Something to Prove

Part three

Mark was in a genuinely upbeat mood for the first time in what felt like forever. His meeting with the hospital Board had gone better than he had even dared hope. Jesse was as good as in the clear.
Even though his evidence at the time was only word of mouth, he had managed to produce an argument that had left serious doubts in each and every one of the Board Members' minds.
During the course of the meeting, it was revealed that Eric Flynn was demanding compensation somewhere in the region of fifty thousand dollars and, needless to say, the Board had been only too delighted to find a way to get out of making that kind of settlement.
In fact, they had been ready to simply call Flynn's lawyer and tell him exactly what he could do with his compensation claim.
But Mark had managed to talk them out of that. He wanted Mick Donovan to have the chance to confront them. He wanted to see their faces when they realised that their 'get-rich-quick' scheme had failed. And he wanted to find out the truth behind Melissa's bruises.
More than anything else, he wanted Steve to call and tell him that he'd found Jesse and that his young colleague was alright.

*****

Jesse had instantly recognised Steve's car and, at the sight of it, thought that he was about to faint. He didn't need this confrontation. He had just wanted to slip away, as unobtrusively as possible.
The letter that he'd written to Mark was in his jacket pocket and he intended to mail it as soon as he got to... Well, wherever he ended up.
He had no particular destination in mind, just the overwhelming urge to get away and try to find some way to close the door on what had once been the best chapter of his life.
Steve smiled at him but Jesse, still not in the most rational frame of mind, believed that he saw sympathy in that smile.
"Jesse, my dad wants to..." Steve had begun.
Jesse didn't wait to hear any more. My dad wants to see you. He silently filled in the words that he hadn't allowed his friend to speak. He's gonna fire you. Or, even worse: He told me to tell you not to bother going back to work. Ever.
He slammed his car door shut, cutting off anything else that the detective might have said. With shaking hands, he started the engine. Then he floored the accelerator, knowing that, in all likelihood, Steve would come after him. He needed a good head start. He needed to get away.
As he drove, Jesse found his eyes drawn to the rear-view mirror. He could clearly see Steve, standing in the road and staring after him in utter shock. Without even realising he was doing it, he speeded up even more and turned his eyes back to the road.
His distraction had only lasted for a few, short seconds. But that was enough. As Jesse tore his attention away from his friend, he heard the blaring of a horn, then caught a glimpse of the shining silver grill of a truck that was almost right on top of him.
A part of his mind briefly remembered the red light that he had noticed only at the periphery of his vision. The red light that he had just driven straight through.
Then the truck slammed into the side of his car and he was aware of nothing else.

*****

It was the noise that spurred Steve into motion. The horrendous sound of metal colliding with metal, of rubber screeching on asphalt, of a harsh, blaring horn, finally pulled him out of his paralysis and he took off at a run towards the intersection, even though he dreaded what he might find there.
He could see other people getting out of their cars and approaching the wrecked vehicles cautiously. Some were drawn to the truck, others to the Mustang, but Steve had only one destination in mind. Even as he ran, he unconsciously pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled 911, gasping details of the accident to the infuriatingly calm operator.
He wanted to yell at her, to scream that this was Jesse who had been hurt and she'd better get help there pretty damned fast, but he needed his breath for running.
But, in spite of his panic, of the sheer terror that the crash had invoked in him, he found that he had to slow down as he neared the actual site. The Mustang was a write-off. The metal had crumpled as though it were paper, ruining the sleek lines of what had once been a beautiful car. The windshield was starred and steam, or smoke, billowed out from under the hood.
One sensible bystander had produced a fire extinguisher and was dousing the engine with liberal coatings of foam, so that the immediate danger of an explosion was averted. Two other men were trying to force the buckled driver's side door open, but Steve could still clearly see Jesse's blond head, slumped over the steering wheel.
He paused for a moment, utterly shocked by the sight, then the jammed door suddenly came free and those same two men crowded in on his friend. Steve surged forwards, pushing his way unceremoniously through the assembled crowd, desperate to reach Jesse before the men could move him and possibly compound any damage that might have already been done.
"Let me through!" he demanded, grabbing the shoulder of one of the men.
"Are you a doctor?"
"Police officer."
The second man spared him the briefest glance.
"I'm a paramedic," he said. "Let me help him. Why don't you go check on the other guy."
"No." Steve's voice was little more than a strangled whisper, but he did move back half a pace. "He's my friend, my best friend. Is he gonna be okay?"
"He's alive," the paramedic answered, grimly. "And that's about all we can hope for right now."

*****

Mark had headed straight down to the path lab after he'd finished his meeting with the hospital Board. While he couldn't assuage Amanda's fears about Jesse's welfare, he could at least let her know that the young doctor's professional future was safe. Then they could keep each other company while they waited to hear from Steve.
He found Amanda sitting at a bench, chin rested in one hand and staring off into the distance. She had long since given up any pretence of trying to work.
Steve had had more than enough time to get to Jesse's apartment and yet there was still no word. Her worry was almost palpable.
Even though the lab door was open, Mark knocked lightly before he entered. He didn't want to startle her, but even that slight sound caused her to flinch and he realised that she must have been seriously lost in thought.
She leapt to her feet when she saw who it was that had disturbed her.
"Mark, any news?"
Mark saw the hopeful look on her face and cursed himself for not being able to tell her what she so obviously, desperately wanted to hear. He tried to formulate an answer, not wanting to sound glib by simply telling her that the Board had exonerated Jesse. From her expression, she wouldn't have overly cared if his career was in tatters, she just needed to know that he was safe.
Then, before he could even speak, his phone rang.
"Steve." The relief was clearly evident in Mark's voice when he answered and his gaze locked with Amanda's. "Did you..?"
All of the colour drained from the older doctor's face, as his son interrupted him urgently. His eyes dropped to the ground.
"Oh no," he whispered. "Oh God... Yes... Thanks Steve."
He hung up without saying another word and forced himself to look back up at the young pathologist. There were tears in her eyes and she looked as though she were about to faint, but when she spoke, her voice was strong.
"What's happened?" she demanded. "Jesse?"
No matter how many times he'd had to impart bad news, Mark had never found an easy way to do it. There was no easy way. Imparting bad news to a friend, about a friend, was nigh on impossible. His only option was blunt honesty.
"There's been an accident."

*****

Mark and Amanda kept their distance when Jesse, looking unnaturally still and pale, was wheeled into the ER, then through to a trauma room. They listened in numb shock as the paramedics catalogued his list of injuries. A badly broken leg, severe whiplash, head injuries... The list went on.
As much as Mark wanted to be with his young protégé, he forced himself to wait outside. He had every faith in his colleagues and knew that he was in no state, emotionally, to treat him himself. When he had seen Jesse so badly hurt, guilt had flooded through him and now weighed heavily on his shoulders.
"How did I ever let it come to this?" he murmured, mostly to himself.
But Amanda overheard him and whirled on him, a look of shocked disbelief on her face.
"Mark, how can you possibly think that this was in any way your fault?"" she demanded. "It was an accident, that's all, a terrible accident."
"Amanda, what if he's been drinking again?" Mark looked at her sadly.
"It still wouldn't be your fault," she tried to argue. "Jesse was depressed."
"Of course he was depressed, dammit! We know how much he loves to work and, when he was suspended, we should have known how it would affect him."
"Mark, you can't blame yourself for..."
"But I do," he interrupted fiercely. "I should have tried harder to fight his suspension. I should have gone to see him last night, instead of hiding away just because I didn't want to admit to him what happened with Melissa."
"And I should have stayed with him," Amanda put in, sadly. "When I saw the state he was in, I never should have left him. But I did."
"Amanda..."
"No, Mark. You're not only one wishing that you'd done things differently. There's blame enough to go around, but it's not going to help Jesse."
Mark looked as though he was ready to argue some more, but Steve's arrival in the ER forestalled whatever he'd been about to say.
"Dad, how is he?" Steve demanded, crossing to where they stood.
Amanda looked at her friend worriedly. The detective looked as though he had gone through his own kind of Hell.
"It's too soon to tell," Mark answered, with genuine regret. "We should know more once he's been up to x-ray. Steve, what happened?"
"He was running away from me." Steve ran a shaky hand over his eyes. "I tried to tell him... Then there was this stop light and... God, dad, he didn't even try to stop."
"Are you saying he did it deliberately?"
There was real pain in Steve's eyes as he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope.
"This fell out of his pocket," he whispered, proffering it to his dad.
Mark looked at the envelope, but made no move to take it. He could clearly see his own name and the address of the hospital, written in Jesse's all too familiar script.
"Oh no," Amanda breathed.
Mark glanced at her and could see by her face exactly what she was thinking. The same thing that he was thinking. Suicide note.
"Are you going to open it?" Steve asked, his voice subdued.
Mark couldn't answer. His heart was hammering in his chest and his mouth was dry with dread, but he reached out a trembling hand and took the letter from his son.

*****

Mark,
By the time you receive this letter I'll have gone. I don't know where yet, but maybe I'll write again when I get there. Although, with the way things have turned out, I don't suppose you'd care if you never heard from me again.
I know that I didn't do anything wrong, but it's obvious that you don't believe me. I saw it in Amanda's face and in the way that both you and Steve have been avoiding me. And if my own friends don't believe me, what chance have I got before the Board?
I don't understand how you can think me capable of such a thing, I thought you knew me better than that. I thought we were friends. I guess I don't know you as well as I thought I did.
Consider this letter my resignation. It will save you the bother of firing me.
Jesse Travis.

*****

No sentiment, no goodbye, not even 'yours sincerely'. The young doctor had simply signed his name, with the intention of walking out of their lives forever.
"Oh, Jesse," Mark murmured, after he'd finished reading. He could hardly believe that his young friend, no matter how depressed he was, could think that they were anything but one hundred per cent behind him.
Steve took the letter from his dad's unresisting fingers and began to read, holding it so that Amanda could also see its content.
Blame enough to go around. The young pathologist remembered her own words to Mark, just a short while ago and they left a bitter taste in her mouth.
"But I wasn't avoiding him," Steve protested. "God, if I'd have just got there two minutes sooner..."
"Don't Steve," Amanda cut in, tearfully. "There's too much guilt here already. We drove him to this. I know we didn't mean to and I know that the things Jesse says in his letter aren't true, but that doesn't matter. It's what he believes."
"He wasn't behaving rationally," Mark tried to reassure her, her obvious distress overshadowing his own bleak feelings. "He didn't mean those things..."
"He did when he wrote them. And nothing has changed to make him think any differently now, not as far as he's concerned." She looked at them both, unable to hide her fear. "What if he doesn't wake up?"
"Amanda, he will wake up." Mark answered firmly. "He is not going to die."
"But what if he does?" she persisted. " What if... What if he... dies, believing that we'd turned our backs on him, that we didn't have any faith in him?"

*****

The hours dragged on. Jesse was transferred from the trauma room to x-ray and then straight into surgery. All the three friends could do was wait.
They had adjourned to the doctor's lounge and sustained themselves with endless cups of bitter coffee, whilst awaiting the news that none of them were sure they were ready to hear.
Eventually, as the evening drew in and Steve's pacing was beginning to wear on the other two's nerves, the door opened. Justin Wilson, Jesse's surgeon, stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. He looked at the three faces turned expectantly towards him. Three voices, all at once, asked the same question, each in their own way.
"Justin?"
"How is he?"
"Doctor?"
"He's still unconscious," Wilson answered, grimly. "And his condition is very, very serious. He suffered severe head trauma, which resulted in a fractured skull and bleeding to the brain. I'm sorry, I wish it were better news."
"Justin, what's the prognosis?" Mark asked quietly.
"It's too early to say." The doctor shook his head. "You know how it is with head injuries, Mark. All we can do is keep him comfortable and continue to monitor him."
"What...?" Amanda's voice was barely audible, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "What about his other injuries?"
"Well, in that respect, he has been remarkably lucky," Wilson answered, with the ghost of a smile. "There was no permanent damage to his spine. There's some very nasty swelling, some nerve and muscle damage, but nothing that won't heal, given time. His right femur was broken in two places, but that should knit cleanly. And the rest is just cuts and bruises. If it weren't for that head injury, he'd have got off remarkably lightly."
"But when is he going to wake up?" Steve demanded sharply, cutting to the chase.
"That's not a question that Doctor Wilson can answer, Steve." It was Mark who spoke, saving his colleague from the need to deliver even more less than encouraging news. "We can only wait."
"Dammit!"
Steve turned away, running his hands through his hair in sheer frustration. There were things that he needed to say to his friend, things that couldn't wait.
The letter had hurt him more deeply than he had thought possible. For Jesse to think that he no longer cared, that he in fact thought him guilty of that ludicrous accusation, almost defied belief.
But he had read it with his own eyes and now he felt an almost desperate need to seek forgiveness. Steve had already lost his sister through estrangement, he wasn't about to go through the same bitter experience, with the closest thing he'd ever had to a brother.

*****

"I'm going to sit with him," Amanda said, as soon as Doctor Wilson had once again left them alone.
"Amanda, it's getting late," Mark protested. "And it's been a long day. You should be getting home."
"How can I? You saw what he put in that letter. He was running away from us, Mark. He was leaving, without saying goodbye, because he thought that we didn't believe him. He's not going to wake up without our help. He has no reason to wake up. Jesse thinks that we have turned our backs on him and now we have to show him that he's wrong. That we always have and always will have nothing but absolute faith in him. We have to give him the reason to live."
She stopped then, her cheeks flushed by the sheer passion of her outburst. Her eyes were filled with tears of anger, at the unfairness of it all, but they still held a steely determination. Both Mark and Steve knew better than to try and convince her that going home was a viable alternative.
Mark sighed, feeling a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. That letter had been so impersonal. It made no reference to the wonderful times that the four of them had shared. No mention of CJ or Dion, the former of which Jesse himself had helped to bring into the world. They both would have missed him terribly, but their favourite 'uncle' hadn't even seemed to care.
How had he, Mark Sloan, renowned for his compassion and empathy, allowed the young man to degenerate into such a state? Shouldn't he have seen some clue in the drink driving episode? It was so out of character and yet, he had let it pass with barely a comment.
As a thousand 'if onlys' ran through his head, Mark felt his weariness drop away from him. Amanda was right. It was up to them, his friends, even if he didn't recognise them as such right now, to help him on the road to recovery.
"Of course, you're right," he said, eventually. "Jesse shouldn't be alone until he's through this. We'll all sit with him, talk to him, let him know how wrong he was and how much he means to us."
Steve smiled, with grim determination.
"We'll bring him back."
It wasn't a statement. It was a promise.

*****

"Jesse, I don't know if you can hear me. I can only pray that you can, because what I've got to say is really, really important." Amanda was unable to keep the tears out of her voice. "You were wrong, Jess. So very, very wrong. We love you, you know? And we never, not for one minute, believed what that girl accused you of."
She took hold of her friend's hand, seeking some response, but finding none. His condition was deteriorating.
"I don't know what you saw, what you thought you saw, in my eyes when I was at your apartment, but I promise you, it wasn't judgement, it wasn't disbelief. Maybe it was fear. I was so worried about you. And now... Jesse, honey, now I've hurt you even more and you don't know how sorry I am."
She reached up with one hand to gently stroke the side of his face, usually so alive and animated, now as still as death.
"Jesse, please. You have to come back to us. I don't know how I could live with myself if you don't." Her voice descended into a whisper. "Please, Jess."

*****

Mark almost cried off meeting with the Flynn's the next morning. He needed to be with Jesse, to ensure that his dear friend was going to be alright, but he knew that either Steve or Amanda would be there in his absence.
Besides, he also needed to ensure that nothing like this would happen again. With a heavy heart, Mark approached the Boardroom, trying to maintain a professional exterior, whilst his true feelings for the Flynn family were bordering on sheer hatred.
Mark Sloan was not a man who hated easily, he was too compassionate by nature, but when he thought of what those people had put Jesse through, and all for the sake of money...
He had to cut that thought off before it could go any further. Otherwise, he would never make it through this meeting without losing his temper and that would be of no use to anybody.
As he neared his destination, he found Mick Donovan waiting for him.
"I've waited such a long time for this," the schoolteacher said, softly. "Now I'm here, I'm not quite sure what I want to say."
"Just speak from your heart, Mr. Donovan. Whatever happens, you've already done more than enough. You've helped Jesse to..." He trailed off. He had been about to say to get his life back, but he didn't know if that were true any more.
"How is he?" Donovan asked, noticing the older man's distress. Jesse's accident had been the talk of the hospital and the teacher had overheard enough to know that the young man's condition was grave.
"No change." Mark's answer was short, abrupt. "We should go in."

*****

Before Jesse had been hurt, it had been Mark's intention to have Mick Donovan wait outside, then make a dramatic entrance, to wipe the smirk from Eric Flynn's face. Now though, he no longer had the heart for such theatre. He just wanted the meeting to be over with, to send those scavengers packing and get back to what his important in life. Namely, his vigil at Jesse's bedside.
But still, whether intentional or not, Donovan's entrance into the Boardroom did have a dramatic effect on the entire Flynn family. Eric's face went completely white, while Rebecca's jaw dropped so low that it was almost comical. However, Melissa's reaction was the most telling.
"Mr. Donovan," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she stared at him in disbelief.
Mr. Donovan. The girl's former teacher had shared with Mark some of the details of what Melissa had written in her diary about him. She would certainly not have addressed him so formally, had any of them been true. She'd spoken to him like a child would speak to their teacher.
The Flynn's never had a case after that and everyone in the room knew it. While Eric had tried to bluff and bluster, for all he was worth, that's all it was. Even his own lawyer soon stopped trying to help him.
In what had to be the shortest Board meeting in history, the Flynn's began to make their excuses and seek a hasty retreat.
And that was when Mark stepped in. He was determined that Jesse wasn't going to have suffered so terribly for nothing. He would not just sit back and let this reprehensible family simply move to another city and try and spread their poison there. It was going to stop. Now. And he was the man to stop it.
"Sit down," he barked, allowing his anger to surface for a brief moment.
The three of them reacted to the command in his voice and sank back down into the chairs they had so hurriedly vacated.
"Don't think for a minute that I am going to let you get away with this," he began, fixing each of them in turn with an icy blue glare. "You have broken the law. You have tried to sully the name of one of the finest young doctors that I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. You have attempted to obtain money by deception."
His gaze settled on the now subdued face of Eric Flynn.
"And somebody has been abusing your daughter."

*****

Steve had taken Amanda's place at Jesse's bedside. He had forced the young pathologist to go home, to see her boys and to get some much-needed rest. She had complied, albeit reluctantly, swearing that she was too worried to even consider being able to sleep. But the exhaustion on her face had told a different story.
The detective sat in silence, studying his friend for a long moment. It was difficult for him to know what to say at the best of times. And this was hardly the best of times.
Guilt nagged away at him, despite what Amanda had said about blame. He constantly replayed the events of that day in his head. The way he had originally argued with his dad about the need for someone to call round at Jesse's, wasting those precious minutes that might have enabled him to arrive in time to stop his friend driving off like that.
And the way he had driven at too sedate a pace, not feeling the urgency to put his siren on and obeying every traffic law along the way.
The chance to have prevented this from happening had lain very much with him and he had failed. Now that failure might cost his best friend his life.
"Jesse..." his voice cracked and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Jess, please. You have to wake up. Just give me some sign, huh? Let me know you're listening?"
Steve's tortured eyes roamed over the young man's face, looking for even the slightest hint of movement, but there was none.

*****

"Come with me. I want to show you something."
There was something in Mark's voice that told the Flynn family this was an invitation they could not refuse. Meekly, they followed the distinguished doctor from the Boardroom and through the corridors of the hospital.
Mark walked slightly ahead of them, not offering any explanation, not speaking to them at all. He had finally learnt the truth behind their twisted accusations and it was a truth that had sickened him.
He could only look on the family as leeches, totally without morals or scruples, and prepared to do literally anything to get what they wanted. He had seen some shocking sights in his time, heard some terrible stories, but what this family had done had shaken him to his very core. And just for the sake of money.
Well, he was not going to let it happen again. There was no point in trying to appeal to their better nature, he was convinced that they didn't have a better nature. But he was hoping that they did have a conscience.
The small group came to a stop outside Jesse's room. Mark closed his eyes briefly as he saw his son, sitting with his head bowed, at the young doctor's bedside.
"Fifty thousand dollars," he said quietly, not looking at any of them. "That's what you were after, isn't it?"
He shook his head, plunging his hands deep into his pockets, then stepped to one side to allow the Flynn's to see into the room.
"Fifty thousand dollars," he said again. "Is that worth a man's life? A man who did nothing wrong and was only trying to help?"
"Jesse?" Melissa's voice was filled with tears and she reached a trembling hand towards the glass.
"I want you to remember this the next time you think about doing something so deplorable," Mark went on, ignoring her tears. "You drove him to this. He thought that he was going to lose his job, his friends, the respect that we all have for him. All because you wanted to line your own pockets."
"We didn't mean..." Rebecca sounded genuinely remorseful, but Mark interrupted her harshly.
"I don't care what you meant. This is what you did," he snapped. "I just wanted
you to know that you might have killed a man, as surely as if you'd been driving the truck that hit him. Now get the Hell out of my hospital."
Mark didn't watch them leave. He turned back and looked into Jesse's room. The scenario had hardly changed at all. The only difference was that there were now tears on his son's cheeks.

*****

"...and used ice to numb her face before hitting her." The fury was clearly evident in Mark's voice as he explained what he had learned to his son.
Mark was still absolutely livid. It was beyond his ability to understand how someone could deliberately hurt a member of their own family, even if that person had been a willing participant, as Melissa obviously had been.
The two of them were sitting by Jesse's bedside, talking quietly, although they knew that, even had they shouted at one another, they would not have disturbed their young friend.
"What about the cuts on her arm?" Steve asked. "The ones that brought her here in the first place."
"Apparently they were genuine," Mark answered, clearly unhappy. "She fell into the side of the conservatory and broke one of the panes of glass with her arm. It wasn't until she saw Jesse that she had the idea to try again what had worked so well in Delaware."
"It was all Melissa's idea?"
"Yes, she just happened to come across the kindest, most compassionate doctor in this entire hospital. The one that would fall for her plan all too easily. Jesse..."
He was interrupted by a soft tap at the door and Amanda poked her head in. She smiled tiredly at them as she entered the room.
"How's he doing?"
Mark sighed heavily and let his gaze drift to his injured friend.
"Not good," he admitted, reluctantly. "He's had another scan and there's no swelling, no sign of any injury to the brain and his wound is healing nicely. There's no reason why he shouldn't show some sign of improvement."
"Yes there is, Mark." Amanda rested her hand over Jesse's, looking at him with infinite compassion. "He's still trying to run away from us."
"What else can we do?" Steve snapped, angry and frustrated at feeling so helpless. "We've talked to him, we've begged him to wake up. How do we get through to him?"
"We just keep on trying," Amanda answered, fiercely. "We make him listen. He has to understand that we're here for him, that none of this was his fault..."
"Actually," Mark interrupted, sounding thoughtful. "Steve and I were just discussing exactly what happened. We know the truth now and maybe it would help Jesse, if he knew it too."
"The truth?" the young pathologist echoed. "You mean, who was hurting Melissa?"
Mark looked at her gravely and the anger that had constantly bubbled beneath the surface of his outwardly calm countenance, since this whole sordid mess had begun, flared in his eyes.
"It was Rebecca."
"Her sister!" Amanda suddenly realised the volume of her response and shot an involuntary, apologetic look towards the figure on the bed. He hadn't stirred.
Talking as much to Jesse as he did to Amanda, Mark told her everything that he knew.

*****

Melissa, for saying that she was only fourteen years old, was a greedy and manipulative child. She had seen kindness in Mick Donovan, when he'd tried to draw her out of herself, convinced that she was a victim of bullying. In fact, there had been an incident, but it had been a one-off. Melissa had handled it herself, standing up to the would-be bullies and so had never been targeted by them again.
At the time, there was a compensation craze sweeping across America. Law-suits were filed every day and ridiculous amounts of money were being claimed and awarded. Eric Flynn, in particular, had always resented this and often griped to his daughters that he would never find himself in a position to sue someone else for thousands of dollars.
According to him, it just wasn't fair. He still had to work for a living, whereas the right set of circumstances could put the whole family on easy street.
And so Melissa began to formulate her plan. She well remembered the kindness that Mr. Donovan had shown her when he'd thought that she was in trouble, so she set out to utilise that kindness. It was ridiculously easy. She would turn up at his classroom door, looking dishevelled, or even only upset, and he would try to convince her that she could trust him.
They spent many hours talking over her completely fabricated woes, hours during which they were usually alone. And then Melissa began to keep a diary.
Things had snowballed rapidly from there, much as they had at Community General, but the school had quickly decided to give in to the family's demands. The Flynn's were awarded tens of thousands of dollars, in an out of court settlement and Mick Donovan had lost his job.
The rest, as the saying went, was history. Melissa, upon hurting her arm, had stumbled upon another opportunity to make some money, in the form of a kind, compassionate young doctor called Jesse Travis.

*****

"And she didn't mind her sister beating up on her?" Amanda sounded incredulous.
"On the contrary, she insisted on it," Mark answered, still not quite able to believe the lengths that family had been prepared to go to. "She knew that she needed to be physically injured in order to get close to Jesse."
"But still, even numbed by ice, it must have hurt her."
"It was all about money, Amanda, and you know that some people will do just about anything for money. And they won't care about who they hurt along the way."
They sat in silence for a moment, regarding their young friend. He had still showed no sign of regaining consciousness, no indication that he had even heard what they said.
Steve had said nothing throughout his father's explanation. Inside, he was slowly tearing himself apart. Don't let him down again. The very last words he had spoken to Jesse, apart from his abortive attempt to tell him about Mick Donovan. Don't let him down again.
But he had let Jesse down in the worst possible way. If he had only got there just a few minutes earlier...
Angry, frustrated and wanting to hurt someone, the way that Jesse had been hurt, Steve abruptly stood up. His chair scraped noisily across the linoleum floor and he stormed towards the door. Mark intercepted him before he even had the chance to open it.
"You can't desert him now," he said softly.
"I'm not deserting him," Steve hissed angrily in response. "I just don't see how sitting on our hands is going to make any difference."
"So what do you propose to do?"
"I'm going... I..." Steve trailed off, as he realised that he actually had no plan, nor even a destination in mind. "I don't know," he concluded, lamely. "Anything other than just sit here, waiting for him to die."
"He is not going to die," Mark interjected, sharply. Then, seeing the disbelieving look on his son's face, sought some way to convince him. "You remember when he caught that smallpox virus? Or how about when he went missing for five days and was then forcibly drugged, to try and convince everyone he was crazy? He survived all of that, Steve. And he'll survive this. He's tougher than he looks, you know."
"He'd have to be," Steve answered, casting a fond, yet wistful look at the silent figure on the bed. "He always manages to get into so much trouble..."
"Mark, Steve." Amanda's voice held a note of pleading and they both looked at her in concern.
The young pathologist was still holding Jesse's hand, but her eyes were on the two of them.
"Do you really think that's going to help him?" she asked, her anger apparent in spite of her low voice. "Reminders of his brushes with death? Do you think that's what he needs right now?"
The two men looked at her apologetically, as they realised how loud their voices had become during their altercation.
"Of course, you're right," Mark answered softly. He moved back to his seat at the side of Jesse's bed, almost overwhelmingly relieved when Steve followed suit. "We should try and concentrate on the good times. And there have been enough of those over the years, haven't there?"

*****

So they talked. Individually, in pairs, or all together, they constantly reminded Jesse of all the wonderful times they had shared.
Twenty-four hours dragged by. During that time, Jesse was never alone except when his own needs had demanded some privacy. And he never gave even the slightest sign that he was aware of anything that any of them said.
Mark, Steve and Amanda talked themselves hoarse, often repeating their light-hearted tales, as they strove to focus only on the good things that had happened to them. It was hard. So many of their jokes, so much of the laughter, was deeply entwined with the harsh realities of the lives they led, the professions they were each dedicated to. But they were determined that, so long as Jesse had a breath in his body, they would do whatever it took to make him well again.
Eventually, though, all three were forced to concede that their latest efforts were proving equally as unsuccessful as anything else they'd tried.
Mark waited until both Steve and Amanda had rested and they, once again, sat together at their dear friend's bedside. They had ran out of jokes and anecdotes and were beginning to run out of hope. Mark had only one thing left to try.
"You know," he said, sadly. "I never truly realised just how deeply he must have been hurting, just how depressed he had actually become. It's as though his feeling of betrayal has penetrated deep into his subconscious and that's why he won't listen to us now. My God, he must have been feeling it right down in his very soul."
"So what do we do?" Steve asked, gruffly. He had never allowed any more tears to fall, after the time his father had seen him weeping in the ICU and his voice was thick with the weight of them.
"We have to convince him that he's wrong. That we do trust him and would stand, have stood, by him, no matter what."
"But how, Mark?" Amanda, in contrast to Steve, could not contain her tears. It was destroying her to see her lively, energetic friend - her brother, in all but blood - lying there so close to death. "What else can we do?"
"We can prove it to him."

*****

"Jess, do you remember when Eric Spindler was murdered?"
Amanda gasped aloud at the mention of the former doctor's name. Of course Jesse would remember, after all he had almost gone to prison - had, in fact been remanded in custody - for his murder.
"Mark, what are you doing?" she demanded, disbelievingly. "That was one of the worst moments of Jesse's life. I've never seen him as scared as he was when I went to visit him in jail."
"Yes, he was scared," Mark agreed, sadly. "I think we all were. Jeri Murdico came so close to successfully framing him and getting away with murder. It was impossible not to be scared."
"I think I know where you're going with this, dad." Steve leaned forward over Jesse's bed and focussed intently on his young friend's face. "Do you remember it, Jess? When I had to arrest you, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. You know why? Because I knew that you were innocent."
"We never doubted you for a minute, Jesse," Mark added, also speaking directly to the comatose man. "It didn't matter how much evidence Jeri managed to stack against you. We never, ever considered even the possibility that you might be guilty."
"That's why we fought so hard for you, Jess." Amanda had realised what they were trying to do and added her own assurances. "I know it was Ben Matlock who got you off, but we were all there, honey. We were all at your apartment when he found the broken chair."
"We were looking for evidence, Jesse," Steve explained. "Evidence that would clear you, because we knew there had to be some. And there had to be some because we knew that you weren't guilty."
"Think about it, my friend." Mark stood and gently touched Jesse's cheek. "Please. Jeri had almost everybody convinced. Almost everybody. If she had framed anyone else, using that kind of evidence, then I think she would most probably have got away with it. Her mistake was in trying to pin it all on you, the one man that we knew would never be capable of doing such a thing."
"Are you hearing this, Jesse?" Amanda asked his motionless form. "Do you understand what we're saying here? Even in the face of that overwhelming evidence, we never doubted you. So why do you think that we're doubting you now?"
It was Steve who noticed it first. The tiniest flicker behind closed eyelids, the first sign of movement they had seen from Jesse since the accident.
"Dad!"
The eyelids flickered again and Mark leaned forward intently.
"That's it, son," he gently urged the young man. "Come back to us, Jess. Please, son. Come back to us."
Jesse's awakening was a slow and gradual affair. Continually encouraged by the voices of the three people that he held closest to his heart, he fought his way out of the darkness that had held him for so long.
Just a few minutes after Steve had noticed that first, almost imperceptible hint of movement, the young doctor's eyes cracked open. The first thing he saw was his three friends, all looking down at him, their expressions a mixture of relief and concern. He felt a smile touch his lips.
As he had slowly regained consciousness, he had heard much of what they'd had to say and wanted desperately to let them know how grateful he was. Grateful for them not giving up on him. For, once again, standing by him when he needed them the most. For simply being there.
And everything that he was feeling must have showed on his open, expressive face, because all three of them smiled warmly at him. It was Mark who voiced the sentiments they were all feeling.
"Welcome back, Jesse."

THE END.

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