Disclaimer: Only my original characters belong to me.

THE LAST KISS

by Guardian

There is no sound in the world like the sound of a gunshot. Not a car back-firing, not a firework. If it sounded like a gunshot - then it was a gunshot.
These thoughts swiftly crossed Jesse's mind as, on leaving BBQ Bob's late one Thursday night, he heard that very same sound.
"Christ," he muttered, as he dropped his bag of take-out and took off at a run towards the alley he was convinced the shot had come from. He pulled out his cell-phone and dialled 911 as he ran. Even though he had not found evidence of any crime, a gun had been fired and he needed help.
There was a maze of alleys at the back of BBQ Bob's and, guided only by the memory of a sound, it took Jesse more than a little time to find what he was looking for.
He had been so hoping that he had been wrong that the sight that met his eyes filled him with dismay. A young man lay sprawled on his back amidst an array of litter and even from a distance, Jesse could see the blood that had pooled around him.
"It's okay," he breathed, skidding to a halt alongside the fallen man. "I'm a doctor. You're going to be okay."
He could hear sirens in the distance but knew that no help would arrive in time, the man had already lost too much blood. But he was also a doctor and truly believed that there was no such thing as a hopeless case. Stripping off his jacket, he folded it up and used it to apply pressure to the ugly wound in the other man's chest. He looked at the man's face and saw with dismay that he was little more than a boy, no older than in his early twenties.
"You're going to be okay," he murmured again.
But, as he checked the young man's vital signs, he knew that he'd lied. The boy was dying and, while he continued to put pressure on the wound, he knew that it wouldn't be enough.
Jesse glanced up as the approaching sirens grew impossibly loud, before being suddenly silenced. Car doors slammed
"Over here!" he called, knowing how difficult it would be for anyone to find them in the myriad of alleyways. But his concern was switched back to his patient as the body beneath him bucked against his caring touch.
"David..?"
"Sshh," Jesse tried to sooth him. He reapplied his grip to the bandage he'd fashioned. Glancing up and cursing the cops' cautious approach, he yelled: "I need some help here!"
"David."
This time, the young man spoke on a sigh and Jesse felt a moment of raw panic as he realised that his patient had not fought to replace the breath that he had last released.
"He's here," he said, improvising quickly and taking his patient's hand in a firm grip. "He's right here. And he wants you to hang on. Please."
"Can't…" The young man gasped in a desperate breath, his body arching up against the pain. "David!"
And Jesse, kneeling by his side, trying to preserve his life but knowing that the effort was futile, did the only thing he could.
"I'm here," he whispered, offering what little comfort he could to a dying man. "It's David. I'm here."
"David…"
Jesse recognised that death was imminent. The continued howling of sirens in the background was a moot point. The boy would be dead before any ambulance arrived.
"I'm here," he breathed again and lowered his head down to the dying man. "Don't ever forget that David loves you."
And Jesse kissed the anonymous stranger, kissed him chastely but hoped to offer some comfort to his spirit. With a final whispered - and possibly imagined - 'I love you' the young man died.

*****

Jesse sat on the back step of the ambulance, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His jacket had been ruined by the young man's blood and the night air had a distinct chill to it.
"His name was Anthony Bryant," a uniformed officer told him. "And you're saying that you didn't know him?"
There was frank disbelief in the man's voice, but Jesse didn't overly care. He was too busy regretting the waste of such a young life and the fact that his knowledge - his skill - had ultimately proved to be useless.
He could recognise the fact that he was in shock, but he still tried to answer the officer's questions as best he could. In truth, there was very little that he could tell them. He'd never met the victim in his life before, had no idea as to who the David was he'd cried out so longingly for. And he hadn't seen any sign of the shooter.
Eventually, Jesse was allowed to go home. He was in no fit state to drive and he gratefully accepted the offer of a lift from the cop who'd questioned him. During the journey, he tried to ignore the nagging feeling that had settled in his head, that the police hadn't believed everything he'd told them.
The main bone of contention was the kiss, which more than one cop had witnessed. Jesse did his best to explain why he had done what he had: that he had wanted Anthony to believe that there was someone with him who cared about him - that he wasn't dying alone and unloved - but he had a hard time putting that into words.
He had stopped even trying to explain when one of the cops had referred to the dead man as his boyfriend.
The traumatic events of the night weighed heavily on him and he knew that sleep would be a long time coming. He could only pray that Steve was awake and waiting for him. He needed comfort and only the tall detective, who had so recently become his lover, could give it to him.
But when he got home, the apartment was in darkness. Jesse let himself in quietly and headed straight for the kitchen. Coffee probably wasn't the best idea, just before he tried to sleep, but he needed something to help stop his hands from trembling.
As he flicked the light on, his eyes fell onto a note that had been left on the kitchen counter. A note written in Steve's all too familiar script.
Babe, Jesse read, his heart sinking. I've been called into work. I am so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Love Steve.
Jesse moaned aloud. So much for him being quiet. His lover wasn't even home to be disturbed. Wandering into the bedroom, Jesse looked down at the empty bed and his eyes filled with tears. He craved to be held to keep the nightmares at bay but, with Steve at work, he knew that Anthony Bryant's face would be haunting him for a long time to come.

*****

Steve was not in a good mood. Not only had his night off been interrupted by a terse phone call from Cheryl but, once he had arrived at the precinct, all of his colleagues seemed to be acting decidedly oddly. People seemed to be going out of their way to actively avoid him.
More than once he'd tried to corner one of his colleagues to find out just what was going on, but on each occasion he had been fobbed off by the flimsiest of excuses - or, worse still, completely ignored.
Eventually, he caught up with his partner and dragged her into an empty interview room, determined that she wasn't going to give him the run-around as well.
"You wanna tell me what the Hell's going on here?" He growled, as he slammed the door shut behind him. "I'm called in - on my day off - because there's been a murder but, so far, nobody's even told me who the victim is."
Cheryl looked at him for a long moment, taking in just how pissed he was and wished that she were somewhere - anywhere - else. But Steve was blocking her only escape route, so she had no choice.
"Okay," she began, taking a deep breath. "The victim was Anthony Bryant. He was twenty-one years old and had been shot once in the chest. It looks like a robbery."
"And I'm needed here for what reason?" Steve snapped, more confused than ever.
"The attending officers weren't the first on the scene. There was…" Even Cheryl seemed strangely reticent in briefing him. "Somebody else got there first and was with the victim."
"Yeah, so?" Steve's impatience was growing by the second - he'd given up a night in with his lover for this. "That's not unusual…"
"Steve, the shooting happened not far from BBQ Bob's and the man at the scene… Steve, it was Jesse."
The tall detective couldn't interpret the look on his partner's face. She looked almost embarrassed.
"And?" He prompted, knowing full well that she knew all about their relationship. There was no reason for embarrassment. "Jesse works just around the corner. He heard the shot and went to investigate. What's wrong with that?"
"One of the officers…" Cheryl was almost squirming, hating the fact that she had to be the one to do this and dreading what reaction she might get. "He referred to Jesse as Anthony Bryant's boyfriend. He said that… He said he saw Jesse… kiss him."
She waited for the explosion that she thought was bound to follow and was truly surprised when it was not forthcoming. A slow smile spread across Steve's face.
"That's it?" He demanded, incredulously. "That's why everyone's been tip-toeing around me? You thought I was really gonna believe that?" He let out a short bark of laughter. "The officer obviously made a mistake. Jesse's a doctor, he comes across a dying man, he performs CPR. In a dark alley, I can see how it might look like…"
"It wasn't CPR, Steve." Cheryl's quiet voice forced the truth home to him. "It wasn't resuscitation. They were… They were holding hands."
"And has anyone spoken to Jesse about this?" Steve felt his fury beginning to grow, directed not at his lover, but at his colleagues. He trusted Jesse implicitly and was enraged that anyone could think of him as being unfaithful. "Asked him just what his relationship was with this… Anthony Bryant?"
"Of course we took a statement and Jesse claims that he didn't know Bryant at all, that he'd never met him before he came across him in the alley."
"And the… kiss?" Steve all but spat the last word out.
"He didn't - or couldn't - answer that one." Cheryl sighed, sadly. "Steve, Jesse was in shock. He wasn't reacting like a man who'd just witnessed the death of a stranger."
"Did you speak to him yourself?"
"No." His partner was forced to admit. "This has all come from the officers at the scene. But they're good cops, Steve. They have no reason to lie. Steve, we're going to want to talk to him again."
With an angry snarl, he pushed past her, but she caught his arm before he got out of the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Home," he answered, shortly. "I'll talk to Jesse in the morning and we'll have it cleared up in no time. This is not what everybody seems to think it is."

*****

Steve didn't have to wait until the next day to talk to Jesse. When he got home, it was to find a single lamp burning in the apartment and his lover slouched in front of a television set that wasn't even switched on.
"Jess," he said, walking up to the still figure on the couch. "I thought you'd be in bed by now. Don't you have an early start tomorrow?"
"Yeah." The younger man's response was tired, resigned. "I couldn't sleep." He blinked and frowned through his obvious exhaustion. "I thought you were at work."
"Yeah, I…" Steve sat down and looked at him gravely. "Jess, what happened tonight?"
"A guy got shot." Jesse frowned again and his eyes filled with tears. "I tried to save him, but…"
"Sshh, it's okay," the detective soothed. "You did your best."
"I tried," the young doctor murmured again, hardly able to believe that his skill had let him down so badly.
Steve slipped a comforting arm around him. "Who was he, babe?" He asked softly. "The kid in the alley?"
"You know about it?"
"I was called in because of your involvement," Steve tried to explain, but Jesse pulled away from him sharply.
"And now you've been sent to interrogate me?"
"It's not an interrogation."
"Well it sure as Hell sounds like one." Jesse turned away so that his lover would not see his tears. He knew that he wouldn't be able to explain them - he couldn't even explain them to himself.
"Jess." Steve quickly closed the distance between them. "I'm just trying to find out what happened. I know you tried to save him, baby. I know you'd do that for anybody, but… you're sure you didn't know him? That you'd never seen him before?"
"No."
"He'd not, maybe, been into the restaurant or…"
"I said no, Steve!" Emotionally overwrought and wracked by exhaustion, Jesse lashed out in the completely wrong direction. "I told you - I told them - I didn't know him. Why won't you believe me?"
"I believe you baby, I really do. But I need to know…" Steve forced himself to ask the dreaded question. "Why did you kiss him, Jess?"
"Why did I..?" Jesse turned to look at him. "Is that why you came home? Because you thought that I..? What, you think we went out into the alley for a quickie and I shot him?" Despite the flippancy of his words, there was a wealth of hurt in his voice.
"Jesse, calm down."
"Calm down? How can I calm down? You don't believe a word I'm saying, it's written all over your face."
"Jesse, I believe you. Honestly, sweetheart." To reinforce his words, Steve took him by the shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. "I'm just trying to understand."
Only slightly mollified, Jesse bit his lip and closed his eyes briefly. He was so very tired, but he owed it to Steve to at least try and explain.
"He was bleeding to death in an alley," he said - his voice tight as he struggled to retain control of his emotions. "He was going to die and I couldn't help him. He called out for someone - David. Steve, he was dying! I was just trying to comfort him."
"By kissing him?" Steve was unable to keep the note of scepticism out of his voice. He was shocked to the very core just by the fact that the kiss had even happened.
"He was alone, he was scared…" Jesse's voice had taken on a pleading note. "I just wanted him to think that David was there."
"And you couldn't have just told him?" Steve's light-hearted response was intended to ease some of the tension between them. It didn't work.
"Does it always have to be a big joke with you?" The younger man snapped. "I'm trying my best to explain here. But you know what? I don't know why I'm even bothering."
"Jesse…"
"Forget it, Steve. I'm going to bed."
Jesse stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door very firmly behind him.

*****

Steve stared at the closed door for a long moment, trying to figure out exactly what had just happened. He couldn't understand why Jesse had got so angry, almost to the point of being defensive. If the whole incident had been as innocent as he claimed, why had he lost his temper? To say that was out of character for his young lover was a massive understatement.
Then there was the closed bedroom door - a barrier between them in more ways than one. While they had never spoken of actually living together, they had fallen into the routine of staying either at Jesse's apartment or the beach house almost every night. But that closed door - and the memory of the force with which it was slammed - was definitely not an invitation.
Never go to sleep on an argument, his dad had once told him. It was corny, it was clichéd, but it was also true. On this occasion, however, it didn't seem that he had a choice.
With a heavy sigh, Steve got to his feet. He couldn't just leave. He tried the bedroom door and was not at all surprised to find it locked. So he knocked gently.
"Jess," he called. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." He received only silence in response. "Sweetheart, please. Won't you come out? Even if it's only to say goodnight? I love you, Jesse."
There was still no answer.
I'll just give him time to calm down, Steve thought, feeling a brief surge of panic. This was their first serious argument in their three month relationship and he wasn't quite sure how to handle it.
One thing was for certain - he wasn't about to go home. Steve settled his long frame uncomfortably onto the couch and dragged a throw over him as a makeshift blanket. He knew that sleep would be a long time coming and he lay in the darkness, cursing his own stupidity.
He didn't need anyone to tell him that he wasn't the most sensitive of men, but he knew that he had outdone even himself. Why had he reverted to such flippancy when his lover was so obviously hurting?
Rolling over in a fruitless attempt to get comfortable, Steve resolved that - first thing in the morning - he would apologise to Jesse, sincerely and unconditionally. That would make everything alright again.

*****

"Hello?"
At first, Steve ignored the tentative voice. Once again, he was in an absolutely foul mood. He had eventually fallen asleep on Jesse's uncomfortable couch and had woken late, with a stiff neck - and to find that Jesse had already left.
Steve prided himself on being a light sleeper and knew that Jesse had to have crept around the apartment almost silently, so as not to disturb him. It hurt him to think of the lengths the young doctor was prepared to go to, to avoid talking to him.
Resisting the urge to follow Jesse to the hospital - not wanting to risk causing a scene there - he had gone into work and buried himself in his seemingly never-ending mountain of paperwork.
"Excuse me?" The voice was a minor irritation and he easily ignored it. "I need to talk to somebody about Anthony Bryant."
Steve's head snapped up at the mention of that name and he found himself looking at a young man in his early twenties, with jet black hair and impossibly blue eyes.
"And you are?" Steve growled, unaffected by the beauty of the man before him.
"David West. Anthony is… was… my partner."
"I'm sorry," Steve's tone softened slightly, as the young man's eyes filled with tears. "I'm Detective Sloan. How can I help you?"
"The officers who came to… who told me about Anthony… They said it was a robbery."
"That's right."
"I'm sorry detective, but you've got it wrong." David was staring at Steve with a look of such intensity that it was almost disturbing. "It was murder."
Steve leaned back in his chair and looked at the young man thoughtfully. "Why do you say that?" He asked, carefully.
"Anthony's too careful," David answered, in a voice filled with raw pain. "He wouldn't have put himself in danger, not for the sake of a few bucks. He would have given up his wallet to a man with a gun. He wouldn't have resisted. There was no need for a robber to shoot him."
"I'm sorry Mr. West." Steve's initial curiosity was fading rapidly. "But I'm afraid that sometimes, these things do happen. Even if Anthony hadn't resisted, there are a number of reasons why he might have been shot. If he had seen his assailant's face, maybe. Or if the gun had gone off by accident…"
"No, you don't understand. You have to investigate this." The young man squeezed his eyes shut, briefly. "Anthony is… was… He was being stalked."

*****

"So, do you have any evidence of this… stalking?" It was Cheryl who asked the question. Steve had called her, then taken David to an interview room to get the whole story out of him. "You say you never reported it."
"There was nothing to report. Not really." The young man had relaxed somewhat now that his story was being taken seriously, but his grief still hovered precariously - barely kept in check - and ready to overflow at the slightest provocation. "There were some anonymous letters, silent phone calls. That kind of thing."
"If that's all it was, why do you think that whoever was responsible also shot Anthony?" Steve asked. "Did the letters contain any specific threats?"
"They all pretty much said the same thing: 'if I can't have him, no-one can.' But I never thought that…"
"But you didn't consider calling the police?"
"Did you ever see Anthony, Detective Sloan?" David asked. "Even a picture of him?"
When Steve shook his head, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He opened it and held it out for Steve to see.
"He was a truly beautiful man," David murmured and Steve had no choice but to agree with him. Anthony Bryant had golden hair and dazzling green eyes. His skin was tanned and flawless. He looked like a movie star.
"Very nice," Steve said, drolly. "But what has that got to do with..?"
"Very nice doesn't even begin to cover it," the young man answered, with the merest hint of wry humour. "That picture doesn't even begin to do him justice. He was the most gorgeous man I have ever laid eyes on."
"Mr. West," Cheryl cut in, dragging her own eyes away from the photograph. "You still haven't explained why you never called the police."
"In Anthony's line of work, it was always a risk. There were always crazies hanging around, getting fixated with him if he so much as glanced in their direction."
"What did he do for a living?" Steve asked, suddenly realising how very little he knew about the dead man. The shooting had been dismissed as a robbery and he hadn't even read the file.
"He was a model." David smiled, fondly. "And a good one too. He was just so…"
"So, if this sort of thing has happened before," Steve interrupted, before the man could get lost in his memories. "Why do you think that, this time, the stalker went so far as to kill Anthony?"
"He…" Guilt suddenly suffused David's features. "He called me from work and said that he'd be late. That he had something to sort out. I didn't even think that… I never asked him…"
"You think that he found out who the stalker was and went to confront him." Steve surmised.
"Or her," Cheryl put in. Her eyes flicked back to the photograph. "Women can be just as obsessive as men. Sometimes more so."
"Alright." Steve nodded decisively. "I think this might be worth looking into. We'll need to see the letters and…"
"Steve," Cheryl interrupted. "I don't think that you should… I mean, shouldn't you hand this to somebody else? Considering Jesse's possible involvement…"
"Jesse is not involved," Steve retorted angrily.
"We're going to need to speak to him again," Cheryl shot back. "And I'm not gonna let you be the one questioning him."
"Fine! Then you question him." Steve stood up and placed both hands flat on the table. "And when you've talked to him and realised that everything happened exactly as he said it did, maybe then we can get on with our investigation."
"You know that the Captain won't allow this." Cheryl refused to be intimidated by his aggressive stance and tone.
"The Captain won't have a problem, just so long as you can keep Jesse's name out of it."
The two detectives glared at each other - neither one prepared to back down. There was no telling how long the stand-off might have lasted, if David hadn't chosen that moment to remind them that he was still there.
"Please," he said, tremulously. "What's going on? And who's Jesse?"

*****

"Jesse Travis is my partner." Steve used that word quite deliberately, remembering how David had referred to Anthony as the same.
The young man's eyes widened slightly, then a gentle smile touched his lips.
"I was afraid that I'd be confronted by bigotry when I came here," he confessed. "I wasn't sure that you'd care about the murder of a gay man."
"I care about any murder." Steve's response was automatic, but heartfelt. "Jesse and I also run a restaurant together. BBQ Bob's."
"I know that place." David's speculative look was replaced by one of raw anguish. "That's near where… where they found Anthony."
"Jesse's also a doctor," Cheryl put in, trying to distract the young man from his growing distress. "I don't know what the other officers told you, but Jesse was first on the scene after Anthony was shot."
"Yeah." His voice was small, tired. "They… I think they mentioned something about that. I'm sorry, I'm not sure that I took it all in."
"That's understandable. You've been through a lot." Cheryl smiled softly, even though she was somewhat nervous about what she was about to do. She had no idea what the other cops might have told him, so it was up to her to tell him the truth. "Anyway, Jesse was there and he tried to help. But there has been some… confusion as to his relationship with Anthony." She shot a warning look towards Steve, sensing that he was protest at her words. With a visible effort he held his silence.
"Relationship? What relationship?" David's eyes were wide with disbelief. "I've never even heard of Jesse Travis. What did you mean?"
Slowly, gently and with as much tact as she could muster, Cheryl explained exactly what had happened at the moment of Anthony's death.

*****

Unaware that he was the subject of such intense discussion, Jesse was having a bad day at work. From the moment he had left his apartment, he had bitterly regretted not having woken Steve and attempting to discuss their argument of the previous night. More than that, he regretted not even acknowledging his lover's attempted apology - of having given in to his exhaustion, in spite of his bitter hurt.
Now, as his day dragged on, he began to dread the thought of going home. He didn't want another confrontation but, in truth, he was absolutely terrified that his lover would not be there. A chasm had opened between them - a chasm formed by a stupid argument and a vast overreaction on his part - and he didn't know how he could close it again.
He could only thank God that Mark had spent most of the day tied up in a board meeting. He didn't want to have to explain to Mark why he was so down - a fact that was all too easy to notice on his expressive face. Thus far, he had been able to fob off any concerned enquiries as simple tiredness. He told nobody about the shooting.
As his shift was nearing an end and he was standing at reception studying a patient file, a soft voice broke his concentration.
"You're Jesse Travis."
Jesse looked up, then found himself caught by an intense blue gaze.
"You were with Anthony when he died."
"You're David." It didn't take a genius to make that deduction, but Jesse's heart began to race as he realised who he was talking to. Whether it was from fear of confronting a jealous lover - presuming that David even knew about the kiss - or from the sheer beauty of the man before him, he couldn't be sure.
"Can we talk?" David's voice was gentle, almost musical - but Jesse could still see a wealth of pain in those incredible eyes. "In private?"
Without really thinking of any particular destination, Jesse found himself guiding the young man towards the doctor's lounge. While it wasn't strictly private, he was reasonably confident that they would not be disturbed - and it was public enough should David be angry about what had happened between him and Anthony.
The young doctor poured them both a coffee, then turned back to his unexpected visitor. David was seated on one of the chairs, so Jesse took the one next to him.
"So, how can I help you, Mr...?" He trailed off, realising that they hadn't even been introduced.
"West. David West." His tone was mildly apologetic. "But, please, just call me David."
Jesse nodded, noticing that David rarely blinked. His gaze was steady and fixed very firmly on his. A little flustered, Jesse dropped his eyes.
"You kissed my lover." The words were spoken quietly and without malice but when Jesse glanced up, it was to find those eyes still boring into him.
"I…" Jesse sighed and ran one hand through his already tousled hair. "It feels like I've tried to explain this a thousand times already and I still don't think that I understand it myself. I'm not sure that any explanation will make any sense."
"Try."
Jesse's looked back down at his hands, as he felt sadness creeping up on him again.
"I was trying to save Anthony's life," he murmured, still pained by his failure. "I knew that I was going to fail, but I still tried. He was bleeding to death and he was in so much pain…" He trailed off as he heard a muffled sob from the other man. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." David reached out tentatively and covered the young doctor's hand with his own. "Please, go on."
Surprised by the gesture, Jesse looked up. This time he didn't shy away from the intensity of the other man's gaze. If this was hard for him, he couldn't even being to imagine what David must have been going through.
"He called out for you." A fleeting smile crossed the young doctor's lips. "There was such longing in his voice - such love. He needed you."
"I should have been there." The words were filled with raw anguish.
"You were." Without waiting for a reaction, he pressed on. "Anthony needed you, so very badly. I told him you were there. I held his hand and told him that David was with him."
Tears began to spill from both men's eyes. David tightened his grip on the doctor's hand.
"He… He stopped breathing." Jesse blinked and sighed again. "He said your name and he stopped breathing. I told him to hang on - the ambulance was so close - but he couldn't. And he needed you. So… So I said that I was David and I kissed him goodbye. No. David kissed him goodbye."
"Did he..?" David's voice was harsh and broken. "Did he really think..?"
"He believed it." Jesse spoke the absolute truth. "He saw you and he smiled. You were with him, David. You were there at the end. He knew that you loved him and he knew that you were there. It gave him comfort."
"Jesse… I'm sorry, Doctor…" David began to cry, his shoulders shaking as he fought to suppress his sobs. "I can't… I don't…"
Jesse leaned forwards and put a comforting arm around the distraught young man. Pulling him into a hug, he just held him as he gave in to his grief.
After a long, long moment, David pulled himself free and finally removed his hand from Jesse's. He wiped the tears from his cheeks.
"I don't know how I can ever thank you," he whispered shakily. "That… You don't know how much that means to me."
He reached up and laid his palm against the young doctor's cheek. Recognising that the heart-broken man needed the contact, Jesse covered it with his own.
And Steve chose that exact moment to walk in to the doctor's lounge.

*****

Jesse automatically glanced up when he heard the door open. He saw Steve standing in the doorway and snatched his hand away from David's as though it had been burnt. It was the wrong thing to do and it gave all the wrong messages to the startled detective.
"I'll come back when you're not so…" Steve's voice was gruff and he couldn't even finish the sentence.
Scarcely able to believe what he had just seen, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room.
"Steve..?" Jesse's small voice was nowhere near loud enough to reach the retreating detective and he could only stare after him in dismay.
"Aren't you going after him?" David murmured.
Jesse was barely even aware that the young man was still in the room. Horrified by his lover's reaction, he stared helplessly at the door. He loved Steve with all of his heart and he realised that he couldn't let him just walk away - couldn't risk widening the gulf that had already opened between them.
He raced out into the corridor, just in time to see Steve disappear into the elevator at the far end. He called out again and, this time, there was no doubting that his lover had heard him.
Steve turned around and his gaze locked with Jesse's. His expression was shuttered, unreadable. Then, very deliberately, he reached out and pressed the button that would send the elevator to the parking lot. The doors closed before Jesse even had a chance to reach them.
Unwilling - unable - to simply give up, Jesse raced for the stairs. He knew where Steve habitually parked and was determined to catch up with the detective without having to chase him halfway across the city.
If he had ever ran so fast in his life before, Jesse couldn't remember the occasion and his determination was rewarded when he entered the parking lot and saw the welcome sight of Steve's truck.
Bitter disappointment followed swiftly on the heels of his relief when, just as he approached, the truck's engine roared to life. Not prepared to be thwarted so close to his goal, Jesse grabbed for the vehicle's passenger door, just as Steve began to pull away.
Jesse's arm felt as though it had been torn half out of its socket but, the next instant, Steve realised what was happening and slammed on the brakes. Furiously, he flung his door open and got out, looking back to where Jesse stood - bent almost double, gasping for breath and clutching his left shoulder.
"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" Steve demanded, his heart pounding as he realised how much worse the incident could have been. "Trying to get yourself killed?"
"I…" Jesse couldn't immediately answer. He gulped in a lungful of air and tried again. "We need to talk."
"I don't think there's anything left to talk about," the detective retorted. Satisfied that the other man wasn't seriously hurt, he allowed his anger to surface.
"Steve, please." Jesse took a step forward - even though, inwardly, he quailed at the ferocity of the other man's glare. "It's… It's not what you think."
"Don't tell me," Steve snapped. "You were just comforting him. Well, it didn't look like he was dying to me. So what the Hell's your excuse this time?"
"Please…" Jesse was prepared to do beg, to do anything other than let this relationship - that he had craved for so long - crash and burn without a fight. He glanced at his watch. "My shift's over in an hour. Meet me back at my place. Please. I… I can explain."
Steve continued to glower at him for a moment longer, then he nodded curtly before getting back into his truck and driving away without so much as a backward glance.

*****

The fact that Jesse still had an hour to work didn't bode well for the attempt at reconciliation he had planned for that evening. It gave Steve way too much time to brood.
He couldn't shake the image of the tender moment he had interrupted between the two beautiful young men. Jesse may not have been a model, but - in Steve's eyes at least - both David West and Anthony Bryant paled into insignificance alongside his young lover.
Young. Steve knew that was exactly where the problem lay. He had lusted after Jesse for so long and had scarcely believed his luck when they had finally stopped dancing around one another and admitted to feelings that they had both suppressed for so long. Even now, three months into their relationship - and despite constant assurances from his lover - he wondered just what it was that the young doctor saw in him.
He was sixteen years older than Jesse. He was an old, jaded, cynical cop. Whereas Jesse… Steve couldn't help but smile as he recalled his first sight of the young man - all bright, eager, bubbly enthusiasm. He had never in his wildest dreams believed that his feelings for the young doctor could ever be reciprocated.
Now, all of his old insecurities came flooding back to the surface. Jesse had tired of him. Jesse had realised that he'd made a mistake ever getting involved with him. Jesse had found somebody younger, more attractive - simply better - than him.
Logic never once invaded his thought process. He didn't stop to think how Jesse could have even met David - or Anthony, or whoever the Hell he was feeling so insanely jealous of - much less had the affair that he had talked himself into believing was happening. Jesse was hard pressed dividing his time between the hospital, the restaurant and his newly-founded relationship with Steve. There simply was no time for anybody else.
But Steve continued to brood. As requested, he had returned to Jesse's apartment on leaving the hospital and had then spent the next two hours - as he waited for his lover to return - pacing restlessly, his hands clenched into fists as he resisted the urge to search the apartment for any indication of infidelity. And, as the time dragged on, so his paranoia grew.

*****

Jesse didn't know how he managed to keep his concentration during his drive home - silently cursing the heavy traffic and every red light that delayed his arrival. He kept going over in his head just what he might say to Steve but, as he pulled up outside the apartment, he found that he still didn't have the words.
He just wished that the detective had been there when he had explained to David. Talking to the bereaved young man, he had finally been able to put into words exactly why he had done what he had done. And David had understood. If only things could be that easy with Steve.
Jesse let himself into his apartment and his lover laid into him even before he'd had time to take his jacket off.
"You said you'd only be an hour," the detective snapped, looking pointedly at the clock on the wall.
"No," Jesse sighed. This was not the start that he had hoped for. "I said I had an hour left to work. Come on Steve, you know what the traffic's like on a Friday."
When Steve barely grunted in response to that, Jesse began to feel real despair.
"Look, do you want a beer?" He asked, in an attempt to mollify the older man - to relax him somewhat and try to get him to have a civilized conversation.
"I don't think beer would be a good idea right now," Steve answered, bleakly. He was having a hard enough time with his emotions stone cold sober and he knew that alcohol would only exacerbate how he was feeling.
"Coffee then." Jesse began to move towards the kitchen.
"No, Jesse." Steve's voice stopped him in his tracks. "I don't want beer and I don't want coffee. What I want is answers."
"Can we at least sit down?" Jesse asked softly, not turning around. He didn't want his lover to see the tears that had suddenly filled his eyes.
Without waiting for an answer, he went over to the couch but, instead of relaxing into it, he perched on the very edge. His despair grew when Steve sat on the armchair opposite him.
"I don't know what I can say that I haven't already," Jesse began - looking at his hands, rather than trying to read the expression on the other man's face. "I…"
"It looks like Bryant's death might not have been a robbery," Steve interrupted him in a cold, emotionless voice. "He was being stalked."
"What?" Jesse was genuinely surprised by that revelation.
"My colleagues are going to want to talk to you again."
"I…" The young doctor looked over at his lover in absolute disbelief. "Are you saying that I'm a suspect?"
"Of course you're not a suspect." No matter what else he might have been thinking, Steve knew without a doubt that Jesse was incapable of murder. "But some people think that you might not be telling the whole truth."
"Including you?" Jesse asked, in a small voice.
"The officers at the scene of Bryant's murder said that you didn't react as though you'd just witnessed the death of a stranger," The detective said, by way of answer. "And when I saw you at the hospital with David West, it sure as Hell didn't look like you'd never met him before."
Jesse put his head in his hands, wondering how a simple act of kindness had suddenly blown so out of proportion.
"I'm telling you the truth, Steve," he murmured, not knowing what he could say to convince his lover of that. "I'd never met either of them before…" With a heavy sigh, he got to his feet and drifted towards the window, turning his gaze to the lights of LA. "Oh, what's the use? You don't believe me."
Unable to stand the desolation in his voice, Steve crossed swiftly to where he stood. His intention was to pull the young man into a strong and reassuring embrace but, when he tried to do so, Jesse stiffened and pulled away.
"What are you thinking?" Jesse murmured, still not turning to face him. "That there was something going on between me and Anthony? That I got tired of him and shot him, so I could start an affair with his lover instead? Christ, Steve. Is that how much you trust me?"
"No! No, I do trust you, Jess." But there was unmistakable doubt in the older man's voice. "But can't you just try and see this from my point of view? How it must look?"
"How it must...?" Jesse whirled on him, suddenly furious. His meeting with David had left him upset and emotionally overwrought. "Dammit, Steve, I've told you what happened. Anthony was dying and I kissed him. I was explaining that to David, when you barged in and jumped to completely the wrong conclusions. That's what happened. That's all that happened."
"Jess…" Steve reached for his young lover again, moved by his passionate outburst. "Baby…"
"Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I shouldn't have done it." Again Jesse flinched from his embrace. "But, you know what? I don't regret it. I don't. And I'd do it again if it meant that he didn't… that he wasn't… That he didn't… die alone."
As the younger man began to cry, Steve took hold of him and pulled him tightly against him. He ignored the way that Jesse stiffened and then fought half-heartedly. He continued holding him until he gave in to his emotions and collapsed into helpless sobs.

*****

"Is it something you're scared of, Jess?" Steve asked, with a rare moment of insight. "Dying alone?"
Quite some time had passed since Jesse had broken down and they were both, once again, sitting down. Only now, they were both seated on the couch and Steve had his arms still firmly around his lover.
Jesse rested his head against Steve's broad chest and closed his eyes briefly. He had accused his lover of not trusting him, so now it was up to him to be totally honest - no matter how painful that might be.
"Maybe not now," he answered, slowly. "But, when I was a kid… You know my dad left when I was in high-school and that my mom was always too busy to notice that I was even there…" He shuddered slightly at the memory. "Well, I got sick once. Real sick. I saw the nurse at school and… and I lied to her. I told her there'd be someone to take care of me at home. There wasn't and I just crawled into bed and… and waited for the pain to go away."
"Oh, Jesse," Steve breathed, unable to comprehend how that must have felt. His own childhood ailments had never held any fear for him. He wondered how his father and Jesse's mother - both being in the same profession - could have gone about things so differently.
"Mom never noticed anything and I went back to school the next day. I avoided the nurse and I just… Well, I just kinda faked it. But it was food poisoning - and a real bad case. I couldn't eat, couldn't keep anything down." Jesse laughed humourlessly. "I lost weight and I never really had a great deal to lose, but mom never noticed. I saw her for maybe ten minutes a day back then, but she still never noticed that I looked like one of the walking dead." He followed that with more bitter laughter. "I was sick for four days before I eventually collapsed and was rushed to hospital. I remember… I remember lying in the corridor at school and the other kids… they were crowded around, having a good look and… none of them tried to help… It hurt, Steve… The pain… I know I was crying, but they just looked at me and nobody came to help me…"
"God." Steve balked at the image that was suddenly forced into his mind, of his lover - so much younger, so much smaller - being left writhing on the floor.
"At the hospital, they… They got me hooked up to IVs and monitors and… I couldn't understand what they were saying and… I didn't know what was happening… It took my mom five hours to get there." Jesse closed his eyes against the pain of the memory. "Once they'd got me treated and into a room, I just lay there. I…" He blinked away fresh tears. "I just wanted my mom… I thought I was going to die and… and no-one would even notice… No-one would care…"
"Oh, Jesse."
Steve cradled the young doctor against his chest, as the tears started to flow in earnest.

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