky. "Kyle …. Kyle says he'll … let the girl go if …"
"If we get a doctor in there, I know, pal," interjected Steve. One hand had balled itself into a tight fist, his nails digging into his palm and drawing blood, although he barely noticed the stinging sensation beyond the pain in his heart. "Okay, tell Kyle we'll do it. I'll get someone down here right away. We're gonna get you out, Jesse and you're gonna be okay. Okay?"
"No."
"What?"
"No," Jesse repeated. "No more … hostages, Steve. I'll … don't worry. I'll handle .. it."
"Jesse, no!" protested the detective, horrified at his friend's words and apparent intent. If Jesse wanted to commit suicide he was damned if he was going to stand by and watch. "Jess, just tell him …"
"No." The word was barely audible, the determination in Jesse's voice could not have been clearer. "No, Steve."
Then he was cut off.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage. But all he could do was sit there, staring at the equipment in front of him, completely helpless. His eyes met the cool blue gaze of his partner, seeking inspiration, or maybe absolution. What he found there was a determination to match the tone of Jesse's voice.
"Get the doctor," she said, levelly. "Steve, don't listen to Travis. Get the doctor. Do it."
He swallowed once, nodded and reached for his cell.

"What'd you do that for?" Kyle whined as Jesse closed his hand around the cellphone, shutting off the call.
Jesse gazed up at him. The young man was a blurry figure, moving agitatedly around in front of him. He could barely distinguish his features any more and he knew that he was in serious trouble. He wasn't entirely sure if his skull had been cracked during the last assault, but his concussion had definitely worsened. He almost giggled at his own self-diagnosis.
He had practically ripped the cellphone out of Kyle's hands when the younger man had made his request for a doctor in return for the young woman - citing the excuse that he needed medical assistance. He figured he must have surprised the young gunman, because the anticipated retaliation for his action had not come straight away and, at present, didn't look likely.
He had been the one to hear Steve's roar of outrage at Kyle's words. He thanked providence at that moment that Kyle hadn't been on the receiving end of it; there was no knowing what it would have prompted him to do otherwise. Jesse couldn't blame Steve for being so furious. Kyle was not giving up a hostage. He was probably trying to exchange one with another. And Jesse was not about to give him the excuse he needed to do that.
The relief in Steve's voice when he had realised who he was speaking to had been palpable. Jesse assumed that he must have realised too late that his reaction might provoke Kyle into some kind of violent retribution against his captives and must have been very happy to know that that had not, in fact, been the case.
But he was determined that no-one else should get caught up in this. He could handle Kyle. He had to. He had no intention of letting anyone else get hurt. If he could convince Kyle that he only needed the one hostage, maybe he would let the clerk go without wishing to swap her for someone else - someone on whom he could vent his rage and the personal demons he seemed to be carrying around with him.
If only everything would remain still. He was so woozy and his head felt like it might split apart at any moment. There was an uncomfortable stickiness down the side of his face - blood, he assumed, from the injuries Kyle had inflicted upon him, and he was pretty sure that he was going to throw up at any moment.
He just hoped he missed Kyle if he did. He didn't think that would go down too well.
"Jesse?"
The soft voice startled him. He hadn't realised he had been so lost in reflection that he had practically drifted away. His eyes had closed, too, probably an automatic reaction against the light. "Uh … yeah?" he mumbled, indistinctly.
"Jesse, I was tryin' to get a doctor for ya? Why'd ya do that?" demanded Kyle, a little petulantly. Jesse prised his eyes open again - it was a huge effort and he wished he hadn't bothered as the room spun crazily around him. He started to topple over, only to be caught and held by a pair of strong arms. "St … Steve?" he sighed.
"No, it's Kyle," came the reply. "Jesse, you … you're bleedin'."
'No shit, Sherlock.' "I …. know," he said, softly. "Kyle …. Let her go, okay? You … you don't need her. You've … got me. Just … please, please let her go."
"Will that make you happy, Jesse?"
Great. How was he supposed to answer that? If he said 'yes' would Kyle then refuse to let her go because he didn't want Jesse to be happy or if he said 'no', would he refuse to do it unless it made him happy? He didn't know what to say for the best. "I … uh … I .." he faltered.
"Because if it makes ya happy, then I'll do it. I din't mean to hurt ya, ya know? I wanna make it up to ya."
Okay. That answered his question. If only he could get his stupid lips to move. "I … I … uh … yes," he whispered, feeling himself falling sideways into the young man's arms. "Yes, it would make me happy."
"Okay!" Kyle jumped up, letting Jesse continue his journey to the floor, which he hit with a resounding 'thump'. The young man regarded him with uncertainty for a moment, wondering if he'd meant to do that, then dismissed the thought.
"Hey," he said, kneeling beside the terrified clerk. "You wanna get outta here?"
She nodded frantically, her eyes following his every movement.
"Okay," he said. Deftly, he untied her as swiftly as he had bound her and removed the gag with a flourish. "You can go," he said, indifferently. "Cos you don't love me. You never did. I should just shoot you now …" He paused, levelling the gun at her, smiling as she recoiled, throwing up her arms to ward off any bullet that might be aimed at her head. "Nah, you can go," he went on, lowering the weapon again. "I was only kiddin'."

"Steve, there's something happening at the store!"
The detective spun around at Tanis's words, just in time to see the door opening and a figure emerge. Hope flared in his heart for all of two seconds, until he recognised the clerk - he'd visited the store with his dad on a couple of occasions, whiling away a boring half hour chatting to the young woman. She was working there whilst getting her Doctorate in Paleontology. She had enthused about her topic, telling him all about the various dinosaurs she had been studying. He had pretended to listen, all the while admiring her deep blue eyes and glossy golden hair.
And now she was being released. He watched nervously as she was approached by cops garbed in bullet proof vests and helmets, who hustled her away to the side and then his eyes immediately returned to the door, fostering a vain hope that the next figure to come into view would be his best friend.
But the door swung shut almost as soon as she was gone and before any of the cops could rush it.
The flicker of hope died and he swore under his breath. "Dammit!" Slamming his fist on the side of the truck did nothing to help alleviate his frustration and fear, plus he hit it so hard he almost broke his hand. The pain gave him something to focus on, though. Something other than his father - undergoing life-saving surgery at the hospital and his best friend, still a hostage of a young man whose behaviour was growing increasingly erratic and unstable.
"You okay?" asked Tanis, a wry grin on her face, having witnessed the blow to the truck and the resulting wince on her partner's face.
"Oh, just peachy!" he replied, sardonically. "My friend is still in there with that psycho and my dad's … my dad's …" He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't even want to contemplate what was going on at Community General. All he knew for sure was that he couldn't envisage life without his dad. Mark Sloan had always been there for him. From the first skinned knee when he fell out of a tree at 5 years old …
'He shouldn't have been up there!' his mom had bemoaned as his father tended to the bloody limb. His dad had merely smiled, fondly amused by his son's antics and adventurous spirit.
'It's all right, Katherine', he had assured her. 'He's just fine. See? Just a little scrape on his knee.'
'It's a scrape this time, Mark,' his mother had lectured the older Sloan. 'What will it be next time? A broken neck?'
'No, dear,' his father had replied, calmly. 'We're not going up that tree again until we're old enough to know how to climb, are we, Steve?' He had wanted to ask who this 'we' was, as he didn't remember his dad being up the tree with him, but he had nodded anyway, happy to please his father, although he had been sorry that he had upset his mom.
'I'm sorry, mom,' he had apologised, running to fling his arms around her. 'I won't do it again, I promise!'. Of course, he had - and more besides. Until he had grown older and joined the police force. He didn't know when it had happened but sometime in those intervening years he had become a hell of a lot more cautious, or, as Jesse liked to call him, 'an old stick in the mud'.
Tears sprang to his eyes as the memory overwhelmed him and for a moment or two he was oblivious to anything outside his own sphere of recollection. Then he became aware of a voice trying to attract his attention and jerked himself away from his memories. "Huh?" he demanded.
"Lost you there, partner," Tanis commented, looking a little concerned. "It's okay, Steve," she went on. "Your father's a tough old boot. He'll make it. As for Travis in there - well, maybe there's hope now that the kid has let the clerk go."
"Yeah, maybe," he replied, although he didn't believe that for an instant. Jesse was in the store with a kid who might go psycho on him at any moment. In fact, he half expected the next sound he heard to be a gunshot - ending the young doctor's life. He shuddered as a chill ran the length of his spine. No, he wasn't going to think of it. That was a sure way to drive himself nuts.
"I gotta call him," he murmured, turning back to the equipment.
"What?" demanded Tanis.
"I gotta call Kyle. I have to thank him."
She stared at him as though he had just escaped from a mental asylum. "You have to what?"
He smiled humourlessly at her. "It's the only way to keep the lines of communication open, Tanis," he pointed out. "And he did something of his own free will here. Without waiting for the doctor he was so keen to have. I have to tell him we appreciate it. It will give him an advantage but this is one I'm willing to let him have."
She shrugged. "Okay," she said. "You gonna try to make him let Travis go?"
"Yeah. I'm also gonna see if he'll give himself up," he replied, heavily. "But I doubt if he's gonna be receptive to that idea."

The telephone had barely started to ring before it was picked up.
"Kyle?" Steve queried.
"Yeah?"
The detective took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "Kyle, thank you," he said, earnestly. "Thank you for letting Melissa go."
"The clerk? Oh, ya know, she was just getting' in the way."
Steve didn't even want to know what she was getting in the way of. Instead, he continued with his conversation. "Kyle, what about letting Jesse go?" he asked, tentatively. "And you could come out too. It's been a long day. Wouldn't you like to go home?" He was aware that he was beginning to sound patronising and winced. He hoped Kyle wouldn't pick up on that and take it out on Jesse.
"Yeah … about that?"
"Yeah?"
"Jesse doesn't want a doctor," Kyle told him. "He says he don't need one and you gotta believe him, right? He's a doctor himself, right? And … we're not coming out. We're all cosy here. You can all go home if ya like. I'm stayin' right here and Jesse's stayin' with me."
"Kyle …"
"Gotta go now," he said, in a sing-song voice that jarred Steve's raw nerves. "Jesse and I got things we gotta do."
"Kyle … Kyle? Kyle!"

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